2007 roundup

Yes, it's that time of year again where I take my lead from my fellow bloggers and post a looking backwards/looking forwards New Year post. And it looks a bit like this.

Work

I started 2007 working in a call centre. I was handling insurance claims for a mobile phone provider, and while I enjoyed it if I felt like I was helping people, for the most part it was pretty soul-destroying. I hated being yelled at by customers, I hated not being able to just get a cup of water if I wanted one, and I saw nowhere for me to go in the job. It seemed if I stayed there, the best I could do was eventually be a manager -- and they didn't seem much happier.

In April, I quit the job without giving notice. One Friday afternoon I finished early because I had been working early shifts all week, and I got a phone call from a recruitment consultant. Would I be interested in a freelance-to-permanent job with this one major PR agency in London? I jumped at the chance, and they took me on without an interview. The job never went permanent, they said because my role was combined with a more senior role which they recruited for instead -- but I wouldn't have got it anyway, becuase I wasn't "right" for the accounts, which included beauty products.

I spent much of the rest of this year in freelance PR contracts -- being paid well, but never knowing when the next job would come along, and never making the move to a permanent role. I interviewed for more agencies than I could possibly count -- I even met the same agency in Southampton twice. Most notably, I took myself on a road trip to Brighton for one job, and came close to actually succeeding. The interview was the best I've ever had, and the interviewer -- who also owned the company -- told me how much he liked me, how much he thought we had in common and that I was his favourite for the job. But he was troubled that I didn't live in Brighton, as ideally he'd like someone who knew the area. Needless to say, I didn't get it.

By October, I was fed up with being rejected for every job I went for -- including freelance contracts -- and instead applied for a Christmas temp job in a local bookshop. After a very casual and surreal interview, I was offered the job and grabbed it with both hands. I am due to finish this week, and am a little sad about it as I enjoy the work. Although there isn't really anywhere for my "career" to go, and I didn't spend 4 years and however-many thousand on university education to work in retail, I would probably stay if I was offered a job. I could do with staying in one job now for a decent length of time, and I would rather be happy and paid less than miserable and paid more. We shall see what happens.

In November I decided to stop thinking about it and just do it, and filled out a formal application to join the RAF -- in an officer/administrative position. Who knows what will happen with it.

In December I sent Christmas cards deliberately late when the cards were reduced in price after Christmas to a number of old PR contacts, including my business card, as has now become habit. There's been no response yet, but I was bargaining on nobody being back at work until late this week or early next week. I don't expect anything much, but it was worth a try.

Music

Music remains such a big part of my life that it has to get its own heading. This last year, like most years, I struggle to remember all the bands I have seen. Off the top of my head I can count Nine Inch Nails (twice), Smashing Pumpkins (the first time was amazing, the second was so bad I felt almost personally betrayed), Chris Cornell, Pearl Jam, Ben Folds, Foo Fighters, Aerosmith, Suicide Bid, the Sex Pistols, Sonic Boom Six, The Filaments (in what Pete insists will be their last-ever show), Silversun Pickups and so many more at Reading Festival. I am still wearing my Reading Festival wristband, even though the festival was in August. I work with a girl who is still wearing her wristband from 2006.

2008 is already shaping up to be a good year for music, with tickets already bought for the Gutter Twins, Foo Fighters and Reading Festival -- although Jon has suggested we maybe try and see fewer bands this year (exceptions being the likes of Led Zeppelin and Chris Cornell). How long it will last is doubtful.

Girls

I guess maybe it should be "relationships" as I briefly tried to meet guys through online dating as well -- but finally understood, at least partially, what it is like to be a girl. If you want no-strings sex with strangers, then the world is your oyster -- but you'll be lucky if all you do is catch something nasty. If you actually want to try and meet someone worthwhile, or if worthwhile is too strong a word, then at least someone you could imagine being with, then your options suddenly diminish very rapidly. In the end, the farthest I got was a brief correspondence with a guy, before it fizzled out.

And I haven't fared too much better with girls. I've posted ads, and replied to ads, and again had brief correspondences going. I have come to understand that I shouldn't send a picture of myself too soon as they don't do me any favours, but instead try and build an interest with my winning personality. I know that the best way for me to meet people is more likely going to be offline than through any sort of personals ad, and I thought I had found what I was looking for when I met a cute girl at a punk gig. She was on her own, I was on my own, we had a few beers and really enjoyed each other's company. But either I tried my luck too soon or just wasn't what she wanted, things fell apart with Claire. Just the same, it has shown me to at least try and talk to people and make conversation, even if I feel shy.

Blogging

This would perhaps be better titled bloggers, since the writing itself ain't much to write home about. After first meeting in 2006, China Blue has now become a bona fide real life friend this year -- I've cooked for her, she's met my friends and my cat, and we almost set fire to a bar in Shoreditch last month.

I also met the lovely Elizabeth last June, and although we only spent a few hours together, I am hoping to see more of her when she returns this year.

