For some indescribably wonderful reason I have been in the most intensely good mood for the last few days. I am now at the point where I consider this mood and think that it must have a limit somewhere. But it just goes on...

Logically thinking, why on earth would I be happy? It's been raining for 5 weeks! But on further reflection I have come to the conclusion that my happiness was borne out of a complex array of feelings that stem from my general ease in my job role after months of 'settling in' and a better idea of what I want to do with my life, meaning a greater sense of belonging in this crazy world. So there.

On even further reflection I wouldn't actually describe it as happiness. I feel it is more an intense release of enthusiasm. Ideas are bubbling over in my head, I am constantly switched on, constantly wanting to know what's happening next and CONSTANTLY feeling frustrated when that energy can't be channeled effectively enough. It's scaring me slightly! But I am humbled at the same time to have unlocked such a panoply of excitement. I don't know how but I suddenly feel that things are possible, that I can go for what I want to do -essentially the world is my oyster.
In London I am surrounded by young, good-looking and sometimes enthusiastic professionals. They do work hard and play hard and the economic climate doesn't seem to have dampened their spirit one jot. I would be lying if I said I didn't want to be one of these people, if only for the perceived glamour. But I also want to be one those people who's exhausted by their work and feels good because it is worth it.

Maybe I am wildly naive, or plain idealistic but still, I am not going to tread on my good-humour- it's spurring me on. I am quietly anxious that this good feeling won't last but I am determined to use it effectively while it's here. Being positive is a big motivator in life, I have no time for pessimism.

I am not really sure what caused this feeling, as I have probably already said. But hey, go with the flow...

This blog entry would perhaps be better if relegated to the privacy of a journal, but I think it is important to share good emotions sometimes. The bad news that pervades so much in this world all too often sets the tone, and what with the wet winter and the dark days, I think it all the more important to remember that there is light at the end of the tunnel.
I went to a friend's house last night, and after a few glasses of wine we got the music on and got dancing in the most cringe-worthy and disjointed fashion, oh but I did have fun! and I do believe it got rid of my cold. There was no reason for the dancing except to just let go and enjoy ourselves.

So, dear reader I hope you are not reading this and feeling disgusted at my impossibly nascent good-humour. I hope instead you are reading this and feeling a bit better about the world, perhaps? because honestly I can think of no good reason why I should feel so good, except that I just do.

An Average Day?

Hello dear readers, I hope some of you are still there and check in occasionally to see what purls of wisdom I have purveyed. Of course I have purveyed nothing recently. I am the only person I can blame for my lack of bloggging -not good form for a man who wants to write for a living. Truth be told there has been resistance in anything to do with writing. I have been rushing about distracting myself with daily life but have been bothered constantly by a sub-conscious feeling. It is like the nagging voice of my mother, and it is telling me that I should be focusing more on what I want to do!

But what is it I want to do? That is a tricky question and I would be being hard on myself to expect to answer it at the age of 23. How many of you know what you want to do? Do any of you have a plan? I don't know and have perhaps been over-burdening myself with the pressure that I must figure out my future plan all in one go and that is probably why I haven't got very far! So baby steps, baby steps...

First of all I am going to be more self--disciplined and make writing a part of my daily life. Even if nothing particularly exciting has happened in the day, I will still write.

I would like to posit that there is always something worth writing about even on the most mundane of days. That is a theory I am going to put to the test. I am going to observe events in my normal daily routine and attempt to write about it, no matter how insignificant they may seem. I believe that with the creativity of language you can make anything interesting and even funny.

In which case, what better way to start than with today - a wet and highly average Monday morning.

After having arrived at work in one shape and remarkably unscathed and dry considering the weather's tormented tendencies these days, I sat down at my desk and did what millions of people across the world do each day - switched on my computer. I then proceeded to the kitchen where I filled the kettle and made my breakfast - a pretty average day so far you might say and you will probably add a pretty boring day as well. Just bare with me.

Once breakfast was safely consumed (I say safely because I have the tendency to attempt multi-tasking when eating, i.e I attempt to read off a computer screen and chew at the same time. Having obviously progressed not much further than Neanderthal eating skills, I tend to accidentally swallow unchewed pieces of granola which then lead to the delightful tune of an epiglottis in flux.) Where was I, oh yes once breakfast was safely consumed with no projectile Heimlich removers employed, I proceeded to gulp my tea (another potential mine-field for me: having not learned from the breakfast that multi-tasking is hazardous, I continue on my path of most-probable doom until inevitably one gulp too much ends up in splattered tea all over my desk-top and most definitely the poor unfortunate colleague sitting opposite me. It is at this point that I retire to the 'restroom' - I need a rest by then, and clean myself up) All this and I haven't even started work yet!

