For some reason, when I got back from playing a gig in Uxbridge last night I started to worry about my health. It was about 1:30 and I couldn't sleep (and I know I'm going to have a big night tonight since my buddy James is coming down from Cardiff - much beer+whiskey and little sleep will ensue).
So I decided that I needed some vitamins. As luck would have it, I'd bought these tubes of soluble orange-flavoured vitamins at Tesco last week, so I decided to take some vitamin C with zinc. Rather than be bothered to go out to the shared kitchen and find a glass, I decided to drop one of the soluble tablets into a new 2-litre bottle of Sainsbury's water I had in my room. Then I started to think to myself that dissolving that much vitamic C into that much water would have no effects beneficial to my health, so I dissolved another one in there. And another. Well, I drank about a quarter of the bottle, and decided to bring the rest of it with me to work today and was drinking it on my way down Stockbridge Road.
What suddenly dawned on me as I was walking along, listening to Don Cabellero on my iPod, was that it actually looked like I was drinking a 2-litre bottle of urine. Good job I'm not self-conscious.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
I want to be welcome, not just tolerated
As I continue to walk to the tightrope of alienating people who read my blog, I feel that I should move to feelings of being welcome or otherwise.
I'm not sure if this is something that preoccupies me more than other people (and, I suspect that if it does, this might have some grounding in my relatively uncomfortable experience of the 6th form at school), but I often worry about how people perceive me and whether or not I fit in in a given situation.
I've often thought about the dislocation between how we are and how we seem. You only need to see a video of yourself to feel self-conscious (an interesting phrase, when you think about it) and to gain an awareness that your thoughts may be translated into your facial expressions with unexpected results. I remember seeing a video of myself that had been taken on Christmas day a couple of years ago. I was in the front room of my grandparents' house in Cardiff, and was probably in a pretty good mood, surrounded by people I love. But as I looked at my face on that screen, I realised just how bloody moody I must look to other people. I don't want my face to convey this when I'm in repose, as it almost certainly isn't the case. Nervous, maybe, moody, no.
From this thought I move to thinking about how people close to me interpret these things, my face and my body's gestures. I am often a bit uncomfortable in my body. I don't quite know what to do with it sometimes, where should I put my hands?!. What if the person that people know and like or dislike isn't me at all. There's a 'me' beneath these layers, but what if the translation isn't working; what if the accidents and the substance don't match? What if people love me not for who I am but for who they think I am? I write this without irony or self-regard, I hasten to add.
There was a party at Luigi's house on Saturday. I felt a mixture of nervousness and acceptance. New people there, who I didn't know, put me on edge. Nevertheless, having a decent number of friends together (as if I can actually prove either way that they're my friends - I suppose this is where faith comes in!) gave me a very significant feeling of acceptance and wellbeing. It felt good to be there. I probably could have enjoyed the party just as much without the cushion of tequila, and that's important. People taking or leaving you on your own merits (even *if* they're a second-hand interpretation) is a novelty and a luxury I just didn't have until I left school.
Feeling 'at home' is an incredibly important part of this existence, and I aim to learn to recognise it as much as I recognise its opposite.
I'm not sure if this is something that preoccupies me more than other people (and, I suspect that if it does, this might have some grounding in my relatively uncomfortable experience of the 6th form at school), but I often worry about how people perceive me and whether or not I fit in in a given situation.
I've often thought about the dislocation between how we are and how we seem. You only need to see a video of yourself to feel self-conscious (an interesting phrase, when you think about it) and to gain an awareness that your thoughts may be translated into your facial expressions with unexpected results. I remember seeing a video of myself that had been taken on Christmas day a couple of years ago. I was in the front room of my grandparents' house in Cardiff, and was probably in a pretty good mood, surrounded by people I love. But as I looked at my face on that screen, I realised just how bloody moody I must look to other people. I don't want my face to convey this when I'm in repose, as it almost certainly isn't the case. Nervous, maybe, moody, no.
From this thought I move to thinking about how people close to me interpret these things, my face and my body's gestures. I am often a bit uncomfortable in my body. I don't quite know what to do with it sometimes, where should I put my hands?!. What if the person that people know and like or dislike isn't me at all. There's a 'me' beneath these layers, but what if the translation isn't working; what if the accidents and the substance don't match? What if people love me not for who I am but for who they think I am? I write this without irony or self-regard, I hasten to add.
There was a party at Luigi's house on Saturday. I felt a mixture of nervousness and acceptance. New people there, who I didn't know, put me on edge. Nevertheless, having a decent number of friends together (as if I can actually prove either way that they're my friends - I suppose this is where faith comes in!) gave me a very significant feeling of acceptance and wellbeing. It felt good to be there. I probably could have enjoyed the party just as much without the cushion of tequila, and that's important. People taking or leaving you on your own merits (even *if* they're a second-hand interpretation) is a novelty and a luxury I just didn't have until I left school.
Feeling 'at home' is an incredibly important part of this existence, and I aim to learn to recognise it as much as I recognise its opposite.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thursday night optimism
I went out with Naomi last night to see the Da Vinci Code - in brief:
1. It was more fast-paced than the book. They did well to cover the whole story within the medium of a 2hr film, but the first fifteen minutes actually felt very rushed, and the Langdon character was able to make mental connections at a quite unrealistic pace.
2. It was no less saccharine than the book. The major holes in history, theology and basic logic were glaring, and leapt out of Teabing's dialogue to accompany the plasma screen scene. The problem is that a lot of people will take this stuff as gospel (hehe), and don't actually have a background that allows them to make proper criticism of convenient glossing to support the narrative. I can't be bothered to go into it at length now, but some of it was very far-fetched.
3. Professor of Religious Symbology at Harvard. This is flat-out ridiculous for anyone who's been to university (and don't forget, that's supposed to be 50-60% of us now, New Labour kids!!). I suppose Harvard has a whole faculty of 'religious symbologists' for Langdon to preside over as well, does it?
If you want to read more (prolly not, eh?), the New Statesman review isn't too bad, save for its squealing "most people will need a lot more convincing before they start denying evolution and insist that female reproductive organs are public property" rubbish.
Anyway, what brought me to write a blog post here was not Dan Brown's successful leveraging of about £15 for a book and cinema ticket, out of my (and everyone else's) pockets (and against the odds, now I think about it...), but a conversation I overheard in the pub before I went to see the film.
There was a bloke a little bit older than me talking to a middle-aged feller about a visit to a museum he'd recently made on holiday. I didn't catch the beginning of the conversation, but I got the impression it was probably a French museum somewhere. He was saying how it had only cost him 6 Euros, "that's only about four quid isn't it", and what good value for money he felt he'd had. He went on to tell the older man how he would happily pay this to go to museums in the UK, which were of a much higher quality still, in his opinion. The older man agreed. Their conversation moved on to other things, and they left the pub.
Listening to them, I realised just how reasonable they both were. Both men who, from their brief exchange that I'd overheard, put a value in things that are edifying. I realised that, however reasonable their feelings towards paying for a valuable heritage service, these views were isolated in a vacuum of ignorance of the motives and dogmas of modern politics. These men were probably a little too old and a little too Middle England to be aware of the creed of 'access' that now drives our taxpayer's pound. I'm sure museum curators the country over are only too aware of the problems this brings.
