I started a new blog today. Not to replace this one, but instead to combine all my travel writing &adventure writing in one place. At the moment, it only has the Inca Trail in it, because that's the only non-tourist adventure I've had -- but over time, it will be fleshed out with more adventures. I want it to not only document my journeys themselves, but also my journey from London based, working in office in marketing, to becoming a professional adventurer and writer. I can dream, right?
Shamefully, I found on importing my Inca Trail blog that the posts were never completed. There's three whole days missing -- including Machu Picchu. What a lousy writer I am. Confusingly, there's extracts from a paper journal I kept at the time -- but I don't know what paper journal I used, or where that is now, so I don't know if all the paper entries have been transcribed. I'm going to have to work from memory, with factual prompts to remind me of what was when and photographs to finish the story of that adventure -- almost two years after it took place.
It's proving very difficult to find the money to even pay for the deposit for the next trip, and while I have some ideas, that's another story for another day.
Read: The Flat Footed Adventurer
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
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.
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.
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, OctoberThe 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.
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.
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.
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...
Friday, 5 February 2010
Another year older, and deeper in debt
I can't remember how I celebrated my 19th birthday now, except that I was in my first year at university, in Derby. Did I invite friends to come and see me, and were they too busy? Did I visit my parents back home? It's all a mystery to me now. I guess it wasn't that spectacular.
29 was much better. In a less than surprising turn of events, I invited friends from home to join me for a meal out locally -- with the idea that I could have a separate celebration in London for people I knew there, making it easy for everyone. Friends at home didn't have to go to London, and people in London didn't have to trek out to the suburbs. Except it didn't quite work out that way, and in the end all my friends at home except one -- and, of course, the girl -- couldn't or wouldn't come, so I ended up cancelling my meal out and instead ordering Chinese takeaway and watching a dvd. I would pretty much live on Chinese takeout if I could get away with it.
On my birthday itself, the girl gave me what could be possibly one of the best gifts ever -- a week-long holiday in Barcelona, later this year when it's warmer. And she didn't just give me a print-out of the booking confirmation page, she made a kind of flip-book to read that gave me little bits of info on each page to keep me guessing until the end. We then headed into London to do what we had planned for last year, until the snow ruined everything -- which was visit the London Planetarium.
Except there is no London Planetarium any more, and hasn't been for years, it seems. Now the only one is at the Royal Observatory in Greenwich, which was lucky because Greenwich is one of my favourite places to be, and so as well as Planetarium show we got to look round the museum of the Royal Observatory and learn all sorts of cool things about space. I'm a big nerd about space, and for way longer than was really appropriate still had glow in the dark stars on my walls and ceiling.
This weekend is drinks in London with friends old and new, in my favourite bar in the world -- Kick, in Shoreditch.
Monday, 7 December 2009
Tonight I dream of home
Generally speaking, I am opposed to the idea of writing in my blog about dreams I have. However crazy and funny dreams our may seem to us, their intended audience, generally once we start writing about how we had this dream that we were totally at the mall, but there was a lion there, and suddenly it wasn't a lion after all and everyone was in school doing detention... it becomes something worse than just inane.
But I will make an exception just. this. once.
Because I didn't just dream I had won a round-the-world ticket, but I dreamed I was going to have a grand adventure. And that I was going to take my uncle Patrick with me. My uncle Patrick is probably somewhere in his late 40's these days, he has multiple sclerosis, and is in a care home. It wasn't meant to be a zany and wacky idea in my dream, but perhaps I just thought that I really wanted him to see the world?
The dream wasn't really anything more than just that simple concept. But I woke up unexpectedly, and as is often the case was filled with a strange manic idea that this dream was the most brilliant idea ever. It happens a lot, where I'll be convinced that the dream I just had will make an excellent plot for a book, or a film. In this case, I went one further -- I thought it was a fantastic idea to act out. And so what if I hadn't actually won any competition? I would contact the relevant PR departments of companies like Virgin and pitch them my idea -- they should give me a pair of round-the-world plane tickets, and in turn I would take my uncle with me and blog about this incredible journey we would then take. No doubt I would also be showered with fame and fortune and never have to do an honest day's work ever again.
I fell back asleep with delusions if brilliance running through my head, of how I could say he was swapping Clacton-on-Sea for Cape Town, for Casablanca, for Calcutta, for California...
...and I woke up again an undetermined time later with a slight feeling of foolishness, like when you wake up with hazy memories of drunken stupidity. In the sobering daylight my brilliant idea had some major flaws: my uncle is disabled and he is in a care home. Somehow I don't think he is in a suitable position for making long journeys by air, on the semi-regular basis such a trip would involve. He would probably also need at least one carer with him, and I expect a large supply of prescription medication. Aside from any of that, he probably wouldn't even want to go on such a journey -- I can't really imagine it being top of his things to do list. While I am sure he would like to see the world in theory, in practice he probably wouldn't enjoy it.
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
I want to live my life not survive my existence
So here we are, 2009.
It's time to take stock of where I am and where I'm going, but hopefully not so much of the looking back over where I have been.
I start this new year living with an amazing and wonderful girl, in our very own (rented) house -- the first time I have lived away from home since I was a student. I've curbed my impulses to try and turn the house into a mini art gallery of my photography, with the philosophy that less is more and all that -- plus nobody wants to see you endlessly stroking your ego, in the living room.
The house has its good points and bad points, but most important is that it is our space, where we can shut the door and escape the world.