So at about 10.00am and by the time I had finally surpassed my usual morning calamities, I accompanied my colleagues to see the venue for our in-house conference 'Energy Choices'. It is held in Church House, right beside Westminster Abbey and is in itself part of a world-unesco heritage site. It is in a beautiful location and as you step into the Dean's Yard off the abbey, you try hard to believe you are still in London such is the tranquility offset partly by the historic aesthetic. In one of our main conference rooms a plaque tells how Churchill's most solemn speech to the nation, made at Britain's darkest hour in 1940 was broadcast from that very room. It also told of many other occasions during the war when he would broadcast from there.

After this, I went back to work and sat for the rest of the day in meetings. I can give you an idea of how bored I was: At one particularly low point I tried in my head to work out the percentage of one sixth of 60 million. The reason for this being I had read a BBC article the previous day on the perception of overcrowding in Britain. It stated that only 12% of British land is actually developed. Marc then challenged me to ask how much of London counted as a proportion of the population. To cut a very long story short, I had reached the point where I thought I could keep myself amused with mental arithmetic! And the horrifying truth? It did keep me amused. I was also quick to find out how amusing it was for my colleagues as apparently the expression I pull when trying to work out complex sums is akin to a baby that is in the process of filling its nappy.

Once the meetings were over, my manager and I trundled back to our desks bleary-eyed and docile - I'm sure they put something in that ventilation system. My work day was fast-approaching its end, and it had flown by. All that was left for me to do was make the misguided decision to take the Tube home at rush-hour. I pressed my 'bad' place so far into a woman's behind just to nudge myself in that that I felt it appropriate to coo to her in a silly voice "oh this is rather cosy!" -no need to state the bleeding obvious.

I leave it there, as you can see it was an average day and really nothing spectacular happened but I did manage to say something about it. Farewell for now.

Jason Hawkes Photography

http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/01/more_of_london_from_above_at_n.html

I must recommend the above link for the fantastic photography of London. It is my home city but it is easy to forget what it truly looks like when you are so determinedly hunched into your daily routine.

Jason Hawkes took these photos from a helicopter (which cost a vast amount of money to rent) and flew over the Capital snapping these shots of iconic landmarks. In order to achieve the clarity in such a turbulent machine, he used very slow shutter speeds and has the camera fixed on a specially constructed mount with gyro stabilizers.

Good work Jason!

My Week So Far...

I am officially bored. Normally I come home after a frenzied day in the office, the booming voices of my dear colleagues still reverberating around in my head. By this point in the day my synapses are close to snap and I just want to chill out on the couch. But this week the office has been eerily calm and at occasional moments so quiet that apart from the mesmeric whir of the computer machines, you would be forgiven for expecting tumbleweed to skip past and then for Clint Eastwood to appear from the Nuclear Library (in my head a Saloon bar) and challenge me to a duel. As you can probably tell I am bored at work as well!

So I arrive home from the unusually peaceful office somewhat hungry for excitement and it is then that I realize just how calm and quiet my house is. Shame.
But that's how I feel this evening. This week did start out a lot worse. On Monday evening after a day of bothersome toothache, I unwittingly chewed on a piece of stale bread and it caused reverberations of nerve pain through my face so acute that I thought I was going to be physically sick.
So I swore almightily and heartily (softened slightly by the hand clamped to my jaw) and lay on the couch with the expression someone adopts when told their £300 00 car has been smashed. Having adopted said expression for over 12 hours, it is safe to say that I have acquired 56 new wrinkles. (a very exact figure you may say but I do lean in close to the mirror and count)

I went to the dentist the following morning and parked my car ever so slightly illegally in Tesco car park - I don't care though, Tesco have enough money and the very slight inner socialist in me feels smug. I went to the dentist where they know me so well by now that I need not present myself, I just sat there grimace
set and gaze aimed at the tv screen (which seems to perpetually broadcast This Morning - I thought Gigantic Bosum, aka Fern Britten had left)

After what seemed an age (and I know it was because my gaze was so fixed and mesmerized to the TV that I looked like an extra from Shaun of the Dead) the dentist finally called me in.
Now I know my dentist to be the most modest man in the world, so I always try to make that extra effort to convey just how much pain I have been in. I record pneumatic drill noises and inform him that that is mere birdsong compared with the pain in my head, I remind him of atomic explosions in the Far East and insist to him that all this is nothing comparable with my throbbing jaw.
With the explanation over and done with he looks at me in his deadpan way, sighs and says 'right I suppose we had better x-ray it then'. (I have by now had so many x-rays that I could provide half the electricity supply for a nuclear power plant)

He tells me there seems to be nothing untoward on the x-ray (it seems to me that there is nothing on it at all, I suggest they invest in new equipment). He then informs me of his pleasure that there is no swelling in the gum - hurrah! my day has been made, he has finally cracked a comment that is less underwhelming than Titanic.

