Spiderman and the body dysmorphic

My black spidey suit form ebay arrived today, although I am slightly disappointed that upon wearing it I am not magically hot -- and look more like Jack Black in the MTV Spiderman parody.

Many people consider Jack Black a sex symbol, in a similar sort of way as Har Mar Superstar. The question is, are they sexy because they are famous, or because they are confident? I quote Tyler Durden and tell people "self improvement is masturbation" and "I feel sorry for guys packed into gyms, trying to look the way Calvin Klein or Tommy Hilfiger says they should", but the truth is I'm as much sucked in by it as anyone else. I go swimming two or three times a week, just swimming laps constantly for an hour, on the days I'm not swimming, I'm lifting weights in my bedroom. Because I hate how I look, and how I feel -- because it's not 'right'. It's not what we are told a man should look like.

You hear about the stereotyping of women in men's magazines -- the unattainable figures, the impossible ideal. But there's rarely a word about the men. Pick up a copy of magazines like Men's Health, Men's Fitness -- and it's all chiselled abs, features on how to get that six pack in a week (because nobody will love if you don't), the ultimate exercise regimes, make more money... Or pick up the "lad's mags" and look past the girls wearing little but a football shirt. It's still the unattainable -- of course, the pictures of the perfect male figures are gone, because that would be just a little bit too close to the line, wouldn't it? Couldn't possibly have that, someone might get confused, stop fancying girls... But just the same, it's telling you what it takes to be a man -- and it's all beer and cars and games and football and make more money to buy their expensive clothes and how to shag 100 times a night.

But really, who am I to criticise? I've been the person placing the expensive clothes in the glossy, men's consumer magazines in the past. I'm at least partly responsible for encouraging people to spend money they don't have on things they don't need.

If we stay on the subject of body image, it doesn't get any better in the gay magazines. You still have the men with their perfect biceps and abs that you will never achieve. It's all the same editors, the same fashion executives making the decisions -- putting skinny boys with sharp cheekbones and tiny waists on the catwalks and on the pages of the magazine. Or how many times a day does Armani tell you from a billboard or a bus stop ad what a real man should look like? It's never you.

You don't so often hear about what this might do to men, or to boys. If you do, it's often given some stupid name like "Manorexia" -- as if to not call the illness by its name makes it seem less serious, like it's not the same thing. Or how often do you hear about reverse anorexia? Where the sufferer constantly believes themselves to be too skinny and wanting to bulk up, build more muscle, whatever the cost. Studies have looked at children's action figures, and measured their "vital stats" against real men -- concluding that not only are they completely out of proportion, and they are getting worse.

So where do we go from here? With this post, and with people in general. It seems everyone is being told how they should look, or how to behave, or who they should be -- and it's almost never how we are. And, sure, I guess any of us can reject it. Nobody can make any of us feel anything. But just the same, it seems like something isn't right.

I guess that's a bit of an understatement.

After Saturday night hockey

I've neglected to mention recently that the hockey season has started once again. The games thus far haven't been much worthy of individual posts, or else I've felt I had better things to post about. But I really enjoy going to the hockey, it's one of the few things I look forward to at the moment -- and on a Sunday night, it's a great way to end the weekend. Starting Monday morning with a hangover is sometimes less fun, but it's a trade-off.

So far Chelmsford have won one game (the first -- which was encouraging) and lost two, although they've given both teams a good run for their money. This week's home game was last night (Saturday) rather than tonight -- which meant we could stay out all night, even if after a 5-3 defeat we weren't exactly celebrating.

I knew I couldn't really stay out all night last night, because I'd volunteered to drive today, delivering meals to the sick and the housebound in London. I wasn't scheduled to drive this week, normally I only volunteer about once a month -- unlike pretty much every other volunteer, I don't live in London and so it ends up taking my whole day. I said no at first when I was asked this week, but on the third time of asking I thought about how these people don't stop needing meals just because there's not enough volunteers. I figured I had no excuse, I had no other plans and already spend all week doing precisely nothing. I figured it would make me feel productive and get me out of the house.

The human contact is good, as is the feeling of doing something for other people. I always enjoy meeting a different navigator every time, and fantasising about romance, or that they'll be wealthy and want to buy my art, or the owner of some company and think my winning personality is exactly what they need. So I volunteered my time after all -- maybe I'll write about it later, maybe I won't.

But last night. After the hockey, our friend Pete (of punk rock bands The Filaments and Suicide Bid fame) invited us out in Chelmsford, since he lives there now. We hadn't been at the bar very long when others joined us -- others including Deb. There's a history with her, for anyone who wants to search her name, but I can't be bothered to go into it all. Until recently, I hadn't seen her in ages -- she, too, has moved to Chelmsford but we never saw much of each other before that anyway. Last time I saw her -- a couple of weeks ago, or maybe last week -- she complained I hadn't sent her a valentine this year.