In 2008 I had a bunch of goals -- rather than resolutions, it's what all the cool kids are doing these days. I aimed to get a new job, to move out of home, to travel to Spain and learn to speak Spanish, and I think to learn to snowboard properly. I own my own board, and I can't even turn properly -- so I can carve up a storm downhill and look damn cool with it, but I am in trouble with corners, with bends. That one never happened. I tried to sell the board, and failed -- this happens every year.
I started the new year working in a book shop, and enjoying it -- I loved recommending books and authors to people, enjoyed literally running off up the stairs to find something, and lived for the occasions when someone would ask me for the poetry section. But the money was bad, there weren't enough hours, and it being only a seasonal job I hadn't learned how the novelty would wear off. Furthermore, there was nowhere to "go" with it.
When they called me one day and offered me a permanent job -- incidentally, the day of my aunt's funeral -- I turned them down. Mostly because the hours were bad. But part of me must have hoped for more. So I got that "new job" in fairly rapid order -- I went to see a recruiter, told her to find me a job, any job, went to an interview the following morning and started work right away. I was taken on for a 6 month contract, and was still working there 10 months later. I went four countless interviews for something better, and in the end didn't go any further than the other side of the office -- swapping a dull job in Purchasing for a more creative and interesting one in Marketing & PR.
I think we can safely say I beat that goal into submission.
I tried to learn Spanish, but motivation was lacking and I ended up with a Latin American Spanish course. I write this one off as a half, since I am able to order food and drink in Spanish, say "I speak/understand Spanish" very well, or a little, and the usual greetings and farewells. Needless to say I also went to Spain. The girl and I are regular customers here of the local tapas restaurant, and I long to take her to Spain.
And as mentioned at the start, I did move out of home. It took a new job, a tax rebate and a wonderful girl to help me do it -- but we did it together.
Where do we go from here? 2009 is a year of adventure. Anyone that's been here before or spoken to me for more than a couple of minutes should remember I am going to be hiking the Inca trail in Peru in June, raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. A couple of years back, I talked to a friend about doing it and doing it for charity -- but they said why bother, just raise the money and go on your own steam. I am glad that I decided to do it for charity after all -- but that's probably because I'm an attention-seeker. I am being healthily sponsored by my company, and have in turn been generating the publicity for them. But the Inca Trail isn't a goal -- it's happening, even if I have to be carried on the back of a llama, stinking of piss. That's either the llama, or me.
But what is a goal is to get fit for it. Properly fit. The fitter I can be for it, the more fun it will be -- completing it just isn't enough for me. If I can look great in a t-shirt while I do it, even better. I've rejoined the gym, and as of time of writing I am still in pain from my personal training session yesterday. My next is Friday morning, and I fear I am going to become one of those crazy people who hits the gym before going to work in the morning.
Speaking the language would be helpful, so I may also have to get that Latin American Spanish course again -- although apparently if you speak Castilian Spanish they understand it just fine, but think you sound all posh like a news-reader.
There is also adventures to be had in Australia, since the girl returns home to apply for a new visa this year -- and I will be joining her out there for fun times, before the two of us return, shivering, to England. Again, something I already plan to do can hardly be a goal, can it? But saving the £700+ for the airfare should be. I also plan to try and wheedle my way into an upgrade, but we shall see how that works out.
I've only been in this job since October, so it's too soon to be considering getting another -- although I am only contracted until October of this year, so I might not have a choice in it.
A year without any incidences of self harm would be good, as I can't remember a year since I was in my mid-teens or younger that there hasn't been an incident or two, though in more recent years it has got a lot better -- to be able to start 2010 saying I didn't deliberately, physically hurt myself the previous year would be good, although a little sad. Perhaps a goal should be to treat myself better? No doubt having rigorous exercise regimes and goals like Peru will certainly help, not to mention the love and support of the people around me.
And in closing, ladies and jellyspoons, my goal in 09 is to be more creative. Last year saw me take up painting -- if only for the one picture. But to conceive of and create a dramatic picture on a canvas, and then to have it exhibited as part of an art show, was a real achievement -- but my creativity is seriously lacking this year. I haven't done open mike poetry in years, let alone written anything new, and that epic zombie apocalypse masterpiece isn't going to write itself. But generally, I need to be more... Actually, no -- that's it, I just need to be more.
I want to live my life, not survive my existence.
It's time to take stock of where I am and where I'm going, but hopefully not so much of the looking back over where I have been.
I start this new year living with an amazing and wonderful girl, in our very own (rented) house -- the first time I have lived away from home since I was a student. I've curbed my impulses to try and turn the house into a mini art gallery of my photography, with the philosophy that less is more and all that -- plus nobody wants to see you endlessly stroking your ego, in the living room.
The house has its good points and bad points, but most important is that it is our space, where we can shut the door and escape the world.
In 2008 I had a bunch of goals -- rather than resolutions, it's what all the cool kids are doing these days. I aimed to get a new job, to move out of home, to travel to Spain and learn to speak Spanish, and I think to learn to snowboard properly. I own my own board, and I can't even turn properly -- so I can carve up a storm downhill and look damn cool with it, but I am in trouble with corners, with bends. That one never happened. I tried to sell the board, and failed -- this happens every year.
I started the new year working in a book shop, and enjoying it -- I loved recommending books and authors to people, enjoyed literally running off up the stairs to find something, and lived for the occasions when someone would ask me for the poetry section. But the money was bad, there weren't enough hours, and it being only a seasonal job I hadn't learned how the novelty would wear off. Furthermore, there was nowhere to "go" with it.
