So I was a full-time student. It's an apt phrase because more than any other occupation it really does affect you full time. Wherever you are, whatever else you are doing you are defined as a student, by the discounts you get, by the debt you are in or by the friends you are with and the topics of discussion among you. And then it all ends, much quicker than it began and you have to move on to real life and find a job or continue on your pre-ordained career path. You have to find a vocation if you didn't already have one in mind and bust your balls going for it. Well, I found a calling, that occupation I felt like I was put here to have. Being a student, however is not a feasible career choice and I've been forced into retirement without even the "benefit" of a pension packet.
In this vein, today I will be considering the ends of things, and the beginnings too, and pondering why I can't do middles. This will give me a great opportunity to properly close the ledger on the student blog and turn the page into this new one.
It's odd really, I'm forever stuck between the poles of any situation, not in the middle of it but constantly flitting between beginning and end or occupying both ends of the spectrum at once. I was a great student and I'd kick the ass out of being retired if I didn't have to go get a job and make some money first. I'm not even really twenty-something. Not in my mind: emotionally and mentally I'm part 16-year-old, part nonagenarian. I'm a good friend (I hope) and I'd like to think I'd make a great husband but I'm crap at the whole boyfriend thing.
Is it just a lack of follow-through that means I'm forever feeling like the middle of a project is the hardest? Probably. I'd say that is the curse of my generation. I've seen twenty-somethings who have escaped the apathy of the convenience culture of the 21st century and are capable of putting in the graft required to get them where they want to be but in every town centre are the other kind of twenty-somethings, the ones who gave up on themselves and hang around smoking in tracksuits outside the job centre in one of the greatest natural occurrences of juxtapositional irony ever to grace the face of the Earth.
I escaped the chavish tendencies of my town - as did many of my friends - but something held me back, my aspirations and motivation got me just far enough to realise I'd never make it to the end of the line and actually fulfil any of my dreams.
It sounds bleak but things could be much worse and I'll be OK. The main thing to realise is that it'll all work out eventually. The volunteering I'm doing currently (helping to run a couple of Church football groups) will hopefully lead to some proper work at some stage.
Anyways, on to the other reason why I'm here.
The rebranding exercise this blog has been through was to make me write more considered material which I could hopefully use as an example of my work should I ever get the opportunity to work as a writer (unlikely, I know but still it's only fair to warn you that there will be a few TV, film and literature reviews coming soon). Which is all very well but the decision to maqke the change came as a shock even to me and did leave me feeling like what I'm now thinking of as the old blog didn't get to finish its story, so I just want to close the book on that one with a little update regarding some of the material contained therein.
As you can tell I'm finding it hard adjusting to life after university. It's a slow process that feels something like grieving. I've talked about the five stages of death before, as you might recall, and that situation remains pretty much as it was, except that the pain is gone, which is an odd sensation. I don't think I've ever felt this way and had it not hurt like hell. That caused me some consternation, as my biggest fear was forgetting in the weeks after uni. Eventually I realised that feeling is still there but it doesn't hurt as much. Like schrapnel in a soldier's leg, it hurt at one time and it still can make life difficult now, but it's just there, permanent but painless, reminder of the battles of days gone by.
Amongst the treasured mementos of the time when there was so much pain in my life are photos from Grad Ball and Graduation Day proper, the texts that flew back and forth on results day, the ring I bought myself as a facsimile of a Sikhi kara bracelet and of course the Christmas card that started this blog. It never got delivered, see, due to a tendency amongst those off campus to skive off the last few lectures of a semester. Along with it is the birthday card to the same person which was also destined to never reach its intended recipient.
And chief amongst them all are the memories, of cups of tea in the lounge, of plane-spotting in boring lectures, of that one time we drove to ASDA, I tagging along and buying stuff I didn't even need just because it was time spent together, of the frequent times I made an arse of myself because the nerves shut down my quality-control filters and of course of that last goodbye. The finalty of that memory makes me want to be able to shout at my past self to make more of those last minutes, for disarmed by and confident in the last words we shared I took no opportunity to say what needed saying or even to hang around longer than I normaly would. In the movie theatre of my brain, the last shot of that heart-wrenching scene is taken from behind me as I stroll away, it goes into slow-mo, music starts playing as the soft focus comes in and then the credits roll as the camera pulls back and up into the air and everything fades to black.
The last few months have been so hard because I don't want to leave the cinema. Maybe it's going to be like a Marvel hero movie; maybe there'll be a teaser for the sequel coming on soon.
Or maybe I can just sit in the dark and forget the world outside ever existed.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Monday, 20 August 2012
Twenty-Something on family holidays
Until last week it never struck me as unusual that at the age of twenty-two (OOLLLLLDD!! how the frick did that happen?) I still holiday with my parents. I suppose it's kinda natural, they are my house-mates after all but it seems that the likelihood of many others my age - especially lads - would be doing the same things I was last week is pretty low
It was a fairly grown-up holiday, but retained a certain family flavour. We still ended up going to a zoo, for instance, which is usually the preserve of much younger families. It was pretty awesome, really. I'm not a fan of locking up animals for our entertainment but most of them had plenty of freedom and there was even a safari-park style area with acres and acres of wild habitat.
Still, not what you'd have expected me to be doing on holiday.
At times it was awkward and frustrating but the same can be said of most time spent with family. At least it was awkward and frustrating on the beach.
Finances dictated that we were based at a very isolated caravan park on the Isle of Sheppey which was fifty miles from the nearest beach with actual sand on it and 2 miles from the village it was supposedly based in. Whatever we wanted to do each day necessitated driving miles and miles and therefore all doing the same things together so as to avoid being on the road all day. This is fine when you're a kid and you just go with the flow. As one of four adults, you sometimes just want to do something different from everyone else or even just do nothing at all.
It was a bit of a shit holiday. Not because of being a family holiday, although being bound to three other people when you're just trying to relax probably didn't help the situation. No, what made it slightly soul-destroying was the one idiosyncrasy of the area: it had no idiosyncrasies. Everyone's the same and they're exactly the stereotype of their particular area. Despite being in Kent we couldn't escape the Essex accent that everyone seems to associate with the whole 100 mile area around London. Also, the number of balding men driving convertible sports cars with women who had all the characteristics of being conventionally beautiful apart from the most important one (you know, actually being beautiful) was frankly staggering. You know the kind of guys I mean, the ones that seem to have woken up one day with a topless hairstyle and immediately rushed out to buy a topless car in an attempt to continue to be able to get women topless.
The most depressing thing about the area was the air of cynicism that seemed to pervade everything, emanating from the endless parade of bald spots and their peroxide-blonde trophy wives driving around in BMWs. I guess you had to be there but there was something about the way everyone seemed to have drawn out a life plan at age fourteen that consisted of "fast car and fast woman" and then gone out there and made it happen. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for chasing your dreams but I just think they should usually be something a bit less tangible and a hell of a lot more real.
Anyway, the point is I'm happy to be back in the North where there's a little more variety to life and I don't have to cross a bridge that looks like something out of Mario Kart every time I want to go somewhere. Will I be going on a family holiday again? Probably yes. Back to the South East? Hell no.
It was a fairly grown-up holiday, but retained a certain family flavour. We still ended up going to a zoo, for instance, which is usually the preserve of much younger families. It was pretty awesome, really. I'm not a fan of locking up animals for our entertainment but most of them had plenty of freedom and there was even a safari-park style area with acres and acres of wild habitat.
Still, not what you'd have expected me to be doing on holiday.
At times it was awkward and frustrating but the same can be said of most time spent with family. At least it was awkward and frustrating on the beach.
Finances dictated that we were based at a very isolated caravan park on the Isle of Sheppey which was fifty miles from the nearest beach with actual sand on it and 2 miles from the village it was supposedly based in. Whatever we wanted to do each day necessitated driving miles and miles and therefore all doing the same things together so as to avoid being on the road all day. This is fine when you're a kid and you just go with the flow. As one of four adults, you sometimes just want to do something different from everyone else or even just do nothing at all.
It was a bit of a shit holiday. Not because of being a family holiday, although being bound to three other people when you're just trying to relax probably didn't help the situation. No, what made it slightly soul-destroying was the one idiosyncrasy of the area: it had no idiosyncrasies. Everyone's the same and they're exactly the stereotype of their particular area. Despite being in Kent we couldn't escape the Essex accent that everyone seems to associate with the whole 100 mile area around London. Also, the number of balding men driving convertible sports cars with women who had all the characteristics of being conventionally beautiful apart from the most important one (you know, actually being beautiful) was frankly staggering. You know the kind of guys I mean, the ones that seem to have woken up one day with a topless hairstyle and immediately rushed out to buy a topless car in an attempt to continue to be able to get women topless.
The most depressing thing about the area was the air of cynicism that seemed to pervade everything, emanating from the endless parade of bald spots and their peroxide-blonde trophy wives driving around in BMWs. I guess you had to be there but there was something about the way everyone seemed to have drawn out a life plan at age fourteen that consisted of "fast car and fast woman" and then gone out there and made it happen. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for chasing your dreams but I just think they should usually be something a bit less tangible and a hell of a lot more real.
Anyway, the point is I'm happy to be back in the North where there's a little more variety to life and I don't have to cross a bridge that looks like something out of Mario Kart every time I want to go somewhere. Will I be going on a family holiday again? Probably yes. Back to the South East? Hell no.
Saturday, 18 August 2012
If I had a significant readership - and anybody knew who La Rocca are - I'd be more worried about copyright infringement.
That's right, I've thought of a name for the "couldn't think of a name for the blog" blog. It's a song lyric. La Rocca's Sketches (20 Something Life) isn't my favourite song ever but for some reason it's always been floating around my head since I first heard it on an old video game (FIFA, in case you cared).
Despite priding myself on being able to work out most lyrics without much fuss, I've never really been able to tell what the hell this song is saying but in a way that makes it better because it can mean whatever I want it to. Making up the words as you go is always fun.
Anyways, one of the few snatches of this song that I can get my ears around is:
Despite priding myself on being able to work out most lyrics without much fuss, I've never really been able to tell what the hell this song is saying but in a way that makes it better because it can mean whatever I want it to. Making up the words as you go is always fun.
Anyways, one of the few snatches of this song that I can get my ears around is:
Which kinda sounds like me right about now. So, the blog's back, with a slightly new look. The first new post will be along soon.All I have's this journal that I write,Sketches of a twenty-something life
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
A word to the wise ... from the utterly foolish
Advice. I do love impart nuggets of what I like to think of as wisdom, despite all evidence to the contrary. But if there's one thing I hate, it's the loss of meaning in the word "love" in modern society. However, if there's one thing I hate in relation to the topic of this blog post, it is receiving advice.
No matter how brilliant your pearl of wisdom I am likely to ignore it unless I'm in a weirdly good mood. Which is unfortunate really because at a time like this - just after graduating and with no clue about my future plans - just about everyone I talk to, from estranged family friends to the heartless tooth-torturer who calls herself my dentist, wants to give me some advice.
Their advice may be good, it may be bad, I don't know because the one thing you can be sure of is that I didn't listen to a word. I recall once I was playing a game of pool against a superior opponent whom I felt I had no chance of beating and yet I was a mere three shots from victory. Having weighed up my options and selected a route to glory I was about to approach the table for my first movement in what was surely to be a balletic billiards masterclass when an onlooker advised me to take the shot I was in fact already about to take. I immediately switched targets to the other (impossible to sink) ball, miscued and handed my opponent the chance to clear up, which he duly did.
It's just a case of cutting off my nose to spite my face really, but I refuse almost any help anybody offers to me. This will, I am sure, make job hunting an excellent experience and a pleasure. Or, even more of a nightmare than it is for everyone else, which is saying something in these tough economic times.
Anyway, knowing that I'll need to be fairly pro-active to get anywhere given the obstacles I put in my own way and being mature enough to realise that now is at last the time to enter the real world (read: having run out of options for more education) I decided today to have a look round at a few jobs before beginning the arduous process of claiming JSA and having to deal with various "employment advisers". Starting from the rather vague proposition of getting a graduate job as I am a graduate and these probably pay the best, I fired up google and began my journey round the virtual jobs market. Every graduate job currently available seems to be a teaching position or "recruitment" in the financial services sector. Loathe as I am to use too much text-speak my only conclusion was "WTF?"
There must be more to being a graduate than this. We were happily informed not two days ago that 93% of last year's graduates from LTUC are now in employment or further education (no pressure). Even discounting the few who are working in shops or similar as opposed to graduate positions, I fail to see how so many people could have found jobs in a market like this.