This dates back to how we first really got talking -- I was working as a bartender, she came in on valentine's day night and complained about not having any cards. So I made her one, wrote in it in Spanish and on the back "now I want your phone number". Since then, she's requested a handmade card from me every year -- I guess her boyfriend never paid much attention, or whatever. I didn't bother this year for a number of reasons. But when she asked me recently, I didn't have the heart to say no -- or even "Don't be silly, it's September".

Either way, I saw her again last night. But I had also learned something interesting this week. All the times when I asked her out and she turned me down, because her boyfriend wouldn't like it -- she was already cheating on him. So, really, it was just me. For the record, the only reason I was asking her out when I knew she was taken was that her friends had told me she wanted an excuse to break up with him. I know this is hardly anything resembling a good idea, but it seemed reasonable at the time.

I'm not angry at her, because really what right do I have to be angry about anything? I do feel a little rejected, even though I don't feel what I used to for her. And I wonder who exactly she is, deep down -- if I see who she really is, which in a way links back to comments left on my last post. Just because you know someone in real life, doesn't mean you know the "real" them. There wasn't and won't be any animosity between Deb and myself, but I keep my distance from her.

The evening of course ended much too soon -- although in its favour, it did end with getting Subway, half of mine I saved for breakfast. A steak and cheese sub with green peppers and chilli sauce is an odd start to any day. Today's food deliveries went well, although largely without event -- but I might choose to go into detail another day.

sometimes i feel like i have screwed everything up and really don't know how much i can take

On/Offline Life

A topic that never seems to go away -- and probably for fairly obvious reasons somewhere like here -- is the online/offline life divide. There's so many questions, like can you ever truly know someone on the internet alone? Are the friends we have online really "friends"? And just how separate should we keep the two worlds.

I have a fairly laid-back approach to it all. When it comes to friends online, my simple rule is that when it comes to blogger/facebook/myspaz/IM I won't be friends with anyone I wouldn't be prepared to be friends with "in real life". That is, I don't befriend just anyone I went to school with for the sake of it -- just knowing someone isn't enough. I don't "befriend" my friends partners or exes, unless I feel I know them in their own right. It always bemuses me when I see friends of mine befriend my exes on Facebook.

Wherever I can, though, I try to make "online" friends into "real life" friends. To me, it's all different layers of knowing someone -- and you can know someone online, but to really be friends I like to spend time with them in person. I can't think offhand of any occasions when I've regretted it. I like it when I talk to someone on the phone for the first time, and after that when I read their words I can hear their tone of voice, as if it was being read aloud.

But on the other hand, for good reasons of their own plenty of people like to keep a very strict wall between online and offline. Maybe they've been stalked before, or let down. Maybe they feel they already have enough friends in 'real life'. Maybe they are more open and honest online and wouldn't feel comfortable meeting people who know such things about them. I can identify, naturally I'm more open about things on here than I am in person -- I write about things here that some of my closest friends don't know about. But at the same time, I've nothing against meeting people who know these things.

But what about the other side of it, there's got to be plenty of people who consider the internet as shallow and meaningless? Who of my select group of readers gives no thought to the people they know online, let alone consider them to be real friends? Who would politely decline an opportunity to meet a fellow blogger?

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm naive to think that the people I know online can be considered to be real friends -- although I think I know more people through the internet that I could call any time of the night if I was crying out for help, than I do in my "real life". But perhaps some of you are sitting there, and shaking your head at how pathetic it seems -- and thinking how wrong I am.

I think an important factor to me is I don't consider time spent online to be any less "real life". It might be different if I spent all my time playing a character in an MMORPG, or keeping up the pretence of a fictional blog persona -- but although you might see different sides, or fewer layers, it's not any less real.

Either way, I continue to welcome chances and opportunities to meet up with people I know online -- I have stayed with, lived with and even dated people I've met online. And I look forward to meeting even more.

Lord of entertainment

"A controversial US reality TV show involving children is due to get its first airing on the CBS network.

Kid Nation takes 40 children, some as young as eight, to an abandoned New Mexico desert town where they are left to fend for themselves for 40 days.

The youngsters are meant to create a functioning society with a system of laws, commerce and even a class system.

Critics see the show as a modern version of Lord of the Flies with a Wild West twist."
BBC News

There's a few things that disturbs me about this prospect. Not that children are being apparently left to "fend for themselves" -- somehow I doubt that anyone will starve, or come to any serious harm. But I am disconcerted that they are apparently meant to create "a class system". Why on earth are we encouraging children to create a class system? Forget everyone being equal or any of those other liberal myths our children are brainwashed in the schools -- "Remember kids, some people are just better than others -- and they need to be kept in their place".