Anyone visiting museums in London would see that the chief beneficiaries of New Labour's free museums policy (admittedly, conceived with a good will) have been foreign tourists who no longer pay admission. But they still bring the same wear and tear to the buildings, and now the museums are funded less than they were when they were able to charge. This is a classic case of the unintended consequences of an 'access' policy. In the headlong rush to be seen to address the interests of the UK's welfare/low income or minority ethnic populations, a very different beneficiary group comes out the other side of the equation. What I'm trying to illustrate here is that the two museum-goers in the pub are actually not the demographic the politicians want to go to museums, and are actually quite different again from those who stand to gain from wrong-headed 'access' policies.
1. It was more fast-paced than the book. They did well to cover the whole story within the medium of a 2hr film, but the first fifteen minutes actually felt very rushed, and the Langdon character was able to make mental connections at a quite unrealistic pace.
2. It was no less saccharine than the book. The major holes in history, theology and basic logic were glaring, and leapt out of Teabing's dialogue to accompany the plasma screen scene. The problem is that a lot of people will take this stuff as gospel (hehe), and don't actually have a background that allows them to make proper criticism of convenient glossing to support the narrative. I can't be bothered to go into it at length now, but some of it was very far-fetched.
3. Professor of Religious Symbology at Harvard. This is flat-out ridiculous for anyone who's been to university (and don't forget, that's supposed to be 50-60% of us now, New Labour kids!!). I suppose Harvard has a whole faculty of 'religious symbologists' for Langdon to preside over as well, does it?
If you want to read more (prolly not, eh?), the New Statesman review isn't too bad, save for its squealing "most people will need a lot more convincing before they start denying evolution and insist that female reproductive organs are public property" rubbish.
Anyway, what brought me to write a blog post here was not Dan Brown's successful leveraging of about £15 for a book and cinema ticket, out of my (and everyone else's) pockets (and against the odds, now I think about it...), but a conversation I overheard in the pub before I went to see the film.
There was a bloke a little bit older than me talking to a middle-aged feller about a visit to a museum he'd recently made on holiday. I didn't catch the beginning of the conversation, but I got the impression it was probably a French museum somewhere. He was saying how it had only cost him 6 Euros, "that's only about four quid isn't it", and what good value for money he felt he'd had. He went on to tell the older man how he would happily pay this to go to museums in the UK, which were of a much higher quality still, in his opinion. The older man agreed. Their conversation moved on to other things, and they left the pub.
Listening to them, I realised just how reasonable they both were. Both men who, from their brief exchange that I'd overheard, put a value in things that are edifying. I realised that, however reasonable their feelings towards paying for a valuable heritage service, these views were isolated in a vacuum of ignorance of the motives and dogmas of modern politics. These men were probably a little too old and a little too Middle England to be aware of the creed of 'access' that now drives our taxpayer's pound. I'm sure museum curators the country over are only too aware of the problems this brings.
Anyone visiting museums in London would see that the chief beneficiaries of New Labour's free museums policy (admittedly, conceived with a good will) have been foreign tourists who no longer pay admission. But they still bring the same wear and tear to the buildings, and now the museums are funded less than they were when they were able to charge. This is a classic case of the unintended consequences of an 'access' policy. In the headlong rush to be seen to address the interests of the UK's welfare/low income or minority ethnic populations, a very different beneficiary group comes out the other side of the equation. What I'm trying to illustrate here is that the two museum-goers in the pub are actually not the demographic the politicians want to go to museums, and are actually quite different again from those who stand to gain from wrong-headed 'access' policies.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Heat of the Blade
I can’t help but feel that part of the purpose of writing a blog is to let people into who you are and what you think about a little more than on a cursory level. Very often I find myself wanting to write things that might be construed as critical or maybe quizzical of a situation, but hold back from doing so in case this could impact on some future job, or something like that. God knows, I have strong enough opinions on enough topics.
The alternative, which is anonymous blogging, wouldn’t be for me either. I see little point in writing something that will probably never be read by anyone. But I don’t want to always write simple lists of ‘likes’ and ‘don’t-likes’ and to do something that’s intellectually lightweight. And then I don’t want writing a blog to become a vanity exercise either. Much like my career, I’m far better at knowing what I don’t want to do than what I do.
So, returning to my first point, about letting people into who you are. I thought that I’d address some of the strange things in my character that other people wouldn’t necessarily be aware of. One that has been uppermost in my mind recently is a mild case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that I seem to have with regard to shaving. So far in my life I’ve been quite lucky to have worked or studied in environments where I could get away without shaving (actually I’ve also found myself in environments where I could dress as I please, over the most recent years). No more. I now have a relatively straightforward job, where I wear a shirt and tie to work, and am expected to meet certain standards of appearance. I have no beef with this, apart from the fact that I get to wear my favourite clothes less often, and that I now have to shave, every day.
This has led to the growth of the aforementioned neurosis associated with shaving. For some reason I have a very powerful memory for a few things. Useless bits of trivia, things people have said that I’ve been surprised by, faces (I almost never forget a face – even of people I’ve only shared a train with – I’m hoping I can help Crimewatch one day); that sort of thing. I also have a good memory for things my parents say. My Dad may say something to me when I’m at home at Christmas, and then repeat it (unknowingly) when I’m at home at Easter. So, several years ago, my Dad was telling me about how over many years of shaving, he’s concluded that the heat of the blade is the most important factor. This was repeated again at some point, unwittingly, and it’s now completely lodged in my brain.
Lodged to a frightening extent. Now, when I go to have a shave, I turn the tap on, until it’s hot, then leave the razor under it, in the sink. All the while, this voice runs through my head, saying “theheatofthebladetheheatofthebladetheheatoftheblade”. It’s worrying me. I know this must all sound very David Beckham, but seriously, I hope I can shake it soon.
When I was at school, my mate Carthy used to have an obsession whereby if he didn’t write out his words properly, someone would die. This resulted in him inking over words until he tore through the paper, and it carried on until he got shouted at by a teacher to stop. He never did it again.
But I don’t have anyone to stop me. Theheatofthebladetheheatofthebladetheheatoftheblade. Argh.
The alternative, which is anonymous blogging, wouldn’t be for me either. I see little point in writing something that will probably never be read by anyone. But I don’t want to always write simple lists of ‘likes’ and ‘don’t-likes’ and to do something that’s intellectually lightweight. And then I don’t want writing a blog to become a vanity exercise either. Much like my career, I’m far better at knowing what I don’t want to do than what I do.
So, returning to my first point, about letting people into who you are. I thought that I’d address some of the strange things in my character that other people wouldn’t necessarily be aware of. One that has been uppermost in my mind recently is a mild case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that I seem to have with regard to shaving. So far in my life I’ve been quite lucky to have worked or studied in environments where I could get away without shaving (actually I’ve also found myself in environments where I could dress as I please, over the most recent years). No more. I now have a relatively straightforward job, where I wear a shirt and tie to work, and am expected to meet certain standards of appearance. I have no beef with this, apart from the fact that I get to wear my favourite clothes less often, and that I now have to shave, every day.
This has led to the growth of the aforementioned neurosis associated with shaving. For some reason I have a very powerful memory for a few things. Useless bits of trivia, things people have said that I’ve been surprised by, faces (I almost never forget a face – even of people I’ve only shared a train with – I’m hoping I can help Crimewatch one day); that sort of thing. I also have a good memory for things my parents say. My Dad may say something to me when I’m at home at Christmas, and then repeat it (unknowingly) when I’m at home at Easter. So, several years ago, my Dad was telling me about how over many years of shaving, he’s concluded that the heat of the blade is the most important factor. This was repeated again at some point, unwittingly, and it’s now completely lodged in my brain.