So I moved on. Now, you'll be familiar with my wanting to be a writer if you've experienced this blog before and regardless of how unattainable this dream is (I'll let you decide, you're the one having to suffer the result), I thought I'd have a little look round for any writing jobs. I wasn't expecting much, surely any really good writing jobs wouldn't just be laying around on the internet for any schmuck to stumble across, but still, the pickings were slim. So, I'm back on track for the old "normal" job thing or being part of that shameful seven per cent.
The advice I most wish I'd listened to is when somebody said to plan ahead. People have been telling me since forever that I need to have a plan for my future but being a free spirit, a bit of a maverick and terrible at taking advice I didn't listen and now my future's here like some giant pugilist I have to take out: it's big and it's scary and it's about to start swinging.
No matter how brilliant your pearl of wisdom I am likely to ignore it unless I'm in a weirdly good mood. Which is unfortunate really because at a time like this - just after graduating and with no clue about my future plans - just about everyone I talk to, from estranged family friends to the heartless tooth-torturer who calls herself my dentist, wants to give me some advice.
Their advice may be good, it may be bad, I don't know because the one thing you can be sure of is that I didn't listen to a word. I recall once I was playing a game of pool against a superior opponent whom I felt I had no chance of beating and yet I was a mere three shots from victory. Having weighed up my options and selected a route to glory I was about to approach the table for my first movement in what was surely to be a balletic billiards masterclass when an onlooker advised me to take the shot I was in fact already about to take. I immediately switched targets to the other (impossible to sink) ball, miscued and handed my opponent the chance to clear up, which he duly did.
It's just a case of cutting off my nose to spite my face really, but I refuse almost any help anybody offers to me. This will, I am sure, make job hunting an excellent experience and a pleasure. Or, even more of a nightmare than it is for everyone else, which is saying something in these tough economic times.
Anyway, knowing that I'll need to be fairly pro-active to get anywhere given the obstacles I put in my own way and being mature enough to realise that now is at last the time to enter the real world (read: having run out of options for more education) I decided today to have a look round at a few jobs before beginning the arduous process of claiming JSA and having to deal with various "employment advisers". Starting from the rather vague proposition of getting a graduate job as I am a graduate and these probably pay the best, I fired up google and began my journey round the virtual jobs market. Every graduate job currently available seems to be a teaching position or "recruitment" in the financial services sector. Loathe as I am to use too much text-speak my only conclusion was "WTF?"
There must be more to being a graduate than this. We were happily informed not two days ago that 93% of last year's graduates from LTUC are now in employment or further education (no pressure). Even discounting the few who are working in shops or similar as opposed to graduate positions, I fail to see how so many people could have found jobs in a market like this.
So I moved on. Now, you'll be familiar with my wanting to be a writer if you've experienced this blog before and regardless of how unattainable this dream is (I'll let you decide, you're the one having to suffer the result), I thought I'd have a little look round for any writing jobs. I wasn't expecting much, surely any really good writing jobs wouldn't just be laying around on the internet for any schmuck to stumble across, but still, the pickings were slim. So, I'm back on track for the old "normal" job thing or being part of that shameful seven per cent.
The advice I most wish I'd listened to is when somebody said to plan ahead. People have been telling me since forever that I need to have a plan for my future but being a free spirit, a bit of a maverick and terrible at taking advice I didn't listen and now my future's here like some giant pugilist I have to take out: it's big and it's scary and it's about to start swinging.
Tuesday, 17 July 2012
G-Bomb deployed
Well, it's finally happened. If you've been here before, you know that graduation day has been a date in my diary that I've been dreading for some time. I always looked forward to the ceremony itself, but the thought that it is the last en-masse gathering of my favourite people on the planet never failed to make me more than a little maudlin.
In the end, it was actually a much happier occasion than I thought. For all that that I like to see modernisation everywhere, the ancient-feeling pomp and ceremony of the, er ... ceremony, really spoke to me. From my second-row-from-the-back vantage point I had an excellent view of what was merely 100 pointy hats away from being a scene from Harry Potter. If you are familiar with my, let's call it love (obsession sounds so seedy), for Harry Potter, you will understand how happy this made me.
Anyway, with lectures finishing so long ago it already felt like uni was over, so instead of the final chapter, today was the perfect addendum to the story of the last few years. I'd like to think that I had some part in my not being depressed. Having billed everything I could over the last few months as "THE END", I'd somehow nullified the finality of the day and turned it into just a great chance to see friends (in some cases perhaps a last chance).
I guess that's what it's supposed to be. It's a funeral for your student days but as always it's a celebration of life rather than a sad occasion. The idea is to look to the future and how this great experience will now help you going forward but I went to uni for uni's sake, not for my future career. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt the pangs of finality but then I also know we were all so happy to be there in our gowns, having our hard work recognised.
I can't help looking to the past, I should list it as my place of residence on official documents, but even as the ceremony concluded, consigning my favourite time and place to the past and tethering me yet stronger to my tendency for reminiscence rather than new experiences my happiness could not be dented. In fact it lasted all evening. Never in the history of human endeavour has something been dreaded so terribly by so few for so long, and then so heartily enjoyed.
After the main event was concluded came the part I'd really been dreading. Since the first time I realised exactly how much I loved my life (a feeling I was having for possibly the first time), this moment had been part of my nightmares. It is the moment of goodbye.
Now, I've said before how shit I am at maintaining a friendship. But then again there have never been friendships I've so wanted to maintain. I still have little faith in my ability to do so, but my motivation for the task gives me some small modicum of confidence that I might do it this time. And my favourite moment of the day was contained in this dread hour, at the time of my final departure came, not the words I'd been longing to hear - they shall remain forever unspoken - but I did hear the six words that would have come somewhere around fifth or sixth on the list of phrases I'd most have liked a certain someone to say. Not for the first time, I felt like I was standing there with my soul bared and that my every desire was visible when she said "We will see each other again." Looking in those eyes it was almost possible to believe those words to be true despite my own doubts on the matter and the memory of that moment, easily the most heavily replayed one of the whole day, still draws a smile to my lips.
Au revoir, my friends. Adieu Leeds. Auf wiedersehen shining glow of an otherwise unattainable happiness. We will see each other again
In the end, it was actually a much happier occasion than I thought. For all that that I like to see modernisation everywhere, the ancient-feeling pomp and ceremony of the, er ... ceremony, really spoke to me. From my second-row-from-the-back vantage point I had an excellent view of what was merely 100 pointy hats away from being a scene from Harry Potter. If you are familiar with my, let's call it love (obsession sounds so seedy), for Harry Potter, you will understand how happy this made me.
Anyway, with lectures finishing so long ago it already felt like uni was over, so instead of the final chapter, today was the perfect addendum to the story of the last few years. I'd like to think that I had some part in my not being depressed. Having billed everything I could over the last few months as "THE END", I'd somehow nullified the finality of the day and turned it into just a great chance to see friends (in some cases perhaps a last chance).
I guess that's what it's supposed to be. It's a funeral for your student days but as always it's a celebration of life rather than a sad occasion. The idea is to look to the future and how this great experience will now help you going forward but I went to uni for uni's sake, not for my future career. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who felt the pangs of finality but then I also know we were all so happy to be there in our gowns, having our hard work recognised.
I can't help looking to the past, I should list it as my place of residence on official documents, but even as the ceremony concluded, consigning my favourite time and place to the past and tethering me yet stronger to my tendency for reminiscence rather than new experiences my happiness could not be dented. In fact it lasted all evening. Never in the history of human endeavour has something been dreaded so terribly by so few for so long, and then so heartily enjoyed.
After the main event was concluded came the part I'd really been dreading. Since the first time I realised exactly how much I loved my life (a feeling I was having for possibly the first time), this moment had been part of my nightmares. It is the moment of goodbye.
Now, I've said before how shit I am at maintaining a friendship. But then again there have never been friendships I've so wanted to maintain. I still have little faith in my ability to do so, but my motivation for the task gives me some small modicum of confidence that I might do it this time. And my favourite moment of the day was contained in this dread hour, at the time of my final departure came, not the words I'd been longing to hear - they shall remain forever unspoken - but I did hear the six words that would have come somewhere around fifth or sixth on the list of phrases I'd most have liked a certain someone to say. Not for the first time, I felt like I was standing there with my soul bared and that my every desire was visible when she said "We will see each other again." Looking in those eyes it was almost possible to believe those words to be true despite my own doubts on the matter and the memory of that moment, easily the most heavily replayed one of the whole day, still draws a smile to my lips.
Au revoir, my friends. Adieu Leeds. Auf wiedersehen shining glow of an otherwise unattainable happiness. We will see each other again
Thursday, 5 July 2012
Blog Chalenge Day 5: I give up.
Yeah, why are you even reading this?
Fine.
I did have some more stuff written and ready to post but I'm giving up because it's shit. I'm much better at blogging on an as and when basis. Dailly posting is too much work and I can't keep the quality up. Given the terribly low starting point for quality, that's really not a good thing.
Yeah, I gave up because I couldn't be arsed.
The end.
Back whenever.
Fine.
I did have some more stuff written and ready to post but I'm giving up because it's shit. I'm much better at blogging on an as and when basis. Dailly posting is too much work and I can't keep the quality up. Given the terribly low starting point for quality, that's really not a good thing.
Yeah, I gave up because I couldn't be arsed.
The end.
Back whenever.
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Holy Crap! You're Jesus Christ! Blog Challenge Day 4
It's a looks thing only, but then I guess most celebrity comparisons are. Anyway, most people will happily tell you that I look like Jesus, with my long hair and scraggly beard combo. My habit of going round wearing a bed sheet and flip-flops probably doesn't help either. I jest, of course: it's crocs, I wouldn't be seen dead and nailed to a cross wearing flip-flops.
If you want to know if I'm actually like Jesus, it depends on which Jesus we're talking about, of course, but I'd say yes on the proviso that we consider Jesus without the "Son of God" stuff. Which leaves us with a man who is famous for his long hair and beard. Definitely me. The Jesus I think existed was a great leader of men and preached a message of social justice. I'd like to think that could me.
The only gripe I have with being Jesus is that the bloody Beatles are bigger and better than me. On the face of it that's fine but the only surviving Beatles are the world's most arrrogant man and Ringo "Don't call me by my stage name" Starr. If John and George were still about, I'd bow down and worship but as it is I don't think so.
Incidentally, the one other celebrity I've been compared to is John Lennon, mainly because of the iconic picture of him in his hairy, beardy phase when he's wearing those little round sunglasses and I ... once wore a pair of sunglasses (blame my brother, it was he who saw the "resemblance"). Oh, and I'm told that when I was little (like really little, too young to have the nous to make this shit up) I heard "Imagine" on the radio and after about three bars I claimed I'd written it. John Lennon in a previous life? You decide.
If you want to know if I'm actually like Jesus, it depends on which Jesus we're talking about, of course, but I'd say yes on the proviso that we consider Jesus without the "Son of God" stuff. Which leaves us with a man who is famous for his long hair and beard. Definitely me. The Jesus I think existed was a great leader of men and preached a message of social justice. I'd like to think that could me.
The only gripe I have with being Jesus is that the bloody Beatles are bigger and better than me. On the face of it that's fine but the only surviving Beatles are the world's most arrrogant man and Ringo "Don't call me by my stage name" Starr. If John and George were still about, I'd bow down and worship but as it is I don't think so.
Incidentally, the one other celebrity I've been compared to is John Lennon, mainly because of the iconic picture of him in his hairy, beardy phase when he's wearing those little round sunglasses and I ... once wore a pair of sunglasses (blame my brother, it was he who saw the "resemblance"). Oh, and I'm told that when I was little (like really little, too young to have the nous to make this shit up) I heard "Imagine" on the radio and after about three bars I claimed I'd written it. John Lennon in a previous life? You decide.
Blog Challenge Day 3: Tara
My childhood pet - in fact, my pet for most of my life - was a tabby cat by the name of Tara. Rescued from being put down at the age of just a few months, Tara was with our family for 21 years, finally succumbing to a stroke in 2009.
People say cats aren't as affectionate as dogs, but these are generally people who have never owned a cat. In a way, it's the same as human beings, some animals or people go in for over the top displays of emotion and some prefer the quiet contenment that comes from two good friends enjoying each other's company. You can tell I grew up in a cat house (no, not as in brothel you sordid bastards), as I'm much more content to just sit and enjoy being in people's company rather than jump up and hump their legs as soon as they walk in the room.
Anyway, in the case of my cat, she was very good at just being there. When I'd had bad days at school (and there were plenty of those over the years), after the standard parental post-school interrogation, she'd just sit on my knees while I watched TV or whatever and barely move all night, even though normally she'd be more likely to be out on the street fighting (read: scratching the hell out of) the nieghbours' dogs . It sounds stupid and simple but it was always a comfort.
It's been three years (good God, where did that time go?) since the day I buried her in the back garden. Where there was a parched and barren square of ground, the grass has regrown now because I can't bring myself to play football out there any more and there's a small depression in the ground where the cardboard box we pressed into service as a coffin has decomposed and fallen away.