I'm amused that they are supposed to create a functioning society -- I guess the key word there is "functioning"; if all they manage is to create a society with great divides between rich and poor and where the majority work for the benefit of the few, well nobody said it was meant to be a perfect society.

And finally, does anyone else who has read Lord of the Flies think it is a colossally bad idea to emulate it? It isn't like they all sat around, holding hands and signing kum-bah-yah -- it was a book about "the darkness of man's heart" and although in some ways Golding was a cretin and had some abhorrent ideas about original sin and 'savagery', at no point do you think it would be a good idea to recreate it.

Wouldn't it have been safer to recreate Lord of the Rings, or failing that the Lord of the Dance? Both are pretty violent in their own way, and with homosexual subtexts -- but I don't think either featured human sacrifice.

I was going to end this post with a choice quote from my favourite anarchist, Edward Abbey. But I have decided instead to take a different approach -- I think this is quite apt:

"The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over." - Hunter S. Thompson

On job interviews, galleries and imaginary partners

It's hard to know where to begin with a post about a day like today. So I guess it's enough to say today started how these days often do -- with a job interview. The job is just for a six-week freelance contract, and from what I heard about it today there doesn't seem to be much chance of it going on longer than that. Six weeks work at £100 a day (or £70 when I have made my deductions for tax and invested them) is not to be sniffed at -- but it shows me that I still need to look for another line of work.

Anyway, the interview itself seemed to go well -- the job is a fairly basic press office, but in corporate rather than consumer PR. If I am to stay in PR, I think corporate might be a good way to go for me, but that's neither here nor there. One drawback is that it's an 8am start every day, which means getting up at something like 5.30, but whatever. I will cross that bridge when I come to it -- and follow my own advice from my last post, and go to bed earlier if I'm that bothered. So it went well, but they are seeing people all week which seems a bit excessive for a freelance contract. Even if I am better than all those other arseholes.

Since I was in London and had already shelled out almost £30 on a day's bloody travelcard, I figured I'd do something productive while I was there. I've been moaning to anyone who'll listen that what's worse than being broke and having no work is having nothing to do. There's a world of museums and art galleries to see in London for free, but I can't afford the travel.

What annoyed me about the book About A Boy, actually one of two things that annoyed me -- but the lesser of the two -- is the title. I once read an interview with Nick Hornby and he said he really regretted the title of the book, because it sounds silly when you say "Are you excited about About A Boy?" or "What do you like about About A Boy? But what also annoys me is the character of Will.

Partly he annoys me in and of himself, which is a good thing because it shows I'm engaging with him, and he's meant to be a bit of an idiot and not very likeable. But it annoys me that he does nothing. I mean, I know that's the point, that he doesn't need to work, but if it was me and I didn't need to work for money I'd do any number of things I loved! You could do nearly any job in the world if they didn't have to pay you. Or if he has so much money that he doesn't ever have to work, ever, why isn't he seeing the world? Perhaps he's just lazy.

Anyway, the point is that after my interview I went to the National Portrait Gallery. It's funny that I worked next door to the place for months and never went before now. I think the best way to do the gallery is probably with someone else, and with taking a break halfway through to go and have some lunch and talk about it and stuff. On your own you get a bit burned out on portraits after a while, and I don't have any money so I couldn't have lunch and come back to it and probably wouldn't have done the "coming back" part if I'd left.

I can't recall any particular portraits being my favourites -- somewhere halfway round the first floor I realised it was impractical to try and read the information card for every single picture. And later on, I wasn't interested enough to try and give every picture my full attention -- and would concentrate on people whose eyes particularly caught my interest or something in their expressions. I should perhaps have made notes which I enjoyed most, but really, it doesn't matter -- I enjoyed them, but didn't feel compelled to do much more. Although there were some authors and poets whose names I noted down, not because I liked their pictures but because they seemed interesting.

After the gallery, I was on the train home when my phone rang. It's been ringing on and off for a couple of days, following an interview for some bullshit sales job last week I decided I didn't want. They keep leaving very bored-sounding messages to say they want to "talk" to me about the interview, when they clearly said they wouldn't call anyone who wasn't successful. I decided I didn't want the job because they kept me waiting for 30 mins, just to have a joint interview with some random girl (who had been waiting for an hour at that point) and it wasn't a proper interview at all. Anyway, the call went to voicemail and I checked the message right away. A PR agency I sent my CV to on spec at the end of last week wanted me to come in for an interview. Today.