Lodged to a frightening extent. Now, when I go to have a shave, I turn the tap on, until it’s hot, then leave the razor under it, in the sink. All the while, this voice runs through my head, saying “theheatofthebladetheheatofthebladetheheatoftheblade”. It’s worrying me. I know this must all sound very David Beckham, but seriously, I hope I can shake it soon.
When I was at school, my mate Carthy used to have an obsession whereby if he didn’t write out his words properly, someone would die. This resulted in him inking over words until he tore through the paper, and it carried on until he got shouted at by a teacher to stop. He never did it again.
But I don’t have anyone to stop me. Theheatofthebladetheheatofthebladetheheatoftheblade. Argh.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Observations on the Winch'
So, as promised, this blog post turns to my new city of residence (for the next year, at least), Winchester.
I've now been here for a few weeks, and feel that I've mostly settled-in, although I have spent an inordinate amount of time sitting on trains between here and various places (London, Portsmouth, Littlehampton), due to rehearsal or gig commitments, so I still haven't spent *that* much time in my new flat. Don't worry though, I have been at least a bit productive in the time that I have had at home - I completed Batman Begins on the Gamecube the other night whilst eating my way through a big bag of monkey nuts.
The building I'm living in is pretty spectacular (pictured above) and I have a spacious studio flat within it, which has a fair whack of storage to accommodate all of my equipment and boxes full of stuff I've not sorted through for a few years. Something tells me that when we get married, I'm going to have to lose a lot of my old copies of Sound on Sound.
The time I have had so far in Winchester has been pretty good. I like the city a lot, and I work right in the city centre, which means that Naomi and I are able to meet for lunch most days of the week, which breaks up the working day pleasingly. On top of that, I am within 15-minute walking distance of work in the mornings, which is really convenient, and gives me the excuse for a brief exercise each morning and evening. The road that I walk down to work has two notable features. One is that it ends at the Rail Station and the Railway Inn (Winchester's most notable live music venue). I've not yet been to the Railway for a gig because the majority of bands they have put on while I've been here appear to have been of a pretty unremarkable standard (I'm judging this, by the collection of truly horrendous band names I've seen advertised). but I do intend to head down as soon as I see something decent chalked-up on their blackboard. The second thing I've noticed about Stockbridge Road is that there are loads of unsecured wireless networks. It's a Wardriver's dream. However, now I no longer have a laptop (I took a refund after PC World failed to bother to fix my iBook over a 10-week period!), I guess it's not so important for me. But still cool. I'm very much of the belief that people should share out their broadband, as long as noone is abusing it.
The tourist season in Winchester is just starting to take off, and they've been running this big Da Vinci Code cash-in exhibition at the Cathedral, so I can see there's going to be a lot of people traffic in and out of the centre this Summer. Today won't be quite so busy, because it's freezing and has been raining cats and dogs, but that's not been the norm. Actually, getting outside for an hour or so each day in the sunlight has been pretty welcomed over the last four weeks; it really helps to keep my concentration going through the working day.
The new job is going reasonably well. I'm a little nervous that there won't be anything for me to do once the real incumbent of my post returns from her maternity leave, but as always I think that'll be in the lap of the gods. While I'm here I'll do my damndest to make a good impression, anyway.
I've now been here for a few weeks, and feel that I've mostly settled-in, although I have spent an inordinate amount of time sitting on trains between here and various places (London, Portsmouth, Littlehampton), due to rehearsal or gig commitments, so I still haven't spent *that* much time in my new flat. Don't worry though, I have been at least a bit productive in the time that I have had at home - I completed Batman Begins on the Gamecube the other night whilst eating my way through a big bag of monkey nuts.
The building I'm living in is pretty spectacular (pictured above) and I have a spacious studio flat within it, which has a fair whack of storage to accommodate all of my equipment and boxes full of stuff I've not sorted through for a few years. Something tells me that when we get married, I'm going to have to lose a lot of my old copies of Sound on Sound.
The time I have had so far in Winchester has been pretty good. I like the city a lot, and I work right in the city centre, which means that Naomi and I are able to meet for lunch most days of the week, which breaks up the working day pleasingly. On top of that, I am within 15-minute walking distance of work in the mornings, which is really convenient, and gives me the excuse for a brief exercise each morning and evening. The road that I walk down to work has two notable features. One is that it ends at the Rail Station and the Railway Inn (Winchester's most notable live music venue). I've not yet been to the Railway for a gig because the majority of bands they have put on while I've been here appear to have been of a pretty unremarkable standard (I'm judging this, by the collection of truly horrendous band names I've seen advertised). but I do intend to head down as soon as I see something decent chalked-up on their blackboard. The second thing I've noticed about Stockbridge Road is that there are loads of unsecured wireless networks. It's a Wardriver's dream. However, now I no longer have a laptop (I took a refund after PC World failed to bother to fix my iBook over a 10-week period!), I guess it's not so important for me. But still cool. I'm very much of the belief that people should share out their broadband, as long as noone is abusing it.
The tourist season in Winchester is just starting to take off, and they've been running this big Da Vinci Code cash-in exhibition at the Cathedral, so I can see there's going to be a lot of people traffic in and out of the centre this Summer. Today won't be quite so busy, because it's freezing and has been raining cats and dogs, but that's not been the norm. Actually, getting outside for an hour or so each day in the sunlight has been pretty welcomed over the last four weeks; it really helps to keep my concentration going through the working day.
The new job is going reasonably well. I'm a little nervous that there won't be anything for me to do once the real incumbent of my post returns from her maternity leave, but as always I think that'll be in the lap of the gods. While I'm here I'll do my damndest to make a good impression, anyway.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Observations on the 'Hill
I've had a week in Winchester now, and Jack moves into my old room in Methuen Park today, so I thought I'd mark the occasion with a blog post about the 'Hill.
Muswell Hill
In short, the 'Hill was a swell place to live for the last 10 months, and certainly the nicest place in London that I got to live, and at by far the best price. There's something about that part of London that's generally very pleasant, with a sense of being self-contained and slightly villagey. During my time living there, we became quite attached to drinking at the Maid of Muswell (particularly during its short-lived spell of opening until Midnight), and at the Gatehouse in Highgate. Nice pubs make a hell of a difference to what you get out of your surrounding area, I always find.
Other things that I'll remember fondly include the pizza delivery service that Frank and I would use to get 18" beasts, delivered from somewhere in Tottenham (they had a two-mile delivery radius and every time we'd get a delivery, the receipt would show something like 1.98 miles, so we were just inside their catchment area. I suspect that this is a tradition that Frank and Jack will keep up. Boshed.
In terms of other culinary delights, I was pleased to see an Observer article a few weeks ago about Toff's by Maureen Lipman. Toff's is this great fish and chip restaurant in Muswell Hill that's run by a Greek family, led by the comic/menacing Costa. When we went there for my birthday, he was so insistent that Nohawk Dave's girlfriend, Sara, should eat fish, when she actually just wanted a pie, that it became quite embarassing. Still entertaining, though, and really very good fish, with unlimited top-ups of chips, which can't be a bad thing.