People say cats aren't as affectionate as dogs, but these are generally people who have never owned a cat. In a way, it's the same as human beings, some animals or people go in for over the top displays of emotion and some prefer the quiet contenment that comes from two good friends enjoying each other's company. You can tell I grew up in a cat house (no, not as in brothel you sordid bastards), as I'm much more content to just sit and enjoy being in people's company rather than jump up and hump their legs as soon as they walk in the room.
Anyway, in the case of my cat, she was very good at just being there. When I'd had bad days at school (and there were plenty of those over the years), after the standard parental post-school interrogation, she'd just sit on my knees while I watched TV or whatever and barely move all night, even though normally she'd be more likely to be out on the street fighting (read: scratching the hell out of) the nieghbours' dogs . It sounds stupid and simple but it was always a comfort.
It's been three years (good God, where did that time go?) since the day I buried her in the back garden. Where there was a parched and barren square of ground, the grass has regrown now because I can't bring myself to play football out there any more and there's a small depression in the ground where the cardboard box we pressed into service as a coffin has decomposed and fallen away.
Monday, 2 July 2012
Yeah, I was just running out of ideas, to be honest. Blog Challenge Day 2
Thank you random blog generator, you pillock.
So, in the course of trying to make this blog challenge include only topics that suited me I had to use a couple of topic generators and "Going to the movie alone" would not stop coming up and it brought to mind a time when I'd had to go to see film without someone I was looking forward to spending some time with. It's a bollocks topic and what I'm about to write doesn't actually come under this topic but meh, what are you gonna do?
So, gather round all ye to hear the tale of the time I went to see a movie "alone", with one other person.
You know when you get caught in the gravity of someone else's invitation to an event? You know, when you're stood there as your friend is invited to a party or night out by someone else and then it's kind of awkward so you get invited too? Yeah, well when there is a party of three going somewhere and two of those people merely got caught in the gravity of one of the other's invitation, you get some sort of invitational black hole and the entire event matrix breaks down, making one person disappear.
Excuse the nerdgasm, what I mean is, I was only invited to go watch a film because I was sat right next to two of my friends arranging a trip to the cinema, but then I ended up in charge of organising it and in truth I only really cared about going with one of them, so I'd been caught in the gravity of the other person's invite and they were caught in the gravity of me wanting to spend some time with the third person.
You see where this is going... the third person dropped out for some unknown reason and I ended up going to watch a film with someone who, whilst a friend, and a good one too, was not the target of this excursion. To make matters worse, I have a sneaking suspicion they may have seen this as a semi-date.
On a related note: how shit of a date is going to watch a film? It's become a staple of the couples scene but I don't quite get what's so romantic about me saying: "hey, let's go and sit in a darkened room where we can't see or speak to each other on really uncomfortable chairs, surrounded by sweaty strangers." It has been pointed out to me that the darkness offers an opportunity for smooching. I would counter this by pointing out that choosing a darkened setting for such intimacy does rather suggest you'd rather not see your date's face.
So, maybe going alone isn't such a bad thing, just make sure you go alone on your own and not with a friend.
So, in the course of trying to make this blog challenge include only topics that suited me I had to use a couple of topic generators and "Going to the movie alone" would not stop coming up and it brought to mind a time when I'd had to go to see film without someone I was looking forward to spending some time with. It's a bollocks topic and what I'm about to write doesn't actually come under this topic but meh, what are you gonna do?
So, gather round all ye to hear the tale of the time I went to see a movie "alone", with one other person.
You know when you get caught in the gravity of someone else's invitation to an event? You know, when you're stood there as your friend is invited to a party or night out by someone else and then it's kind of awkward so you get invited too? Yeah, well when there is a party of three going somewhere and two of those people merely got caught in the gravity of one of the other's invitation, you get some sort of invitational black hole and the entire event matrix breaks down, making one person disappear.
Excuse the nerdgasm, what I mean is, I was only invited to go watch a film because I was sat right next to two of my friends arranging a trip to the cinema, but then I ended up in charge of organising it and in truth I only really cared about going with one of them, so I'd been caught in the gravity of the other person's invite and they were caught in the gravity of me wanting to spend some time with the third person.
You see where this is going... the third person dropped out for some unknown reason and I ended up going to watch a film with someone who, whilst a friend, and a good one too, was not the target of this excursion. To make matters worse, I have a sneaking suspicion they may have seen this as a semi-date.
On a related note: how shit of a date is going to watch a film? It's become a staple of the couples scene but I don't quite get what's so romantic about me saying: "hey, let's go and sit in a darkened room where we can't see or speak to each other on really uncomfortable chairs, surrounded by sweaty strangers." It has been pointed out to me that the darkness offers an opportunity for smooching. I would counter this by pointing out that choosing a darkened setting for such intimacy does rather suggest you'd rather not see your date's face.
So, maybe going alone isn't such a bad thing, just make sure you go alone on your own and not with a friend.
Sunday, 1 July 2012
Blog Challenge Day 1. Dream Job.
No particular reason why this comes first, other than I made a little joke with the title which registered about a 0.03 out of a hundred on the funny scale and has only been depreciating since so I'd better get it out of the way before we go any further.
Dream Job: FBI operatvive, standard.
That's right: Federal Booby Inspectorate.
[pause for laughs/awkward silence]
Very well, then. Moving on...
So, my dream job would be to be given money for doing nothing, same as everyone elses. Unfortunately, that job does not exist, so I'll have to look elsewhere.
If I'm honest, there's still a part of me that thinks I could make it in professional football, despite the fact that this is patently absurd. With little skill and even less fitness that dream will forever remain nothing more than a fantasy.
Dream number two would be to be a novelist, but I don't have the motivation or the imagination required to write 250+ pages of well thought out and enjoyable material. I could possibly ghost-write for someone but I think it would be soul-destroying to see your work out there with someone else's name on it.
I've had some compliments over the course of writing this blog, but I still don't think I'm that good at writing so I'll probably do what my mother did and one day I'll write something but never get the brave up to try and get it published.
Dream three would be to be a musician, but whilst I've got more skill with a bass guitar than I have with a football, I've less motivation to practice and learn to play than I have to write. So that dream is no more likely than any other. Plus, I'd want to sing and anyone who's heard me try that would attest that it's not a good idea.
Also in there are acting and politics, but I'm not "TV pretty" and have no charisma so they're both out too.
So, feet on the ground. A job that I can actually do and that I would enjoy. I have literally no idea. In all but a few situations I have absolutely no self-confidence and as a result I always think I'll be terrible at almost any job you care to mention, and whether that's true or not, it means that I have shy away from trying to get that job. To be honest I can't face the idea of a "normal" job. The idea is almost unpalatable to me. Maybe it's because I'm a product of the "famous for being famous" generation but I've never fancied working in a shop or a bar or an office or any other normal place. I always saw myself in some exotic location doing something incredibly fun that pays ridiculously well despite being not even remotely like real work.
Gizza job
Dream Job: FBI operatvive, standard.
That's right: Federal Booby Inspectorate.
[pause for laughs/awkward silence]
Very well, then. Moving on...
So, my dream job would be to be given money for doing nothing, same as everyone elses. Unfortunately, that job does not exist, so I'll have to look elsewhere.
If I'm honest, there's still a part of me that thinks I could make it in professional football, despite the fact that this is patently absurd. With little skill and even less fitness that dream will forever remain nothing more than a fantasy.
Dream number two would be to be a novelist, but I don't have the motivation or the imagination required to write 250+ pages of well thought out and enjoyable material. I could possibly ghost-write for someone but I think it would be soul-destroying to see your work out there with someone else's name on it.
I've had some compliments over the course of writing this blog, but I still don't think I'm that good at writing so I'll probably do what my mother did and one day I'll write something but never get the brave up to try and get it published.
Dream three would be to be a musician, but whilst I've got more skill with a bass guitar than I have with a football, I've less motivation to practice and learn to play than I have to write. So that dream is no more likely than any other. Plus, I'd want to sing and anyone who's heard me try that would attest that it's not a good idea.
Also in there are acting and politics, but I'm not "TV pretty" and have no charisma so they're both out too.
So, feet on the ground. A job that I can actually do and that I would enjoy. I have literally no idea. In all but a few situations I have absolutely no self-confidence and as a result I always think I'll be terrible at almost any job you care to mention, and whether that's true or not, it means that I have shy away from trying to get that job. To be honest I can't face the idea of a "normal" job. The idea is almost unpalatable to me. Maybe it's because I'm a product of the "famous for being famous" generation but I've never fancied working in a shop or a bar or an office or any other normal place. I always saw myself in some exotic location doing something incredibly fun that pays ridiculously well despite being not even remotely like real work.
Gizza job
Thursday, 21 June 2012
The 30 Day Blog Challenge! Well, I'm not one to let a good bandwagon just roll on by.
I'm not starting yet, and I'm going to cheat massively, but nonetheless the 30 day blog challenge is about to get underway. In honesty, I haven't finished the last challenge I set myself. There are still more than a few out there who didn't get their section of my little series of posts about friends, but nobody seems too distraught about it and I don't think the ones I haven't got to yet are readers so it's cool.
Now, I'm not one for the old 30 day challenge, I couldn't be arsed with that 30 day song challenge that went round facebook a couple of years ago. Instead, I created a facebook note and simply wrote all the answers in there. In honesty, this is more my métier:
But I'll soldier on regardless. Anyway, the slight problem I'm having is tailoring my 30 topics to suit. I've got 26 topics covering a range of subjects and writing styles so far - pilfered from fellow bloggers, various 30 day challenges and a couple of random topic generators. I'm going to spend time thinking of some more but any suggestions or requests are welcome. I'll probably start some time next week, or make it 31 topics and just do one every day of July, I haven't decided yet.
My list of topics (with their current working titles) is, in no particular order:
So, I'll see you soon.
PS. as always, I've sprinkled my work with a light dashing of not-so-pop-culture references. 1,000 points are on offer for correctly identifying all the book/song/movie/TV quotes and references in the titles of these upcoming blogs.
Adios.
Now, I'm not one for the old 30 day challenge, I couldn't be arsed with that 30 day song challenge that went round facebook a couple of years ago. Instead, I created a facebook note and simply wrote all the answers in there. In honesty, this is more my métier:
 |
My list of topics (with their current working titles) is, in no particular order:
- Famous person I've been compared to (Holy Crap! You're Jesus Christ)
- Childhood pet (Tara)
- Top five places to live (Location, Location, Lo ... w Price)
- What band or musician is most important to me? (This album is literally the reason for my existence)
- Favourite books (Is This Just Fantasy?)
- Dream Wedding (It's a Nice Day)
- If I could have any job ... (FBI Operative, Standard)
- Top Ten Top Tens (Top Ten Top Tens)
- Cats or Dogs (Getting in Touch with my Feline Side)
- My Home Town (Home Town Blues)
- Celebrity crushes (Well, This Will Not be Awkward at all)
- Lyrics that apply (Sad Songs Say so Much: I hope you've got all day)
- Belief in "the one" (Holy shit! It's an Anagram of Neo! Mind. Blown.)
- Inspiration (So, you wrote these questions on the way to the interview then?)
- Fictional Characters (Life Mimicking Art: Or some equally pretentious bollocks)
- Places I have lived (Take Me Home)
- Concerts I've attended (I like that old time Rock and Roll)
- Writing my own songs (Now, what rhymes with pretentious bullcrap?)
- My life from someone else's point of view (Writing in the 2nd person)
- "What if... ?" (What if... ?)
- Pay or Job satisfaction (They hand you a paycheck every week, and steal a piece of your soul every day)
- What I would do with three months off (Unemployment is too stressful, I'll take a sabbatical)
- Brothers and Sisters (Oh, Brother!)
- A time I want to experience again (Took me all of three seconds to come up with an answer to this)
- When other people tell me what to do (Don't jump off the cliff, you say? Well...)
- Going to the movie alone (You know what? I was just running out of ideas)
So, I'll see you soon.
PS. as always, I've sprinkled my work with a light dashing of not-so-pop-culture references. 1,000 points are on offer for correctly identifying all the book/song/movie/TV quotes and references in the titles of these upcoming blogs.
Adios.
Friday, 15 June 2012
Final Nail In The Coffin.
Although graduation is yet to happen, this feels like the final toll of the bell for university: the great move out begins. Well, obviously not right now because I'm blogging not packing but I would suspect that by the time most of you read this I'll be at home in the bosom of my family once more.