I got off at the next station and went straight back into London. I spent the next few hours first doing some quick research on them and their work, and then wandering the streets aimlessly after I found where I needed to go.

The interview itself again seemed to go pretty well -- I'm encouraged that the interviewer said her colleague we'd be working alongside wasn't in, and she wanted me to come back another day to meet her. If it had been hopeless, she wouldn't have suggested this -- right?

The interviewer asked me how I'd feel about working in a team of just girls, and I reassured her it wouldn't be a problem. Then I had an idea. When she asked me if I'd be okay with the commute (it was still central London, an easy commute) I said not only was I okay with it, but that "my girlfriend" lived nearby. See, I figured I would seem less threatening to an all-female team if I mentioned already having a girlfriend, and the living nearby was an added bonus. The trouble was the interviewer was very interested in my girlfriend -- how long we'd been together (why on earth did I say "a couple of years"?!), if we had any plans to get married, what she did for a living (thank god I didn't claim she worked in the media) and then when I said my girlfriend would be going abroad to work she started asking me if I thought our relationship would stand up to it, and what would I do if she cheated on me... This relationship lark is harder than it looks, and this is just with an imaginary girlfriend.

Still, fingers crossed on the interviews -- you never know, I might have two job offers by the end of the week. Or you know, I might still be sitting at home and getting fat.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future...

There's been several posts recently, regarding having conversations with one's younger self. Dune Princess addressed it interestingly following a thought-provoking play, and Pants of Death met himself on the way to the paper shop one day. These things happen more often than you'd think. Dune Princess asked her readers what they would tell themselves in this situation -- and without going all Baz Luhrman, what exactly do you tell yourself?

I'm amused now by who I was at 17. If I could only tell my younger self one thing it would be quite simple: "lighten up".

It's the same advice I try to give myself now, and I expect my younger counterpart would say the same thing; "That's easier said than done". But it's easy to tell yourself to lighten up when you know that things work out, in a funny sort of way.

I'd tell myself to work harder. I know it's a drag, but do your homework. Do the reading. Make the notes you are supposed to. You will never be one of these people who can get good grades with little work -- you will have to work hard to be average.

Talk to strangers. It sounds absurd, but good things can come out of talking to strangers sometimes. Just don't go home with them.

If something seems like a bad idea, and you know it's a bad idea, don't go and do it any way. Even if it seems like fun. Some mistakes are so much fun you will want to keep making them, but sometimes it really is better to regret the things you haven't done.

The black framed glasses, the eyeliner, the way you want your hair to cover your eyes? It looks silly. In 10 years time it will be fashionable, though.

Sleep is over-rated sometimes. If you really need sleep, go to bed earlier -- don't skip classes. See earlier comment about working harder.

I have no advice regarding your relationships to make them any easier, other than try not to overthink them. Just enjoy yourself. At the same time, don't rush into things. There's almost always going to be more time.

Contradicting that, sometimes there won't be more time. Tell people you love them, see them if you get the chance. You will know what I mean later.

Sometimes you are going to have to accept the past is best left where it is, and move on. Kind of ironic given this conversation.

You'll be glad to know that you did what you said you were going to. You went to university, you lived abroad. You trained as a journalist and work in the media. It's not all it's cracked up to be -- it's funny how these things happen.

As for what he would say to me... probably something along the lines of "What are you doing with my life?"

"I can't believe you've lived in three cities across two continents and have come back here"

"Where's your piercings?"

"Are you still single?! Have you even kissed a girl yet?"

and probably berate me for various other things like not wearing eyeliner any more, selling my guitar (tho I think he'd respect I do have a snowboard now) and ask me lots of questions about the internet and broadband-speed porn.

Tell me, where is this bright side you speak of?

We now take a break from our regular scheduled programming to bring you this video:



This video could disturb, unsettle and possibly even upset you.
It's quite long (running to 2 hours, so maybe not to be watched in one sitting) but I would consider it a personal favour if anyone who comes here, lurker, commenter or otherwise, would watch it.

Does whatever a spider-can...

I didn't get the job I went for in Portsmouth last week. Two weeks, two jobs; two rejections. This interview had gone a lot better than the last one, I had a good feeling about it -- although have given up entirely on ever thinking that I might have got it. Today I invariably got the message: "The feedback regarding your experience was very positive and they were very impressed by your achievements so far. However, being such a small team they are very concerned about personality fit, and they weren't absolutely sure that your character would be a good match".

Jon and I went to the pub this afternoon like we so often did after failing our driving tests -- after all, he got a rejection letter of his own yesterday. He commented that I seemed lost in thought, and the truth of it was my mind was elsewhere -- on the now-usual subject of "what am I going to do?".