I leave the dentist clutching a bag of antibiotics and mildly confused still about what could be torturing my root-canaled tooth. I then proceed straight to work whereby I attempt to eat in such a way that A: avoids half of my mouth, and B: makes me look cool. It so happens that one of my work colleagues fears I am having a stroke and starts repeating the FAST mantra out loud in the office.

So there chums is just a little insight into my week so far. In other news, today I happened to see a lorry massacre a bunch of flowers and last night I cooked a salmon risotto so immense it could happily have assisted the UN in their world-hunger relief programme. (it was also so thick it would have insulated an Inuit's igloo)

Goodbye for now.

There is something nagging...

Do you ever have that feeling that beneath the surface, under that thick layer that acts as your buffer to the world, there is something nagging at you? It gnaws subconsciously like a small itch - you always know it is there and it is hard to ignore. I have had that feeling for about two weeks now. I do think of myself as self-aware and I wonder if perhaps other people experience similar feelings constantly but choose (consciously or sub-consciously) to ignore it. It is simply a feeling that something is not right...

The funny thing about life is that it is often impossible to rationally explain away the feelings we experience. I like to sit and muse on them, and then prescribe rational causes in the hope that it will make everything better - for example, I have sat recently and said to myself 'you have just left university, your life has changed, you have started a new job, you have left your friend base in Brighton and have not yet re-established that work/friend balance that is the key to sanity in your new life"...blah blah blah...Presto! I have solved the problem, now what? not so fast. Once these feelings have been given a good dose of rationale, the brain still likes to lay out its cognitive complexities - put simply: the irrational will always win out. I can stand there when my heart is pounding and wonder 'why am I anxious?' and I can confidently conclude that there is no problem, but then I realize that I have to just let it be - eventually the irrational mind will catch up.

So, having said all this, it is in fact true to say that on face value life is swell at the moment. I am on Jury Service. Here you would expect me to be able to relate many interesting anecdotes about the whole process, including the intimate insight that I must be gaining into the court system. Unfortunately, I have spent the first 2 and a bit days sitting in an airport-style waiting lounge where time seems to stop completely and everything in the vicinity dulls into the same grey never-ending pallour.

On the first day I arrived at 9.00am to be shown a DVD with all the information we required on court procedure and an explanation of the civic importance of jury service. I then sat. And waited. I read my book, played tetris 400 times, read Time Out from cover to cover, had lunch, and continued to sit.

Eventually at 3.30 my name was called! I hurried to a register call and was escorted down with 18 others to a court room. Inside we found a modern court and lots of bewigged individuals. The court clerk then read out 12 names randomly from the jury list and unfortunately I was not one of them. I was sent back upstairs where I was told I could leave.

The following day was much the same, except that when my name was called, it was simply to be told I could go home. (This was 5 hours after I had arrived.) On Friday I arrived at 10.15 am. I was told I could leave at 10.40am. I look on the bright side -it was a sunny day and I was free for the whole afternoon to play!

Despite my above explanation of what must seem like jaw-slackening boredom, Jury Service is very interesting. It is unique in that you are put together with a comprehensive and wide-ranging selection of society - people from all walks of life in one room, speaking to people they would perhaps never speak to normally. And oh my do they speak! forget the famous eye-averted etiquette of the London Underground -everyone's blabbing away here and in a way that reaffirms in one's mind that the majority of people are sane and pleasant individuals.

I do however hope that next week I am assigned to a trial because there is only so much sitting around I can contentedly take before I start to sway back and forth with a demented fixed gaze. Watch this space.

Monday evening, an average day at work - except I narrowly avoided being consumed by a giant pelican in St James Park at lunch. A more intensely zombified Monday than the usual head-lolling stupor, I got up this morning to take Marc to Clapham Junction at 6.00AM - for a 23 year old who is still trying desperately to come to grips with non-student hours, I consider that a remarkable achievement.

So as I sit at my desk quietly astonished that my head is still balancing after 16 hours on the go, I put finger to keypad and try to heave up something interesting from my bleary whirl of thoughts. Spent Saturday enjoying what could be one of the last great sunny outdoor days. Now it's blowy and decidedly hostile out there. I have already started to make some nice comforting autumn food - cauliflower cheese with a generous sprinkle of nutmeg kept me cosy on Saturday. But defiantly I cling still to summer -I went to McDonalds (a place you won't find me often) and bought chocolate ice cream and sat on the King's Road slurping away to the sunset (and a fit topless builder...) and as my mind trails off into a moment of glazed wonder, I recollect myself and give a little jig - water is needed.