This is great because I really do like being with my family, hence why I go to see them every weekend. They are the first friends I had and even though living in such close proximity to three other people can get testing, I wouldn't ever want to move too far away. On the other hand, last night was such a good one that when I finally wandered back to my room with dawn breaking around me, leaving my mates behind me it felt like marching towards death
This room, in which I have now slept for the last time, has witnessed so much emotion. This little hide-away, my inner sanctum, has allowed me to remove myself from the world whilst remaining in touching distance of it. Now I'm going back into solitary confinement in the prison that is life and I've done my share of that. I don't want to be that guy any more.
Random chance has seen fit to land me in a situation where I thought I'd never be. If I had the money I would now be more than willing to move away from Chesterfield. I always envisioned the day when I leave home but I never thought I'd want to go more than a few miles away. Most of my family live in that town and the closeness that comes from this is amazing. The one person who ever moved away was like me in a sense, she's the only one of my family I know who went to uni and when her course ended she just stayed where she was. The major difference is, it wasn't to be near mates because as far as I can tell she's not got any. She also clearly has very little love for the rest of the family, so the only role model I have in this moving away business is a terrible one.
Of course, even returning to the place where I've had such good times won't cease the endless march of time. If I come back to Leeds, a lot of the awesome people I know here will have dispersed, and I can't rule out the possibility of more leaving in the future.
This is the problem with becoming attached to human beings, they have lives of their own and can be wild and unpredictable at times.
You know, a lot of this blog has been how I don't want to leave uni because of being in love with a fellow student, but I'm used to living with a love unrequited, almost from the moment I start playing the game of love I'm prepared to lose. I'm sure someone's using loaded dice. At the death I find the thing I really can't do without is the other people, the most important people to me right now are not the ones I vowed to walk the whole world to find, but the ones I didn't even know I was looking for.
This is great because I really do like being with my family, hence why I go to see them every weekend. They are the first friends I had and even though living in such close proximity to three other people can get testing, I wouldn't ever want to move too far away. On the other hand, last night was such a good one that when I finally wandered back to my room with dawn breaking around me, leaving my mates behind me it felt like marching towards death
This room, in which I have now slept for the last time, has witnessed so much emotion. This little hide-away, my inner sanctum, has allowed me to remove myself from the world whilst remaining in touching distance of it. Now I'm going back into solitary confinement in the prison that is life and I've done my share of that. I don't want to be that guy any more.
Random chance has seen fit to land me in a situation where I thought I'd never be. If I had the money I would now be more than willing to move away from Chesterfield. I always envisioned the day when I leave home but I never thought I'd want to go more than a few miles away. Most of my family live in that town and the closeness that comes from this is amazing. The one person who ever moved away was like me in a sense, she's the only one of my family I know who went to uni and when her course ended she just stayed where she was. The major difference is, it wasn't to be near mates because as far as I can tell she's not got any. She also clearly has very little love for the rest of the family, so the only role model I have in this moving away business is a terrible one.
Of course, even returning to the place where I've had such good times won't cease the endless march of time. If I come back to Leeds, a lot of the awesome people I know here will have dispersed, and I can't rule out the possibility of more leaving in the future.
This is the problem with becoming attached to human beings, they have lives of their own and can be wild and unpredictable at times.
You know, a lot of this blog has been how I don't want to leave uni because of being in love with a fellow student, but I'm used to living with a love unrequited, almost from the moment I start playing the game of love I'm prepared to lose. I'm sure someone's using loaded dice. At the death I find the thing I really can't do without is the other people, the most important people to me right now are not the ones I vowed to walk the whole world to find, but the ones I didn't even know I was looking for.
On Being George Lucas. And being friends with Mike Bassett.
Not that I am George Lucas or anything. Just that I can empathise with the pressure he's under. Now I'm not saying that billions of people will read this blog and wait for years in fretful anticipation of the next instalment and then shout at me when I do it "wrong". Of course not. But I've had a request, for the first time ever the task of writing has been placed upon me by someone other than a teacher or lecturer and I can feel some small fraction - perhaps a trillionth - of what George Lucas feels every day.
It is said that observation changes the nature of the thing which is observed and that is certainly true. Just look at my first entry in this blog, which I wasn't expecting to ever show to anyone. It is quite different to say the fifteenth one I did when I knew I had a readership, however small, and both are different to the first blog I wrote on another site, way back last summer and which I never intend anyone to read ever because it really is the most pointless bit of drivel in history. I say that a lot about my writing, but trust me this time I could not be more right. The point is, I'm different depending on who's reading and why. Therefore, when I write the rest of this post, I'm going to be getting that under the microscope feeling somewhat more than usual. And thus, this might not be my most sincere entry, although I'll do my best to stay true to what the fans want. And so, without further ado, Good Friends Episode III, Revenge of the Sith. (Episodes I and II).
Imp.
Based on your football team, of course, your name has been one thing holding up your segment of this mini-series. I really couldn't think of anything better but now you've forced my hand I'll just have to go with it.
Another reason why this has taken so long is that you are an enigma to me. We hang out a lot, largely because we both enjoy the atmosphere of the chaplaincy lounge so even if we weren't friends we'd still see a lot of each other. But despite this I feel like I don't really know you that well and things I do know baffle me. You're a good laugh and never afraid to make a wise crack. Your taste in music is largely tolerable and you're a football fan so it's easy to be around you. But on the other hand, your humour is not always to my tastes, most of the gigs you have been to would make me want to kill myself and our footballing philosophies differ wildly. We are at once so similar and so different and so we probably won't ever be best friends but you definitely have been a big part of my university experience.
In truth I still don't know what to make of you. I'm glad we're friends and I like you, but it seems there's a lot more to you than the man I know and I don't know how much of the unknown stuff about you I would want to find out. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, although I see how you could feel a little unsure about it. I guess the moral is be careful what you wish for. Many people waited a lifetime for the conclusion of the Star Wars franchise and they were left unsure as to whether it had been worth it, and I guess you might be feeling a little similarly about this.
If it makes you feel any better, you do get this blog entry to yourself.
Arrivederci.
It is said that observation changes the nature of the thing which is observed and that is certainly true. Just look at my first entry in this blog, which I wasn't expecting to ever show to anyone. It is quite different to say the fifteenth one I did when I knew I had a readership, however small, and both are different to the first blog I wrote on another site, way back last summer and which I never intend anyone to read ever because it really is the most pointless bit of drivel in history. I say that a lot about my writing, but trust me this time I could not be more right. The point is, I'm different depending on who's reading and why. Therefore, when I write the rest of this post, I'm going to be getting that under the microscope feeling somewhat more than usual. And thus, this might not be my most sincere entry, although I'll do my best to stay true to what the fans want. And so, without further ado, Good Friends Episode III, Revenge of the Sith. (Episodes I and II).
Imp.
Based on your football team, of course, your name has been one thing holding up your segment of this mini-series. I really couldn't think of anything better but now you've forced my hand I'll just have to go with it.
Another reason why this has taken so long is that you are an enigma to me. We hang out a lot, largely because we both enjoy the atmosphere of the chaplaincy lounge so even if we weren't friends we'd still see a lot of each other. But despite this I feel like I don't really know you that well and things I do know baffle me. You're a good laugh and never afraid to make a wise crack. Your taste in music is largely tolerable and you're a football fan so it's easy to be around you. But on the other hand, your humour is not always to my tastes, most of the gigs you have been to would make me want to kill myself and our footballing philosophies differ wildly. We are at once so similar and so different and so we probably won't ever be best friends but you definitely have been a big part of my university experience.
In truth I still don't know what to make of you. I'm glad we're friends and I like you, but it seems there's a lot more to you than the man I know and I don't know how much of the unknown stuff about you I would want to find out. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, although I see how you could feel a little unsure about it. I guess the moral is be careful what you wish for. Many people waited a lifetime for the conclusion of the Star Wars franchise and they were left unsure as to whether it had been worth it, and I guess you might be feeling a little similarly about this.
If it makes you feel any better, you do get this blog entry to yourself.
Arrivederci.
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
Friends part 2: It's not that I like you less, just that you're less memorable.
First off, that was a joke, of course I like you less. Kidding.
Anyways, this was going to be something else but it got too much like a suicide note and all the random blog generator gave me was stuff that would have led me back to the friend post anyway, so here it is, Good Friends part II.
You Have No Name
Sorry about that but I'm 99% sure you don't read this anyway, so most of what I'm saying will be irrelevant to any reader and for that I don't have time to think of a suitable name. Plus, in the event that you do read it, I feel like only you should know it's about you.
We're friends under false pretences. I'm a lying bastard and you'd do better to forget about me. But no matter how shit a friend I am, you can't seem to give up on me. I thank you for your loyalty but I fear it is misplaced.
And I think I know why you won't let me go. No-one should be this loyal to a scumbag like me and so a small part of me thinks the rumours about us that circulated very quietly for a short while last year may be your secret desire. It feels like narcissism when I think that but at the same time I can't ignore the opinions of external observers who mostly seem to agree with me. I hope I'm wrong because although it will make me look a bit of a fool for writing all this, it would be better for everyone if you didn't love me.
On the other hand, if I'm correct in my assumptions, I know better than anyone the futility of telling you to forget about it. If I tell you to get over it, I'm the biggest hypocrite in the world because I have an immediate hatred of people who use those words to me.
I wish you'd just come out and say it. I know how hard that is, really I do, but you can count on me to handle it sensitively and I'd just like to know one way or another. If I'm right, maybe I can be a better friend in the future, if I'm wrong maybe I should seek help for my obvious narcissistic delusions. Either way, it could only have positive repercussions.
Behind Door #1
The third ex-housemate to get a mention. You've had a passing reference before but you've never read this blog, as far as I know. We were good friends before we moved in together but in all honesty you are the worst person to live with and I won't deny I hated you for a while. This vitriolic sentiment lasted long after we left the house but since Christmas time I've been reminded why we were friends in the first place and I'm willing to forget that you even lived in that house, thereby eradicating those bad feelings. You actually won me back at Grad Ball. Before you were drunk enough to marvel at my height, you showed a more compassionate side to yourself which I must admit I'd never witnessed, even before we lived together.
Still, I can't bring myself to show you as much respect as you might otherwise deserve. You told me about something you encountered on your travels and how you left it behind. Before I came to university I vowed that if necessary I'd travel even further than you did in pursuit of what you found. I was lucky, I didn't have to go to the other side of the world. But you gave your treasure up for no good reason, whereas the majority of my life in the last three years has been concentrated on preserving mine, even though I only know its location and not how to access it. Your lack of reverence for your own treasure and your reaction to me showing you my treasure map, leads me to pity you. You left your bounty for any passing pirate to plunder. At least I know mine is in safe hands, even if they're not my hands.
Behind Door #2
Well, we lived together for a year as well but I probably know you least well of all. It's a shame really, because we got on well but you disappeared when you got a girlfriend. Not that I blame you or her, I would have been exactly the same.
What is there to say really? I love you man, but I never see you these days. Mostly it's my own fault but I do miss your banter and general tekkers.
Oh and you look more like a bespectacled Tomasz Kuszczak than Russell Howard.
Anyways, this was going to be something else but it got too much like a suicide note and all the random blog generator gave me was stuff that would have led me back to the friend post anyway, so here it is, Good Friends part II.
You Have No Name
Sorry about that but I'm 99% sure you don't read this anyway, so most of what I'm saying will be irrelevant to any reader and for that I don't have time to think of a suitable name. Plus, in the event that you do read it, I feel like only you should know it's about you.
We're friends under false pretences. I'm a lying bastard and you'd do better to forget about me. But no matter how shit a friend I am, you can't seem to give up on me. I thank you for your loyalty but I fear it is misplaced.
And I think I know why you won't let me go. No-one should be this loyal to a scumbag like me and so a small part of me thinks the rumours about us that circulated very quietly for a short while last year may be your secret desire. It feels like narcissism when I think that but at the same time I can't ignore the opinions of external observers who mostly seem to agree with me. I hope I'm wrong because although it will make me look a bit of a fool for writing all this, it would be better for everyone if you didn't love me.
On the other hand, if I'm correct in my assumptions, I know better than anyone the futility of telling you to forget about it. If I tell you to get over it, I'm the biggest hypocrite in the world because I have an immediate hatred of people who use those words to me.
I wish you'd just come out and say it. I know how hard that is, really I do, but you can count on me to handle it sensitively and I'd just like to know one way or another. If I'm right, maybe I can be a better friend in the future, if I'm wrong maybe I should seek help for my obvious narcissistic delusions. Either way, it could only have positive repercussions.
Behind Door #1
The third ex-housemate to get a mention. You've had a passing reference before but you've never read this blog, as far as I know. We were good friends before we moved in together but in all honesty you are the worst person to live with and I won't deny I hated you for a while. This vitriolic sentiment lasted long after we left the house but since Christmas time I've been reminded why we were friends in the first place and I'm willing to forget that you even lived in that house, thereby eradicating those bad feelings. You actually won me back at Grad Ball. Before you were drunk enough to marvel at my height, you showed a more compassionate side to yourself which I must admit I'd never witnessed, even before we lived together.