What I did was come home and start applying for more jobs. All sorts of jobs I could find; copywriter jobs, other PR jobs, marketing jobs, admin jobs. It was then that I thought I'd give the Gumtree website a cursory glance -- every now and again there's some interesting jobs in the media section, perhaps people willing to give a guy a break. I fired off a few emails before I saw one ad that caught my imagination: do you want to be a paparazzi. I asked myself, do I? I ticked it off on my fingers: writing, photography, good money -- perhaps a distinct lack of morals, but what the hell. Could I stand it? Would I be any good at it? I figured I'd find that out along the way.

Suddenly my mind was racing as fast as my heart as I sent off a deceptively upbeat email and got a response almost immediately. The response merely asked what camera I used. I paused. This might be a problem -- while I have a digital camera, it's nothing special. So instead I replied with another camera I have my eye on; dual lens, 10x optical zoom, and figured if I was required to put my money where my mouth was, Amazon would have the camera to me by the next day and I'd doubtlessly earn the cost of it back almost right away. I also asked if they preferred the use of digital SLR. With my heart still racing came the reply; sorry -- it had to be professional kit. A quick look then of how much that might set me back and it seemed ludicrous to have expect anything else -- thousands and thousands of pounds of equipment. So my ideas of riding on a scooter and chasing celebs through French tunnels while trying to snap their picture was vanished. I felt like Superman without the cape.

And that reminded me of course as these things do with Peter Parker. I felt like responding with something along those lines -- where would we be if nobody would give Peter Parker a job? But I figured references to comic books don't make up for not having thousands to spend on telephoto lenses. What I will be doing though is sending out various letters to agencies asking if they'll give me a break -- let me answer the phone and make coffees, in exchange for occasionally getting a chance to write something or shoot a picture.

I have been invited to a costume party in a few weeks, hosted by several of the guys we camped with at Reading festival -- they all live together, it's a bit like the Monkees, but less wholesome. Either way, the party has a theme: the letter P. The only exception is there are to be no pirates, or policemen. While my friends have been wondering what this leaves -- when you dismiss the obvious (pimps, priests, prostitutes...), I have mine all planned. A couple of clicks on ebay will deliver to me the essential ingredients: one black eyeliner pencil, one black emo wig, one black spiderman costume, and I will be the amazing Peter Parker! It will be almost worth the £30 I will be spending on it.

Musical Monday #25

It's completely unforgivable, but I realise I didn't properly write about Reading festival after that first post about the Thursday. There's still three days of bands to report on -- relying only on my moleskine notebook for the bands I saw and a drink- and sun-addled memory of the weekend. But it went a bit like this:

Friday

The first day kicked off with the polka dot dresses and three-girl harmonies of the Pipettes. As the first band of the festival, they pulled a big crowd and had that simple feel-good sound that got people to their feet and set the tone for the weekend.

In the Radio 1 Lockup tent (an almost exclusively punk stage) there was The King Blues -- a band I know solely through Suicide Bid, since they share some members. Their mix of an acoustic sound and political lyrics is catching on quickly, and they are getting a big following. It's one of the things I love about a festival is that you can wander from the Pipettes to the King Blues.

A band that I hadn't planned on seeing were Gogol Bordello -- I knew nothing about them, but when a few people mentioned wanting to see them, I figured I had nothing better to do. What a surprise they were -- the surreal and explosive gypsy punk sound really blew my mind, they're one of the very few bands I can say sound nothing like anything else I know.

More familiar territory was The Gossip -- although I was totally unprepared for how good they were going to be. I knew Standing in the Way of Control, and hardly a week goes by without Beth Ditto making the music news either for her outspoken opinions, or just for taking her clothes off on stage. What started as a might as well watch, they're quite good opinion quickly changed into thinking they are very special. Beth Ditto has an incredible voice -- it has a real Motown feel to it, her passion for the music is both obvious and infectious. As a bonus, they also did a blinding cover of the Talking Heads' Psycho Killer. My only reservation is that Beth Ditto's love of taking off her clothes on stage is becoming a bit of a gimmick.

For reasons not entirely clear to me, Jimmy Eat World were scheduled to play twice on the Friday -- first the main stage, and then one of the alternative stages at the end of the evening. Either way, I scheduled their main stage appearance into the day's plans but it had been a couple of years since I last saw them and I wasn't sure how good they would be. The result was a very solid crowd-pleaser of a show -- they might not be one of the most ground-breaking bands of all time, but they played all the songs I loved.

Kings of Leon I have mixed feelings towards. I think I like them, but then I'll play an album maybe and won't be quite so sure. Just the same, live is always a different experience -- and while I perhaps didn't recognise a lot of what they played, it was a tight show and it reminded me of what I do love about the band and their music.