When they called me one day and offered me a permanent job -- incidentally, the day of my aunt's funeral -- I turned them down. Mostly because the hours were bad. But part of me must have hoped for more. So I got that "new job" in fairly rapid order -- I went to see a recruiter, told her to find me a job, any job, went to an interview the following morning and started work right away. I was taken on for a 6 month contract, and was still working there 10 months later. I went four countless interviews for something better, and in the end didn't go any further than the other side of the office -- swapping a dull job in Purchasing for a more creative and interesting one in Marketing & PR.
I think we can safely say I beat that goal into submission.
I tried to learn Spanish, but motivation was lacking and I ended up with a Latin American Spanish course. I write this one off as a half, since I am able to order food and drink in Spanish, say "I speak/understand Spanish" very well, or a little, and the usual greetings and farewells. Needless to say I also went to Spain. The girl and I are regular customers here of the local tapas restaurant, and I long to take her to Spain.
And as mentioned at the start, I did move out of home. It took a new job, a tax rebate and a wonderful girl to help me do it -- but we did it together.
Where do we go from here? 2009 is a year of adventure. Anyone that's been here before or spoken to me for more than a couple of minutes should remember I am going to be hiking the Inca trail in Peru in June, raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. A couple of years back, I talked to a friend about doing it and doing it for charity -- but they said why bother, just raise the money and go on your own steam. I am glad that I decided to do it for charity after all -- but that's probably because I'm an attention-seeker. I am being healthily sponsored by my company, and have in turn been generating the publicity for them. But the Inca Trail isn't a goal -- it's happening, even if I have to be carried on the back of a llama, stinking of piss. That's either the llama, or me.
But what is a goal is to get fit for it. Properly fit. The fitter I can be for it, the more fun it will be -- completing it just isn't enough for me. If I can look great in a t-shirt while I do it, even better. I've rejoined the gym, and as of time of writing I am still in pain from my personal training session yesterday. My next is Friday morning, and I fear I am going to become one of those crazy people who hits the gym before going to work in the morning.
Speaking the language would be helpful, so I may also have to get that Latin American Spanish course again -- although apparently if you speak Castilian Spanish they understand it just fine, but think you sound all posh like a news-reader.
There is also adventures to be had in Australia, since the girl returns home to apply for a new visa this year -- and I will be joining her out there for fun times, before the two of us return, shivering, to England. Again, something I already plan to do can hardly be a goal, can it? But saving the £700+ for the airfare should be. I also plan to try and wheedle my way into an upgrade, but we shall see how that works out.
I've only been in this job since October, so it's too soon to be considering getting another -- although I am only contracted until October of this year, so I might not have a choice in it.
A year without any incidences of self harm would be good, as I can't remember a year since I was in my mid-teens or younger that there hasn't been an incident or two, though in more recent years it has got a lot better -- to be able to start 2010 saying I didn't deliberately, physically hurt myself the previous year would be good, although a little sad. Perhaps a goal should be to treat myself better? No doubt having rigorous exercise regimes and goals like Peru will certainly help, not to mention the love and support of the people around me.
And in closing, ladies and jellyspoons, my goal in 09 is to be more creative. Last year saw me take up painting -- if only for the one picture. But to conceive of and create a dramatic picture on a canvas, and then to have it exhibited as part of an art show, was a real achievement -- but my creativity is seriously lacking this year. I haven't done open mike poetry in years, let alone written anything new, and that epic zombie apocalypse masterpiece isn't going to write itself. But generally, I need to be more... Actually, no -- that's it, I just need to be more.
I want to live my life, not survive my existence.
Friday, 31 October 2008
I've got a girl who makes me feel sea-sick
Yass, yass, I know. I suck. I promise more updates then don't deliver. Must try harder.
Anyway, I was thinking the other day. A year ago, I was 26, unemployed (or barely employed in the book store), single, and living at home with my parents.
I was seeing a therapist almost every week, who felt that I needed therapy so desperately that he was willing to see me pro-bono, rather than see me stop our sessions.
It's now a year later. I am 27, gainfully employed in a well paid corporate PR & marketing role, am with a beautiful girl and we are about to move in to a rented place of our own. I haven't had therapy since December, although it's open to debate if I need it.
I have raised several thousand pounds so far for Macmillan Cancer Support, to undertake the trip of a lifetime next year, hiking the Inca trail in Peru.
I was trying to work out one idle day a few weeks ago if I had cosmic ordered the girl into my life, back when that was the kind of thing I was into. I can't remember what I specified for my 'order', nor the timeframe, so I can't be sure -- but either way, I feel very fortunate.
I also considered if I had 'ordered' this good job -- but I think not. I remember the order for that was for a job to come up in June or July time and involve travelling to or living in another country. Just the same, I am pretty pleased with the job I have got. It's got prospects, lots of writing and creativity, and I'm the other side of the office to the colleague who used to annoy me.
Though I can still hear her, so it's not all good.
The girl and I have been talking for a while about finding a place together, but it has always been dependant on my work. I needed a new job before I could really afford to go anywhere, and we needed to know where the job would be before we started looking for places to rent.
I think we were both a little disappointed that we weren't going to get to move into London when I took this job, but Chelmsford has better transport links than where we are now, and much lower rent than London. After completing my tax return showed me that not only did I not owe the tax department any of my savings, but they actually owed me money, we felt there was no need to hesitate any longer in looking at places to live -- so we set to work, looking at them online.