Still, I can't bring myself to show you as much respect as you might otherwise deserve. You told me about something you encountered on your travels and how you left it behind. Before I came to university I vowed that if necessary I'd travel even further than you did in pursuit of what you found. I was lucky, I didn't have to go to the other side of the world. But you gave your treasure up for no good reason, whereas the majority of my life in the last three years has been concentrated on preserving mine, even though I only know its location and not how to access it. Your lack of reverence for your own treasure and your reaction to me showing you my treasure map, leads me to pity you. You left your bounty for any passing pirate to plunder. At least I know mine is in safe hands, even if they're not my hands.
Behind Door #2
Well, we lived together for a year as well but I probably know you least well of all. It's a shame really, because we got on well but you disappeared when you got a girlfriend. Not that I blame you or her, I would have been exactly the same.
What is there to say really? I love you man, but I never see you these days. Mostly it's my own fault but I do miss your banter and general tekkers.
Oh and you look more like a bespectacled Tomasz Kuszczak than Russell Howard.
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Well, that's all for this time. Back in a few days with part III.
Monday, 11 June 2012
Good Friends I Had, Good Friends I Lost.
That's a vague-ish and entirely unrelated to the point of this post Bob Marley reference, by the way. I haven't actually lost any friends. As I've said before I am paranoid about losing some but that's another matter.
Anyway, this is just about friends in general. I keep saying in this blog how much I love you all but I don't know if I say it enough. The specific people I'm thinking of have been in my life for two or three years now and I feel it's time I said a few things that needs to be said, albeit through a blog that only a few of you read. I'm sorry, I'm just not good at the whole face-to-face thing. As always, I'm keeping names out of it. I'm not sure why I do that, it just seems better that way, plus giving you all code-names appeals to my love of spy fiction. And nor will I be leaving any more clues as to who my mystery girl is, some of you know and some have guessed (rightly or wrongly) her identity but that is something that needs to be said face-to-face, or at least privately, and whether I get the brave up for that ultimate act of futility or not, this is not the place.
Only selected friends will be appearing this time around, but there will most certainly be a part II to this entry.
First up, Baby Bovine.
Dude, you were the first friend I made at uni. I still remember us stood a little awkwardly outside AS21 (I think), waiting for our first introduction to the course and we bonded over something that I can't quite remember, probably Star Wars knowing us. I promised you a nickname and that kind of died, but I guess if you are one of my few readers and you see this you can have Baby Bovine. It comes from something you say about your surname anyway, so it's kind of you that came up with it but to be honest, I drew a blank on the whole nickname thing.
Over the last three years we've lived together, laughed and cried together and loved and lost together. There's been times I've completely failed to understand you and times I felt you didn't quite get me, you've pissed me off at times more than anyone else and I'm sure I've done the same to you but in a way I wouldn't change it, it just works so well, you and me.
You were the first person I voluntarily told about my secret love and you read that shitty love-letter type thing that I wrote and in return I'd like to think I helped you in some way on your slightly rocky journey through the troubled land of amore. My advice hasn't always been the best but I'd like to think I never messed up too badly, except for the fact that I get well awkward around your lady friends (no idea why) and the weird coincidence that makes it seem that you can't hold on to a relationship when I go away.
I think I'll probably write the least about you because we know each other well enough that it doesn't need saying. To be fair I don't reckon you'll read it anyway so I guess it doesn't matter either way.
This last year it feels like we've seen less of each other than we should have considering we live in practically the same building but maybe that's because we actually lived together for a while. I'm leaving soon and though I hope to be back a lot, I'll still miss you.
My wish for you is that your current heartache goes away. I'm not telling you that you will or even that you should get over it, because that's the last thing one should wish on a friend, but I hope that there's some solace to be found somewhere or better yet, that the events of the last week can be reversed. I've thought about offering advice but I know how someone else's advice would be the last thing I'd want in your shoes and I'm assuming you feel the same.
And I hope you find everything else you ever go looking for.
Blogger Buddy
Another ex-housemate. We never knew each other too well even when we did live together, and that's my fault entirely. To be honest I met you like twice before I joined the house-sharing party and by then you were my friend's girlfriend - I should point out, I'm terrible with people's other halves: in fact I think I panic more about how my friends' girlfriends see me than how my own would and when I get nervous I clam up. Of course it doesn't help that you're a beautiful woman, and I generally do not cope well with beautiful women. I know you don't like to hear that but it's true. Maybe it's different coming from me, since we're just friends maybe I can say it. I hope so, I wouldn't want to think I'd made you uncomfortable in any way.
You know, of course, that you're not my secret lady. In fact you seem to be one of the few who knows who she is without being told. You're either a much shrewder guesser than everyone else or I've given away more in these blogs than I had intended or you're much better at being my friend than I am yours. Either way, your repeated offers of a chat truly are gratefully received. It's nice to know that you're there for me but for the reasons I've already stated I don't think I could take you up on those offers. It's not you, it's me. However, I hope we continue to blog and to read each others posts for a long time, to be honest you're one of about three or four people who I actually think about while I'm writing and one of only about two who I count as a reader.
If I could go back in time and start uni again, you'd be one person I'd make a lot more effort with because I really wish we had been better friends for the last three years. The little friendship we've built up over the last two years is one that I really treasure, for all that I've learnt more about you through your blog than I have through normal human interaction. I do count you as a good friend and I hope that the feeling is mutual.
Basically, this is me apologising for being one hell of a shit friend. I hope it doesn't hurt our friendship in the years to come that I can't seem to talk to you properly outside of the blogosphere/facebook - I'll try to sort that out if I can - and regardless of this, as someone who's watched your journey over the last two years with interest, I wish you every happiness in the future.
Hermione
The other person who I count as a reader, it's a good job I sent you that text the other night or I would have no idea what code name to give you that's cryptic enough to preserve the privacy you like to have. If you think I've over-stepped the privacy line, by the way, I'll be more than happy to rectify my mistake.
It's been an interesting couple of weeks since you became my new best friend. [Sorry if anyone else thought they had the crown of best friend. I don't usually have a "best" friend and prefer to love you all equally, but Hermione and me have shared some deep stuff recently. If it makes it any better, I'm not actually her best friend, she's just mine.] Anyway, it's like we are almost the mirror image of each other, on the surface the same kind of person with similar recent experiences, but then you look closer and we've taken very different things from those experiences. I'm not saying one of us is right and the other is wrong but how you see your version of our slightly similar stories is very strange to me and I can't deny that sometimes I don't understand it at all. Still, I do my best to sympathise and whilst I don't understand the way you deal with your situation, allow me to again offer my sincerest empathy for the situation you are in. It sucks. But Ron will come round, one day he'll realise Lavender's not the one he wants, needs or loves and he'll quit chasing her.
If it's any consolation, having someone to share this stuff with has made me realise once again just how much I love my Ginny, and even though Dean Thomas shows no signs of falling by the wayside you've given me the strength to carry on when times get tough.
One day, perhaps 19 years later (sorry, stuck in Harry Potter mode), we'll look back on this and laugh. Rose and Hugo will be gearing up for life at Hogwarts (you are so sending your kids to Trinity, if my extended analogy falls apart because you fail to make them love LTUC I will not be happy) and the two of you will not be able to believe how long it took Ron to work out what he wanted.
On an insignificant and possibly too cryptic side note, just because I want to show off my Harry Potter knowledge, when I said earlier that Romilda Vane had possibly misinterpreted the anonymous Valentines day singing dwarf I sent roughly in Ginny's direction, I told you the wrong song, it actually sang the intro to "If I Can't Have You" not "Did You Ever Love Somebody". It doesn't matter that much of course but I mention it because 1) I hate factual inaccuracy, 2) It gave me an excuse to link the latter song - it's one of my favourites - and 3) the song I linked kind of reminds me of you and Ron, although of course I like to think it's me and Ginny too. I'm sure you've got your own song that fits the bill, probably by the Weird Sisters (I clearly enjoy Harry Potter too much), but I just figured I'd point that out.
It's been a crazy two years since we first met and the last two weeks seem to have taken up most of what I've had to say here but I feel I should leave it here because you've gotten much more said about you than anyone else and I don't want to show too much favouritism.
PS. I hope Cormac McLaggen stops bothering you soon. OK, I'll stop now.
[A bazillion points to the house of anyone who spotted every Harry Potter reference. Minus a bazillion from anyone who got only the ones that would have appeared in the films.]
Well, I've written a shed load for just three people. I figure I better leave it there for this post but I'll be back with more. Given that I don't know exactly who reads this blog, I don't know if anyone's going to be feeling left out. In the unlikely event that you want to see my take on you, you know where I am.
Anyway, this is just about friends in general. I keep saying in this blog how much I love you all but I don't know if I say it enough. The specific people I'm thinking of have been in my life for two or three years now and I feel it's time I said a few things that needs to be said, albeit through a blog that only a few of you read. I'm sorry, I'm just not good at the whole face-to-face thing. As always, I'm keeping names out of it. I'm not sure why I do that, it just seems better that way, plus giving you all code-names appeals to my love of spy fiction. And nor will I be leaving any more clues as to who my mystery girl is, some of you know and some have guessed (rightly or wrongly) her identity but that is something that needs to be said face-to-face, or at least privately, and whether I get the brave up for that ultimate act of futility or not, this is not the place.
Only selected friends will be appearing this time around, but there will most certainly be a part II to this entry.
First up, Baby Bovine.
Dude, you were the first friend I made at uni. I still remember us stood a little awkwardly outside AS21 (I think), waiting for our first introduction to the course and we bonded over something that I can't quite remember, probably Star Wars knowing us. I promised you a nickname and that kind of died, but I guess if you are one of my few readers and you see this you can have Baby Bovine. It comes from something you say about your surname anyway, so it's kind of you that came up with it but to be honest, I drew a blank on the whole nickname thing.
Over the last three years we've lived together, laughed and cried together and loved and lost together. There's been times I've completely failed to understand you and times I felt you didn't quite get me, you've pissed me off at times more than anyone else and I'm sure I've done the same to you but in a way I wouldn't change it, it just works so well, you and me.
You were the first person I voluntarily told about my secret love and you read that shitty love-letter type thing that I wrote and in return I'd like to think I helped you in some way on your slightly rocky journey through the troubled land of amore. My advice hasn't always been the best but I'd like to think I never messed up too badly, except for the fact that I get well awkward around your lady friends (no idea why) and the weird coincidence that makes it seem that you can't hold on to a relationship when I go away.
I think I'll probably write the least about you because we know each other well enough that it doesn't need saying. To be fair I don't reckon you'll read it anyway so I guess it doesn't matter either way.
This last year it feels like we've seen less of each other than we should have considering we live in practically the same building but maybe that's because we actually lived together for a while. I'm leaving soon and though I hope to be back a lot, I'll still miss you.
My wish for you is that your current heartache goes away. I'm not telling you that you will or even that you should get over it, because that's the last thing one should wish on a friend, but I hope that there's some solace to be found somewhere or better yet, that the events of the last week can be reversed. I've thought about offering advice but I know how someone else's advice would be the last thing I'd want in your shoes and I'm assuming you feel the same.
And I hope you find everything else you ever go looking for.
Blogger Buddy
Another ex-housemate. We never knew each other too well even when we did live together, and that's my fault entirely. To be honest I met you like twice before I joined the house-sharing party and by then you were my friend's girlfriend - I should point out, I'm terrible with people's other halves: in fact I think I panic more about how my friends' girlfriends see me than how my own would and when I get nervous I clam up. Of course it doesn't help that you're a beautiful woman, and I generally do not cope well with beautiful women. I know you don't like to hear that but it's true. Maybe it's different coming from me, since we're just friends maybe I can say it. I hope so, I wouldn't want to think I'd made you uncomfortable in any way.
You know, of course, that you're not my secret lady. In fact you seem to be one of the few who knows who she is without being told. You're either a much shrewder guesser than everyone else or I've given away more in these blogs than I had intended or you're much better at being my friend than I am yours. Either way, your repeated offers of a chat truly are gratefully received. It's nice to know that you're there for me but for the reasons I've already stated I don't think I could take you up on those offers. It's not you, it's me. However, I hope we continue to blog and to read each others posts for a long time, to be honest you're one of about three or four people who I actually think about while I'm writing and one of only about two who I count as a reader.
If I could go back in time and start uni again, you'd be one person I'd make a lot more effort with because I really wish we had been better friends for the last three years. The little friendship we've built up over the last two years is one that I really treasure, for all that I've learnt more about you through your blog than I have through normal human interaction. I do count you as a good friend and I hope that the feeling is mutual.