Overlapping slightly with Kings of Leon were Aussie punks, The Living End. Another band I didn't have a great deal of familiarity with, I was immediately taken with their passion and rockabilly style. The tent was too packed full of people for us to be able to get all the way inside, but standing on the edges we had a good enough view of the stage and were swept up in the moment when they started to play a cover of Zeppelin's Whole Lotta Love. Sadly, they didn't go through with it and stopped before the vocals started.

Headlining Friday night on the main stage were Razorlight. Fondly referred to by many as "Razorshite", Jon and I instead to see Ash headlining the NME stage. Since Charlotte Hatherley left the band, they have returned to their three-piece routes (or as the t-shirts used to say "3 boy hardcore action") -- but their live performance hasn't suffered for it. Festival favourites, the boys knew to crank out their big hits and it's always with a feeling of slight longing that I stand in the dark and listen to songs like Girl From Mars and Oh Yeah -- particularly the latter with its simple emotion: "I don't know why these things ever end/I sometimes wish it was that summer again". Unfortunately, by the time they got to what they said was their last song of the night -- a new song -- we felt there was something missing. They had played the big songs, and played them well, but still it felt like something more was needed. We left before the last song finished -- they hadn't played my favourite song, Jack Names the Planets, but I'd never heard them play it live before anyway. We've since learned that the song we left during was not their last song after all, and they ended with Jack Names the Planets. Just the same, I was left slightly disappointed.

Saturday
A much quieter affair than the Friday, Saturday was all about three bands for me -- the first of which being Eagles of Death Metal. Sounding absolutely nothing like either The Eagles or death metal, they make very simple and straight forward rock and roll. It's easily digestible and very catchy -- although on the few times I've seen them, Josh Homme has never been playing drums -- despite that being one of the main selling points. The band were just right for a slightly fuzzy, drunken Saturday afternoon in the sun -- but again, despite playing their hits, it still felt like there was something lacking.

The highlight of the day were one of my favourite bands of the moment, Silversun Pickups. It was only the second time I'd seen them, the last time being an intimate gig at London's 100 Club, but both times I have been left almost dumbstruck at the intensity and passion of the music. I can't put my finger on exactly what it is they do and what other bands of the festival failed to do -- but without seeming to try too hard, they delivered exactly what I had hoped. I think they made an impression on the rest of the crowd in the Lockup tent -- after they finished, and I was making my way out, someone politely stopped me and asked who the band were. Contrast this to the stranger who tapped me on the shoulder halfway through the set to ask me if I had ever been to Fukuoka, because I was wearing a "Fukuoka Hawks" shirt. It seems he'd lived there at one time, although I didn't ask to be told this and would rather people didn't try and talk to me while a band are playing.

Jon and Nick had left me part way through SSP's set because Jon wanted to watch Arcade Fire -- and if given a straight choice, Nick will always follow Jon. Knowing only one song by Arcade Fire -- although I like it -- I preferred to watch the end of SSP, before joining Jon for Arcade Fire. I have to admit, they were another band I was surprised by -- I knew almost nothing by them, but some of their songs I really liked, and they played with an obvious enthusiasm and certain degree of show. Will I be hurrying out to buy any of their stuff? It's unlikely, but I'd certainly watch them live again.

Headlining on the main stage on Saturday were the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Notice how I said there were only three bands I wanted to see on Saturday? RHCP were not one of them. Don't get me wrong, I used to like their music -- and it's difficult for me to pin point exactly where they have gone so wrong. I liked By The Way, but I ended up disliking it after it got so over-played. I liked Californication, too, but it annoys the shit out of me that the band now don't seem to acknowledge they had any material earlier than this. BloodSugarSexMagik was an amazing album, but all they play from it is Give It Away. We left halfway through the set -- there was no passion, no enthusiasm and no longer any songs we like.

Sunday
Originally for Sunday, I had four bands noted down that I wanted to see. Unfortunately, with some rescheduling to make sure we would be on the front barrier for NIN and Smashing Pumpkins, I had to drop Charlotte Hatherley. But that's getting ahead of myself.

Again, over on the Radio 1 Lockup stage was a band I like very much -- Sonic Boom Six, also with connections to Suicide Bid. Their set although enjoyable wasn't anything spectacular or ground-but breaking, this was only the second time I've seen them and I do like them a lot -- they certainly filled the tent with people. The few songs I knew (I think featured in the last Musical Monday) went down well, and they set me up for the rest of the day. In a text message conversation, Claire who was at the sister festival in Leeds had recommended a couple of other punk bands to see during the day.

