Depravity

Following the incredible mediocrity that was my last entry, I figured I'd actually write something vaguely interesting. Please keep voting in my [poll], since the results are tied right now at one vote for each outcome. And yeah, as Indigo says the submit button doesn't appear to be loading -- but it's right above the link to the website, so just click immediately above that and you should be fine. I'm hoping this is what is stopping the hoardes of voting.

So anyway, last weekend was spent with San -- and others -- at the "[V] Festival" as it is now known. Why they changed it from "V(whatever year)" I don't know. V is a funny kind of festival, not least because it is held simmultaneously in two locations (the bands swap sites at the end of the day), and one of the festival sites is just up the road to me. I think the convenience of being able to go home at night was what convinced San to go.

Dave Grohl was saying during the Foo Fighters set that in the industry V is considered to be a "posh" festival, that it's very clean and organised. I would say it's more corporate than posh -- with V standing for Virgin, the organisers, and various stages being sponsored by the likes of Tommy Hilfilger and JJB Sport. Not to mention the lucrative deals the festival has with Budweiser, Bacardi and Strongbow. Not that we were complaining at the start of each day, when we were getting trashed in the Bacardi bar.

But yeah, I'm starting to prefer real gigs over festivals -- although when the sun is shining and you're feeling fine, festivals are a lot of fun, the bands just don't play for long enough for my liking. Ash played on Saturday and I liked them a lot, although I used to be a big fan of theirs years ago I haven't bought anything since their debut 1977. But I bought San their greatest hits last Chirstmas, and rediscovered how much I liked them. So it was good to hear them play newer songs like 'Burn Baby Burn' and 'Envy', and a couple of unreleased songs but they just didn't play for long enough. What they did play was fantastic, but there was no 'Jesus Says', or 'Jack Names the Planets', and watching at a distance on the video screen just isn't the same.

The same could be said for a lot of the bands. Foo Fighters were on top form, and Feeder were possibly my favourite act of the whole weekend -- but they just didn't have the time to play everything I would have liked them to. It was strange watching Feeder on Saturday headline the second stage, and remembering how we used to see them play in small local pubs.

These small local pubs have now been transformed into sports bars. Is there anything more depraved? I don't think so.

Resignation

Today I will be mostly writing my letter of resignation.

There's been many occasions where I have reminded myself that no matter how bad the job may get, I only need to give a week's notice. Even in these final few days when Angela's attitude and mood swings have pushed me to the limit, I never had to resort to quitting ahead of schedule.

The schedule looks something like this; tomorrow I quit. A week tomorrow I finish, this gives me a week in between finishing tending bar and starting work for the local paper. Then it's two weeks at the paper, and moving in about a month's time.

That's the plan, at least. As ever, the university are being awkward and have now told me that on completion of my two weeks at the newspaper I am required to turn in a report on it. How long this report is meant to be, and when they want it by, I am still trying to establish. I almost believe they are trying to make things difficult for me -- like ignoring me completely when I wasn't able to find any work experience, and now throwing in more obstacles when I have the work lined up.

The funny thing is, I have paid the deposit and first month's rent for my flat in Leicester so whether or not I actually make it to university, I really will be moving.

One million light years from home

I'm thinking I'd like a new template around here... but as ever I have no idea what I want from it. That could almost be a metaphor for my life.

I'm quitting my job next week, which means working until the end of the month when you take into account my required one week's notice. Then it's onto two weeks working at a local newspaper, before moving to Leicester to train as a journalist.

I saw an advert on the back of a paper yesterday for snowboard instructor classes, in Canada. Train to be a ski or a board instructor over varying amounts of time, depending I think on if you want just the basic level and then get out, or if you want higher levels, or if you want higher levels and the chance to go hiking and stay in an igloo. I'd really like to do that. The only trouble is, it's been years since I last went snowboarding (not many mountains in England. snow: thin on the ground) and even then I was, at best, vaguely intermediate. Ski lifts were the bane of my existence. Not really the stuff instructors are made of -- even if I had the cash to go to Quebec and all the rest.

Do I really want to be a snowboard instructor? I don't know. It seems like it would be better than real work, or could be something to do as a second income. To be entirely honest, I don't really know what I want to do with my life.

I have a lot of dreams -- like wanting to be an astronaut, or a fire look-out in a big national forest somewhere -- but really, dreams is all that they are. Being a journalist isn't really a dream, it's just a practical idea of something to do with a talent. I have no idea if I will make a good journalist, since it involves a lot more than being a good writer, but we shall see.

At any rate, it has to beat tending bar.