Warmer climes: part one

It's been a week since the girl an I returned from our jaunt round the Southern hemisphere -- in this case, a 2-week whirlwind trip of Western Australia and Bali.  I've been back a week and I haven't even started blogging about it until now, what kind of an animal does that?

My paper journal -- Stay Out of Circulation 'Til the Dogs Get Tired -- went woefully neglected, mostly because it wasn't really a journal kind of trip.  However, I did make some notes on my arrival in Australia, which will serve as a good intro to this post.  I'll write about Bali in a seperate entry, just to try and keep the visitor numbers above 1.

Monday 19, October

We arrived in Perth close to 1am.  Customs cleared, baggage reclaimed, we drive South.

Austrlian Highways don't seem to resemble the English idea of a motorway -- instead of there being six lanes of traffic, you just have one, long, straight road.  Driving at night, you stick to the middle to try and avoid any unwelcome surprises jumping into the road.  On either side of the road, dark trees and bush form a barrier before the black hills stretch to the starry night sky.

At one point, we stop to change drivers.  I kick my feet in the dust of the petrol station forecourt and am suddenly startled by the unexpected laughing of a bird.

By the time we reach Albany, dawn is breaking on Sunday and all around there are sounds of life.

 The first week of our holiday was spent in Albany, WA, visiting the girl's family.  We were blessed by unusually warm Spring weather, a kind of climate that suited me just fine -- and the residents of Albany all seemed happy with the result.

Albany is a city famous for its whales -- and specific times of year you can see either Humpback whales or Southern Right whales, and there are a number of tour companies running whale watching excursions.  Last year's visit fell right in the middle of the migrating periods of the two species -- one had left Albany's waters, and the other hadn't yet returned.  What this meant for me was there were no whales to be seen out there -- two trips on whale boats rewarded us with dolphins and seals, but not a whale.

I wondered if this visit would be the same.  I am pleased to report back that, instead, there were whales this time -- whales splashing in the water, just a short way off the beach, whales with calves, whales jumping out the water, whales splashing their tales.  Doing almost every damn thing except balancing beach balls on their noses, which everyone knows whales are supposed to do.

Overall, we didn't do a whole lot in Albany.  One day we drove out to the Stirling mountain ranges -- mainly so that the girl's Mum and Nanna could look at wild flowers, but I appreciated the opportunity to be out in the wilderness.  In an incredibly nerdy way, it made me a little bit exciting to be out in the mountains again, it reminded me of being in Peru last year.  Except this time, I wasn't nearly prepared for it -- while to make a round trip to the summit and back of several of the mountains we visited would only have taken about 4 hours or so, it needed to be planned for.  I had no water, no suitable clothing, and my trainers were falling apart on my feet.  Quite literally, I think you could see my sock through the gaping hole in one of them.  Just the same, I wandered up a mountain trail for almost an hour, before turning around and coming back.

Next time, I am determined I will go equipped -- with a day pack, my platypus water bottle, some real hiking trousers, and maybe a pair of boots.  About all I did have was a hat.

Other days we took walks along the boardwalk or the beach with the dog, or visited the forts and saw where the Anzac boats sailed from.

People in Australia -- mainly people outside of Albany -- have asked me since if, when we move to Australia, I could see myself living in Albany.  I don't know if they wonder what I think of it compared to London.  The truth is, the city of Albany has roughly the same population as the town I grew up in, out in Essex, where my parents still live.  The difference is Albany is spread of a much wider area, so there seems to be a lot more there.  Some people in Albany -- the girl's younger bro included -- have no intention of ever leaving, and particularly can't see why anyone would want to live overseas in somewhere like England.

One afternoon, the girl and I stood on the beach in the late afternoon sun.  It was about 4pm, so the kids were getting out of school and it was warm enough that many were coming down to the beach and to swim in the ocean.  As we stood there, the air was warm, kids were playing on the beach, and there was a whale to be seen only a little way off the coast, just splashing gently in the water...

When people ask me if I could live in Albany I tell them honestly that I could -- it was moments like that which made living in London seem much greyer.  But we could only live in Albany if there was anything to do.  If there was enough there that the girl and I could both find work, earn a decent wage, and be able to do other things we loved -- in that case, sure, it was a nice place.  It wasn't paradise, but where is?  It wasn't a bad place to be, if you still kept a healthy sense of adventure and love of travel.  But there are plenty of other nice places we can also be -- personally, when we are in Australia I have said I want to live in Fremantle, but it remains to be seen.

Heading to warmer climes

Fremantle, Western Australia -- 2009.

On Friday, the girl and I will be cutting out of work early and heading for the airport.