Other things I enjoyed about living in Muswell Hill were the views you could get over the rest of London. From Alexandra Palace (pictured), just around the corner from our house, or from the back window of Starbucks, you can get a really good vantage point, and make all sorts of visual connections between one area and another that central London's closed-in geography (and the fact that Londonders are all understandably pretty Underground-map-minded) wouldn't allow. The view from Ally Pally at night is particularly spectacular - you can see Canary Wharf and all sorts of other landmarks lit up.
Obviously I'll miss the old house as well. I feel privileged to have lived there, as their first tenant, and although living in an old building had its challenges (mice invasions, being full of someone else's possessions, fluctuating temperatures etc), in general I had an amazing time living there. David Liddell (the organist who comes to the house to play the organ-in-situ most days) became a good friend, and I feel that I owe him a lot, in terms of his hospitality, good nature, and patience at accommodating new people in a house that had a lot of history for him. David's guide dogs were always good fun too, having never been spent much time near large pets like that before. Campbell, the first dog, was very gentle and loveable, and Doge, the second dog while I was there, was a bit young and over-enthusiastic, which was always good for a laugh when he went for Frank's crotch.
I'm going to miss sharing a flat with Frank as well, and I guess I probably won't ever get to share living space with a close friend again, until the point at which Naomi and I get married and move in together. This might all sound a bit overly-nostalgic, but I thought I'd write it anyway, as these are the sorts of things that really matter to me. We had more than our fair share of stupid jokes in that house, and I'm really pleased that Jackie's going to be taking over the tenancy, which I hope will mean me revisiting fairly frequently.
In the next installment, I'll write about my "new" life, in Winchester.
Muswell Hill
In short, the 'Hill was a swell place to live for the last 10 months, and certainly the nicest place in London that I got to live, and at by far the best price. There's something about that part of London that's generally very pleasant, with a sense of being self-contained and slightly villagey. During my time living there, we became quite attached to drinking at the Maid of Muswell (particularly during its short-lived spell of opening until Midnight), and at the Gatehouse in Highgate. Nice pubs make a hell of a difference to what you get out of your surrounding area, I always find.
Other things that I'll remember fondly include the pizza delivery service that Frank and I would use to get 18" beasts, delivered from somewhere in Tottenham (they had a two-mile delivery radius and every time we'd get a delivery, the receipt would show something like 1.98 miles, so we were just inside their catchment area. I suspect that this is a tradition that Frank and Jack will keep up. Boshed.
In terms of other culinary delights, I was pleased to see an Observer article a few weeks ago about Toff's by Maureen Lipman. Toff's is this great fish and chip restaurant in Muswell Hill that's run by a Greek family, led by the comic/menacing Costa. When we went there for my birthday, he was so insistent that Nohawk Dave's girlfriend, Sara, should eat fish, when she actually just wanted a pie, that it became quite embarassing. Still entertaining, though, and really very good fish, with unlimited top-ups of chips, which can't be a bad thing.
Other things I enjoyed about living in Muswell Hill were the views you could get over the rest of London. From Alexandra Palace (pictured), just around the corner from our house, or from the back window of Starbucks, you can get a really good vantage point, and make all sorts of visual connections between one area and another that central London's closed-in geography (and the fact that Londonders are all understandably pretty Underground-map-minded) wouldn't allow. The view from Ally Pally at night is particularly spectacular - you can see Canary Wharf and all sorts of other landmarks lit up.
Obviously I'll miss the old house as well. I feel privileged to have lived there, as their first tenant, and although living in an old building had its challenges (mice invasions, being full of someone else's possessions, fluctuating temperatures etc), in general I had an amazing time living there. David Liddell (the organist who comes to the house to play the organ-in-situ most days) became a good friend, and I feel that I owe him a lot, in terms of his hospitality, good nature, and patience at accommodating new people in a house that had a lot of history for him. David's guide dogs were always good fun too, having never been spent much time near large pets like that before. Campbell, the first dog, was very gentle and loveable, and Doge, the second dog while I was there, was a bit young and over-enthusiastic, which was always good for a laugh when he went for Frank's crotch.
I'm going to miss sharing a flat with Frank as well, and I guess I probably won't ever get to share living space with a close friend again, until the point at which Naomi and I get married and move in together. This might all sound a bit overly-nostalgic, but I thought I'd write it anyway, as these are the sorts of things that really matter to me. We had more than our fair share of stupid jokes in that house, and I'm really pleased that Jackie's going to be taking over the tenancy, which I hope will mean me revisiting fairly frequently.
In the next installment, I'll write about my "new" life, in Winchester.
Friday, April 07, 2006
"Normal is great"
Those of you in the UK may have seen the current slick ad campaign of the online bank More Than, which spotlights their insurance products.
Its tagline is "Normal is great", and I've had this in-mind this week as I've battled with an excruciating toothache. Well, two trips back to Cardiff later - no, I haven't registered with a London NHS dentist; we do live in the real world here, after all - I'm back to 'normal' and actually really happy as a result.
This reminds me of one of my favourite passages of Schopenhauer's 'On the Suffering of the World' where he describes suffering as being a noticeable, and therefore positive, event, which breaks with our 'normal' state of happiness. Suffering is the -1 to our natural state of 0, if you like, and this is why it's our lot in this world to remember the pangs of unhappiness more easily than a distant memory of happiness. I agree with this (and most other things I've read by him), but I must say in the short term after an uncomfortable event, the sense of relief and euphoria are wonderful.
Its tagline is "Normal is great", and I've had this in-mind this week as I've battled with an excruciating toothache. Well, two trips back to Cardiff later - no, I haven't registered with a London NHS dentist; we do live in the real world here, after all - I'm back to 'normal' and actually really happy as a result.
This reminds me of one of my favourite passages of Schopenhauer's 'On the Suffering of the World' where he describes suffering as being a noticeable, and therefore positive, event, which breaks with our 'normal' state of happiness. Suffering is the -1 to our natural state of 0, if you like, and this is why it's our lot in this world to remember the pangs of unhappiness more easily than a distant memory of happiness. I agree with this (and most other things I've read by him), but I must say in the short term after an uncomfortable event, the sense of relief and euphoria are wonderful.
Friday, March 31, 2006
A triumvirate of annoyances
Mindful of how easily blogs can turn into whinge-fests, I think I will get a few things off my chest from the past couple of days.
1) At Waterloo Station yesterday I went to buy a coffee to one of the numerous stands that sells hot drinks, greasy pasties etc. I handed the guy a £1 coin, a 50p coin and a 20p coin for a coffee costing £1.60. His hands went behind the till with my money as I awaited his colleague preparing the coffee and he went on to take another customer's order. About 10 seconds later, rather than giving me my 10p change, his hands came up showing me two 20p pieces and saying that it was £1.60 for the coffee and that I needed to give him another 20p. I pointed out that I'd just given him £1.70, he pointed to the 2 20p pieces in his hand. I stupidly handed over an additional 20p, there being no way that I could prove the change I'd given him. This guy obviously thinks he's a latter-day Svengali, and was probably really pleased with himself, having just conned me out of 30p.
What he hasn't reckoned with is just how much it irks me when I get ripped-off. I am probably going to go back there, order the same thing and see what happens when I hand him the same change. What will happen at that point remains to be seen, but I can tell you now that I will not be letting him have his way a second time.