I have sat here for 3 minutes now thinking of something else to write. I have come to the conclusion that I am indeed very tired and that writing something is better than writing nothing. I am going to stagger the two feet or so that makes up the walk to my bed, I will climb in and gratefully become oblivious to that mad world for another night. Oh I can't wait. Good Night.

Can't Teach an Old Dog New Tricks, But You Can Try.

It's a great pleasure to be living in London again. Yes it's noisy but it's got a vibe that only one other city across the Atlantic could match in my opinion. I went to Parliament this morning, having alighted the bus early due to traffic - a problem compounded by the emergency vehicles desperately trying to wriggle through to reach the foreboding concrete edifice of St Thomas' Hospital. I walked along the riverbank and crossed Westminster Bridge- thankfully tourist free at this time in the morning. I was due at Parliament to attend a working group on Nuclear Energy and the meeting was about New Build in the UK. In all honesty not much of huge interest was covered - I am still at that beginning stage in the job where I am starting to get to grips with the industry jargon and the different processes however there is still that part of me that feigns interest and instead tries to plan my holiday in my head - a much more fulfilling task.

Once the meeting came to an end, my colleague Mikey and I wondered into the House of Lords - a chamber of quite remarkable opulence (and a few sleepy lords) We briefly marveled at the architecture and the fact that we had been able to wonder in without security noticing, that was until the security guard (whose main weapon of terror were her abnormally large bosoms) sternly moved us on. A nice little out of office excursion which almost turned into a trip to the Tower of London!

One thing I am quietly pondering at the moment is the symbolic shift and general upheaval in my life that has occur ed since finishing university. I have moved, started a full-time job and completely broken with the way of life I was accustomed to leading before. Curiously my actual reality is a steady and straightforward existence- which goes in complete contrast to the symbolic and momentous change that has taken place in the last month. It is for this reason that I find myself enclosed in moments of panic in the most mundane of daily tasks. Yesterday whilst choosing yoghurt in Sainsbury's a sudden wave of dreariness and fatigue spread over me and my legs felt all a quiver. I am vaguely aware of the stress associated with picking one's brand of petit filous but on some level I sensed this unease to stem from a much deeper sense of panic - my subconscious telling me that my life has completely changed, therefore alarm bells sound because of the fact that my life is so calm and easy.

Another example is when traveling on the tube, I get hot. It's summer, it is warmer down there than most cattle would care to endure and so I do get ridiculously hot. But I then get nervous that people will notice me sweat. Therefore I sweat more until people notice the intense heat emanating from my body and think I am unwell. It's then that I start to hyperventilate and move towards the doors in the desperate attempt to escape. I sit at a tube station until I cool, I attempt the next tube and I arrive at work late every day. I say that though, but with each day it gets better and I get used to it. Welcome to London.

I don't miss Brighton and this isn't from a lack of sentimentality but rather it was time for me to move on and 4 years of being a student was enough - you can have too much of a good thing. (just wait till I've been in the job for 6 months, I'll be desperate to go back).

I have certain things that I want to do now I don't have the what was omnipresent degree work to do:

I want to cook more and experiment more. Up till now I have been quite successful with my culinary endeavours, however I don't feel I have delved enough into the luxurious, the greedy, the sickly and the explosive. That is what I shall do next.

I want to write more - but not just this old stuff, I want to try and get things published. Must endeavour to make contacts and network (must also endeavour to not make blog sound like Bridget Jones' Diary).

I want to eat healthily, maintain calm composure and sit in the lotus position at all possible times, blah blah blah - you get it.

I could go on, but with the danger of boring you to the point of minor paralysis I will instead stop and go and make something explosive. Thanks for reading. Oh, and please comment!

Gin and Titonic

I have just learned: Don't read your posts back. It's just embarrassing. Did I really say that? What was I taking?

I have just had a gin and titonic-yes, titonic. It's ice shaped like the ship that sank - except this one sinks into gin! I have a feeling if the poor people who perished on that doomed vessel had the chance to do it again, but this time in gin, they wouldn't hesitate to jump on board. Jordan Colyer bought me this novelty gift when the gin ladies came to stay in Brighton. It's a yearly tradition as all our birthdays are in June (bar one - but she didn't come this year so I exclude her - for this post only) We went to Carluccio's and made orgasmic noises throughout dinner, and then spent the rest of the evening making belching noises.

You see, here's a thing I'm going to relate to you because you will find out (most probably yourself deduce) very quickly: the gin ladies are going to hell. We are immoral, scathing, gin tongued horrors. And I LOVE it. Just the other night at a Clapham bar, we discussed mutual acquaintances and their lack of intelligence, we openly laughed at a woman who fell off a stair and we mocked a girl who thinks having constant windswept hair (including indoors) is a look to emulate. The fact she walks into things must surely tell her she should rethink her style.