While the English summer is drawing to a close and the nights are creeping in, we are taking a last-gasp attempt to drag it out a little more -- escaping to the warmer climes of Western Australia, before heading to a friend's wedding in Bali.

First when we were invited informally to the wedding we commented to each other how nice it would be to go, but that it would just cost far too much.  We didn't think much more about it, other than the occasional wistful sigh.  Then we got the beautiful and elaborate invitation in the post, and we said to each other "Let's just look into it... we'll just have a look and maybe it can be done".

And so it was, after a visit to a travel agent, some head-scratching and some number-crunching, we decided that opportunities like this don't come up very often -- so while we are both employed (which can never be taken for granted these days) and not tied down by kids or mortgages, we'd throw caution to the wind and just go.  Some great friends are going to be there, and we think it will also mean a lot to the bride and groom who took the time to invite us in the first place.

It's only a few days away now -- and final preparations are being made.  Tourist visas sorted, passports dug out, travel items bought, clothes sorted and counted and packed (even though they will end up being re-packed several times).  The girl has recently splashed out on a new DSLR which will be put to good use during the trip, while I'll be trying my best to avoid appearing in her photos.

With Australia heading into Spring as England heads into Autumn, it will be interesting to see the effect it has on people's attitudes -- if people are more cheerful and optimistic in London, or if that just describes Australians generally.

It strikes me that there is room to make this holiday into a kind of journey I can learn from -- what I will learn, I don't yet know, but with plans to hike up a volcano at dawn among the activities planned, there's got to be room for something life-changing out there.

Do anything you wanna do

"Tired of doing day jobs
With no thanks for what I do
I'm sure I must be someone
Now I'm gonna find out who"
Eddie & The Hot Rods "Do Anything You Wanna Do" (1977)

I've been here before, you know.  Wanting change, but not really knowing how to effect it -- dissatisfied with where I am, but not making any progress.  Except now, I am beginning to feel like I have some tools to work with.

In my last post, I mentioned John Williams' book Screw Work, Let's Play, and listed all the things I'd do if I could whatever I liked for a whole year.   The only trouble is, there's so many ideas and it's not necessarily possible to do all of them if you only have one year -- so instead you get to imagine that you have infinite opportunities, or for the sake of brevity in this case, seven.

 

This is my list of what careers I would follow over my now-various years of play.  There isn't actually seven of them in my case, but it might expand later -- I figure it can only help to add more as I think of them.

Year One: Adventure

Pro-surfer, snowboarder, rock climber -- you name the adventure, I'm on it.  As a side-note, my interest in adventure sports is pretty funny -- at school, I sucked at PE, and was the despair of many teachers who found that I didn't measure up to my athlete older brother.  It turns out since then that I don't hate sports at all, I just have to discover them in my own time -- and if lessons at school had involved more adventure and less ball games, perhaps things would have been different...

Year Two: Super Hero.

Save the animals. Help the people. Save the world.  I'd rescue sea turtles of central America and the beautiful Bongo Antelope in the mountains of Kenya.  I'd do aid work in disaster zones, build schools in developing countries.  I'd spend a season as a fire-lookout in a national forest, helping spot forest fires before they start.  I probably wouldn't actually have any super-powers though.

Year Three: Artist.

Poet, writer, sculptor, painter.  My days would be spent learning, doing, and expressing.

Year Four: Traveller.

Seeing the world, taking pictures, taking notes, dreaming. Always moving on.

Year Five: Buddhist.

Spend a year in a monastery -- studying zen, eating rice.

I feel like I am making just the tiniest, little bit of progress here.  It might not seem like it to an outsider -- it could seem I have a lot of dreams but no practical ideas on making any of them into how to get paid to do what I love.  But the first step is I have to work out what I enjoy, and what I would want to do.

In my current sales role, despite doing well against my own targets -- for the moment, at least --  there's not a moment's doubt that this isn't what I want to be doing, especially not here, and especially when they start kicking us for not meeting the weekly sales targets.  The sooner I figure out where to be, the better.

Year of play

"My father taught me to work; he did not teach me to love it. I never did like to work, and I don't deny it. I'd rather read, tell stories, crack jokes, talk, laugh -- anything but work."
--Abraham Lincoln

I've been reading a book recently called Screw Work, Let's Play on "how to do what you love and get paid for it". I'm only a few chapters in so far, but I find it inspiring.

My Dad, like countless Fathers before him, had an attitude to work that I am trying to shake off -- with the help of Mr Williams' book.  My Dad has always told me that you're not meant to enjoy your job or the work you do -- if you enjoyed it, they wouldn't pay you to turn up.  I am slowly starting to realise this doesn't have to be the case -- in fact, the most 'successful' people are ones who do enjoy what they do. They are successful at what they do, and successful in the wider sense that I strive to be -- happy with myself, and with where I am.