A week ago I saw a couple I liked online and left messages for letting agents to take a look at them. A week later, I have viewed four properties (the girl didn't see the first one, but didn't need to, we didn't want somewhere completely unfurnished) -- and have dismissed two out of hand. Out of the two remaining there was a difference of £100 a month, and have decided to go ahead with the more expensive of the two -- just because it's bigger, closer to town and a nicer area. We've paid our administration fee and completed the reference forms -- now we wait to see if everything goes according to plan.
If everything goes well, we could start moving as soon as next weekend.
Anyway, I was thinking the other day. A year ago, I was 26, unemployed (or barely employed in the book store), single, and living at home with my parents.
I was seeing a therapist almost every week, who felt that I needed therapy so desperately that he was willing to see me pro-bono, rather than see me stop our sessions.
It's now a year later. I am 27, gainfully employed in a well paid corporate PR & marketing role, am with a beautiful girl and we are about to move in to a rented place of our own. I haven't had therapy since December, although it's open to debate if I need it.
I have raised several thousand pounds so far for Macmillan Cancer Support, to undertake the trip of a lifetime next year, hiking the Inca trail in Peru.
I was trying to work out one idle day a few weeks ago if I had cosmic ordered the girl into my life, back when that was the kind of thing I was into. I can't remember what I specified for my 'order', nor the timeframe, so I can't be sure -- but either way, I feel very fortunate.
I also considered if I had 'ordered' this good job -- but I think not. I remember the order for that was for a job to come up in June or July time and involve travelling to or living in another country. Just the same, I am pretty pleased with the job I have got. It's got prospects, lots of writing and creativity, and I'm the other side of the office to the colleague who used to annoy me.
Though I can still hear her, so it's not all good.
The girl and I have been talking for a while about finding a place together, but it has always been dependant on my work. I needed a new job before I could really afford to go anywhere, and we needed to know where the job would be before we started looking for places to rent.
I think we were both a little disappointed that we weren't going to get to move into London when I took this job, but Chelmsford has better transport links than where we are now, and much lower rent than London. After completing my tax return showed me that not only did I not owe the tax department any of my savings, but they actually owed me money, we felt there was no need to hesitate any longer in looking at places to live -- so we set to work, looking at them online.
A week ago I saw a couple I liked online and left messages for letting agents to take a look at them. A week later, I have viewed four properties (the girl didn't see the first one, but didn't need to, we didn't want somewhere completely unfurnished) -- and have dismissed two out of hand. Out of the two remaining there was a difference of £100 a month, and have decided to go ahead with the more expensive of the two -- just because it's bigger, closer to town and a nicer area. We've paid our administration fee and completed the reference forms -- now we wait to see if everything goes according to plan.
If everything goes well, we could start moving as soon as next weekend.
Friday, 11 April 2008
Take a different way home
There was a quote I read once from Sid Vicious, who said "You just pick a chord, go 'twang', and you've got music". That's sort of how I approach photography.
Some of what I consider my best pictures have been taken on disposable or cheap cameras. I don't have any expensive kit, I don't monitor light levels or have any sort of training. I think it just has to come from passion. As is probably obvious, I'm generally more a literary than visual person, I'd love to paint, but I just don't seem to 'think' in terms of pictures. Most of my pictures are from wandering about, just to 'dig' stuff, or just snapping things because I like them -- rather than because it's art. It can annoy me that wherever you go there is someone trying to be artistic -- you're trying to walk up the escalator and someone is there, crouched down with their digital SLR, getting a shot at ankle-height... Or maybe I'm just jealous because they thought of it first?
I try to always be open to something that might make a good picture (although I never have my camera) and will pull the car over, or go back to the spot later if necessary, just so I can take pictures. Sometimes it looks rubbish, but I just shrug and that's that.
Last night I drove a different way home -- I just felt like it. I was so bored of the same dual carriageway that I decided I'd get off an exit early and try to find my way home from there. As we all know, I have a terrible, absolutely awful, sense of direction -- but I knew I couldn't go far wrong, and something inside me just said to do it. So I did. I did actually get a bit lost and didn't really find a different way home so much as a very convoluted and circular way back to the same dual carriageway. But then I went a different way again -- where I sort of knew the way but I think I missed my turning, so I just carried on. What made it all worthwhile though was passing one of those old World War 2 lookout posts -- the old concrete things you see in the middle of fields. There's a few near here, and I always want to take a picture of one I see, but can't figure out a way to get near it. This one tonight was right by the side of the road, and even better there was several places opposite where I can park.
I considered getting my camera from home then driving back there -- but I didn't in the end. The camera's memory was mostly full, since I hadn't yet uploaded my pictures from Seville -- my camera has been sat on my desk for weeks -- so it would have involved uploading everything off it (once my computer was finally booted up) then driving back there again, but the light wasn't great. I convinced myself that the pictures probably wouldn't even be worthwhile -- it often frustrates me that what looks good to look at doesn't necessarily translate to a good photograph.
This evening I went my normal way home. It was bright and sunny, and I decided yes, yes, I would get my camera and go back tonight. I would just go and see what happens...