Basically, this is me apologising for being one hell of a shit friend. I hope it doesn't hurt our friendship in the years to come that I can't seem to talk to you properly outside of the blogosphere/facebook - I'll try to sort that out if I can - and regardless of this, as someone who's watched your journey over the last two years with interest, I wish you every happiness in the future.
Hermione
The other person who I count as a reader, it's a good job I sent you that text the other night or I would have no idea what code name to give you that's cryptic enough to preserve the privacy you like to have. If you think I've over-stepped the privacy line, by the way, I'll be more than happy to rectify my mistake.
It's been an interesting couple of weeks since you became my new best friend. [Sorry if anyone else thought they had the crown of best friend. I don't usually have a "best" friend and prefer to love you all equally, but Hermione and me have shared some deep stuff recently. If it makes it any better, I'm not actually her best friend, she's just mine.] Anyway, it's like we are almost the mirror image of each other, on the surface the same kind of person with similar recent experiences, but then you look closer and we've taken very different things from those experiences. I'm not saying one of us is right and the other is wrong but how you see your version of our slightly similar stories is very strange to me and I can't deny that sometimes I don't understand it at all. Still, I do my best to sympathise and whilst I don't understand the way you deal with your situation, allow me to again offer my sincerest empathy for the situation you are in. It sucks. But Ron will come round, one day he'll realise Lavender's not the one he wants, needs or loves and he'll quit chasing her.
If it's any consolation, having someone to share this stuff with has made me realise once again just how much I love my Ginny, and even though Dean Thomas shows no signs of falling by the wayside you've given me the strength to carry on when times get tough.
One day, perhaps 19 years later (sorry, stuck in Harry Potter mode), we'll look back on this and laugh. Rose and Hugo will be gearing up for life at Hogwarts (you are so sending your kids to Trinity, if my extended analogy falls apart because you fail to make them love LTUC I will not be happy) and the two of you will not be able to believe how long it took Ron to work out what he wanted.
On an insignificant and possibly too cryptic side note, just because I want to show off my Harry Potter knowledge, when I said earlier that Romilda Vane had possibly misinterpreted the anonymous Valentines day singing dwarf I sent roughly in Ginny's direction, I told you the wrong song, it actually sang the intro to "If I Can't Have You" not "Did You Ever Love Somebody". It doesn't matter that much of course but I mention it because 1) I hate factual inaccuracy, 2) It gave me an excuse to link the latter song - it's one of my favourites - and 3) the song I linked kind of reminds me of you and Ron, although of course I like to think it's me and Ginny too. I'm sure you've got your own song that fits the bill, probably by the Weird Sisters (I clearly enjoy Harry Potter too much), but I just figured I'd point that out.
It's been a crazy two years since we first met and the last two weeks seem to have taken up most of what I've had to say here but I feel I should leave it here because you've gotten much more said about you than anyone else and I don't want to show too much favouritism.
PS. I hope Cormac McLaggen stops bothering you soon. OK, I'll stop now.
[A bazillion points to the house of anyone who spotted every Harry Potter reference. Minus a bazillion from anyone who got only the ones that would have appeared in the films.]
Well, I've written a shed load for just three people. I figure I better leave it there for this post but I'll be back with more. Given that I don't know exactly who reads this blog, I don't know if anyone's going to be feeling left out. In the unlikely event that you want to see my take on you, you know where I am.
Tuesday, 5 June 2012
Randomly Generated Topic #2: What Would I Do With A Million Quid?
This topic came up on the random topic generator and it seemed like some good old-fashioned escapism and lord knows I could use some of that right now. Most unfortunately I am confined to moving as little as possible by the horrendous pain of multiple sunburn. The one sunny afternoon I'll be experiencing this holiday and it cripples me for the remainder of my time in St. Ives. At least it gives you and I some more quality time, reader.
So, £1M; a million smackers; 1,000 G's; twenty million bob; one almost-not-worth-it hour with Chris Tarrant. In this society we have built for ourselves, where not only is money king but acquiring and spending money is the activity towards almost all efforts are directed, we must all at some time have fantasised about being rich and everyone's got their own ideas about what they'd do with their money. Perhaps the best use of a fantasy budget I've ever heard is this, from TV's Family Guy:
If that were a possibility, it would be right up there on my list and at $50,000, it's an absolute steal.
What you would do with a lot of hypothetical money (especially a lottery win) is almost modern life's standard psychological test. That's pretty terrible, if you think about it: I'll learn about your character by seeing how much respect and reverance you have for the almighty dollar.
Anyway, to "win" the test, one's automatic reaction is to say, "Well the first thing I'd do is I'd give some to charity," thus hoping to give everyone the impression that you are a kind hearted and generous person who can not be corrupted by money. Essentially, you are lying but everyone knows you are, so it's fine: the next thing on your list is what everyone listens to. In truth, giving to charity is probably on everyone's list, but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone for whom charity was really the first consideration or who would give most of their money away to a good cause.
Also, a million pounds sounds a lot but in today's society it isn't as spectacular as once it was. Someone said a few years ago that it now takes a fortune of at least £5M if you want to live the always desireable "millionaire lifestyle" and it's true. A nice house can set you back over a million, a few nice cars (because no millionaire ever just has one) can get rid of up to another million and sustaining just these two extravagances for merely a year could be very pricey. And then there's your kids to consider: you don't want to hand life to them on a silver platter but at the same time, being obscenely rich and not sharing it with your own kids is unthinkable. Assuming that this is money you've won or rapidly earned rather than inherited, you'd have to sort out the rest of your family too and suddenly most of the money's gone again.
Since the question is what would I do with a million pounds and I do not currently have a million pounds, we'll have to continue to assume that the hypothetical money is winnings.
Coming from a poor background, my first action would be to distribute the money around my family so they can pay off mortgages etc. I'm no financial genius but I'm going to assume that this would be extremely expensive and would leave me a couple of hundred grand down at least. After squirrelling another couple of hundred grand away for myself, extravagant gifts for friends and family would follow and the remainder would go to a poverty relief concern.
In the space of one paragraph I've just run through ONE MILLION POUNDS. How ridiculous does that sound? I've just casually tossed away more money than most of us will ever see in our lives. This comes from living in a society where the elite want us to do nothing more than work for their benefit. In return for this we are given a little bit of the powerful stuff that the elite control us with, money, and then they use their media outlets to mindfuck us into spending more money than they gave us on their products and their friends' products so they get it all back again with interest while we work for them, chasing after the dream of the millionaire lifestyle.
All this society teaches us to do is want stuff and then it jacks the price up and we want it even more because it has become a status symbol. The worst of this is that we can't escape. There is no alternative system, because we are all conditioned to unquestioningly believe that communism is evil and socialism is misguided. And above all, we have been made to no longer care for anyone but ourselves so a turn away from the capitalist dream of being the richest person in the world is unthinkable.
Rant Over. Sorry about that.
So, £1M; a million smackers; 1,000 G's; twenty million bob; one almost-not-worth-it hour with Chris Tarrant. In this society we have built for ourselves, where not only is money king but acquiring and spending money is the activity towards almost all efforts are directed, we must all at some time have fantasised about being rich and everyone's got their own ideas about what they'd do with their money. Perhaps the best use of a fantasy budget I've ever heard is this, from TV's Family Guy:
If that were a possibility, it would be right up there on my list and at $50,000, it's an absolute steal.
What you would do with a lot of hypothetical money (especially a lottery win) is almost modern life's standard psychological test. That's pretty terrible, if you think about it: I'll learn about your character by seeing how much respect and reverance you have for the almighty dollar.
Anyway, to "win" the test, one's automatic reaction is to say, "Well the first thing I'd do is I'd give some to charity," thus hoping to give everyone the impression that you are a kind hearted and generous person who can not be corrupted by money. Essentially, you are lying but everyone knows you are, so it's fine: the next thing on your list is what everyone listens to. In truth, giving to charity is probably on everyone's list, but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone for whom charity was really the first consideration or who would give most of their money away to a good cause.
Also, a million pounds sounds a lot but in today's society it isn't as spectacular as once it was. Someone said a few years ago that it now takes a fortune of at least £5M if you want to live the always desireable "millionaire lifestyle" and it's true. A nice house can set you back over a million, a few nice cars (because no millionaire ever just has one) can get rid of up to another million and sustaining just these two extravagances for merely a year could be very pricey. And then there's your kids to consider: you don't want to hand life to them on a silver platter but at the same time, being obscenely rich and not sharing it with your own kids is unthinkable. Assuming that this is money you've won or rapidly earned rather than inherited, you'd have to sort out the rest of your family too and suddenly most of the money's gone again.
Since the question is what would I do with a million pounds and I do not currently have a million pounds, we'll have to continue to assume that the hypothetical money is winnings.
Coming from a poor background, my first action would be to distribute the money around my family so they can pay off mortgages etc. I'm no financial genius but I'm going to assume that this would be extremely expensive and would leave me a couple of hundred grand down at least. After squirrelling another couple of hundred grand away for myself, extravagant gifts for friends and family would follow and the remainder would go to a poverty relief concern.
In the space of one paragraph I've just run through ONE MILLION POUNDS. How ridiculous does that sound? I've just casually tossed away more money than most of us will ever see in our lives. This comes from living in a society where the elite want us to do nothing more than work for their benefit. In return for this we are given a little bit of the powerful stuff that the elite control us with, money, and then they use their media outlets to mindfuck us into spending more money than they gave us on their products and their friends' products so they get it all back again with interest while we work for them, chasing after the dream of the millionaire lifestyle.
All this society teaches us to do is want stuff and then it jacks the price up and we want it even more because it has become a status symbol. The worst of this is that we can't escape. There is no alternative system, because we are all conditioned to unquestioningly believe that communism is evil and socialism is misguided. And above all, we have been made to no longer care for anyone but ourselves so a turn away from the capitalist dream of being the richest person in the world is unthinkable.
Rant Over. Sorry about that.
Sunday, 3 June 2012
I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues: Random blog generator. Yes, I have sunk that low.
First of all, that's not a dig at anyone who does use a topic generator, either overtly or secretly, but I always assumed I'd have the ability to write about stuff from my own head/life without needing help. I feel I have failed you by needing to seek advice from the internet, but who knows, maybe it will be a triumph.
My random topic (after much re-clicking of the generate button to get past nuclear fusion and American history) was "keeping yourself happy". As we know this is something I struggle with. Not that I'm clinically depressed but without the veneer of happiness that I put on and present to the world beyond this blog I am an unhappy person.
That's not as dramatic as it sounds, really. A mate once said that contentment is far superior to happiness and I would tend to agree, even thought the point he was arguing when he said this was a little less agreeable (more on that another time maybe). Happiness is a short-term emotion, whereas contentment is a more long-term state of being. By the same token, unhappiness is a flash in the pan feeling, whose corresponding long-term state of mind is discontentment. The point is, although I'm frequently unhappy, it's not a constant state and I'm pretty content with life at the moment, so don't interpret this as a depressed cry for help.
Anyway, it's hard to force happiness on yourself, or fight off unhappiness. Friday taught me this very well as my mood swung from happiness at being with good friends and someone special, to sadness that this could be one of our last get-togethers and that I'm not a certain someone's someone special. Either emotion could and did overpower me at any moment throughout the evening without warning, hence the amount of time I spent going from chilling in the reception room to contemplation in the corridor outside.
The best thing you can do is just go with it, and not ignore the importance of being unhappy sometimes. Another mate said something along the lines of a life lived in happiness is a life not lived and I would agree with that too, if you've never done or seen or experienced anything that makes you sad then you've not felt a major part of what it is to be human. And, if you've seen, done or experienced something that should make you sad but you've ignored it so you can stay happy then you're a fool. Perhaps keeping yourself happy was not the best topic for me, in fairness, but it's done now.
Whether happy or sad, the emotion will pass soon and you should endeavour to make the most of both feelings. We learn more about ourselves in adversity than in good times so explore your unhappiness and take away any lesson it can teach you. And if you are lucky enough to find yourself in a happy place, enjoy it and take those memories forward to help you through tougher times.
My random topic (after much re-clicking of the generate button to get past nuclear fusion and American history) was "keeping yourself happy". As we know this is something I struggle with. Not that I'm clinically depressed but without the veneer of happiness that I put on and present to the world beyond this blog I am an unhappy person.
That's not as dramatic as it sounds, really. A mate once said that contentment is far superior to happiness and I would tend to agree, even thought the point he was arguing when he said this was a little less agreeable (more on that another time maybe). Happiness is a short-term emotion, whereas contentment is a more long-term state of being. By the same token, unhappiness is a flash in the pan feeling, whose corresponding long-term state of mind is discontentment. The point is, although I'm frequently unhappy, it's not a constant state and I'm pretty content with life at the moment, so don't interpret this as a depressed cry for help.