That's where this blog is coming from.  Unlike previous incarnations, I want this blog's purpose to not just log my life, to not simply record the day-to-day in a hopefully well-written way, but to show the journey to brightness.

One of the first exercises in "Screw Work, Let's Play" has you imagine you can take a year off.  What would you do with it?  "But I can't take a year off," you cry, or you do if you are anything like me, "I have bills to pay and rent to pay and..." -- and that's where you're cut off.  Imagine it differently, then.  You can take a year off work, and the author will pay you your normal salary, so you're no worse off.  Now, get to imagining.  You write down all the things you would do, if you could do anything.

Because it's my journey and my blog, my year of play filled with grand and impossible things is as follows:

Travel the world.  Especially the ancient civilisations of South America.
Write and blog.
Interview passionate people.
Perform and write poetry.
Have adventures!  Hiking, rock climbing, camping, surfing, snowboarding...  Also learn to do all these things.
Save the sea turtles.
Be a fire look-out in a National Forest.
Help people in need.
Study Zen.
Take pictures.
Enjoy music.
Help animals.

In my next post, I'll move on to the next stop.  What would I do with my life if I knew I could not fail...

Jupiter in space agencies' sights

I've been teh suck and not updated nearly enough recently.

I can report that my recent foray into not taking medication has ended. That is, after relying instead on vigorous exercise and strength of character, I have given and gone back. I was beginning to feel decidedly shit and unable to cope at times, so I decided enough was enough. Since I have restarted I still have my moments: short spells of despair, almost sickening bouts of worry and anxiety, but overall I am much better off. We have to admit that there is "something wrong" with me, and really there's no getting around it. It's a little depressing in itself to have to admit it. It might well be a brain 'chemical' thing -- some people are diabetic, or anaemic, and reliant on certain supplements of whatever kind. Perhaps I have a defective brain in a similar sort of way. For the record, I have begun to wonder when I am not taking my medication if previous medical professional diagnoses of bipolar disorder might not have been too wide of the mark. But either way, it doesn't matter.

Also in the news here this week is that despite every intention of leaving my body to medical science -- albeit while I am still very much alive and kicking -- has also met with failure. I was invited to attend a screening for a trial that would have paid me about two grand for my time, trialling a drug for Alzheimer's and ADD. But the time they wanted was about two weeks, and there was no way I could take it off work. This week I discovered that I have no holiday left whatsoever to take this tax year, and only have 13 days available to me to take between April and October. This means most likely that the time I spend in Peru I am going to have to take as unpaid leave -- I can consider that my own charitable contribution.

The obvious drawback of not being able to take part in a clinical drug trial is it is going to be a lot harder to earn money quickly. Possibly less unpleasant, maybe even safer, but more difficult.

I'm still resentful of my car needing £700+ worth of repairs at Christmas. It's no use crying over spilled milk, but I would never have chosen to spend that money frivolously -- not that keeping my car on the road is frivolous. But sometimes I think "I could have bought a great big television with that money, but I wouldn't have" or I think how I could fly to Barcelona and back like 6 times for that amount. Sometimes I go into a record shop just to browse, and I will pause over a CD -- I don't buy myself things often, I'll think. But then the idea of spending the money for no reason makes me feel ill, and I put it back. Like I say -- crying over it (like I did at the time, to my shame) doesn't change a thing, and the girl and I need a car for a whole host of reasons, so it was important. But that doesn't stop me resenting it. Stupid to resent an inanimate object, I know.

Speaking of work and earning money... Dedicated readers who have read my old posts, or longer term followers who have been with me for longer, may remember a post last October when I gleefully announced having got a job. I opened the champagne for dinner with the girl -- a special bottle I had been saving for when I got what I considered a "proper" job, a job that I wanted and wasn't just a stopgap, and that I felt was advancing my career. It was a year's contract, but a bloody good opportunity just the same. We remember? Good.

On Tuesday a notice went out on email to all office staff that there would be a briefing from the MD at 1430 in the conference room. Nobody was sure what it was about, but we were under no illusions: it wasn't going to be good news. I did speculate that perhaps with all the budget cuts and general "credit crunch" doom and gloom they would be announcing that in order to try and cheer up staff and raise morale they would be buying us an office kitten. Shockingly, this was not what the announcement was. In the minutes before the meeting, word got out that there was to be a merger. Nobody was quite sure whether to believe it, or what the details were. I then got blind-copied into an emailed press release from my head of PR. The release was going out to all trade press, announcing the merging of my company and a neighbouring region's.