I had a very nasty surprise getting the pictures off my camera. Half of what I remember taking isn't on there. Pictures of the streets, many pictures from the Cathedral, pictures taken on the boat trip -- just plain missing. Even worse, the morning of the parade, Dune had asked me to use my camera's video setting to capture the music of the parade, and we had been lucky enough to catch a mournful saeta. I am sure I remember checking the video after I recorded it -- and yet it seems everything I saved to the internal memory on my camera is absent. I hoped at the time this was just some glitch I could work out later -- but I've looked since and it's just not there. No doubt it is due to some unfathomable stupidity on my part. I could just break something.
Anyway off I went this evening, and snapped my pictures of this old war relic. I haven't reviewed them properly yet, but I expect I will post some of them later. First, they need to be cropped and edited, and before that I am going swimming. It's Friday night, and I'd normally be down the pub, but tonight I just feel like quietly swimming laps for an hour or so, and coming home.
Some of what I consider my best pictures have been taken on disposable or cheap cameras. I don't have any expensive kit, I don't monitor light levels or have any sort of training. I think it just has to come from passion. As is probably obvious, I'm generally more a literary than visual person, I'd love to paint, but I just don't seem to 'think' in terms of pictures. Most of my pictures are from wandering about, just to 'dig' stuff, or just snapping things because I like them -- rather than because it's art. It can annoy me that wherever you go there is someone trying to be artistic -- you're trying to walk up the escalator and someone is there, crouched down with their digital SLR, getting a shot at ankle-height... Or maybe I'm just jealous because they thought of it first?
I try to always be open to something that might make a good picture (although I never have my camera) and will pull the car over, or go back to the spot later if necessary, just so I can take pictures. Sometimes it looks rubbish, but I just shrug and that's that.
Last night I drove a different way home -- I just felt like it. I was so bored of the same dual carriageway that I decided I'd get off an exit early and try to find my way home from there. As we all know, I have a terrible, absolutely awful, sense of direction -- but I knew I couldn't go far wrong, and something inside me just said to do it. So I did. I did actually get a bit lost and didn't really find a different way home so much as a very convoluted and circular way back to the same dual carriageway. But then I went a different way again -- where I sort of knew the way but I think I missed my turning, so I just carried on. What made it all worthwhile though was passing one of those old World War 2 lookout posts -- the old concrete things you see in the middle of fields. There's a few near here, and I always want to take a picture of one I see, but can't figure out a way to get near it. This one tonight was right by the side of the road, and even better there was several places opposite where I can park.
I considered getting my camera from home then driving back there -- but I didn't in the end. The camera's memory was mostly full, since I hadn't yet uploaded my pictures from Seville -- my camera has been sat on my desk for weeks -- so it would have involved uploading everything off it (once my computer was finally booted up) then driving back there again, but the light wasn't great. I convinced myself that the pictures probably wouldn't even be worthwhile -- it often frustrates me that what looks good to look at doesn't necessarily translate to a good photograph.
This evening I went my normal way home. It was bright and sunny, and I decided yes, yes, I would get my camera and go back tonight. I would just go and see what happens...
I had a very nasty surprise getting the pictures off my camera. Half of what I remember taking isn't on there. Pictures of the streets, many pictures from the Cathedral, pictures taken on the boat trip -- just plain missing. Even worse, the morning of the parade, Dune had asked me to use my camera's video setting to capture the music of the parade, and we had been lucky enough to catch a mournful saeta. I am sure I remember checking the video after I recorded it -- and yet it seems everything I saved to the internal memory on my camera is absent. I hoped at the time this was just some glitch I could work out later -- but I've looked since and it's just not there. No doubt it is due to some unfathomable stupidity on my part. I could just break something.
Anyway off I went this evening, and snapped my pictures of this old war relic. I haven't reviewed them properly yet, but I expect I will post some of them later. First, they need to be cropped and edited, and before that I am going swimming. It's Friday night, and I'd normally be down the pub, but tonight I just feel like quietly swimming laps for an hour or so, and coming home.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Sevilla (part two)
extracts taken from my moleskine journal, a work entitled "stay out of circulation 'til the dogs get tired"
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.
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.
Sunday, 6 January 2008
Drifting apart like a plate tectonic
After a two-week visit of her home city, San has now returned to Japan. I saw her leave for the airport at 11am Saturday morning, she arrived in Tokyo at 7am local time but at time of going to press she was still travelling back to Tsuyama.
Just before New Year, we met up for the day -- we went to a pub in Camden and complained about what had changed, including the pub where we saw in the New Year 2001 which is now a Masala Zone restaurant. I was surprised at how busy Camden Lock was, and frustrated by the sheer number of tourists taking photos of crap. It's always been a popular place, and spots like the bridge over the canal are ideal for taking pictures, but it seemed every other person was stopping in the middle of the pavement to take a picture of a shop front with their mobile phones.
To borrow a phrase of San's, the day was surreal, but nice. It was weird to just hang out after not seeing someone for 8 months, but having kept in semi-regular contact via email and phone calls. It's amusing how San lapses into Japanese phrases occasionally.
Friday I knew would be my last chance to see her again for however-long, so we agreed that I'd come up after work and San's friend Krystina was arranging for a small get-together of her friends, in Islington. Somewhere between the two of us communications broke down, and San didn't realise I was coming into London directly from work (directly apart from a quick stop home to pack a bag, ditch my car keys and pick up my Oyster card). This small confusion meant that I was going to have a couple of hours to kill in the city on my own -- I reassured San this wouldn't be a problem, I wanted to buy some cards (including a goodbye card for work) and some postcards, and after grabbing something to eat, I'd just sit and read my book in a pub in King's Cross.