2) I've been in Winchester over the last day, to look at a potential flat that Naomi has found for me, in a nursing home that's been converted into rental studio flats. When we went to see it last night, I must say that it did strike me as a lovely place, and somewhere I'd be happy to live for the next year or so. The landlady seemed nice enough, and the agent showed us around. However, the rental values that the landlady is hoping for are practically at central London levels, so I decided that I would opt to offer a bit below the asking price and see what happens.
The property is being dealt with by an agency called Lindesay's. Click the link and marvel at their unbelievably tasteless use of intro music to their site.
So after lunch today, I went into their office to speak to Kirsty, the girl who'd shown us around yesterday. She wasn't there, so instead I was directed to speak to another girl behind one of the three forward-facing desks with people at them. She looked at me like I was a piece of dirt, she didn't ask me if I'd like to sit down, and she sure as eggs is eggs didn't go out of her way to be courteous in answering my questions. And all of this before I'd suggested offering the landlady £530 per month for the room rather than £550. Bear in mind also that this agency intends to charge me £125 for administration in connecting me with the landlord, and then take a month's rent + £100 as deposit (no doubt they intend to try and con me out of that when the rent expires, by dubious charges for cleaning that they will probably never actually pay for). I don't understand how salespeople (and that is all they are) think they can be so lacking in courtesy, and it leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
3) I also wanted to get some work done this afternoon, after speaking to the agents. I'd borrowed Naomi's Powerbook, and once I'd exhausted its battery, was left trying to find a way to get some power to it. Cafe Nero doesn't have any power sockets, Costa Coffee doesn't have any power sockets, and there's no Starbucks in Winchester centre. These places do offer wireless internet access, however, which seems like a wierd service on its own if you're not going to provide the means for people to use it for any sensible length of time. The next port of call, you'd think, would be the county's libraries. Maybe I've been spoiled being able to go and use the libraries in Oxford (either College or University) and then those in London, where power for laptops is always readily available. Well, when I asked if it were possible in the County Reference Library (where you'd expect that this sort of thing'd be important for those engaged in serious study), I was met with bemusement and asked to repeat my question (I really love it when people do this to me), then told no.
Gah.
1) At Waterloo Station yesterday I went to buy a coffee to one of the numerous stands that sells hot drinks, greasy pasties etc. I handed the guy a £1 coin, a 50p coin and a 20p coin for a coffee costing £1.60. His hands went behind the till with my money as I awaited his colleague preparing the coffee and he went on to take another customer's order. About 10 seconds later, rather than giving me my 10p change, his hands came up showing me two 20p pieces and saying that it was £1.60 for the coffee and that I needed to give him another 20p. I pointed out that I'd just given him £1.70, he pointed to the 2 20p pieces in his hand. I stupidly handed over an additional 20p, there being no way that I could prove the change I'd given him. This guy obviously thinks he's a latter-day Svengali, and was probably really pleased with himself, having just conned me out of 30p.
What he hasn't reckoned with is just how much it irks me when I get ripped-off. I am probably going to go back there, order the same thing and see what happens when I hand him the same change. What will happen at that point remains to be seen, but I can tell you now that I will not be letting him have his way a second time.
2) I've been in Winchester over the last day, to look at a potential flat that Naomi has found for me, in a nursing home that's been converted into rental studio flats. When we went to see it last night, I must say that it did strike me as a lovely place, and somewhere I'd be happy to live for the next year or so. The landlady seemed nice enough, and the agent showed us around. However, the rental values that the landlady is hoping for are practically at central London levels, so I decided that I would opt to offer a bit below the asking price and see what happens.
The property is being dealt with by an agency called Lindesay's. Click the link and marvel at their unbelievably tasteless use of intro music to their site.
So after lunch today, I went into their office to speak to Kirsty, the girl who'd shown us around yesterday. She wasn't there, so instead I was directed to speak to another girl behind one of the three forward-facing desks with people at them. She looked at me like I was a piece of dirt, she didn't ask me if I'd like to sit down, and she sure as eggs is eggs didn't go out of her way to be courteous in answering my questions. And all of this before I'd suggested offering the landlady £530 per month for the room rather than £550. Bear in mind also that this agency intends to charge me £125 for administration in connecting me with the landlord, and then take a month's rent + £100 as deposit (no doubt they intend to try and con me out of that when the rent expires, by dubious charges for cleaning that they will probably never actually pay for). I don't understand how salespeople (and that is all they are) think they can be so lacking in courtesy, and it leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.
3) I also wanted to get some work done this afternoon, after speaking to the agents. I'd borrowed Naomi's Powerbook, and once I'd exhausted its battery, was left trying to find a way to get some power to it. Cafe Nero doesn't have any power sockets, Costa Coffee doesn't have any power sockets, and there's no Starbucks in Winchester centre. These places do offer wireless internet access, however, which seems like a wierd service on its own if you're not going to provide the means for people to use it for any sensible length of time. The next port of call, you'd think, would be the county's libraries. Maybe I've been spoiled being able to go and use the libraries in Oxford (either College or University) and then those in London, where power for laptops is always readily available. Well, when I asked if it were possible in the County Reference Library (where you'd expect that this sort of thing'd be important for those engaged in serious study), I was met with bemusement and asked to repeat my question (I really love it when people do this to me), then told no.
Gah.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
50
I find that I spend an inordinate amount of my time complaining about things, in a geriatric-inspired way. There are actually lots of things to complain about, if you look around you!
Yesterday, for instance, I was complaining about having to pay £1.80 for tie dry-cleaning. You may point out that if I were able to eat without food falling out of my mouth, then maybe I'd be able to get away without having to have 3 of my ties dry cleaned in the last week. You would be right.
When I mentioned paying £1.80 per tie at the pub last night, it prompted Jack to claim that his dad went somewhere where you could get ties cleaned for 50p each. Frank and I greeted this with no small amount of skepticism. So we started challenging Jackie about where you would get this done. He proceeded to state that not only could you get ties dry-cleaned for 50p, but that his dad has no fewer than 50 ties.
Not content with one exaggeration, he'd chosen to try and confound us by reusing the same number! The photo above was taken while Jack tried to tell us this was the truth.
Slightly more believable among last night's conversations was that Jack is the owner of 24 ties.
More wierd news soon, readers.
Yesterday, for instance, I was complaining about having to pay £1.80 for tie dry-cleaning. You may point out that if I were able to eat without food falling out of my mouth, then maybe I'd be able to get away without having to have 3 of my ties dry cleaned in the last week. You would be right.
When I mentioned paying £1.80 per tie at the pub last night, it prompted Jack to claim that his dad went somewhere where you could get ties cleaned for 50p each. Frank and I greeted this with no small amount of skepticism. So we started challenging Jackie about where you would get this done. He proceeded to state that not only could you get ties dry-cleaned for 50p, but that his dad has no fewer than 50 ties.
Not content with one exaggeration, he'd chosen to try and confound us by reusing the same number! The photo above was taken while Jack tried to tell us this was the truth.
Slightly more believable among last night's conversations was that Jack is the owner of 24 ties.
More wierd news soon, readers.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Result
Boy oh boy, it's been nearly a month since I've posted something here. I wouldn't blame people if they'd completely stopped checking back here to see what I'm up to .... but to you, my stalwart friends who are reading this now, here are my updates.