There was lots of words like cost savings and efficiencies and stream linings, but the important thing to those of us in the office -- and presumably the other region's offices -- is that there are going to be job losses. We expect a lot of the job losses will be higher up -- there will be duplication of various positions, but nobody feels they are safe. We don't know when cuts will be, and we don't even know where this new amalgamated company will be based.

I feel particularly unsettled as my position was only "interim" to begin with. I've had the uncertainty that if the girl whose job I am doing wants to come back after maternity leave, then I would have to find my own way. Now it's impossible to know what will happen to me or to my job, cue random bouts of despair and almost sickening spells of anxiety and worry. I felt very fortunate to get this job, I felt so many times I had been passed over or fallen at the last hurdle when applying for jobs I could do so well -- this to me represented so much. Now I'm afraid it's all going to disappear again.

Up until now, I hadn't been directly or personally too affected by the now-official recession. Fuel costs have fallen by 25%; this meant I had more spare money. VAT was cut: again, more money for me. I was still getting paid the same. But of course it couldn't last forever. I was never unaffected, for months my older brother has been on the brink of bankruptcy -- to the point where my parents have given him all of their savings and more to keep him afloat. Finally he has had to give up ownership of his business, but luckily has escaped bankruptcy. So I was never completely unaffected -- just the same, when it's suddenly your own company, and you and your own colleagues looking at possible redundancy, you feel the impact.

I don't know why I thought I would get away unscathed. I've friends who have been made redundant two or three times in recent years, my own Mum has been made redundant at least twice -- although she usually manages to come back brighter. Which isn't bad for someone with a history of depression themselves.

Anyway. Without ending the post with thoughts of doom, gloom or the like I am pleased to report that having the girl's love and support makes a world of difference, and the next post should really be about valentine's day...

P.S. You haven't missed anything, this post doesn't have anything to do with Jupiter. I was just stuck for a title so I used a news headline.

Sevilla (part two)

extracts taken from my moleskine journal, a work entitled "stay out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired"

Friday, March 21
Good Friday, Seville's Semana Santa
Woke this morning to the sounds of drums and trumpets and very Spanish music. Still so tired from last night, I wondered if this was normal behaviour for Spain. I eventually got up around 11ish and took a shower -- I came back to the room to find a parade was filling the streets below; this more than made up for being stranded in the city last night, watching the parade circling endlessly.

--

A day started with tapas and "un grande cerveza" can't be all bad. We found a bar tender who spoke perfect English and who was amused by the few snatched Spanish phrases I knew. I take great pleasure in saying "muchas gracias señor" and "buenas dias". We wandered the city streets, drinking in the smell of orange blossoms, finding hidden patios and fountains.

And so our first day in Seville was started abruptly with a parade -- and I'm glad it was, standing in the mid-morning sun on the balcony and watching the crowds of people in the street. When eventually it was all quiet again, Dune headed out to see the sights in daylight and started with a short trip on a boat down the Guadalquivir river.

We sat in the sun near the city's Alcázar, listening to a man playing simple Spanish guitar, and made plans to return on Saturday to see the cathedral and the Alcázar.

Sevilla (part one)

extracts taken from my moleskine journal, a work entitled "stay out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired"

Thursday, March 20
Triana Backpacker´s Hostel, Seville
Already I am excited to be here -- just so thrilled to be in a different country. Outside in the street, I can hear groups of people all talking and laughing in a language I don´t know -- it feels refreshing to be in a place so unlike home.

The flight over passed almost without noticing. We left the howling wind and rain of England behind, and less than three hours later we touhced down in Spain. I must have slept for some or all of the flight, I remember nothing more than about 30 minutes of it. Who needs to teleport when you have travel narcolepsy? Our bags came quickly.

On the drive to the hostel, the taxi driver spoke very little and listened to electronica -- while we gazed out at the architecture and palm trees, interspersed with familiar billboards. In between pointing out elaborate feats of architecture, or someone dressed in the traditional Nazareno costume, Dune and I would nudge each other to point out Vodafone or Starbucks.

Even though it was already late when we arrived, we were hungry and eager to see some of the parades of the Santa Semana -- which apparently didn't even begin until 12.30 that night. Fearless explorers as we were, Dune and I struck out into the city to first find tapas. Food quickly was a priority so we weren't in the mood for taking our time -- that's why when we stopped at a bar and Dune thought it looked a bit dingy, I suggested we went inside and had a look anyway.

As it turned out, the bar was less dingy than it was local. We stood at the bar itself, ordered a couple of drinks in broken Spanish, and with great difficulty that involved a few English words, a few Spanish, much pointing and much repeating of "no intiendo" we agreed with the bar tender for some tapas. As we stood at the bar talking and laughing and feeling alive in this foreign country, we helped ourselves to bread from a basket on the bar. After munching our way through several breadsticks, the bar tender noticed, and with a deliberate gesture produced for us our own basket. It was only then we realised the bread we had been eating belonged to the man stood next to us, who luckily had his back turned and hadn't noticed the bread thieves that we were.