2008 promises to be an even better year for meeting Bloggers, since Dune is coming to England in six weeks and will be staying with me for a time -- and hot on her heels to these shores will be DownHomeGirl at the start of the summer. I hope to meet WDKY at some point this year, since it seems absurd to me to live so close and read one another's blog, but not meet, and various other bloggers visiting or moving to London I also hope to meet.

Travel

Ha, that's almost a joke this year. A trip to Barcelona fell through near the start of the year, but I hoped with my well paid freelance PR contracts to be able to see some of Europe -- with Paris, Prague, Rome and Venice joining Barcelona on my list. I didn't even leave the country. The closest I got was when I drove to Bristol for a job interview -- and briefly considered driving the extra miles to Cardiff, since I've never been there. There was no surfing in Portugal last year, no snowboarding in the French Alps, not even a week's surfing in Cornwall. I already have plans in place to visit Spain this year, but I think there's also going to need to be a week or so doing something adrenaline-fuelled.

Anyway, despite the lack of overseas travel this year, I have spent many weekends by the sea in Portsmouth -- including a very enjoyable birthday there, and still consider it a very plausible place to live when I am looking for work. As mentioned, I also successfully navigated trips to Bristol and Brighton, the latter without even the aid of sat nav. Like Portsmouth, I was very taken with both cities and the more I see of the country the less I understand the desire for everyone to move to London. Sure, I love London, and would like to live there too -- but I also love Manchester, and Portsmouth, and Brighton -- there's so many great places to be.

As well as some overseas travel (not least to Paris, it's so damn close, I can't believe I've never been), I shall also endeavour to see more of England this year. When it's always there, always available, and not going anywhere, you don't necessarily feel any pull to see these things -- I am going to put that right this year.

Home life

I still live at home. This has to change. Although it seems the British are in some ways abnormal among Europeans for their desire to leave home as soon as possible, it doesn't offer me much comfort. More and more people I know are moving into houses with their friends, almost like students, as house prices in Britain become increasingly ludicrous -- but the comforting thing is these people don't have amazing jobs, so with some kind of reasonably paid, full time job and a few like minded friends, 2008 could be the year I finally move out for good. And will probably take the cat with me...

With my big black boots and an old suitcase

We return to our regular scheduled programs, and pick up where we left off -- I got out of my interview in Brighton, and had to find my way to Portsmouth.

I hadn't bothered to use google maps for the Brighton - Portsmouth journey as I was fairly sure they were close enough together for it to be signposted. I was wrong. I had absolutely no idea what way I should be going to even try and leave the city, and then even less of an idea as to what direction to head in. I think I did several laps of the city before I was illegally calling my Dad while driving to ask him. He had no idea, either -- so I said I would head for London, even though it wasn't right, and hopefully once I was on a main road there'd be signs for Portsmouth. My Dad accepted it as an idea as good as any other (except, I don't know, him looking it up for me might have been good) and warned me not to get stuck on a motorway.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I got stuck on the motorway and ended up driving back to London. Well you're wrong! I drove almost as far as the start of the M23 but pulled into a services at a place called "Pease Pottage" instead. I figured there I could ask directions if my Dad wouldn't help. This time he figured maybe it would be a good idea to consult a map for me -- and yes, found I shouldn't have gone that way at all, in fact I had been driving North when I should have been driving West, and all I had needed to do was follow signs for Worthing in the first place. This meant driving back to Brighton, just so I could follow signs for Worthing -- and wouldn't you know it, as soon as I start following those signs, up pops Portsmouth on the signs as well. Confusingly, almost the whole way London was appearing on the signs as well.

From here it was plain sailing -- windows down, rocking out to my live Pearl Jam bootlegs, all the way to Portsmouth and to my parents' flat. I found a parking spot almost right outside, and everything was good. Dumped my bags, cracked open a cold beer, and called my brother to see if he wanted to meet up for a drink.

He seemed very non-committal about the idea, saying it was up to me either way, but that he could only do Friday night if I decided I did want to to do anything. I figured despite his perceived lack of enthusiasm, it would be good to see him -- I don't see much of him, and miss him now we don't live together. So we made the necessary arrangements, he gave me the number for a cab company, and I figured I should get something to eat and get changed.

I got my shirt out of my bag, and started rummaging through the pile of t-shirts I'd brought. Why did I pack so many t-shirts, I wondered to myself, did I really need that much choice? And why could I not find my jeans. Then I remembered, the night before when I was packing, I had been wearing the jeans I wanted to take -- and so thought I'd pack them later. I obviously forgot. I'd remembered to pack a pair of pyjama bottoms and 50 million different t-shirts and two types of deodorant, but I hadn't packed any jeans because I'd been wearing the ones I wanted to take.