Most importantly, I found out yesterday that I've secured a job in Winchester. This is fantastic news and allows me to get on with planning the rest of my life. I haven't yet received the offer letter, but the post will be for 6 months, working as a project officer for Special Educational Needs in Hampshire County Council as maternity cover. Fingers crossed that will then lead me into other things there. For the time being, I have a database project to complete for the Foundation over the next few weeks, so I'm actually back in the office, and will be helping with their move to new premises at the end of this month.
Apart from the obvious advantages of having gainful employment, most importantly of all, it will stop Frank from calling me "an unemployed". From a man I have known for over 6 years who has yet to take up a full time job, there has been no small amount of irony in these exchanges.
Let me see, what else have I been doing? Oh yes, trying to make arrangements for the wedding, which is all still at quite an early stage. I've been down in Winchester a fair bit, looking at hotels and that sort of thing for the reception, and considering our options as far as churches are concerned.
The less pleasant backdrop to all of this is that I'm rather poor at the minute. Scratch that, I'm "laughably poor" as Frank would have it. I got paid too little for the freelance work I've done over the last month, and am right at the limit of my overdraft, which is causing me some concern, seeing as I've just had payday! Oh well, hopefully things will work out soon enough.
No real band developments on the horizon at the mo. We've been trying to figure out a way of recording some new songs for a proposed mini-album (and maybe a single of some sort). Unfortunately we're constrained by drummer Chris' holidays (which are school holidays seeing as he's a teaching assistant now). It'd be great if we were able to record something before I leave for Winch, but we'll see what happens, I suppose. We have been writing some pretty interesting cut-and-paste music recently, and I'm actually really keen to get it recorded.
Promise I'll write again soon, now that my employment worries are over (touch wood).
-----
edit: Frank now tells me that I've caught the degenerative disease known as employment. The laughter never ends.
Most importantly, I found out yesterday that I've secured a job in Winchester. This is fantastic news and allows me to get on with planning the rest of my life. I haven't yet received the offer letter, but the post will be for 6 months, working as a project officer for Special Educational Needs in Hampshire County Council as maternity cover. Fingers crossed that will then lead me into other things there. For the time being, I have a database project to complete for the Foundation over the next few weeks, so I'm actually back in the office, and will be helping with their move to new premises at the end of this month.
Apart from the obvious advantages of having gainful employment, most importantly of all, it will stop Frank from calling me "an unemployed". From a man I have known for over 6 years who has yet to take up a full time job, there has been no small amount of irony in these exchanges.
Let me see, what else have I been doing? Oh yes, trying to make arrangements for the wedding, which is all still at quite an early stage. I've been down in Winchester a fair bit, looking at hotels and that sort of thing for the reception, and considering our options as far as churches are concerned.
The less pleasant backdrop to all of this is that I'm rather poor at the minute. Scratch that, I'm "laughably poor" as Frank would have it. I got paid too little for the freelance work I've done over the last month, and am right at the limit of my overdraft, which is causing me some concern, seeing as I've just had payday! Oh well, hopefully things will work out soon enough.
No real band developments on the horizon at the mo. We've been trying to figure out a way of recording some new songs for a proposed mini-album (and maybe a single of some sort). Unfortunately we're constrained by drummer Chris' holidays (which are school holidays seeing as he's a teaching assistant now). It'd be great if we were able to record something before I leave for Winch, but we'll see what happens, I suppose. We have been writing some pretty interesting cut-and-paste music recently, and I'm actually really keen to get it recorded.
Promise I'll write again soon, now that my employment worries are over (touch wood).
-----
edit: Frank now tells me that I've caught the degenerative disease known as employment. The laughter never ends.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Action on the Radio
Check it out, yeah? Our first brush with the BBC!
You have about 24 hours to listen to it, I think.....
You have about 24 hours to listen to it, I think.....
Friday, February 17, 2006
Strait
So I'm in the final strait at work, with two and a half working days to go. You may notice my blog updates since Christmas have been occasional, at best. This is actually intentional. I'm quite concerned about writing honest appraisals of the different interviews and meetings with employment agencies that I've had, because a negative remark might not look all that appealing to a prospective employer that has the foresight or the inclination to google my name, or variations on my name. I've just sent an email reply to a school friend's email about this. Do you notice just how circular this situation is becoming? I can't write anything in case it looks unfavourable, so I write here that I can't write anything in case it looks unfavourable. Which in itself might imply that I was going to have something unfavourable to write and therefore a prospective employer might be wary anyway. Oh hell.
I'm going to have to spend this weekend clearing up my desk and all the correspondence I've never quite got round to, and then hopefully leave things in a good order for my successor, Zaheer, to take over.
Then, my plan for next week is to sign up to some temping agencies and to investigate computer qualifications I could do in a short time period. As ever, so much to do!
Oh yes, yesterday I discovered that there are some pretty cool photos of an Action and Action gig we did at the Wheatsheaf in Oxford last month that you can see at this page.
Anyway, just bear with me until I secure stable employment before I actually write down my thoughts on the topic. If you care.
I'm going to have to spend this weekend clearing up my desk and all the correspondence I've never quite got round to, and then hopefully leave things in a good order for my successor, Zaheer, to take over.
Then, my plan for next week is to sign up to some temping agencies and to investigate computer qualifications I could do in a short time period. As ever, so much to do!
Oh yes, yesterday I discovered that there are some pretty cool photos of an Action and Action gig we did at the Wheatsheaf in Oxford last month that you can see at this page.
Anyway, just bear with me until I secure stable employment before I actually write down my thoughts on the topic. If you care.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Dolly Mixtures
My feelings recently have been pretty mixed.
On the one hand, I'm really looking forward to living in Winchester, so that I can see Naomi much more often - this is going to be wonderful - but a part of me is also going to miss being in London, where I have quite a few friends, and where it's relatively easy to meet up with people. I don't actually know anyone at all from Winchester apart from Naomi and her family. I guess starting the second band I've had in my head for some time (and it's developed far enough as an idea that I actually have a bunch of potential names for it already) might be the answer to that. I certainly intend to keep coming back to Uxbridge for Action and Action stuff at weekends, but then I still need to make sure that I have something to interest me during the week as well.
The other reason I'm a bit nervy at the mo is that I don't yet have a job to go to in Winchester, and time is running out before I leave this one. I also have a great desire to achieve some things I've always wanted to do whilst in this post, and I don't exactly have loads of time to do those things either. I have an interview this week, so we'll see if anything comes of that, I suppose. Wish me luck.
And then there are things I've seen and heard in other people's lives recently that have upset me somewhat. A friend of mine who probably doesn't read this blog has recently seen the end of his marriage, which I happened to blunder onto in conversation, unknowingly. I know I can't fully grasp how he's feeling, but I have still been pretty down for the last week or so, having seen the terrible effect on him. It always upsets me when I'm told about friends' relationships ending, and I do believe that people are better off together than single, but I felt that this was particularly a awful case and I can truly feel a small part of that hurt on his behalf. Also, a workmate of mine is being put through the mill at the moment for other reasons. It's harrowing, and there's not a great deal anyone can do about it for now.
It's horrible feeling powerless.
On the one hand, I'm really looking forward to living in Winchester, so that I can see Naomi much more often - this is going to be wonderful - but a part of me is also going to miss being in London, where I have quite a few friends, and where it's relatively easy to meet up with people. I don't actually know anyone at all from Winchester apart from Naomi and her family. I guess starting the second band I've had in my head for some time (and it's developed far enough as an idea that I actually have a bunch of potential names for it already) might be the answer to that. I certainly intend to keep coming back to Uxbridge for Action and Action stuff at weekends, but then I still need to make sure that I have something to interest me during the week as well.