Dune's meal was a traditional dish of what seemed to be potato and peppers, with a fried egg on top. Mine took a little longer to produce, but appeared to be a grilled chicken breast seasoned with balsamic vinegar and potatas fritas. Once we finished we thanked the bar tender very warmly -- "Mi Español es un poco" Dune told him, "Inglés? Nada." said the bar tender. And so we headed out into the night -- trying to remember from the cab ride the way to the city.

After an indeterminate length of time, wandering down dark and empty streets we felt we had definitely gone wrong somewhere -- and Dune being the hands-on person she is (rather than the "if I keep walking maybe I will magically find my way" person I am), stopped a Spanish couple to ask them for directions. Their English was almost non-existent, but they wanted to help so they eagerly called out to a young woman named Sarah to come back. Sarah turned out to be an east Texas journalism major, spending a semester studying in Seville -- she was lovely and obliging, and didn't just point the way, but took us with her into the city. Once we had parted company with the lovely Sarah, I told Dune I betted she was a blogger. Dune disagreed, she didn't seem the type -- but I insist then (as I do now) a journalism major studying in a European city so far from home could hardly fail to want to write and be recognised. I said I would google her and see what I could find, but I have so far come up short. I think this is inconclusive -- I don't think googling key points about my life would find my blog, either.

The city was almost electric with anticipation for the night's festivities -- and in key spots vast rows of wooden seating was set out for spectators. Unfortunately, these vast rows of wooden seating were also reserved for ticket holders -- not only did we not have a ticket, we had no idea where one might get such an elusive prize.

Our cunning plan of just standing in a spot with a good view seemed to be working well for the first couple of hours -- but the time of the parade got closer and more people shared our idea, and eventually the local policia moved us all on. Anywhere good to see from was either seated, cordoned off with barriers, or already staked out -- but we were not to be put off. We had not travelled this far and waited this long to be so easily put off. Didn't they know who we were?!

We did eventually find a spot suitable to view the parades from -- and we weren't disappointed. Solemn, ghostly figures in pointed hoods and costumes slowly marched along the streets, silently carrying their candles. They would be followed by others in a different colour costumes, carrying crosses and flags, and still more figures with candles. Eventually you would see a glow coming from round the corner, and without fanfare an elaborate float would appear, carried invisibly from underneath, depicting Jesus, crucified on a cross, or the virgin Mary.

What we didn't realise at first -- and not for several hours -- was that these Nazarenos and Penitentes actually seemed to be circiling the city. A couple of times the floats just looked very familiar, until Dune hit upon the idea that the reason why didn't seem to be able to escape them, despite our best efforts to at this point, no matter where we went was that they had no end. It was just going to go on and on and on... After much effort we finally found our way past the processions, out of the city and across the Triana bridge back to our own bohemian corner of Seville, falling into bed about 4am. Even now, I think I am going to wake up from nightmares of these figures carrying candles in never-ending processions I am unable to escape.

It was truly amazing, and I don't fully appreciate how different these European cultures are until an opportunity to really experience them. But this was only the first night, so there is more to come from "stay out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired".

In a heap round their breakfasts in yesterday's clothes

This has to be the worst-timed post ever. I spend all day bored out of my mind, but it's only when I want to have been asleep half an hour ago that I actually get around to writing an update. I might not have internet access or the time to blog at work, but I'm in one of those annoying places where sitting in front of a computer when I get home from work isn't so appealing.

It's no surprise that I miss working in the bookshop. In fairness, I don't think I did the job for anywhere near long enough to appreciate how mind numbing it would get -- I wasn't full time, and didn't stay more than a couple of months, I think 40 hours a week and working weekends (as would inevitably have happened) would have done much to take the shine off it. But right now, I can dream and reminisce about recommending books to customers and talking to cute girls who wanted to know what books of Robert Frost's poetry we had. I don't miss dusting the shelves, or being restricted to only one 20 minute break a day.

I've been avoiding updating lately because my frame of mind or emotional well being took a distinct turn for the worst. I made reference a few weeks back to a shaky state of affairs and despite some occasional patches of sullen sun, things deteriorated. I don't much like talking about how I'm feeling, and so was shutting people out emotionally and writing about it felt just a tiny bit too much like talking about it. Much better to remain quiet with my thoughts of self harm. My powers of hypocrisy know no bounds, it would seem.