I am normally a very moral person, and I think deep down so are the other gin ladies. However, being together is a good opportunity to rail against the stupidity of the world and most of the people in it - it's really very therapeutic.

Let me introduce you to the gin ladies:

Jessica Hitch is a gin swilling bitch. She works in Knightsbridge and tries to sell agas to dimwits and rich twits with no sense. She's very good at her job.

Jordan Colyer lowers the tone. She's markedly deaf in one ear so an innocent and chaste drink in Starbucks will quickly turn into a Colyer induced exodus as she discusses the ins and outs of something sexual (and mostly disgusting) all at a voice loud enough to blow the froth of someones latte three tables away.

Kate Mann gets drunk, and quickly so. Once sufficiently sozzled she doesn't hold back. There's no excuse when all the gin ladies are together - you will get an earful if you make the slightest error.

I am Matthew Parker. I don't like incompetence and neither do the other gin ladies, though of course we are ourselves the personification of incompetence; we can't get through a meal without spilling it on ourselves and I can't reach the end of a sentence without spraying an unfortunate person nearby with a good dose of saliva.

So there you are, in all our glory, I give you just a brief introduction to the fairly terrible but fabulous people that are the gin ladies. I thought it best to do so as we make good material for writing, therefore I have a feeling you'll be reading a lot more of our little tales from now on.

Thanks for reading.

I am writing from the comfort of my bedroom after having finally sorted out the broadband wireless router thingy that father was supposed to set up years ago. It is the hottest day of the year (32 degrees and rising) and I have spent most of it on the phone to India slowly melting and getting further frustrated by the fact that, I am sorry, but I really can't understand a word they're saying. What is more infuriating is that at the end of the call, my helper's supervisor asked me if my needs had been met and whether I had understood everything that had been said to me. I was just too polite to say "NO! I understood nothing and am slightly concerned that I may have inadvertently ordered six routers and an ipod!". I kept schtoom.
As for the rest of moving back to London, it seems to have been fairly plain-sailing.

That aside, the main news story of the moment is Michael Jackson. It's an interesting time as what intrigues me when such famous person dies are the reactions of the public. Newspapers have been adamant that this is not the new 'Diana' yet there are similarities to be drawn: the mass outpouring of emotion and the curious congregation of people; coming together solely to express their feelings and draw comfort from others. On the day Jackson died hundreds gathered outside the hospital where they had tried in vain to resuscitate him. The crowd saw nothing and were essentially doing nothing except standing outside a building, yet it illustrated an important part of the collective mourning process- to come together and draw comfort from others. Yesterday in Trafalgar Square I read the messages that had been scrawled on the wall of the National Gallery giving condolences to Jackson's passing. A couple of days ago hundreds had gathered in the same square for an impromptu sing along. A flash mob had also been called in Liverpool Street where hundreds danced to his music in the street.
So what his death has shown is not just how much admiration Jackson inspired for his musical talent but also the collective display and public reaction when someone important dies. Ultimately we seem to focus on the positive of the deceased and put aside the negatives. Whether or not these child-abuse allegations will tarnish his legacy is yet to be seen but he is already back at the top of the British album charts, which suggests that people are appreciating the music and talent more than his eccentric and controversial private life.
Personally I was a huge Jacko fan as a child. Dangerous was the first CD I ever bought. I had videos of concerts, interviews and Jackson documentaries. I had books charting his rise to solo success from the Jackson 5 and I even had a T-shirt which I remember wearing on a primary school trip (and gaining the respect from many classmates). Most importantly I had and still have all the CDs. Last week when I was doing my clear out I set the Jackson CDs aside, making sure that I held on to them. This was a good four days before he died but he was still an important symbol of my childhood. While I sorted the rest of my stuff I put Thriller on and sang along - it's timeless even today.
Now on a more selfish note, I am considering keeping the concert ticket I have instead of claiming the refund, then selling it for more on ebay! the beginnings of a new entrepreneur? possibly most probably not.