Fine, I thought, I'll see if I'd left any clothes in my wardrobe there. Maybe a pair that were a bit tight in the waist but would do for one night and a weekend. Nothing. I thought, fine then, even though his waist is about 10 inches wider than mine, maybe I could get away with a pair of my Dad's jeans with a belt and look a bit gangsta in my baggy jeans. The only pair I could find were enormous, with paint and grass stains on them.

This left me with two choices -- either cancel going on, because I had literally had nothing to wear, or wear my suit. I was worried what my brother's reaction would be if I turned up in my suit, but figured I'd be damned if I was going to cancel. The shirt was casual enough not to look like I'd come from a business meeting, and yet smart enough not to look stupid with a suit, and I figured if questioned I'd tell him I'd just wanted to look smart and hadn't been sure what he'd wear. Obviously he wasn't going to be wearing a suit, but whatever.

I got to the pub a couple of minutes before him and just hung around outside. I saw his cab pull up, but pretended not to notice so he wouldn't think I'd been impatiently waiting for him. He didn't recognise me at first as he walked up to the pub, I forgot he'd not seen me with a shaved head and certainly wasn't expecting to see me in a black suit. He was surprised I'd decided to wear a suit, but didn't really give me any stick over it.

Once Steve and I had found a table and started talking I quickly realised that what I'd taken for indifference on the telephone was more likely just tiredness after a long day, and a long week, not being a huge fan of talking on the telephone and really not minding if I didn't want him to come out. The important thing was that it hadn't been indifference to seeing me.

I can't remember the last time the two of us just had a whole evening alone together to drink and talk and laugh and catch up -- it has probably been years. Whenever we see each other it's because he's come to stay with his wife and his son, or that they are visiting when we're staying in Portsmouth, or we are visiting his house. Either way, it's never just him and me -- and any chance we get to be alone together is cut short fairly quickly by someone else coming in, or something needing to be done. Neither of us are great conversationalists, so we don't talk on the phone, and he's not much of a letter-writing person, so it meant a lot to get that opportunity -- and it reminds me of why I would like to live closer, so I could see more of him, and his family.

I woke early the next morning with one of the worst hangovers in recent memory. It hadn't been a late night, there hadn't been shots involved, but I don't recall how much we did drink. I should never try to pace him for drinks, but at least I didn't throw up everywhere like I did one night when I was out drinking with him in Rhodes, many years ago. Either way, Saturday morning the pain was excruciating and my parents seemed to have a complete absence of pain killers in the flat. Also, it seems that even soothing muscle gels containing ibuprofen don't do the job. And so Portsmouth found me, dressed in a suit, sat outside the Co-Op, waiting for it to open at 7am. I went back to bed after some painkillers and some toast to line my stomach.

Around 11 I got up, had a cold shower because I couldn't work out how the hot water worked in the flat, and put my suit on yet again -- although I did wonder if I could get away with wearing pyjamas outside, and decided against it -- so I could go and buy something else to wear. I decided to buy from Gap some vaguely smart khaki trousers I could wear to work where they deem it necessary to be "smart casual".

Once I got home and got changed the rest of the day was my own, I sat in the sun near the seafront and read a book of my brother's I'd found in the flat. I took pictures on my phone -- reminding me my brother had laughed at me on Friday when I'd said I was an artist -- and I actually ended up slightly sun burned. For my Australian readers, you can laugh at me here because it was probably barely 20ºC.

Saturday night, I stayed in, cooked a couple of sausages and a small ciabatta bread I'd found in the freezer, and watched a DVD -- since along with a selection of t-shirts, I'd also brought a choice of films from home to watch. I woke on Sunday free from any headaches, but must have slept strangely as I had a crick in my neck -- just the kind of thing you could do with a muscle gel for...

A strange 48 hours

Tuesday starts off the same as pretty much every other day -- get up, go to work, do the usual pointless slog they call my job -- but then I finished at 2pm. I finished work half a day early, drove home, changed my clothes and then drove to Portsmouth with my Dad.

By the time I would normally have been getting home from work I was instead in Portsmouth, and making my Dad sit through the new surfing DVD I'd bought while we waited for a call from my brother to say if he could join us for dinner. After waiting an hour and not hearing anything, we headed out -- not directly for food, but first to the bar where I had left my coat a couple of weeks back.

The bar was deserted -- as you'd probably expect before 8pm on a Tuesday night -- but I explained to the bar tender my position. He said he'd go look for it. He had a strong Northern Irish accent and I felt sure he was the same person I'd spoken to on the phone about it originally, when I'd called on the Monday morning, and who had told me they had it.

After an inordinate stretch of time, the guy returned and told me, sorry, they didn't have any coats matching my description. I was quite firm, and explained someone had told me it was there, and it had my name on a label attached to it. He offered to let me take a look with him.

It was so strange, being led upstairs to the deserted club. Through heavy, locked security doors and through a comedy club that looked more like a ghost town, he took me to the room with the lost property. Probably expecting me to concede it wasn't there, I almost immediately went to my coat where it was hanging -- and mentioned there would be my grey gloves in the pockets. And so they were. Along with my name on a label. The bar tender apologised for not seeing it earlier, he said he didn't check that one because there'd been a handbag on the same coathanger (the bag, I'd like stated for the record was not mine).