It took Dune to make me realise what a complete arse I was being. She gave me a good talking to and told me in no uncertain terms to sort myself out, which got me to pull myself together a bit. It's not like someone has waved a magic wand and made everything all better, but it's got me to stop being so self pitying and actually try and feel a bit more alive. I know perfectly well that the power to be happy is well within my grasp, and that I expend huge emotional effort on feeling shit, and so for the time being I am trying to make an effort to the contrary. It has also been brought to my attention that if I want to move out, I need to make it happen -- rather than sitting around and waiting for my friends to want to move out with me, and if I actually took the time to work out a budget it's more than feasible.

In other news, Dune and I go to Seville on Thursday evening for the long Easter weekend -- to check out the 'Santa Semana', or Holy Week, festival. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if she was trying to save my soul, since this is the same girl who invited me to go on a pilgrimage last year. Really, I think it's the appeal of Spain and the history and the idea of doing something different. This also means that I am taking half day at work on Thursday, and am making up for it (or making it up in my wages) by starting an hour earlier every day.

The whole issue of work is a particularly sore spot for me right now. Today I was training my newest colleague -- who started just over a week ago and is already looking to leave as soon as she possibly can -- and I noticed on her desk a copy of What Colour Is Your Parachute?, a multi-bestselling guide to job hunting and career changes. I flicked through it a bit, and on noticing some parts on finding out what jobs suit your personality, my colleague mentioned to me the idea that what job one might do could, possibly, not be the best fit. I laughed and said I had little illusions that what I do is something I am well suited to -- it requires no creativity and offers no intellectual stimulation at all, and one of the few things that keeps from insanity is the opportunity to talk to various suppliers on the phone. However, I recognise that 99% of the population of the planet feel the same way about what they do. "Oh, you hate your job? Why didn't you say so? There's a support group for that. It's called EVERYBODY, and they meet at the bar."

I struggle between feeling like I have sold out, that I have given up, that I am one of the people who would have liked to be a writer or an artist or whatever -- but gave up on it, rather than one of the people didn't stop believing and made it happen. If nothing else, at least I have the temperament of the artist.

Adventures continue in London with Dune. We met up with Jiminy and Non-Blondie again, and took again in the sights and smells of East London -- wandering down Brick Lane, before ending up again in the local pub we like, and playing darts. The darts game was made more exciting when Non-Blondie's celebration dance looked like it might send her through the trapdoor into the cellar, but although I would have liked to have won, I don't think that would have been the way to achieve it. And perhaps it was made abundantly clear to all involved that I am not kidding about my coordination or spatial awareness, but I think they were fortunate that nobody accidentally got a dart in the side of the head.

Last weekend, Jon and I returned to Camden with Dune -- and made it further than the pub this time, exploring Camden Lock market, having lunch in a Mexican place in Covent Garden and ending the evening in a pub in Charing Cross. There also as a result of that evening needs to be a whole post now devoted to film and cinema, as it has become a subject so weighty it needs its own space to breathe.

All in all, I've pulled my head out my arse a bit, work sucks, bites and blows -- and never in any good ways, but I have started looking for a new place to live. I stress only started at this point. Oh and I can now speak very rudimentary Spanish -- albeit Latin American Spanish (since it was the only short course the library had left), and with a charming Essex accent.

I am thinking of changing the name of my blog to "Hey man, now you're really living" after the Eels song that makes me happy...

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...

On wild-ness

When I was a cultural studies undergraduate, I became fascinated with the American concept of wilderness. I wrote an extended essay about the art of Albert Bierstadt and how it related to the writing of Henry David Thoreau. I'm slightly disappointed now that I didn't keep it, in either paper or electronic form, since it was probably one of the only A's I got in my whole academic career -- but also because I want to refer back to it now to see if it made any reference to the philosopher Spinoza. I read about Spinoza recently in a book called "What's It All About?" which tries to address questions on the meaning of life, and I feel fairly sure that he must have been mentioned in my clases on the wilderness -- although it's difficult to say now how much attention I paid at the time.

What linked Spinoza to Thoreau and Bierstadt was the concept that God didn't just "create" nature, but that God "is" nature. It's very difficult to try and explain in words, directly -- it's a feeling more than anything. For example, Thoreau was all very comfortable (one might say almost smug) about the wilderness when he wrote Walden, but the fact is that he was never really all that far from 'civilisation' -- he didn't really push much outside of his comfort zone.

Albert Bierstadt's paintings can be looked at and appreciated on a very shallow level -- and without having compared them to literature and thought about them I would dismiss them entirely. They're nice and all, but they're just the typical romanticised nature painting -- mountains, rivers, sunsets, all that sort of thing. But if you look at them with the philosophy of Spinoza in mind, you can read the painting on a slightly deeper level. It might not be news-worthy or altogether remarkable, but Bierstadt's use of light -- particular in pictures like Among the Sierra and Yosemite -- and likewise his use of darkness can be interpreted as being symbolic of God's existence not only in the wilderness but as the wilderness.