True to my word, I killed time with little effort at all and smiled to myself as I walked into my favourite pub in King's Cross in my big furry hat. There's lots of things I like about gay pubs, but I think the biggest attraction is that you know that there's not going to be some pissed-up (or pilled-up) chav who wants to start a fight with you. I also know that I can walk into the pub wearing a great big furry hat, and nobody will think I'm at all strange -- even if I continue to wear it while I sit at a table and read my book.
Before I'd finished my drink (but after I'd finished my book, I should have remembered to take two) San texted me to say rather than meeting at her flat, could I go directly to Islington. A quick change of clothes in a cramped stall in the pub's toilets, I caught the bus to Angel and set off along Upper Street, hoping to find where I was going wihtout too much trouble. The last time I had to meet San and her friends in some random place on Upper Street I must have walked for miles up and down the road before I eventually found it. This time was much less eventful, I found the noodle bar relatively quickly -- and immediately cursed having already eaten.
I wasn't waiting very long for San to arrive -- perhaps 20 minutes or so -- but she's come a long way from the days when I'd tell her to meet me at "12ish" knowing that she would be there shortly after 1. We only realised when we walked in that several of her friends were already inside and waiting for us. It's always nice to see San's friends, although, yes -- that word again -- surreal. They're all really nice and make me feel like I am one of their friends, even when they haven't seen me in a couple of years or longer. Sometimes it's slightly disturbing to see how we're all growing up -- no longer students, people are getting married, having kids, moving countries, settling down into jobs and laughing about how things don't turn out like you would have expected.
When we returned to her flat, San showed me a DVD her Japanese teacher had made her -- it was a recording from the TV of some comedy programme where they also happen to visit schools around the country. This particular episode visited one of the schools San divides her time between. Apparently the feeling of what the hell? I had constantly watching this recording of Japanese TV is what San says her life feels like every day. This half-bemused half-amused feeling that you're sure it would be very funny if you just knew what was going on.
Then it was Saturday morning, with San hitting snooze or re-setting her alarm ten times over before finally getting up to finish packing her bags. Later we hugged goodbye as she loaded her bags into the boot of her Dad's car, and I shouldered my own bag and walked up the road to the bus stop like I'd done so many times before.
Just before New Year, we met up for the day -- we went to a pub in Camden and complained about what had changed, including the pub where we saw in the New Year 2001 which is now a Masala Zone restaurant. I was surprised at how busy Camden Lock was, and frustrated by the sheer number of tourists taking photos of crap. It's always been a popular place, and spots like the bridge over the canal are ideal for taking pictures, but it seemed every other person was stopping in the middle of the pavement to take a picture of a shop front with their mobile phones.
To borrow a phrase of San's, the day was surreal, but nice. It was weird to just hang out after not seeing someone for 8 months, but having kept in semi-regular contact via email and phone calls. It's amusing how San lapses into Japanese phrases occasionally.
Friday I knew would be my last chance to see her again for however-long, so we agreed that I'd come up after work and San's friend Krystina was arranging for a small get-together of her friends, in Islington. Somewhere between the two of us communications broke down, and San didn't realise I was coming into London directly from work (directly apart from a quick stop home to pack a bag, ditch my car keys and pick up my Oyster card). This small confusion meant that I was going to have a couple of hours to kill in the city on my own -- I reassured San this wouldn't be a problem, I wanted to buy some cards (including a goodbye card for work) and some postcards, and after grabbing something to eat, I'd just sit and read my book in a pub in King's Cross.
True to my word, I killed time with little effort at all and smiled to myself as I walked into my favourite pub in King's Cross in my big furry hat. There's lots of things I like about gay pubs, but I think the biggest attraction is that you know that there's not going to be some pissed-up (or pilled-up) chav who wants to start a fight with you. I also know that I can walk into the pub wearing a great big furry hat, and nobody will think I'm at all strange -- even if I continue to wear it while I sit at a table and read my book.
Before I'd finished my drink (but after I'd finished my book, I should have remembered to take two) San texted me to say rather than meeting at her flat, could I go directly to Islington. A quick change of clothes in a cramped stall in the pub's toilets, I caught the bus to Angel and set off along Upper Street, hoping to find where I was going wihtout too much trouble. The last time I had to meet San and her friends in some random place on Upper Street I must have walked for miles up and down the road before I eventually found it. This time was much less eventful, I found the noodle bar relatively quickly -- and immediately cursed having already eaten.
I wasn't waiting very long for San to arrive -- perhaps 20 minutes or so -- but she's come a long way from the days when I'd tell her to meet me at "12ish" knowing that she would be there shortly after 1. We only realised when we walked in that several of her friends were already inside and waiting for us. It's always nice to see San's friends, although, yes -- that word again -- surreal. They're all really nice and make me feel like I am one of their friends, even when they haven't seen me in a couple of years or longer. Sometimes it's slightly disturbing to see how we're all growing up -- no longer students, people are getting married, having kids, moving countries, settling down into jobs and laughing about how things don't turn out like you would have expected.
When we returned to her flat, San showed me a DVD her Japanese teacher had made her -- it was a recording from the TV of some comedy programme where they also happen to visit schools around the country. This particular episode visited one of the schools San divides her time between. Apparently the feeling of what the hell? I had constantly watching this recording of Japanese TV is what San says her life feels like every day. This half-bemused half-amused feeling that you're sure it would be very funny if you just knew what was going on.