Brighton to London

Good lord I haven't written in a while! The excuse? I've been finishing my degree thank you very much - it was hell. But now that's all over, I must wait anxiously for the results. I don't want to know.
So, what's new? Well, my life was put completely on hold while that degree shizzle was taken care of. I just about managed to hop it to Sainsbury's occasionally- this would be my revision break treat. How sad your life becomes when it's that regimented; a trip to Sainsbury's means you're oohing over the asparagus. I just kept myself going in the vain hope of that brief interlude of fanciful frolics that would no doubt follow the exam slog. Oh dear how wrong I was. I have three words: 'Wandsworth Town' and 'Dump'. After having detonated a bomb in my room yesterday whilst clearing out, I drove down to the Dump today with my million and one bags of various growing up detritus and a smug expression which conveyed how proud I was to be letting go of so much crap. I arrived and quickly understood that the men who work at the dump have nothing better to do but send hapless drivers off to the wrong receptacle and giggle quietly whilst observing the puzzled expressions of a person trying to put cardboard in a container that clearly says 'garden cuttings'. I reversed back to where the man had directed me and he informed me "nah mate, you wanna go here" pointing to the container next to him and not the one at the far end which he had clearly pointed out before. After this irritating encounter I left only to find myself quietly whimpering in the one way system of Wandsworth Town - a horrible area at the best of times, even the brewery moved out. Anyway, whilst driving home I got hooted at by a 'white van man' for attempting to change lane even though I did indicate like a good driver should and edged carefully into the lane so as to leave no ambiguity as to my actions. TIT.
So there, that's me back in London. It's hot and sunny - which will be lovely until I have to go to work next week on the Tube.
Does it seem like I'm moaning a lot in this post? Well if you think so I suggest you attempt some car manoeuvres on that roundabout with that enormous, useless boomerang in the middle of it which serves as the centre piece for Wandsworth architecture - then you'll understand!
I must go now. I am meeting Jordan Colyer for dinner at a local Clapham restaurant, the Pepper Tree. It's brilliant there - delicious Pad Thai for a fiver and you get nice Tiger beer. All these good and cheap restaurants are what I have been most excited about coming to London!
I will keep the posts coming from now on. I start work at the Nuclear Industry Association next week and I am sure there will be lots of anecdotes to relate...

Watch this space.
`

Sea and Spring

It's the end of another week and Spring is in the air. I sat in a friend's house this afternoon which has huge sache windows that look out over the sea. On a day like today it was mesmerising, and therefore impossible for me to avert my gaze away and pay attention to my friend!
I sometimes forget that Brighton is by the sea (of course the cackle of seagulls serves as a constant reminder) but my house is a good 20 minutes from the seafront and the mundane routine of daily life stops a lot of spontaneous sea trips. So seeing it today on a sun filled and beautiful evening was special and most of all calming. It set the mood for a bit of Spanish interpretation with two of my friends from class. We attempted a discussion on Politics which somehow frayed into a discussion on the strength of men's hands...which was just as absurd even when in context.

My friend has a little dog. He's very cute and, err, furry. I'm not good on dog breeds but he's definitely one of those furry ones. He was happily bounding about the flat very excited by the presence of two women but for some reason he was terrified of me. Peri told me that puppies are often scared of men because they're taller and have deep voices. I'm sure the fact that I am 4 days unshaven doesn't prohibit the 'ghoul' factor either. Peri, puppy's mummy, has a very funny book of different dog clothes that you can knit for them - having seen it I am inspired by future visions of canine catwalks. Some of the bling displayed in this book was daring and could quite possibly constitute cruelty to animals. What about the glittery pullover or the H+M style Alsatian slip? Well, personally the red dog poncho was my favourite as well as what I can only describe as the 'Poodle Puff'.

I have the house to myself which is a rare thing when you share with three others. No, I am not prancing around naked with Chaka Khan on. I am 'chillaxing' as the kids say these days. It's been a busy week and it's so nice just to chill out for a while and collect your thoughts. It's very possible when there's a lot going on to lose yourself slightly. You need to stop and remember who you are sometimes. It's usually in the pub but tonight I will read a book I WANT TO READ! that will be the best thing about graduating; reading all those books I've been meaning to read which are conveniently holding up my bed at the moment.

I can't get my head around Brighton sometimes. It is a great place, full of creativity, good live music and colourful people but at the same time, well, it can be a bit seedy. It's a funny place because it's a wealthy part of the country where the people who work commute up to London every day leaving behind a city where a 'no hurry' atmosphere takes hold. If you walk through the Laines on a weekday it's full of people wondering around with seemingly nothing to do. It's full of art students who can afford to be idle or shopkeepers smoking outside their stores which are themselves often brilliant but frankly, I don't see how they survive in an area where the rent must be extortionate.
Go down to the seafront and it really is a cheeky kiss-me-quick affair - the kind you only get in England. It's full of drugs, sex and students, Brighton. It's full of skinny-jean wearing indies, dredded eco warriors, boho mummies, old drag queens and Katie Price. A very unusual combination for such a small place! What a town...

It's now 9.15 - I'm going to have that bath and read this book. Thanks for reading and have a nice weekend.

General Musings

Oh dear, I have just realised that I haven't posted anything on here for over three weeks. I would have excuses but I really don't think there are any. The "I'm about to graduate" excuse has been sufficiently exhausted; I was using it to get out of yoga classes, parking tickets and, strangely, uni work. I still somehow find time to eat out though...