Some people might have been annoyed -- that having lost the coat once they might have ended up losing it again, all because someone didn't look for it properly, but I was just glad to have it back. I was sure to be appropriately thankful, since I had what counted. And yes, I have learned my lesson -- if you're going to leave your coat unattended, use the damn cloakroom.

Dinner was uneventful, unremarkable, usual pub far from the place almost next door to the apartment buildings, then we went back to the flat so I could spend the rest of the evening studying.

Because the whole reason we were in Portsmouth, was for my job interview with an online PR agency. I've recently put a second copy of my CV online, with the alternate Portsmouth address instead of my "home" address, to widen my possibilities for work.

I was I was neat, clean, shaved and sober -- and I didn't care who knew it. And the interview itself seemed to go well -- It's never easy to tell with these things -- but I'd done my homework about the company, which showed, I asked questions about their training and recently won clients, and I think I answered their questions reasonably confidently. On the way out, the lady who had been interviewing me got me to wait in reception while she saw if the agency director was free to say hi to me. He was, but our meeting was brief -- I was just polite, thanked him for seeing me, though was perhaps slightly nervous. He asked me if I had any other interviews today, but I told him, no it was just the one. In hindsight, maybe I should have lied, and made myself seem in-demand.

Now it all depends now if I am the right fit for the role, I know there will be a lot of competition for the position, so I have to wait and see.

Strangely enough, the recruitment consultant who got me the interview worked almost right next door (I think she said they were renting from the agency), so we met for a quick discussion about how it had gone. Because she said she worked in a basement, we ended up going back inside the agency -- I asked the receptionist if she wanted me to sign back in. I hoped we wouldn't run into anyone I'd just met -- although I expect they wouldn't be altogether surprised, I felt like we were sneaking in. The consultant seemed nice -- not nice in that fair weather friend way most of them are, but genuine -- and we chatted about my impressions and how I thought it went.

Then it was time to leave again, to hit the road and get back to Essex.

And that's more or less where it ends -- I come home, go to the gym, and go back to work again tomorrow morning.

A town called malice

I can't believe it's been nearly a week since my last update -- and then I only blogged about the weekend's hockey, the truth is the week's pass almost without event or remark, not necessarily in a bad way but there's frequently little to comment on, other than what customers have yelled at me in work that day.

There was meant to be an update earlier, since I've been tagged by The Wee Italian Chick to post six weird things about myself -- but I only got to three or four before running out of things. Don't let's get back onto how I'm normal, please, I'll force myself to think of a full list for a future post.

The week has ended with far more interest than most, Monday through Thursday were very ordinary and unremarkable days. Get up, go to work, come home. Friday I took the day off work because it was my birthday and I was going to Portsmouth with a couple of my friends for the weekend -- so I got up late and spent most of the morning smiling at various text messages of happy birthday wishes. We set off for Portsmouth about 5pm, and probably arrived a good three-and-a-half hours later when you take into account traffic jams and misdirections from the GPS.
GPS speaking with the voice of John Cleese: "You have arrived at your destination".
Me: Uhh, no, this isn't it.
Nick: But this is the postcode you gave me.
Me: I know, but this is not the flat.
(considering where we had arrived was some backstreet and the apartment building looked more like a multi-storey car park).

When faced with choices of food, we decided to opt for takeaway pizza. I looked up "Pizza Hut" in the phone book and found the nearest one under "takeaway/delivery units". But they didn't deliver. So plan B was Domino's, and although Nick took some convincing (apparently their pizza uses too much tomato for his tastes), this one did deliver. After about an hour. We discussed what to do that night, but since Nick had been in work that day on an early shift and then driven to Portsmouth straight from work and Jon didn't seem overly fussed what we did, we opted to stay in.

Having come away without a printed record of my comedy club booking for Saturday night, it was helpful when Nick was able to connect his palm pilot to the wireless internet of someone else in the terrace of flats. And in true Jay-style, I found my confirmation email said I'd accidentally booked the wrong night for the comedy -- in fact, the Friday night. We were still able to book for the Saturday the following morning, but I'd wasted the money for that night.

Saturday was a weekend not unlike any other -- we bought some music and DVDs and had dinner out to celebrate my 26 years on the planet, then went home and changed for the club. During the day, there was a knock on the door of the flat which worried us at first, since we thought it might the owner of the wireless internet network we were using without permission. Instead, it was our neighbours from upstairs who had been told by my parents I would be staying. They told me they understood I was very handy, with making things and the like, but I corrected them -- that's my brother, the one who has done all the work on the flat. They laughed and asked if that made me "the intelligent one". No, I said, I'm an artist. Again they laughed at something that wasn't a joke and said they would have to get me to come upstairs and paint them a mural. I didn't bother to correct them. I never established what they wanted help with. Later, in a text message my Mum asked if I'd helped or given them my brother's number. "No," I said, "I just lent them a hammer".