True to form, one of her recommendations was NYC hardcore punks The Casualties -- whom I ended up watching on my own. Although I'd never heard of them or anything by them before, they were pretty good -- in that hardcore punk way. The highlight of the set was their cover of the Ramones' Blitzkrieg Bop. I also had The Dwarves recommended to me -- but in the end by the time they were on, I couldn't be bothered to go watch them on my own. I thought nothing of it at the time -- but having since played some of their songs, I think I chose to watch the wrong band. These things happen.

I've already mentioned how in order to get to the front barrier for the time Nine Inch Nails were to come on Jon and I had to miss Charlotte Hatherley. What I didn't mention was how this involved pushing into a crowd of emo kids while Fall Out Boy finished. I'm pleased to say, I don't remember any of their set. I have no shame in admitting I enjoyed Lost Prophets, whom I suspect I think Jon likes because he feels a certain Welsh kinship with them. I didn't know any of their songs other than Last Train Home (which obviously they played last), but the frontman was very engaging, and the set was entertaining. Would I see them again? At a festival, sure -- but I don't think I'd see them on their own.

Our reasoning worked well -- most of the kids at the front of the crowd where we were stood had no intention of watching Nine Inch Nails, and so we had our position for the last two bands of the festival. It seemed strange for Nine Inch Nails to be taking to the stage while it was still daylight -- but once they started it was quickly forgotten what time of day it was. Unlike when I saw them earlier this year, the set was largely unknown to me -- especially since they didn't play anything from The Fragile, although on the other hand I was ecstatic when they played their cover of Joy Division's Dead Souls (so much better than the original) and the song Burn from the Natural Born Killers soundtrack. The set was worthy of a headliner -- intense and powerful, and even slightly uncomfortable at times.

The highlight of the day and the whole festival was meant to be Smashing Pumpkins. Earlier in the afternoon, I'd suggested to Jon that we just left then, before the Pumpkins played, because sometimes reality can't match the anticipation. It was a joke, at the time...

In stark contrast to their recent show in Shepherd's Bush, Sunday's headline set was one of the worst I have seen of any band. I have no idea where Billy Corgan thought he was playing, because it was a far cry from the greatest hits crowd pleaser you'd expect from the band headlining Sunday night. Granted, there were many of the big songs -- like Cherub Rock and Zero, but Billy seemed to be all the things I've defended him against. Arrogant, aloof and completely out of touch to what the crowd wanted to hear. I certainly don't think anyone wanted to hear him masturbating with a guitar for what felt like hours on end, they almost certainly wanted to hear Disarm, and didn't get it. It also seemed strange that at no point did Billy introduce the rest of his band -- since he went on so much about wanting "his" band back, you would have thought he might make some mention as to who these people were.

As melodramatic as it sounds, I felt let down and even a little bit betrayed. Smashing Pumpkins reminded us on that Sunday night why we stopped listening to their music and going to their shows the first time round. And that's no way to end a festival -- please compare it to Pearl Jam closing last year's, or any number of other bands on other years. You shouldn't walk away from the band you looked forward to all weekend feeling let down.

But so as not to end on a negative note, I liked that it was the bands I least expected that were the highlights of the festival for me, rather than some of the ones I had anticipated the most. The exception being Silversun Pickups, whom I not only looked forward to more than almost anyone else, but also delivered. And so it's their music I leave you with today -- there's so many bands I could have chosen from, but these are my favourite of the moment.

Update: if you tried to play the song and it didn't work, it has now been fixed.

Self improvement is masturbation

I'm losing track now how long it's been since I last had regular work -- and am beginning to feel more "unemployed" than I am "self employed". It's not good. Last week, following my interview in Southampton I had a blazing row with my Dad -- the highlights of which were him reminding me that I am nearly 30, have never had a "proper job" (his words) and now seem unable to hold down a job. I'm sure being single and living at home doesn't help me to look any more professional in his eyes -- not least that when he was my age, my brother was already married, a Dad himself and running his own business.

In light of this, I have had to accept that I really might not be best suited to a career in public relations. Since I don't have any clear idea of what I do want to do (other than take pictures, write and travel -- and there's no job offers for those flooding in) I should look at jobs I don't want to do. In my head, this is quite logical -- if I fail at what I want, then maybe I will succeed at what I don't want to do.

I have following this been applying for various jobs I don't want to do. I have so far applied for jobs as a recruitment consultant (I particularly dislike that they want you to be motivated by money and driven by "sales"), several jobs in local government working for the county council, registered my interest in being a clinical drug trial volunteer ("volunteer" is misleading, since it's not unpaid), and have gone as far as once again putting wheels in motion to join the Air Force. The latter is spectacularly unsuitable, since I question authority and am not over-keen on marching, shouting, or killing people. I haven't gone as far as applying to be canon-fodder, however, although they are apparently desperate for recruits.