Then it was Saturday morning, with San hitting snooze or re-setting her alarm ten times over before finally getting up to finish packing her bags. Later we hugged goodbye as she loaded her bags into the boot of her Dad's car, and I shouldered my own bag and walked up the road to the bus stop like I'd done so many times before.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
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...
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...
Thursday, 13 December 2007
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.
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Will you take me where you're going if you're never coming back
Shortly before San left for her life-changing trip to Japan this year, I sent her a message. So much of our communications had always been through text message, but now it seems strange -- I've not sent her a text message since April. Anyway, because of the nature of text messages or just how my mind works, the message I sent her was something along the lines of "What if I was not your only friend in this world? Can you take me where you're going if you're never coming back?".
It's a quote from an Eels song, Last Stop This Town -- the song is actually about death (as much of that album is, unfortunately for Mr E), but I liked the idea "will you take me where you're going if you're never coming back" it conveys a whole range of emotions, and expressed a lot for me in a few words.
San and I were talking a little on email today, about music and gigs this summer. San expressed an interest in one particular show -- but then brought up the point: will she even be here? I think technically her obligation to her teaching assistant contract finishes in April, but San said herself that if she comes home for an extended period of time she is worried it will be forever.
This has been playing on my mind in one form or another. Part of me wants to ask maybe what she is running away from (you can't run away from yourself), or what she's looking for. But then part of me asks, isn't she just doing what I keep saying I want to do -- and lack the courage? I say I'm not interested in the material life, that I want to travel, meet people, see all the amazing things this world has to offer. I want to take pictures and listen to stories, I don't care about cars and houses...
At the same time, I tell myself I need to clear my debts, and my dreams are all very nice but completely impractical. I daydream about rescuing sea turtles in Mexico, or spear-fishing in Brazil -- and maybe if you want to, these things are really possible, or maybe it's all well and good for a few years until you realise that time isn't standing still for you and sooner or later "a proper job" will be inevitable if you expect to be able to eat, or whatever. Maybe what it really comes down to is I'm jealous, because I want to have the courage to just stick two fingers up to everything here.
Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to be a teaching assistant. I don't want to teach and aren't a huge fan of kids in general. The kinds of things that do appeal require me to stump up large sums of cash first.
I tell myself the trick is to play the game -- to get the good job, so I then have the money to travel, to embark on volunteer adventures, so that I can meet people and take pictures. But it's a tightrope, especially when what you'd also really like is someone special in your life -- all too quickly one thing can lead to another, and it's not a bad thing, it's just life.
There isn't really a point to any of this. I don't have a conclusion or a happy ending to give to it to resolve it. If San really is ever coming back -- for more than a visit -- only she can decide. And I still need to decide for myself how to get what I should have in my life -- which is becoming a running theme just lately.
It's a quote from an Eels song, Last Stop This Town -- the song is actually about death (as much of that album is, unfortunately for Mr E), but I liked the idea "will you take me where you're going if you're never coming back" it conveys a whole range of emotions, and expressed a lot for me in a few words.
San and I were talking a little on email today, about music and gigs this summer. San expressed an interest in one particular show -- but then brought up the point: will she even be here? I think technically her obligation to her teaching assistant contract finishes in April, but San said herself that if she comes home for an extended period of time she is worried it will be forever.
This has been playing on my mind in one form or another. Part of me wants to ask maybe what she is running away from (you can't run away from yourself), or what she's looking for. But then part of me asks, isn't she just doing what I keep saying I want to do -- and lack the courage? I say I'm not interested in the material life, that I want to travel, meet people, see all the amazing things this world has to offer. I want to take pictures and listen to stories, I don't care about cars and houses...
At the same time, I tell myself I need to clear my debts, and my dreams are all very nice but completely impractical. I daydream about rescuing sea turtles in Mexico, or spear-fishing in Brazil -- and maybe if you want to, these things are really possible, or maybe it's all well and good for a few years until you realise that time isn't standing still for you and sooner or later "a proper job" will be inevitable if you expect to be able to eat, or whatever. Maybe what it really comes down to is I'm jealous, because I want to have the courage to just stick two fingers up to everything here.
Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to be a teaching assistant. I don't want to teach and aren't a huge fan of kids in general. The kinds of things that do appeal require me to stump up large sums of cash first.
I tell myself the trick is to play the game -- to get the good job, so I then have the money to travel, to embark on volunteer adventures, so that I can meet people and take pictures. But it's a tightrope, especially when what you'd also really like is someone special in your life -- all too quickly one thing can lead to another, and it's not a bad thing, it's just life.
There isn't really a point to any of this. I don't have a conclusion or a happy ending to give to it to resolve it. If San really is ever coming back -- for more than a visit -- only she can decide. And I still need to decide for myself how to get what I should have in my life -- which is becoming a running theme just lately.
"Why dont we take a ride away up high
Through the neighbourhood
Up over the billboards and the factories
And smoke..."
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Looking in from the outside
Have you ever tried to imagine how your life would seem to an outsider? I mean, sure we all blog around here and so we all present our lives to outsiders -- but it's our picture being shown. We choose how it appears to others. Do you ever imagine what someone else would make of it? I'm sure it crosses everyone's mind once in a while -- you're out with friends, and for a second while everyone is talking and laughing you sort of step back out of yourself and try to look at it from above, to see what it looks like.
Go one step further though -- often we write about our countries, our cities -- but how would someone coming in from outside see it all? I've written at some length about my impressions and feelings surrounding England, and being English, but I've rarely stopped to think what someone else would make of it all. Where would they begin?