My house smells and I hate my landlord. I am almost certain he won't be reading this so I don't mind what I say. Who would become a landlord anyway? I always have them in mind as old men with a sagging gut, white string vest, questionable personal hygiene and as a compulsive smoker/liar/general vagrant. Of course in reality that hasn't been my experience of them. My first landlady was a woman of the manor from leafy Surrey. She was old and ever so slightly batty in the blue-blooded upper-class sense. She would present herself unannounced, usually in our bedrooms and usually whilst we were still occupying our beds, with the general greeting of 'cooeeey!'. At the time we lived with a French girl, Anne-Sophie, and our landlady, Mrs Todd, would tell her in a slow and patronizing manner to, I quote: "in your best English, call Matthew and tell him I am tending the garden." Anne Sophie would then yell "Maaaatttt" from the bottom of the stairs sending the seagulls into a frenzy.
I suppose my next landlord will be my father. He keeps assuring me that he's already rented out my room and I laugh half nervously in response - hopefully his humour is as sarcastic as I take it to be.

I am starting operation BBC today. I shouldn't be on here actually, I should be frantically thinking of personal attributes that would make me stand out from the crowd on an application form. It's all for work experience but obviously, being the Beeb, is outrageously competitive.
I saw a great looking work experience advertised yesterday for Channel 4, but it's only available to people from ethnic minorities. Clearly they have a quota to fill. What if I told them I'm a left-handed homosexual? no? well, what about 'I am from Clapham' -people from Clapham are certainly a minority, and a special one at that. OK, OK.

On a more serious note, if there are any broadcast journalists or media people reading this, what should I do? The whole process is lengthy and somewhat circular to say the least (I keep ending up at the same place). You're perhaps thinking I have ceased to make sense, probably owing to the ungodly hour that I woke up. I can't really think of anything else to say now. I just had a break from writing to eat soup and talk to Eva. Now I have broken the trail of thought. The day is getting on and I should get on with it too. I will write here more often from now on, there's a part of me that felt I should only write when there is something important or interesting to say but just any writing is practising a style n'est ce pas?
Thanks for reading.

PS: Eva, my housemate, says the interesting things to say are: "Eva is going running, Eva is going to the bathroom, Eva is taking a shower" for anyone wanting to keep track of her exciting and suspense-filled blog, you can find it lost somewhere in cyberspace.

SNOW!

Oh my we're having a cold winter. For those of you that haven't been living in 'Arctic Britain' for the last few months will do well to know that it has been the coldest winter since 1995. Ooh la la I hear you say. Yes, take pity on us for us Brits do find it hard to cope with any form of adverse weather. Take for example this Monday, February 2nd, which turned out to be a very surreal day indeed.

Having woken up early to a call of nature I happened to glimpse out the window. What greeted me was a spectacle of pure pristine white stuff blanketing the houses of Brighton. I switched on the radio to a media frenzied with reports of school closures, buses out of operation and all trains cancelled. This jolly seaside town had become well and truly cut off from the world.
It was upon this realisation that something odd happened to me. I, like many other millions in England, became 6 years old again. I ran around excitedly as text messages began to flood in - invitations to come out and play.
A little later, armed with what can only be described as a human-sized flying-saucer shaped dish, my companions and I trudged across Brighton receiving comments of admiration from passersby to our somewhat eccentric slay. We even stopped to let some children have a go, but they were less than impressed.
It was a day when people who weren't stuck on the M25 could take an impromptu break and really make contact with that inner-child, perhaps long locked away but never truly forgotten.

Of course, this being Britain, there were those who moaned. One particular gentleman on the radio told how London buses were kept going through the darkest days of the Blitz, but on this day bus drivers were seen engaging in snowball fights. People inevitaby harked back to that Blitz spirit and told of courageous people daring to leave their houses and venture into 8 inches of snow. What a glorious day therefore, when Britain once again triumphed in the face of adversity!

Of course, the truth is it didn't. In fact we quickly became an international laughing stock. A German news programme gave a dour but playful report on how Britain fell to its knees showing closed Tube stations and no doubt commenting on how peculiar it was that in Britain it seemed to snow underground as well . The Canadians thought it all downright hillarious-what strange people we are, a Polish friend exclaimed "You don't know what heavy snow is" and generally a lot of fun was had at our expense.

But do we care? I think not because for the most part I saw people really enjoying themselves on Monday. Children were in their element (I include myself and my friends in this because for the day, we were children.)
Much in the spirit of Mods and Rockers, snowball fights broke out across Brighton, but this time they were friendly. The noise of traffic died away and all that was to heard across the city was the noise of people having fun.
So that was a day when Britain stopped working, but hey, it was some much needed fun considering the un-fun times we're living in.