The rock formations are like the vaulted ceilings of cathedrals, they are designed to draw your eyes upwards and inspire thoughts of heaven -- and in a way the mountains of the west were Bierstadt's cathedrals. I don't know much at all about Bierstadt's beliefs, maybe he was a devout Christian -- one could argue he might have had some quite puritanical ideas, since it would seem that he considered God to be threatening as well as loving. I personally like to consider God in this context in a Spinozan sense, God is the light, and the absolute darkness, and the water, and the mountains, and the elk.

I am agnostic, and as such don't deny the existence of God, just as I don't recognise it either. I am not undecided, I just don't believe it is possible to ever really know -- and perhaps like many things with me, where I sit on the matter can vary. However, when I do consider God, it is in these terms that I consider it -- not as a sentient being, but almost as the sum of all consciousness and existence.

I mentioned Thoreau and Walden at the start -- but where I feel Thoreau really met with the Wilderness in the Bierstadt sense was when he climbed Mount Ktaadn. Here it is both terrifying and overwhelming.

I ended up writing my final year dissertation on the wilderness, but didn't really feature Bierstadt -- instead choosing to focus on Gary Snyder, Edward Abbey, Aldo Leopold and Henry David Thoreau. It frustrates me sometimes thinking back that I didn't do a better job of it, and I also wish that I had the book I have started reading now -- Into the Wild.

In Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey abandons his trailer to sleep in the open air of Arches National Park -- and he would write at great length about rivers and canyons and all the rest. But what I feel was missing from his work now was a sense of terror, a sense of being overwhelmed by nature -- what Thoreau feels on Mt. Ktaadn, and what Chris McCandless must have felt when he went into the wilds of the Alaskan landscape. While it could be said that McCandless was a bit of an idiot who didn't really grasp the full gravity of what he was doing or how likely he was to die -- he was also part of something much larger.

In some ways, he was trying to work out for himself what it is all about -- like the philosophers and thinkers before him. To my knowledge, at least Kerouac and Snyder out of the Beats both spent time living an almost entirely solitary existence in the wilderness at one time or another -- and like Abbey, skirted on the edges of madness. And in many ways I respect someone who is willing to take the risk and go out into the wild -- even if like Chris McCandless they don't make it back again.

Sailing towards the edge of the earth

"We're so trapped that any way we could imagine to escape would be just another part of the trap. Anything we want, we're trained to want...Our real discoveries come from chaos, from going to the place that looks wrong and stupid and foolish." -- Chuck Palahniuk

After however-many years of going back and forth, of will-I-won't-I and indecision, I made a decision today. I had the day off work, with it I went to the armed forced careers office, and I signed an application form. It's precisely because being in the military seems to someone of my personality type as wrong and foolish that I am doing it -- because anything you want you are trained to want. I am Columbus sailing towards disaster at the edge of the world.

There is also the eternal dilemma though that I do want it, that I do think it is a good idea. I want to prove something to myself, I want to be part of something larger. My whole life has been mememememe. Oh, poor Jay, he feels abandoned. Poor Jay, he feels neglected. Poor Jay, he's never going to be a movie god or a rock star. I want to devote myself to something bigger than my ego. Of course, by doing so I am obviously also feeding my own ego -- it's all another part of the trap of our culture. I also want to prove something to the rest of the world. I am not a slacker. I want to prove something to the people who say I would never make it through the basic training, or that with a history of depression they will never even accept my application.

The latter is something that I do need to look at -- in filling in the application form which was more like an examination booklet, I hesitated where it mentioned if you have had two or more incidents of deliberate self harm. I can't count the times any more -- but I think my saving grace will be that on the record, there is only one, and that was 5 years ago. I am going to request to see my medical records and correct anything on them I think is incorrect -- like that incident I have reason to suspect was recorded as a suicide attempt, when it wasn't anything even resembling one.

The application process is very long winded and will involve several different interviews, not to mention a physical exam -- for the latter I really have no excuse not to start going to the gym again.

Aside from the marching, the shouting, the wearing a uniform, the following orders and the general fact that it is the military it all seems like a good idea. There would be travel (meet interesting people -- then shoot them!), job security and opportunities to get paid to do things like go rock climbing. And you never know, I might rock that whole uniform look.

So to summarise, I work in a bookshop and have decided it's a good idea if I join the air force. It all makes perfect sense.

More postcard porn for my wanderlust (updated)

I can't believe it's been two months since I last blogged about any postcrossing cards I'd received. Now I have a bunch to all put up at once, though -- so I think I can be forgiven.