Early this year, when Dune Princess was planning a trip to Europe, the two of us made plans to meet up in Barcelona. Plans got as far as booking the hostel, before she had to postpone her plans. We said we'd do it next year instead -- and this time, there was some plans of her seeing England too, on a whistle-stop road trip of the country. Circumstances got involved and it looked likely the whole trip would be cancelled again -- until Dune Princess took matters in her own hands, and decided she was coming to London and that was the end of it. Flights were booked, visas arranged.
Being the kind of guy that likes to make online friends into real life friends, and having a "mi casa es su casa" approach to friendship, I have invited the amiable Ms DP to stay for a while. Now, of course, I often catch myself thinking what someone would make of my family, of the town where I live, or of my friends -- although China Blue can probably go some way to answer that last one, having met them.
I wonder what an Australian will make of the South East of England in February, having come from Brisbane in the summer. I rack my brains to try and think of any odd cultural things that you wouldn't expect to know about -- like how DP has already mentioned the TV licence. It's not the first thing you think of, but you can get in a lot of trouble for owning a television without a licence. When I was in Utah, I was surprised by how shocked people were by jaywalking. It wasn't even a term I had heard in England, but I'd never before run into any difficulties with the approach that if there is nothing coming (or if it's far enough away) you can cross the road -- regardless to what the lights say.
I've been asked if we say thank you to bus drivers, and if we make conversation with checkout chicks in supermarkets. The answers being yes, and sort of. It depends. Customers for the most part don't make conversation with me. Some seem to want to ignore me even when I attempt to make conversation. Others see it not as being polite but rather an invitation to stay and chat. An old lady was buying an Ian Rankin crime novel the other day and I made some wholly untrue statement like "I'm looking forward to reading this one myself". That was it, she was off, telling me about authors she liked, authors she didn't like, and one particular author who she thought was "too personal" and didn't like the sexual detail they included. I totally did not need to hear that, but at least she didn't describe it.
While at once trying to put myself in the place of someone new to it all, I'm also trying to make mental lists of things to do/see. Obvious things like the Natural History Museum, and the British Museum -- and personal favourite things like Camden Lock, and Spitalfields, and bars in Shoreditch that are like the south of France. And of course, Southend sea front. Not to mention the South coast by Portsmouth, and all manner of other places both popular and historical or just unique to my country. Of course, she has lists of her own of all the places she wants to see, so it's just as well she plans to stay in the country for at least six months.
It's helped to give me some extra added motivation to try and get some kind of better-paid career -- it would be ideal if by some miracle I could afford to move out by around the time of her visit. In the meantime, I will have to prep my friends on things like how cool and popular I am...
Go one step further though -- often we write about our countries, our cities -- but how would someone coming in from outside see it all? I've written at some length about my impressions and feelings surrounding England, and being English, but I've rarely stopped to think what someone else would make of it all. Where would they begin?
Early this year, when Dune Princess was planning a trip to Europe, the two of us made plans to meet up in Barcelona. Plans got as far as booking the hostel, before she had to postpone her plans. We said we'd do it next year instead -- and this time, there was some plans of her seeing England too, on a whistle-stop road trip of the country. Circumstances got involved and it looked likely the whole trip would be cancelled again -- until Dune Princess took matters in her own hands, and decided she was coming to London and that was the end of it. Flights were booked, visas arranged.
Being the kind of guy that likes to make online friends into real life friends, and having a "mi casa es su casa" approach to friendship, I have invited the amiable Ms DP to stay for a while. Now, of course, I often catch myself thinking what someone would make of my family, of the town where I live, or of my friends -- although China Blue can probably go some way to answer that last one, having met them.
I wonder what an Australian will make of the South East of England in February, having come from Brisbane in the summer. I rack my brains to try and think of any odd cultural things that you wouldn't expect to know about -- like how DP has already mentioned the TV licence. It's not the first thing you think of, but you can get in a lot of trouble for owning a television without a licence. When I was in Utah, I was surprised by how shocked people were by jaywalking. It wasn't even a term I had heard in England, but I'd never before run into any difficulties with the approach that if there is nothing coming (or if it's far enough away) you can cross the road -- regardless to what the lights say.
I've been asked if we say thank you to bus drivers, and if we make conversation with checkout chicks in supermarkets. The answers being yes, and sort of. It depends. Customers for the most part don't make conversation with me. Some seem to want to ignore me even when I attempt to make conversation. Others see it not as being polite but rather an invitation to stay and chat. An old lady was buying an Ian Rankin crime novel the other day and I made some wholly untrue statement like "I'm looking forward to reading this one myself". That was it, she was off, telling me about authors she liked, authors she didn't like, and one particular author who she thought was "too personal" and didn't like the sexual detail they included. I totally did not need to hear that, but at least she didn't describe it.
While at once trying to put myself in the place of someone new to it all, I'm also trying to make mental lists of things to do/see. Obvious things like the Natural History Museum, and the British Museum -- and personal favourite things like Camden Lock, and Spitalfields, and bars in Shoreditch that are like the south of France. And of course, Southend sea front. Not to mention the South coast by Portsmouth, and all manner of other places both popular and historical or just unique to my country. Of course, she has lists of her own of all the places she wants to see, so it's just as well she plans to stay in the country for at least six months.
It's helped to give me some extra added motivation to try and get some kind of better-paid career -- it would be ideal if by some miracle I could afford to move out by around the time of her visit. In the meantime, I will have to prep my friends on things like how cool and popular I am...
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