The other reason I'm a bit nervy at the mo is that I don't yet have a job to go to in Winchester, and time is running out before I leave this one. I also have a great desire to achieve some things I've always wanted to do whilst in this post, and I don't exactly have loads of time to do those things either. I have an interview this week, so we'll see if anything comes of that, I suppose. Wish me luck.
And then there are things I've seen and heard in other people's lives recently that have upset me somewhat. A friend of mine who probably doesn't read this blog has recently seen the end of his marriage, which I happened to blunder onto in conversation, unknowingly. I know I can't fully grasp how he's feeling, but I have still been pretty down for the last week or so, having seen the terrible effect on him. It always upsets me when I'm told about friends' relationships ending, and I do believe that people are better off together than single, but I felt that this was particularly a awful case and I can truly feel a small part of that hurt on his behalf. Also, a workmate of mine is being put through the mill at the moment for other reasons. It's harrowing, and there's not a great deal anyone can do about it for now.
It's horrible feeling powerless.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Engagement
I have some rather exciting news. On New Year's Day, at about 10:00pm Florida-time, I asked Naomi to marry me.
The photo above is about an hour later that evening.
(People keep asking me if she said "yes", which apart from being mildly insulting, is a bit of a daft question! Maybe I should start replying "no, she refused because she hates me. That's why I'm relating the story to you, because I like to embarass myself". I probably won't end up saying this to anyone because, let's face it, I've not been sarcastic enough to pull this sort of thing off since I left my teens)
It'd be a massive understatement to say that I'm pretty bloody pleased we're getting married (planned for Summer 2007) and it's probably about the most important thing I've written about in this blog. I've toyed with the idea of writing the evening out in full, but I think it's something too sacred to cover here, so I'm going to move on to the rest of the holiday.
Amber and Andrew's wedding, the reason we were in Florida in the first place, was a wonderful occasion. Andrew has succeeded in being the first one of our group of friends at Oxford to get married, which is some achievement seeing as he wasn't even going out with anyone at Christmas 2004. He's managed to meet a wonderful woman, moved fast, and their happiness is evident to everyone who's seen them together. I'm so glad that we were able to be there for the wedding, and very grateful to Andrew's parents for kindly covering our accommodation.
Wierdly enough, Orlando was also the setting for getting a decent number of Magdalen friends together in one place, finally. Because obviously we couldn't manage that in the UK. Most of the time Jack, Naomi and I hung out together, and Jack very kindly did all of the driving, in his beloved hired Trans Am. The weather was pretty much perfect (and warm enough that we were able to spend a day basking on Cocoa Beach, near Cape Canaveral). We didn't go to Gatorland this year (nor did we go to the slightly-freakish Holy Land Experience) but the week was a blast nonetheless, quite apart from getting engaged. It was great to see Thurston and his wife, Jamie, and we went with him to Park Avenue Records, possibly the best record shop I've ever been to. Oh yes, and a few days earlier we got upgraded to business class on the flight out. 3 course meal, 3 glasses of champagne, corvoisier. Get in.
Anyway, I'm back at work now until 13th February. That gives me a month and a day from today to find myself a job. I'll write more about this soon enough.
Over and out, for now.
The photo above is about an hour later that evening.
(People keep asking me if she said "yes", which apart from being mildly insulting, is a bit of a daft question! Maybe I should start replying "no, she refused because she hates me. That's why I'm relating the story to you, because I like to embarass myself". I probably won't end up saying this to anyone because, let's face it, I've not been sarcastic enough to pull this sort of thing off since I left my teens)
It'd be a massive understatement to say that I'm pretty bloody pleased we're getting married (planned for Summer 2007) and it's probably about the most important thing I've written about in this blog. I've toyed with the idea of writing the evening out in full, but I think it's something too sacred to cover here, so I'm going to move on to the rest of the holiday.
Amber and Andrew's wedding, the reason we were in Florida in the first place, was a wonderful occasion. Andrew has succeeded in being the first one of our group of friends at Oxford to get married, which is some achievement seeing as he wasn't even going out with anyone at Christmas 2004. He's managed to meet a wonderful woman, moved fast, and their happiness is evident to everyone who's seen them together. I'm so glad that we were able to be there for the wedding, and very grateful to Andrew's parents for kindly covering our accommodation.
Wierdly enough, Orlando was also the setting for getting a decent number of Magdalen friends together in one place, finally. Because obviously we couldn't manage that in the UK. Most of the time Jack, Naomi and I hung out together, and Jack very kindly did all of the driving, in his beloved hired Trans Am. The weather was pretty much perfect (and warm enough that we were able to spend a day basking on Cocoa Beach, near Cape Canaveral). We didn't go to Gatorland this year (nor did we go to the slightly-freakish Holy Land Experience) but the week was a blast nonetheless, quite apart from getting engaged. It was great to see Thurston and his wife, Jamie, and we went with him to Park Avenue Records, possibly the best record shop I've ever been to. Oh yes, and a few days earlier we got upgraded to business class on the flight out. 3 course meal, 3 glasses of champagne, corvoisier. Get in.
Anyway, I'm back at work now until 13th February. That gives me a month and a day from today to find myself a job. I'll write more about this soon enough.
Over and out, for now.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Compilation
I've just published my first iMix to the iTunes Music Store. For £8.69, you can now buy 11 songs by some of my favourite bands ever, or just listen to the 30 second previews.
In the Collective Zine review of the first Action and Action EP, we were compared to a much-vaunted British band from a few years back called Spy Versus Spy. I can't tell you how difficult it is to track down material by them - I can't find anywhere online where you can buy their CDs - but I have finally located one track of theirs, again on iTunes. Alan, if you're reading this, it's here
Now, off to Cardiff city centre for the inevitable "sales".
In the Collective Zine review of the first Action and Action EP, we were compared to a much-vaunted British band from a few years back called Spy Versus Spy. I can't tell you how difficult it is to track down material by them - I can't find anywhere online where you can buy their CDs - but I have finally located one track of theirs, again on iTunes. Alan, if you're reading this, it's here
Now, off to Cardiff city centre for the inevitable "sales".
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Comfort Food
I have had a huge amount to do over the past couple of days, and, as ever, I haven't quite managed to do all of it.
I journeyed to Oxford this Tuesday, to hand in an application form for a job at the University, and also to sign up with an agency. The agency didn't fill me with a whole look of confidence, given that they seem to deal exclusively with the badly-paid sectors of the employment market, but we'll see if anything comes of it. In terms of Winchester, there doesn't appear to be loads of work there either, but I'll keep checking Guardian Jobs and so on.
Then, this evening, just when I was all ready to make the tube journey to Paddington, it occurred to me that I'd better check the location of my passport. I opened the top left draw of my dresser, where I was fairly certain it would be, and fished around a bit. I generally keep my passport and cheque book (i.e. the important official things) in this draw. My old passport, with the corner cut off, is there. My new one is not. Now, the last time I used it was to go to Rome, so it can't be all that far away, but after consulting my folks, they think I should find it before I come home to Cardiff. Arse.
Oh well, at least it means I can get my washing done in good time of leaving for Florida. And I might even get time to tidy my room a bit!