This first card marks the shortest distance travelled for a postcard to me -- having travelled allllllllllll the way from Germany, a hop, skip and a jump of 469 KM from a place called Wuppertal. The sender, Sille, tells me that more than 50 years ago a director of a circus wanted to advertise his circus -- and so he thought he would put a little elephant into the overhead monorail which goes through the city. But oh no! Tuffi the elephant didn't like this -- so she jumped through the door and fell into the river Wupper below. There was a happy ending though, as Tuffi the elephant was miraculously uninjured and is now -- like the monorail -- a symbol of the city of Wuppertal. I have no idea if this story is true, or if it is an example of the famous German sense of humour. Either way, it's an interesting looking card; you can see the elephant falling from the monorail in the main picture, and some slightly freakish people in the bottom-left picture.

The second card has travelled slightly further -- in this case having made the journey from Osaka, Japan. The sender Yukiko is a 23-year-old woman and tells me that "In Japan the intense heat day passed and goes from now in Autumn". In her poetic way, I think what Yukiko is telling me that now summer is passing the days are less hot as they go into Autumn.

I'm not entirely clear what the picture shows -- since the card is captioned only "ATC & WTC, Osaka" so if anybody can shed light on these initials, I'd be interested to hear it. Either way, it's a a stunning picture -- I love the reflections of the lights and the boat in the water. It's scenes like this that make me want to travel -- although it probably doesn't look so different to Portsmouth at night, or London's Docklands.

Hanna from Tampere Suomi marks my fourth postcard from Finland. Hanna informs me that she was shortly to be moving from the beautiful city (which doesn't look all that from the postcard) to South Finland. The caption on the back of the card tells me the city's cathedral was built in 1907, which is more information than Hanna gives me about her city -- but she said she was happy to be moving so maybe she doesn't care.

Contrasting with my barely-travelled postcard from Germany, it's clear this is one of my farthest-travelled, although it still comes second to my card from Dunedin, New Zealand. Of all the cards I have received, I'm sorry to say this is maybe my least favourite to date. The sender Jean (at least from her handwriting I think that's her name), tells me she lives in Central Queensland, about 3 hours from the sea, and breeds beef cattle. She then goes on to tell me that in Australia it is now spring and already warm. I don't mind that the text might not have been the most interesting of all cards -- when you're writing a short card to a complete stranger it can be difficult to think of something to say -- but I'm a little disappointed with the picture. I feel that a country as vast and fascinating as Australia could be better represented than this.

Today I wasn't even expecting a postcard -- according to the postcrossing site, I had sent and received an equal number of cards. Either way, this beautiful piece of art was sent from Miyuki in Japan -- although where in Japan she never mentions. Miyuki tells me she is a Japanese woman who likes handicraft, and chose this card for me because I like art. See? Much better than the last sender who sent me a rubbish picture. Miyuki also tells me it is Autumn in Japan -- which funnily enough it is also in England -- and that she and her daughter both have a cold.

I really like the mental image of the everyday life of this Japanese woman and her daughter, who today (or a week ago when the card was sent) is suffering a little with a cold. I expect they're wearing those freaky-looking facemasks.

It's a week of surprise postcards -- today I received another postcard from Japan. This makes it two postcards from Japan in one week, and three in total. Today's card comes from a young lady named Saori in Kyoto, who tells me it is "cool and comfortable" in Japan and "The leaves are going to change yellow and red". She also has gone to the trouble of sticking tiny red leaves on the reverse of the card. I think the Japanese have to be my favourite postcard writers, for the poetry of their descriptions. It also puts me to shame, not being able to say much more than "Where is the shoe store?" in Spanish and "My grandmother is on fire" in French.



And I know what you're all thinking right now. I can just see now in your eyes, you're all looking at me with that same curious blogger expression, saying:
Jay, what has this done to the graph?

I, on the other hand find myself thinking, what graph? Why would there be a graph? Why would you all get together and expect a stranger on the internet to give you trivial details about his life in graph form? How would that help us understand this any more? That seems a little bit sad. You don't need a graph, it doesn't help us in any way. There is no graph.







No. You need a pie chart for that kind of thing. And here it is:


To date, postcards received by country. Notice the disproportionate number of cards from Finland. According to Postcrossing, there are 32,945 people taking part worldwide -- 19,903 of them hailing from Finland. That means 60% of all users on Postcrossing are from the Republic of Finland, a country of 5.3 million people in Northern Europe. For anyone interested, the next most popular country is Germany with 38% of the users, closely followed by the USA with 33%. I have yet to receive any postcrossing from the USA. The Netherlands creep into the top five at number four, and Japan take fifth place.