On the other hand, I can see many of these jobs as having positive benefits or elements. Perhaps working as a recruitment consultant would not be so dissimilar to public relations -- except I'd be placing people instead of products? Plus, I could be the integrity and competency that so many consultants I deal with seem to lack. If I was to be more motivated by the desire to earn money it would at least open up more opportunities to me -- like finally moving out, and being able to afford to travel. And despite all the reasons why I shouldn't join the military, maybe it would be good for me? Maybe I need the discipline and order and security of it -- maybe it would encourage me to grow up, something I have failed to do so far in my 20-something years of existence.

I can't think of many positive things to say about having drugs tested on me for money -- and it's hardly a career -- because although I can make bold statements about the good it does, I'm probably interested in it more because self destruction seems a better option than self improvement. After all, it is only after we have lost everything that we are free to do anything...

The neighbours complain about the noises above

The last I wrote about Claire -- the girl from the punk rock show -- was that I was in contact with her, trying not to be too eager, and I would see how things went. Since then she and I have spoken by way of text messages on an almost daily basis -- which was quite reasonable since while I was at Reading festival, she was at Leeds, so we could discuss bands and offer recommendations. I'd also suggested to her that we'd have to meet up for a drink when we got back to compare notes.

This week was ticking by and as ever we were exchange the occasional message here and there, until I got to the point where I had to invite her out for a drink on Friday evening. I'd spent days thinking about the wording of it -- how best to phrase it so that it didn't seem too big a deal, but also perhaps subtly date-like. There is nothing that I can not over-think. I was unsure about asking her, since earlier in the week we'd had an exchange of messages that I hadn't been able to quite work out and was unsure what her answer would be.

Lucky for me, when I invited her out she said yes. We discussed details and arrangements, where and when to meet, and it was all good. I spent a few days in Portsmouth this week for a job interview (you don't need to ask how it went, I think we all know by now) and although I wasn't coming back until Friday, I was sure there would be plenty of time. Even allowing three hours to drive back, and then allowing time to travel into London to meet Claire, it all seemed fine.

This all sounds like it's setting up for some disaster, but it worked out as planned -- I was back home with plenty of time to get a haircut and pick up some photos of Reading I'd had developed, and still have time to spare to clean my boots before catching my train into London.

I was barely on the train at 5.30 when I got a text from Claire. For a minute, I thought she was going to be cancelling on me and I cursed myself for not checking with her we were still on before I bought my ticket. Instead of cancelling, Claire was checking herself that we were still meeting -- I assured we were. Then she mentions that her friend will be joining us too. I couldn't very well tell her "No, that's absolutely not OK", so I said it was just fine and tried to think positively about it. Logically, it made sense -- she still doesn't know me very well, and might not want to meet someone who is almost a stranger on her own, and perhaps her friend would make excuses and leave once it was established I was safe to be around.

Although Claire and I had arranged to meet at 7, when I got into London she mentioned that she might be early -- I'd already planned to be early myself, so it wasn't a problem. Claire was already in the bar when I got there, and we still had the last half an hour of happy hour left -- so we stood outside in the fresh air and the sun and waited for her friend to arrive.

I couldn't tell you now how much we had to drink last night, except that it was a lot. Looking back, if the first bottle of wine was probably a mistake, the second bottle was almost suicidal -- even if it was between the three of us. As you might expect, Claire's friend didn't make any excuses and leave us together, but she was good company too and I didn't mind her being around.

At one point Claire and her friend went inside to use the bathroom, and so I started a conversation with some girls sitting on the next table to us -- asking them their thoughts on how best I should try and kiss her. I don't think they contributed anything helpful, but seemed to think that yes, it was definitely worth a try. By this stage in the evening, Claire and I were very tactile, so there was a lot of hugging and kissing on the cheek. While her friend was away, I thought it would be a good opportunity to try and kiss Claire.

I'd like to say that we kissed and before I knew it we were passionately rolling around on the kitchen floor in Hackney -- but in reality I tried to kiss her and she didn't go for it. There was some talk of just being mates and that works for me and no doubt because of our slightly inebriated state, there was no lasting awkwardness. Thinking back now, the drinking might be in my favour here -- she might not remember it.

There's a whole barrage of reasons why I shouldn't try and start anything with the girl anyway -- from the fact that I'm not over-keen on her smoking weed every day, to the slight drawback of her planning to emigrate to Australia this coming June.

Either way, whatever happens I'm still pleased to have met her and to have this fascinating person in my life.