Right, one final things before I end this post. The first is to alert people to the truly wonderful www.uknova.com. This website lists 'torrent' files (a torrent file is a tiny file you download, then open to download parts the file from many different locations at once, thus spreading the bandwidth load) for UK television. Put simply, you find the tv show you want, then download the torrent file for it. Set the torrent file running (usually overnight, because the files tend to be quite big) and then you eventually get various British TV shows you can watch at your leisure. Apart from people uploading things like yesterday's Eastenders, there are all sorts of great shows available that people have recorded on VHS years ago, and now transferred to a computer file format (usually divx).
This might seem like a lot of trouble for anyone who's used to Sky+ and similar services. Well, it ain't for me. The primary reason why I don't just switch on the box and watch TV in a conventional sense is that the roof aerial of our house is pointing straight at the TV mast of Alexandra Palace, which has apparently been switched off for some years now. I can't really afford to pay someone to get up on the roof and reorient it so we can watch TV, and I'm sure as hell not going to do a Rod Hull myself. As a result, I'm not paying for a TV license, as I don't receive TV broadcasts into my TV (used exclusively for the Gamecube), but it doesn't stop the TV licensing people from sending me numerous, increasingly threatening letters. I'd be really interested to know the legal situation ias regards buying equipment that includes a TV tuner if you have no intention of watching TV with it.
[edit] I found my passport in the end, in the jacket pocket of my suit. Thank goodness.
Merry Christmas to one and all. Expect frequent blog service to resume in Florida, in a few days' time.
I journeyed to Oxford this Tuesday, to hand in an application form for a job at the University, and also to sign up with an agency. The agency didn't fill me with a whole look of confidence, given that they seem to deal exclusively with the badly-paid sectors of the employment market, but we'll see if anything comes of it. In terms of Winchester, there doesn't appear to be loads of work there either, but I'll keep checking Guardian Jobs and so on.
Then, this evening, just when I was all ready to make the tube journey to Paddington, it occurred to me that I'd better check the location of my passport. I opened the top left draw of my dresser, where I was fairly certain it would be, and fished around a bit. I generally keep my passport and cheque book (i.e. the important official things) in this draw. My old passport, with the corner cut off, is there. My new one is not. Now, the last time I used it was to go to Rome, so it can't be all that far away, but after consulting my folks, they think I should find it before I come home to Cardiff. Arse.
Oh well, at least it means I can get my washing done in good time of leaving for Florida. And I might even get time to tidy my room a bit!
Right, one final things before I end this post. The first is to alert people to the truly wonderful www.uknova.com. This website lists 'torrent' files (a torrent file is a tiny file you download, then open to download parts the file from many different locations at once, thus spreading the bandwidth load) for UK television. Put simply, you find the tv show you want, then download the torrent file for it. Set the torrent file running (usually overnight, because the files tend to be quite big) and then you eventually get various British TV shows you can watch at your leisure. Apart from people uploading things like yesterday's Eastenders, there are all sorts of great shows available that people have recorded on VHS years ago, and now transferred to a computer file format (usually divx).
This might seem like a lot of trouble for anyone who's used to Sky+ and similar services. Well, it ain't for me. The primary reason why I don't just switch on the box and watch TV in a conventional sense is that the roof aerial of our house is pointing straight at the TV mast of Alexandra Palace, which has apparently been switched off for some years now. I can't really afford to pay someone to get up on the roof and reorient it so we can watch TV, and I'm sure as hell not going to do a Rod Hull myself. As a result, I'm not paying for a TV license, as I don't receive TV broadcasts into my TV (used exclusively for the Gamecube), but it doesn't stop the TV licensing people from sending me numerous, increasingly threatening letters. I'd be really interested to know the legal situation ias regards buying equipment that includes a TV tuner if you have no intention of watching TV with it.
[edit] I found my passport in the end, in the jacket pocket of my suit. Thank goodness.
Merry Christmas to one and all. Expect frequent blog service to resume in Florida, in a few days' time.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
The beginning of the end
Sorry it's been so long since I've posted. Not only have things been pretty crazy in terms of my workload (remind me never to work for a week and a half with only 4hrs sleep per night), but this morning I gave in my resignation at work. I'm intending to move to Oxford or Winchester; who knows what the future will hold?
Don't touch that dial....
Don't touch that dial....
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Famous for 15 megapixels
I'd like to alert readers of my blog to this considerably better blog about life in London and that sort of thing. He seems to make a good go of articulating his observations about London life, drawing different things together, and he's a decent photographer to-boot.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Reviews
I am overjoyed by the fact that the first review of my band's new CD (at Collective Zine) is a good one, by a source that I trust.
This has really made my day
This has really made my day
Monday, November 14, 2005
I love my band!
Continuing the theme of posting last week's events, I thought I'd tell you about one of my highlights which was playing at a mental health arts event for Mad for Arts. We were on a bill of predominantly jazz-related music and spoken-word recitations; I knew before we did it that we'd be the only rock band, and yet again we'd be on a line-up that wouldn't be of bands with a natural fit with the music we play, but it almost felt as if the more mis-fit, the better.
There was a very cool sampling duo with broadly jazz instrumentation called 'Rabbit' who were mesmerising to watch and listen to, particularly in combination with their freaky projected visuals. Delay pedals combined with saxophone occurred in one of the other bands as well, which I enjoyed listening to, in the same way that I'd enjoy listening to the wierder sections of The Mars Volta.
What really made the night for me (apart from the newky brown ale, obviously) was that when we went on-stage, it felt like we were hungry again, with the kind of aggression that we'd had when were a brand new band, only with much much better songs to back it up. Guitars were thrashing about, I was narrowly avoiding smacking my face into various solid objects, and there was a sense of barely-orchestrated yet fun chaos about the room, from my point of view. People were either retreating into the recesses of the crypt to get away from the completely un-jazz noise we were banging out (did I mention, it was a gig in a crypt!), or otherwise coming forward with renewed enthusiasm (we're definitely a Marmite band). This is why I'm in a band. I want to let loose, and getting some sort of reaction from the onlookers is a significant bonus. We're playing in Oxford this week, with my Uni mate (and ex-band-mate) Jake's band. I'm really looking forward to it, and I just hope we play as well as we did last week!
There was a very cool sampling duo with broadly jazz instrumentation called 'Rabbit' who were mesmerising to watch and listen to, particularly in combination with their freaky projected visuals. Delay pedals combined with saxophone occurred in one of the other bands as well, which I enjoyed listening to, in the same way that I'd enjoy listening to the wierder sections of The Mars Volta.
What really made the night for me (apart from the newky brown ale, obviously) was that when we went on-stage, it felt like we were hungry again, with the kind of aggression that we'd had when were a brand new band, only with much much better songs to back it up. Guitars were thrashing about, I was narrowly avoiding smacking my face into various solid objects, and there was a sense of barely-orchestrated yet fun chaos about the room, from my point of view. People were either retreating into the recesses of the crypt to get away from the completely un-jazz noise we were banging out (did I mention, it was a gig in a crypt!), or otherwise coming forward with renewed enthusiasm (we're definitely a Marmite band). This is why I'm in a band. I want to let loose, and getting some sort of reaction from the onlookers is a significant bonus. We're playing in Oxford this week, with my Uni mate (and ex-band-mate) Jake's band. I'm really looking forward to it, and I just hope we play as well as we did last week!
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