Anyway, it's hard to force happiness on yourself, or fight off unhappiness. Friday taught me this very well as my mood swung from happiness at being with good friends and someone special, to sadness that this could be one of our last get-togethers and that I'm not a certain someone's someone special. Either emotion could and did overpower me at any moment throughout the evening without warning, hence the amount of time I spent going from chilling in the reception room to contemplation in the corridor outside.
The best thing you can do is just go with it, and not ignore the importance of being unhappy sometimes. Another mate said something along the lines of a life lived in happiness is a life not lived and I would agree with that too, if you've never done or seen or experienced anything that makes you sad then you've not felt a major part of what it is to be human. And, if you've seen, done or experienced something that should make you sad but you've ignored it so you can stay happy then you're a fool. Perhaps keeping yourself happy was not the best topic for me, in fairness, but it's done now.
Whether happy or sad, the emotion will pass soon and you should endeavour to make the most of both feelings. We learn more about ourselves in adversity than in good times so explore your unhappiness and take away any lesson it can teach you. And if you are lucky enough to find yourself in a happy place, enjoy it and take those memories forward to help you through tougher times.
Saturday, 2 June 2012
Dead Sea Soup and Drop Dead Suit-Ups
So that was grad ball, eh? Well, in true Dan style I spent most of it depressed and hiding in a corner but I did sample enough of the event to know that under better circumstances it would have been a great night.
After a major shoe crisis (masculinity in doubt, permission to start calling me Danielle granted), the rest of the day went off without a hitch. A little pre-drink style get together provided the first alcohol of the evening, taking me to a grand total of four pints of lager and a glass of champagne over the course of a week and a half. For me, that is practically binge-drinking. And then, on to the ball in all our finery.
Two things I can recommend based on my evening: 1) Suiting up at every opportunity and 2) avoiding the Marriott hotel's food unless you want your GDA 6 grams of salt to be delivered in one spoonful of tomato soup. Nearly 9 hours and copious amounts of drink later and I can still taste salt! It was like the dead sea with garlicky croutons swimming in it.
An evening with your best friends in the world is impossible to beat, even if your venue manages to combine the worst elements of the school disco with what for the fussy eaters amongst us can only be described as gourmet Hell. Amongst the terrible music (with accompaniment by rowdy sing-along drunks) was the occasional good track though and the £32 one paid for the meal was more than vindicated by the delectable lemon tart dessert.
I'm not used to writing so enthusiastically. This feels way too upbeat to be one of my blog entries, but despite the gloom and despondency that I allowed myself to fall into due to circumstances beyond my control, I still can't help but come out of this with positive memories and feelings. The only downside that I can see (and I have to find a downside, just so I feel like me again) is that this is one more uni milestone gone and I'm fast running out of time before the most painful parting in history.
I depart for a holiday now, dear reader, and may not be back in the blogosphere for at least a week, although when I return I shall hopefully have many tales of sunnier climes with which to regale you. Adios amigos!
After a major shoe crisis (masculinity in doubt, permission to start calling me Danielle granted), the rest of the day went off without a hitch. A little pre-drink style get together provided the first alcohol of the evening, taking me to a grand total of four pints of lager and a glass of champagne over the course of a week and a half. For me, that is practically binge-drinking. And then, on to the ball in all our finery.
Two things I can recommend based on my evening: 1) Suiting up at every opportunity and 2) avoiding the Marriott hotel's food unless you want your GDA 6 grams of salt to be delivered in one spoonful of tomato soup. Nearly 9 hours and copious amounts of drink later and I can still taste salt! It was like the dead sea with garlicky croutons swimming in it.
An evening with your best friends in the world is impossible to beat, even if your venue manages to combine the worst elements of the school disco with what for the fussy eaters amongst us can only be described as gourmet Hell. Amongst the terrible music (with accompaniment by rowdy sing-along drunks) was the occasional good track though and the £32 one paid for the meal was more than vindicated by the delectable lemon tart dessert.
I'm not used to writing so enthusiastically. This feels way too upbeat to be one of my blog entries, but despite the gloom and despondency that I allowed myself to fall into due to circumstances beyond my control, I still can't help but come out of this with positive memories and feelings. The only downside that I can see (and I have to find a downside, just so I feel like me again) is that this is one more uni milestone gone and I'm fast running out of time before the most painful parting in history.
I depart for a holiday now, dear reader, and may not be back in the blogosphere for at least a week, although when I return I shall hopefully have many tales of sunnier climes with which to regale you. Adios amigos!
An Ode to Sorrow. A poem by D. Lovegrove.
Bear in mind that this was written at around half two in the morning and composed off the back of alcoholic depression, it was never going to be my best work. I apologise most heartily for the poor quality of the second and third stanzas but it's not complete without them.
All These Things
Sweet poisonous nectar of life,
Softly stabbing heart-bound knife,
Silent proclamation, invisible fire,
Frozen pain of unquenched heart's desire,
All these things love is, and more,
Lost in heady fantasy of what only could have been,
Found despairing, lamenting the intangibility of the dream,
Eyes fixed upon the stars, gazing for a sign from above,
And all the time rejoicing in the exquisite pain of love,
All these things the lover is, and more
Home, as safe as castles built on sand,
Disturbing territory, distant foreign land,
First thought of the day, last fretful dream at night,
Relief from life lived in darkness with terrible blinding light,
All these things the beloved is, and more.
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
The End of Days: My Worst Fears Realised.
Welcome to Limbo. The weird twilight zone between finishing a course and graduating is the weirdest place to be on Earth. The lull in activity does give you time to discover new things, but the imminence of your birth into the real world gives you no chance to really enjoy them. I've discovered a lot since my degree finished, including a couple of new best friends who I'll get to see a lot less often now, shortcuts around a city I'm leaving and the fact that before the week is out I may have to come face-to-face with my arch-nemesis but must restrain myself from committing bloody murder. If this is what Limbo is like in the first few days I'm more than a little apprehensive about the next month and a half.
And beyond that the real world waits like some monstrous animal, crouching in the long grass ahead of me with its jaws gaping, its teeth filling my vision and its putrid breath assaulting my nostrils. This beast is being ignored as much as possible for now but when the time comes I'll go in all guns blazing and hope to come back out with its head in a bag.
Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more.
And beyond that the real world waits like some monstrous animal, crouching in the long grass ahead of me with its jaws gaping, its teeth filling my vision and its putrid breath assaulting my nostrils. This beast is being ignored as much as possible for now but when the time comes I'll go in all guns blazing and hope to come back out with its head in a bag.
Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more.
Saturday, 19 May 2012
"It's Just Running and Chucking Stuff".
Here come the Olympics! That's right Great Britain, we are now under ten weeks away from the opening ceremony and just nine-and-a-half weeks from the first event. That's right, the first event is before the opening ceremony. Only in Britain.
Now like all right-minded people, I couldn't give half a flying f-word about the main Olympic events: I mean, seriously, in what world is 100 metre sprint a spectator sport? Yes, there's some really fast people, cool, I'm happy for them that they have somewhere to test themselves against the best in the world and attempt to prove themselves the best of the best, but as a nation, do we all have to get so excited in the build-up? If you want to put years of hype into an event that lasts at most 12 seconds ... we all know there's a sex joke there; I'm not going to spell it out for you, just insert (giggity) the punchline that works best for you and we'll move on.
What's more, we managed to create a ticketing system apparently designed for the sole purpose of furnishing the sad weirdos who seem to get a kick out of spunking money away on pointless sports tickets with tickets to events even they considered to be not worth it at an exorbitant cost and in the most complicated way ever devised for such a simple process.
Now, I'm not saying all of the Olympics is bad: I love team sports so every four years I will be found watching as much Basketball, Football and Handball as I can while the Olympics are on. This being the first time since like the 1940s that there has been a GB Football team I figured I'd go and watch a game or two live. But the powers that be have put paid to that, with both the men's and women's teams playing their matches so far away from me that the time and expense I'd have to put in do not make it worth my while. This is supposed to be Britain's games and yet the few events that are allowed out of the host city are put so far out of the way that attending them is a logistical nightmare. The best games take place in Cardiff, which believe me is nowhere near accessible, or at Wembley, which is bloody expensive. Not one match takes place in the city where Football was born - Sheffield - and the nearest matches to there are dead expensive latter-stage games and/or between two countries you've never heard of, never mind want to see play football.
On the face of it, tickets starting from £20 which allow you to see two games in one day seem like good value, but given that you'll be lucky to find four good teams on the bill at once and that "a stadium near you" is a concept that the Olympics organisers clearly felt wouldn't be a good selling point, that £20 can easily turn into £180 for travel both ways, one match you want to see and one you will have to sit through and a hotel room because there's no transport back until the next day.
Seriously, nobody thought extra trains or coaches might be a good idea. With fans from across the country and around the world having some interest in the events taking place, nobody thought it might be a good idea to keep the transport network going after the final whistle of these events. We spent all this money on getting London ready and then when it came to the events away from the capital, they clearly selected the venues by having Seb Coe blindfolded, sticking pins into a map of Britain and hoping that people could actually get to these places. If it'd been left entirely up to our Olympic committee, I'm sure the GB Football teams would have played their games in Canada, Australia, the Falklands and Gibraltar. It would arguably have been easier to get to games on Gibraltar, in fairness. I'm sure Jet2 or Ryan Air must do cheap flights to there.
The two best football venues outside of London are Newcastle's St. James' Park and Manchester's Old Trafford, these are used like once each, while Cardiff gets three or four games at least and the shitehole that is Coventry's Ricoh Arena gets a semi-final match. Great cities like Sheffield, Leeds and Birmingham don't get a look in, despite all having at least one nice Football stadium.
Add to this the fact that the country will be left with crippling debt while only London reaps the financial rewards and this whole thing starts to feel a bit like a kick in the teeth to the rest of the country, particularly the North. The part of Britain that makes it great will not find it easy to benefit from the Olympics. We can't be flitting off to London the whole time to watch the games and we have had very little investment from Olympic funds. The few things they do let out of London are kept away from us as much as possible and the televised sports will be the pointless athletic events that are no fun to watch.
The opening ceremony will be the biggest anti-climax in history after China's spectacular in 2008 and to cap it all off, the logo looks like a well-known cartoon character felating someone.
Someone, somewhere is taking the piss. There is not one benefit I can see to the Olympics being here. Roll on Rio 2016. When the Olympics are back where they belong - the other side of the world - we'll all feel much better.
Rant over.
Now like all right-minded people, I couldn't give half a flying f-word about the main Olympic events: I mean, seriously, in what world is 100 metre sprint a spectator sport? Yes, there's some really fast people, cool, I'm happy for them that they have somewhere to test themselves against the best in the world and attempt to prove themselves the best of the best, but as a nation, do we all have to get so excited in the build-up? If you want to put years of hype into an event that lasts at most 12 seconds ... we all know there's a sex joke there; I'm not going to spell it out for you, just insert (giggity) the punchline that works best for you and we'll move on.
What's more, we managed to create a ticketing system apparently designed for the sole purpose of furnishing the sad weirdos who seem to get a kick out of spunking money away on pointless sports tickets with tickets to events even they considered to be not worth it at an exorbitant cost and in the most complicated way ever devised for such a simple process.
Now, I'm not saying all of the Olympics is bad: I love team sports so every four years I will be found watching as much Basketball, Football and Handball as I can while the Olympics are on. This being the first time since like the 1940s that there has been a GB Football team I figured I'd go and watch a game or two live. But the powers that be have put paid to that, with both the men's and women's teams playing their matches so far away from me that the time and expense I'd have to put in do not make it worth my while. This is supposed to be Britain's games and yet the few events that are allowed out of the host city are put so far out of the way that attending them is a logistical nightmare. The best games take place in Cardiff, which believe me is nowhere near accessible, or at Wembley, which is bloody expensive. Not one match takes place in the city where Football was born - Sheffield - and the nearest matches to there are dead expensive latter-stage games and/or between two countries you've never heard of, never mind want to see play football.
On the face of it, tickets starting from £20 which allow you to see two games in one day seem like good value, but given that you'll be lucky to find four good teams on the bill at once and that "a stadium near you" is a concept that the Olympics organisers clearly felt wouldn't be a good selling point, that £20 can easily turn into £180 for travel both ways, one match you want to see and one you will have to sit through and a hotel room because there's no transport back until the next day.
Seriously, nobody thought extra trains or coaches might be a good idea. With fans from across the country and around the world having some interest in the events taking place, nobody thought it might be a good idea to keep the transport network going after the final whistle of these events. We spent all this money on getting London ready and then when it came to the events away from the capital, they clearly selected the venues by having Seb Coe blindfolded, sticking pins into a map of Britain and hoping that people could actually get to these places. If it'd been left entirely up to our Olympic committee, I'm sure the GB Football teams would have played their games in Canada, Australia, the Falklands and Gibraltar. It would arguably have been easier to get to games on Gibraltar, in fairness. I'm sure Jet2 or Ryan Air must do cheap flights to there.