The comedy that night was good, and we decided to stay for the nightclub after the show -- Jon was very drunk at this point, and insisted we should dance. In a remarkable display of foresight on my part, before leaving my jacket on the chair with my friends' coats, I remembered to take out my key to the flat.

Fast forward to the end of the night, Jon is even more drunk and ranting about blonde chavvy girls, in particular one chav girl who had been giving him the eye -- because in his words, he was throwing shapes better than anyone else out there -- but she'd lost interest when he didn't respond to her. I'd been interested in a brunette whom I thought maybe looked a little bit like a curvy Rachel Bilson, and she seemed to be catching my eye. Maybe she'd been catching me looking at her, or maybe it was the other way round. But I wasn't worried when we figured it was time to go. What did bother me was that my coat was stolen. The others were still there, but mine was obviously missing -- not on the floor, not on another chair, and I even asked the girl in the cloakroom if it had been handed in. But between the music and what seemed like a limited grasp of English for her, I got the impression it hadn't.

My brother gave me that coat only a couple of weeks ago. It probably wasn't expensive, but it had been his for several years and he'd then given it to me, and that meant more to me than anything I could just replace. I'm glad I was smart enough to take my valuables out of it -- in my job, I get so many phone calls describing how someone left their mobile phone, unattended, in their jacket, then found it missing at the end of the night. We went back today, but there was nothing given in lost -- whomever took it either mistook it for one of theirs among a pile, or else thought it might have something worth stealing.

And so today we got Subway for a late brunch (after Jon was over the worst of his headache, he also says Nick kept him awake snoring every night), we took a walk along the seafront and then made our weary ways back home. And I've just time now to hit save, grab a shower, change into my Phoenix Coyotes jersey and head out to the Sunday night hockey.

Prom for grown-ups

I told Sarah that I was going to quote her on this one. In discussions about New Year, she said she hated it -- that it was like "prom for grown-ups". It was such a succinct and apt description that I had to steal it for this post title.

This year, Luisa -- the mullet-haired Italian hottie -- flaked on me. I am now taking it personally and will no longer bother to reply to any mass-mailed missives from the mullet-headed one. Weeks and weeks ago, I got such a missive from Luisa -- letting everyone know she would be back in London from the 29th. Just in time for New Year, I told her we had to meet up and I wanted to see her for New Year. She seemed enthusiastic -- "I'll let you know when I'm back!!!!!" she said, or something over-punctuated to that effect.

I started to get a bad feeling in the last couple of weeks when I forwarded her a link to something for New Year and she told me she already had plans. What about me? I asked. Are we still meeting up? I never heard anything in reply. I emailed her on the 30th to ask if she was back, and what was happening, but again -- nothing. So it was no surprise that I continued to hear nothing yesterday. I have since remembered something similar, before she left London to go back to Italy there was some talk of a party or everyone getting together before she left. I thought I was included in everyone, but in the end it seemed I wasn't -- since I never heard anything more about the where or when. The two incidents together have shown me that she appears to have no interest in seeing me. And you know what? I don't care. I never really worked out if I fancied her, or just wanted to, so I'm hardly heartbroken.

But I got to think about New Year, and the previous years I've had. And I figured I'd summarise them, so here goes -- starting with the first year it was remotely interesting, with Fiona in 1999/2000:

1999: The "Millennium" whether it "technically" was or not, what with not having a year 0 AD, and Jesus not being born until about 5 AD anyway, it was the year the date changed. It wasn't a thousand years since anything, but we and the rest of the populace couldn't have given two shits -- it was an excuse to party.
And so 1999 I spent with Fiona, at a kind of street party in Shropshire. I was slightly apprehensive about Y2K perhaps causing nuclear warheads to self-launch, but I was with the one I loved.
Somewhere Fi might still have a photo of me from that night -- in some sexy blue shirt, black eyeliner (yeah, I was emo before even emo), grinning to the camera and holding a bowl of goldfish. Among the street party there had been various carnival stalls, including hook-a-duck-and-win-a-prize. I found quickly to hook a duck all you needed to do was hold the hook out and a duck would float onto it. So I won four goldfish, a goldfish bowl, some fish food, and a "police action set" which included a badge, whistle and plastic handcuffs.
As you might have noticed, the world didn't end that night.

2000: Not one to shy from commitment, I was still dating Fiona a year later. This time she came to my place for New Year, and we went to a bad house party with my friends. The party was truly awful, but we drank a lot and left almost as soon as the clock struck 12 to go to a party at Jon's brother-in-law's house.
Shortly after arriving at this party, Fiona felt unwell and I spent the rest of the night holding her hair as she threw up.

2001: After I left the country in January for 8 months, Fi and I were no more by the time New Year rolled around. But despite the intervening drama, I had started seeing San and we had just made the transition from friends that sleep together into an actual couple. In a pub in Camden we saw in the New Year with her friends, let off party poppers and drank champagne in the street. Then because her Mum didn't know we were going out, we decided to get a taxi to San's university. I don't know if anyone knows the distance between Camden and Uxbridge, but it was a long fucking way. In a taxi, after midnight, on New Year. I don't remember what the cabbie charged, but it was a hell of a lot. But we were together. The next morning San had to go to work as a waitress, but she felt rough and came back early. I don't think I was out of bed yet at that point.

2002: Not unlike 2000, San came to visit me and I took her to a house party. The details of the party itself all seems quite vague now, it was our friend Mike's party which as these parties seemed to involve hosted his whole extended family. We spent most of the night talking to people in the garden, and I think somewhere San has a picture of me from that night with a big, happy smile and cheerfully giving the middle finger to the camera.

2003: In the spirit of fairness, I was back at San's in London (and yes, we were still together -- it seems incredible now). We went to the academy in Islington, with her friend Jill and Jill's boyfriend, Ben. That was a weird one, since San almost left me for Jill once, and I had a bit of a crush on the girl myself for a while. But the night was just shit. The venue had only one bar open, and as result the queues for a drink were ridiculous. When the clock struck 12, I was still buried in a crowd of people at the bar. San and I tried to be enthusiastic, but we weren't feeling it at all.

2004: They say what goes around, comes around. Despite a year practically living together when we were at university together, San had started her second year and I'd completed my course. Since then things had got weird. San was increasingly distant and cold to me, and she was now the one leaving the country in January. That day I got to London early, bought a new shirt to wear that night, and checked out some venues we could possibly go to. I remember sending San a text saying "I'm making my way back to you, babe" to say I'd finished what I needed to do and was about to catch the tube. I stopped at a flower stall to buy San something to cheer her up -- remember, distant and cold -- and found I'd lost my wallet. I retraced my steps and got some items I'd just bought refunded in cash, then had to resign myself to reporting it as lost to the police. San didn't get her flowers, and we ended up staying in because I had no money and she didn't feel like going out. Over the course of the evening, San warmed to me a little. When the clock struck midnight, we took the stairs to the top floor of her flats and watched the fireworks over London. We watched St Paul's Cathedral illuminated in the flashes, picked out the telecom tower, and in the bursts of light were able to make out people, several streets away, sitting on roof tops. I held her close and told her "Everything's going to be okay. You've met me at a very strange time in my life." That night we agreed to take a break, and within days we were breaking up. Happy new year.

2005: With San back in the country, but the two of us no longer couple, I had nobody special to see the new year in with. It felt a little alien to me, so I volunteered to work behind the bar -- after all, I had suggested the Casino night for the entertainment. With live music and a casino I thought it would be a great night. The music was a disaster. The usual singer for the "band" we had booked was unavailable since she already had plans, so they drafted in a replacement. Who was too stage-shy to sing, so they had a series of special guests resulting in it feeling more like a bad karaoke night. The clock struck 12, I knocked back a double vodka and figured I had nothing to lose with trying to kiss Deb, whom I'd had a crush on all year. She didn't go for it, and that pretty much sums up that whole night.

Which brings us to last night -- with nobody special to spend the night with, and not even a mullet-haired Italian to save me from another night down the pub, things were looking desperate.

2006: With my parents now owning a flat on the coast, it seemed like a great place to spend the new year. A new city, different people, what better way to start the new year than in a place totally outside our comfort zone? I invited a few friends and mentioned I'd have to keep tabs on the flat with my parents since it didn't yet have the little touches that were important, like floor or furniture. When I found out that both were in situ, and was given a go-ahead to use the flat, the only people left interested were me and Jon. It didn't seem worth it. My parents suspected Jon and I might be a gay couple, and so we scrapped the whole idea. In the end, 2006 was met without a party or a pub or a sig oth -- it was greeted by myself, along with Jon and Calvin, sitting around in my house having a very quiet but very civilised night with a few drinks and some music.

And that's how it was. It might not have been exciting or meaningful, but it sure beat working, or being dumped.

The year, in 25 points or less

An idea stolen from the captivating Madame Boffin, who used this formula to mark her blogiversary about a month ago. I don't remember when my blogiversary is (I think maybe February), so I'm just doing this now since it seems as good a time as any. The year, in a random order.