The two best football venues outside of London are Newcastle's St. James' Park and Manchester's Old Trafford, these are used like once each, while Cardiff gets three or four games at least and the shitehole that is Coventry's Ricoh Arena gets a semi-final match. Great cities like Sheffield, Leeds and Birmingham don't get a look in, despite all having at least one nice Football stadium.
Add to this the fact that the country will be left with crippling debt while only London reaps the financial rewards and this whole thing starts to feel a bit like a kick in the teeth to the rest of the country, particularly the North. The part of Britain that makes it great will not find it easy to benefit from the Olympics. We can't be flitting off to London the whole time to watch the games and we have had very little investment from Olympic funds. The few things they do let out of London are kept away from us as much as possible and the televised sports will be the pointless athletic events that are no fun to watch.
The opening ceremony will be the biggest anti-climax in history after China's spectacular in 2008 and to cap it all off, the logo looks like a well-known cartoon character felating someone.
Someone, somewhere is taking the piss. There is not one benefit I can see to the Olympics being here. Roll on Rio 2016. When the Olympics are back where they belong - the other side of the world - we'll all feel much better.
Rant over.
Thursday, 17 May 2012
The "What I Learned These 3 Years" Blog.
Yep, It's my turn, it's been done a few times now so I feel like I'm joining the party late, like I did with the whole wearing a fedora thing:
Anyway, I finished my last essay yesterday morning (a whole day before it was due to be submitted!) and the odd feeling of having no more essays to write makes me feel like I've lost an arm. I just don't know what to do with myself anymore, so I'm doing my version of the summing up post that's been doing the rounds lately.
I'm going to split it up into a couple of sections, so without further ado, I present the "can't think of a name for the blog" what's-changed-in-the-last-three-years round-up.
Well, I'm not someone who gets hung up on appearences or anything but I have noticed that where three years ago the standard outfit would be footy shirt, jeans and trainers, I've moved slightly up the style ladder to casual shirts, jeans and trainers, with a fedora for the winter months. The beard spends a lot less time roving wild around my face and the ponytail has become much more prevalent.
Away from the physical, I now actually know what postmodernism is, and have much love for it, I've gained a useless passion for ethics and I now have a blog. I've also made some very slight progress on learning the guitar, bought two new guitars, a bass and a drumkit and I twice tried to get back into songwriting, each time remembering somewhere around the second verse exactly why I gave it up in the first place. I've joined facebook in the last three years and thankfully stopped using txt spk lol in my statuses (Thanks, timeline, for reminding me that I used to do that, now I feel like my first forays into the world wide web were even more senseless than than my songwriting, which is saying something).
I've been on my first ever night out, managing a grand total of one pub before getting ID'd and having to go home and I've become more knowlegable about the British railway network than I'm comfortable with. Seriously, three years of making an average of five rail journeys a week and you turn into a little bit of a trainspotter, no matter how hard you try to resist.
And now, the "things I would tell my younger self" section.
Bon voyage, mon amis
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| Hello? 1950s America? No you can't have your fashion back |
I'm going to split it up into a couple of sections, so without further ado, I present the "can't think of a name for the blog" what's-changed-in-the-last-three-years round-up.
Well, I'm not someone who gets hung up on appearences or anything but I have noticed that where three years ago the standard outfit would be footy shirt, jeans and trainers, I've moved slightly up the style ladder to casual shirts, jeans and trainers, with a fedora for the winter months. The beard spends a lot less time roving wild around my face and the ponytail has become much more prevalent.
Away from the physical, I now actually know what postmodernism is, and have much love for it, I've gained a useless passion for ethics and I now have a blog. I've also made some very slight progress on learning the guitar, bought two new guitars, a bass and a drumkit and I twice tried to get back into songwriting, each time remembering somewhere around the second verse exactly why I gave it up in the first place. I've joined facebook in the last three years and thankfully stopped using txt spk lol in my statuses (Thanks, timeline, for reminding me that I used to do that, now I feel like my first forays into the world wide web were even more senseless than than my songwriting, which is saying something).
I've been on my first ever night out, managing a grand total of one pub before getting ID'd and having to go home and I've become more knowlegable about the British railway network than I'm comfortable with. Seriously, three years of making an average of five rail journeys a week and you turn into a little bit of a trainspotter, no matter how hard you try to resist.
And now, the "things I would tell my younger self" section.
- DUDE! Move into Halls in first year, I know commuting is marginally cheaper and you feel capable of maintaining a good social network without being on site but when third year comes around and folks are reminiscing about good times in Shrewsbury, you will regret not being there.
- DO NOT move into Halls in third year, I know by then you'll have realised you missed out and its much easier being on campus but trust me, commuting is marginally cheaper and I'm confident you can maintain a good social network without being on site. ALSO, commuting will have the added benefit of avoiding being woken up at 4am by someone singing the only four lines they can remember from Joesph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. I know not who these people are but trust me they are neither handsome, smart nor walking works of art.
- Accept Luke's housesharing offer first time round, push everyone to get the originally planned ten-bed house, stage a coup and become king of this small tribe, rather than waiting 'tl the last moment only to end up taking the place of the person you were actually hoping to live with.
- Don't worry if you mess that one up, 330 Burley Road will become one of your favourite places on earth.
- Footy shirts are not a good look in Higher Education establishments. Get a better wardrobe.
- Learn to take a compliment. Your better wardrobe will surely bring many - well, some - well, one or two - well, one - compliments flooding in and I still don't know how to deal with them.
- You will get more appreciation for well-chosen band T-shirts than any faux designer shirt you can imagine.
- Listen to Fleetwood Mac. NOW! Every second you are not hearing Lynsey Buckingham's insane guitar tekkers is a second wasted.
- Buy a fedora, they are cool.
- Your fedora will look better on everyone else.
- Everyone will steal your fedora at least once.
- Don't buy a laptop just because it is white. It may look sleek but it will be shit.
- Always check the quality of goods you are going to buy from ebay. Bass guitars without strings, machine-heads, a bridge or working electrics are not smart purchases.
- Go to pubology in first year, before the lecturers stop going and it gets lame.
- That's right my friend, at uni, everything is backwards: when teachers do something, it's cool.
- Do not judge a book by its cover, literally. Books are the one thing you actually do judge on outward appearances, despite this being the example that's been hallowed by time as the cliché to end all clichés. You will carry far too many useless books home for essays and have to carry them all the way back without quoting them once.
- Do not judge an album by its single. You will mourn the downfall of a musical legend when you hear "Los Angeloser" on the radio as you get the train every morning, but when you eventually buy Hang Cool Teddy Bear, "If I Can't Have You" and "Did You Ever Love Somebody" will make the whole thing totally worth it.
- Learn more about Sikhism, it is awesome.
- Avoid Buddhism at all costs, it is not your friend.
- Buy a camera, the amount of times you will wish you had pictures of people and places that you've encountered will be ridiculous.
- Join the university gym, you will have days off and they will need filling. Playing FIFA will eventually get boring.
- Start a blog, you don't write too good but it's actually kind of fun, in an "I hope nobody reads this, oh my God it's so stupid" kind of way.
- Compulsory modules are always the worst. Fact.
- On a Wednesday morning some time in early October 2009, you will be on a train to Horsforth, something will catch your eye, some ethereal voice will tell you to look up and see what it was, what you see will be a defining vision for your next three years and beyond. The reason why you want to live in Halls or at least in the general Leeds area will be contained in what you see, as will the reason you wish you'd got in on the housesharing earlier, and the reason you'll realise what a scruff you look in a footy shirt and that you need some better threads and the reason why love songs start to have deeper meanings and the reason why Sikhism's concept of love will draw you in and the reason why you wish you'd captured every moment of the last three years on film. It'll be the reason you've got angst that needs the catharsis of a blog, it's the reason you got out of bed for Vision at Work and New Testament even though they were the worst classes you've ever taken.
- Enjoy yourself, man. You only get this time once.
Bon voyage, mon amis
Monday, 14 May 2012
The Dream of a Lugubrious Man. Also, I am done apologising.
I think it's about time I faced facts and stopped kidding myself. This blog started, some six months ago, largely because I wanted to have somewhere I could write something that wasn't going to be marked on academic content, but mostly because I was struggling to write a Christmas Card and wanted an escape from that too. Hidden below the desire to write, which has always been with me, was a slightly darker desire. At the very genesis of this endeavour I apologised because part of me knew where this was going, this was always going to be an exercise in lugubriosity - a chance for me to be sad and sorrowful on the public stage. It's one of the main characteristics of my personality that when I'm feeling down I have to make sure everybody knows about it. I'd like to think it's not just because I'm after sympathy but for the life of me I can't understand why else I would do it. Anyone who's got me on facebook will have noticed this, especially for the 6-12 months before I started blogging: the endless song lyric statuses must have been so annoying.
Anyway, I was right to apologise, this whole thing has been me bemoaning certain things in my life and feeling just a little satisfaction that I get to show the world how sorrowful I am, interspersed with the odd attempt to justify it with something slightly deeper. But now I am done apologising. I am just the sort of person who likes to be affectedly distraught and that's the way it is. If that's what's going on with me, that's what I've got to write about. Much as I'd prefer to be contributing something more cerebral, relevant or at least entertaining to the interwebs, I love writing and I've got to write what I know and what I know is over the top sadness.
Despite all this, one day I hope I've refined my style to the point where you can be found reading something of mine that is a) not this blog and b) worth the effort of reading it. Even if all I can write is lugubrious crap, at least I can dream of a time when it's publishable crap. Old me would here go on to apologise for the fact that this blog will be continuing, and contuining in the same vein. New me will instead warn you: I've taken ownership of my demons and so I have embraced the fact that this blog will never contain literary genius, I'd recommend you take notice of this because it means that things will only get worse from here on out.
Anyway, I was right to apologise, this whole thing has been me bemoaning certain things in my life and feeling just a little satisfaction that I get to show the world how sorrowful I am, interspersed with the odd attempt to justify it with something slightly deeper. But now I am done apologising. I am just the sort of person who likes to be affectedly distraught and that's the way it is. If that's what's going on with me, that's what I've got to write about. Much as I'd prefer to be contributing something more cerebral, relevant or at least entertaining to the interwebs, I love writing and I've got to write what I know and what I know is over the top sadness.
Despite all this, one day I hope I've refined my style to the point where you can be found reading something of mine that is a) not this blog and b) worth the effort of reading it. Even if all I can write is lugubrious crap, at least I can dream of a time when it's publishable crap. Old me would here go on to apologise for the fact that this blog will be continuing, and contuining in the same vein. New me will instead warn you: I've taken ownership of my demons and so I have embraced the fact that this blog will never contain literary genius, I'd recommend you take notice of this because it means that things will only get worse from here on out.
Thursday, 10 May 2012
Back to the Blog
That's right, I'm back in the blogosphere. At a time when I really should be finishing my study so that I can get to bed in preparation for tomorrow's (or, in fact, later today's) 5:45am start, I'm sat on the comfy settee, aftertaste of my midnight cornflakes still lingering in my mouth and trying to blog. A shitload of stuff has happened since the last entry and I've got a thousand things I'd like to write about but for now, this is just me saying hi, having a little check round to see how things are, making sure the place hasn't been robbed in my absence. As part of this I'd like to ask anyone who reads this to "like" the link to it that I will be putting up on facebook, just so I can guage my readership as I'm sure I've got a few silent voyeurs.
On a related note, I said last time that I'd toyed with the idea of allowing my over-emotional side get the better of me and writing blog posts for each of my uni friends, this is by way of me sounding out the community for thoughts on the subject. I think it's well corny and will cause me much embaressment but at the same time I feel more and more like I want to do it. With this in mind, who would be interested in a short piece dedicated to them being published in this blog? Answers in the comments or on facebook.would be appreciated, but bear in mind that this will probably happen anyway because I'll talk myself into it eventually unless literally everyone tells me they think it's a bad idea. If you'd like to opt out, please say so and I'll be respectful of that decision.
On a related note, I said last time that I'd toyed with the idea of allowing my over-emotional side get the better of me and writing blog posts for each of my uni friends, this is by way of me sounding out the community for thoughts on the subject. I think it's well corny and will cause me much embaressment but at the same time I feel more and more like I want to do it. With this in mind, who would be interested in a short piece dedicated to them being published in this blog? Answers in the comments or on facebook.would be appreciated, but bear in mind that this will probably happen anyway because I'll talk myself into it eventually unless literally everyone tells me they think it's a bad idea. If you'd like to opt out, please say so and I'll be respectful of that decision.
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