1. Last Christmas day I was working in a pub. By Easter, I had quit my job and gone to work unpaid in London for a multinational PR company, in the hope of bettering myself. Whether it paid off remains to be seen.
2. In February, bored and restless, I bought a snowboard and took myself off to the French Alps. I suck at snowboarding -- only slightly less than how much I suck at surfing -- but I'd never been to Switzerland or France before. Highlights included travelling by bus from Geneva to Le Arcs, in France, while listening to Johnny Cash and getting pissed with a couple of other guys I had vaguely spoken to on some snowboard forum in a bar above the clouds and thousands of feet above sea level.
3. I saw Pearl Jam play the Astoria in London, after Jon managed to beat the odds and get two tickets. I took the day off work, stating I had "family commitments".
4. In August for the first time in years I camped at the Reading festival, and, yes drank a lot. I rocked out to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Twilight Singers and the Arctic Monkeys -- but Pearl Jam were unrivalled in their brilliance. I am still wearing my weekend wristband pass, four months later.
5. I spent the whole year free of any medication for depression. I don't see any shame in taking the medication if it's needed, but at the same time I like not having to take any. I like the lack of side effects the most.
6. I started going to the gym a lot, and started to look and feel better for it. I then stopped going altogether when I changed jobs and could no longer make it. I'm now probably more unfit than I was this time last year.
7. I went on a couple of dates with girls. I went for noodles with a cute Kiwi girl named Philippa, then I took her to the hospital. She always had excuses not to see me again and eventually stopped replying to me. I also met Jade, by all accounts an Oxford-educated lawyer doing pro-bono work for the disabled until her high-powered job started in the Autumn. We met for mohitos on Brick Lane, and funnily enough she too had excuses not to see me again.
8. Via the miracle medium of the internet I started talking to a girl who lived vaguely locally and was really eager to meet me. After only a couple of days I decided she was way too eager when she was planning picnics in the park and telling me she cared. I'm still not sure if I sabotaged a good thing, or had a lucky escape -- because needless to say we didn't meet.
9. I met Fiona for the first time in years, managed to avoid making a twat of myself and though I was left with a vague feeling of longing, think I handled it all reasonably well.
10. A statement that can not be applied to my friendship with San -- it's pretty incredible we remain friends at all, when we seemed to think that carrying on with some sort of quasi-open-relationship over the summer wasn't going to end in tears.
11. Aside from Pearl Jam and various bands at Reading festival, this year I have also seen Juliette & The Licks, Twilight Singers, Incubus, Foo Fighters, Motorhead, Terrorvision and probably some I'm forgetting.
12. I left my job in PR in London to work in a call centre in Essex. This was not necessarily through choice.
13. I have been to countless job interviews, and have been rejected for more jobs that I can count. There were at least three jobs as trainee assistant managers for three separate pub chains, about five different PR agencies, and an assortment of other jobs including junior photographer, picture desk assistant, a couple of newspaper feature writer positions and one media sales job.
I have met even more recruitment consultants, and am even still in vague contact with a couple of them. Even though I don't think any are still looking for work for me.
15. I have taken ownership of a skateboard, even though I can't skate. I haven't decided yet if I might learn, but I think it's nice to look at.
16. I have tried and failed to sell my snowboard. I successfully sold my widescreen tv and surround sound dvd player to my parents for their new flat, because I was broke. I have considered selling my body to get a job in marketing. I have wondered if working in marketing equalled selling my soul.
17. I have failed to sell my art, even to my parents. I wanted a print on canvas for their flat so I had something tangible to show for what I am doing with my life -- especially since my brother has laid the floors and plastered the walls. They decided it was too expensive.
18. I have proved myself free of any sexually transmitted infections or disease, and bought a new book with the gift voucher I was given in payment for taking part in a clinical trial on the day.
19. In a continuing exhibitionist theme, I have taken off all my clothes and posed nude for an art class, along with a group of strangers all also doing it for the first time.
20. I have discovered a new passion for live ice hockey. Having had a passing interest in the sport for years, I started going with my friends to see our local team play.
21. Posted various personals ads online, quoting various songs, attempting to be funny or just be "myself": all to varying degrees of limited success.
22. Inspired by Jason Lee as Earl Hickey, I started on a campaign of my own to be a better person. I apologised to a guy in the pub who I was a dick to at school, he said he had no memory of it and brushed it off. I also emailed a girl I went to school with, she said she forgave me years ago. In a similar vein, I was inspired by Danny Wallace to "say yes more", I can't report of anything particularly life-changing coming out of either episode. A self hypnosis CD managed to convince me for a few days I was the warm little centre that the life of this world crowded around. The effect wears off if you don't keep listening to it.
23. I rubbed shoulders with overpaid and overexposed celebrities at a PR event. I tried to think of something interesting to say to Natalie Imbruglia, I'll let you know when I have come up with something.
24. I have been drunk many times over the course of the year. But it was the work Halloween party with the vodka luge that really takes the crown for drunk and disorderly. I have only very hazy memories of buying Burger king, hiccuping on the train, losing my travelcard, and throwing up in someone's hedge. Classy.

And number 25: I started blogging here permanently, after diary-x died. I also came to think of this as my new home online and not a temporary measure. This is in no small part to some of the great friends I have made through my blog.

I do like to be beside the seaside

Another week, another weekend away from home. The cat is starting to think we're avoiding him.

I'm pleased to say this weekend involved no drunkenness, and no romantic entanglements of any sort. Not that I was ever entangled with Rachel, romantically or not -- and I can reassure anyone who is interested, that she clearly isn't. A week passed and no word from her, I did give in and send her a second, casual text just to say hi, and that elicited no response. When my cousin Lou texted me about something inane, I asked if she'd heard from Rachel. "Not in a couple of days" she said -- which means she has chosen not to contact me. It's funny, really, that's almost a record -- she lost interest before either of us were ever actually interested.

Anyway, Portsmouth -- home to my much-missed older brother, and his family. He went to university there, and just never came back. These things happen, you go for a degree in sport science but you end up married with a son, and running your own business. I'd like to point out that these all came one at a time.

Inspired perhaps by the three-hour drive between them and their only grandchild, my parents recently bought a flat in Portsmouth -- or technically, Southsea. They've been down there various times so far, and are in the process of decorating, but this was the first time I've seen it.

When I said to them I would like to drive there the first time I went, I really don't think I meant on a Friday night, when I get off the train from work. Out of bed at 6am, get off the train at 7.30pm and then get straight into the car and drive to Portsmouth.
That said, the drive wasn't so bad -- considering I use my car about once a week, to drive to the pub for quiz night, and haven't driven much further than about an hour away. I didn't hit anything or break down or annoy other drivers too much, which is always helpful.

The flat needs a lot of work, but it's spacious and airy with a view of the sea and on a clear day, the Isle of Wight. It's a very short walk to the seafront, and to the funfair on the pier. At night you can stand in the window and watch the lights of the ferries and cruise ships, and the lights of the funfair until it closes for the night.

Portsmouth is a naval city -- the word amuses me, makes me think of navels. It has the historic city, with the old buildings mixed in alongside the new ones built over where second world war bombs destroyed the original sites. Even older are the battlements, built to fight off Napoleon if he'd got that far. Most of the men you speak to in Portsmouth have usually been in the navy -- and of course, there are all of the pubs of a port.

On a sunny day, the seafront seems like a wonderful place to be. Even in the middle of September, the sun was warm and I walked by the sea wall -- the same place where San and I walked the morning before my brother's wedding, several years ago. You can walk by the sea wall, past the men fishing over the side, and breathe in the salty air. Somehow Southend-On-Sea (near where I live) just isn't quite the same.

I've decided to make my parents flat my holiday home, when the sun shines it reminds me of some of Edward Hopper's lesser-known paintings, like Sun in an empty room. I might take a week's holiday soon, and just go stay there on my own. Then again, I'm sure in the cold and the rain of winter, it won't seem quite the same. Maybe I'll find somewhere in Barcelona instead.

Sweetheart this city has beautiful, beautiful snow

"Last day in December
and the world is a white line of unshovelled cars,
'cause you can walk to the bars.
In a town where the drinkers are ploughed like the roads,
in a heap round their breakfasts in yesterday's clothes.
Sweetheart, this city has beautiful, beautiful snow..."

An unspecified prize goes to anyone that can correctly identify the quote (and with it the entry title) without cheating. It's been snowing on and off here for a few days, it snowed first the morning of the 27th -- although I was in Portsmouth, on the coast, so we didn't see any until we got further inland towards London. By the time I got home the snow had been melted by the incessant rain and I headed straight back out to work.

It was hardly any time at all before Laura got in turns hyperactive and frustrated because it was snowing, and because she couldn't go out and play. I was more bemused at her moods, but the way the lights outside would light up the big flakes of snow did have a certain atmosphere. The pub was quiet -- in that sort of post-Christmas, before going back to work, on a cold wet night sort of way. The snow was intermittently heavy, and then light, and then heavy, and then stopping. Laura would keep me informed of its current status whenever she ran to the window to check. She wanted to make a snowman before the snow even covered the grass.

Like I say, this was Tuesday night. Since then the snow was steadily melting, until this morning, when there had been a heavy snowfall overnight. It frustrates me, snow and no winter sports. I'm scraping together my savings for a snowboard holiday this season -- comparing Utah with Eruopean destinations, wondering if I'll have to go alone, or worse yet not go at all.

I can't believe I'm writing a whole entry about snow.

I dreamed the other night I was joining the RAF. I've talked about it before, I've seriously considered it and had them send me information packs. But recently I shrugged and threw it out, and said it wasn't going to happen. And there I thought it ended. But in my dream I was in a recruitment office, and instead of wanting to be a photographer I was interested in being a gunner. Something I have taken one look at and thought "canon fodder" in the past. I don't think the dream last long before the scene turned into a gym and the recruiter chick was trying to kiss me or something. The dream was hardly worth mentioning if one of my colleagues today hadn't mentioned he applied to be a photographer, in the RAF. He said he wanted to be a physical training assistant or something, but didn't get the points. He didn't elaborate on why he didn't go through with it -- maybe like me they said there was a very long wait, and he said to forget it. But he also mentioned they told him there were vacancies to be a gunner, and he laughed at the suggestion.

It's funny sometimes the things you have in common with the people you least expect it.