The Winds of Change

Wherever I go there seems to be change in the air. The election of Obama has been heralded as an opportunity for change and the economic crisis which is diligently sweeping the globe means change, no matter how painful, is inevitable. People are viewing these changes as an opportunity to shake off the immoral excesses of the past, to be more frugal and to prioritise what is really important. Perhaps that will be the good thing to come out of the recession; people will be less consumer obsessed and maybe more peaceful in heart and soul. We'll see...
Change is also in the air for me as I start to think about CVs, applications and ultimately JOBS. Ahhhhh. I don't want to leave university. It's such a comfort to me (you really do live in a better world, I think, at university). The formative years of my life I feel are numbered and now I must resign myself to growing up and having to shave every day. BOO HOO.

On a lighter note, it would be nice to have my own money. But then there's the debt to pay.
I have decided that denial about my terrifying amount of debt is the best policy. I often run away from banks, arms flailing, screaming for salvation. I dance around my room like a crazed lunatic to loud music all just to drown out the grinding noise of my financial ball and chain that I will no doubt be wearing until I draw my pension.

No. No no no. Stop being pessimistic. It will all be fine. If not I can be one of those Hari Krishnas that chant up and down Oxford Street, they seem incredibly enlightened.
I've never been good with change you see. I don't think many people actually like it but it is nevertheless a part of life. It's just daunting to be in a situation where you feel like such a novice in everything you do. After 4 years at university I can claim to be a professional student. I know how to make mismatched clothes work, how to drink before lunchtime and how to talk endlessly and with authority about really, a load of crap. But now it's different - the grown up world beckons and my only solace is that I have some office experience (as long as we forget that I broke the new £400 shredder). Oh, and I make a stellar brew.
My sister gave me some sound advice about broadcast journalism this week that can be applied to anything. She told me to really believe in myself and to let it come across in who I am. I know you may think it a bit cliched and flaky to say 'Believe in thyself' but how many of us actually do? If ever my confidence in something is tested I notice a marked difference in my performance at any task. I am less motivated when this happens and as a consequence do worse. Therefore I think it is very important to believe in yourself, even in the smallest things you do.

I went for a walk in Stanmer Park today, a rolling country park by campus with woods and sheep. As I walked the ghosts of my university past were following me. It was a little personal time to remember just how great these years have been. At university you discover who you are, you wear dodgy clothes, you drink awful concoctions. At university you wake up more than once in a hedge (or perhaps in a field freezing cold with a stranger's coat and a very curious cow circling you as happened to one friend). At university you get up at 11.00 on a Monday and have meals the wrong way round. You have the freedom here to express who you are and meet people from all different backgrounds. It may not be for everyone but it was certainly for me, and I'll cherish the memories always.
I'll leave it there for now cause I've got some dodgy clothes to dig out and a party to attend! I wonder where I'll wake up next...

A New Blog, A New Age?

Hello, bienvenue. Come, sit down and warm yourselves by the fire. It's very cold out there and you must be in need of some of my famous hot-chocolate (with added brandy to cajole the heart and cinnamon to warm the soul). The cold can bring the desire for hibernation so while you're making yourselves comfy why not grab a duvet and wrap yourselves up nice and tight? Don't worry about spilling your chocolate, they're primark duvets. What was that? they're not goose down? I know, you must be very disappointed but my mother is allergic you see...Now, are we all sitting comfortably? Yes, I'm sorry about the dog, he tends to do that. Just keep your legs and arms folded and such embarrassing situations will be avoided. Now, I think I can begin...yes? Yes.

For those of you who often sat on the edge of their seat waiting for the next installment of my Spanish blog, well here's a new one to get your teeth into. I hear some disheartened cries from some of you for I neglected to finish the Spanish blog. However, times have changed and too many things are happening for me to sit idly by.

Yesterday saw the inauguration of Barack Obama, 'that skinny guy with the funny name'. Well believe it or not he is president of the United States now and it seems that some people are still in disbelief. An African American campaigner interviewed yesterday for BBC News said she would never have thought this day possible in her lifetime. She explained that she had been a prominent campaigner alongside Martin Luther King during the Civil Rights struggle in the 1960s. Then the persecution was enshrined in law and a seemingly daunting fight against an entire system of bigotry was propelled by an unwavering faith in many that Luther King's dream would come true.

Jump back to January 20 2009 and watch with the millions in Washington as they witness an historic day. Has the dream come true? For many African Americans, simply seeing a black man in the White House is a dream come true. But, as the tone of his speech made clear, these are not easy times. It was a somber but ultimately optimistic speech encouraging Americans to take part as citizens in 'rebuilding' America. Many around me seemed disappointed with the speech, saying that they had expected something more inspirational. Much like a souffle gone wrong, it began promisingly but then went flat. The right-wing media seems to draw a consensus on this opinion. An article in the Telegraph thought it amusing how the democrat/liberal press were trying to 'put the best spin on a strangely flat speech' while Fox News bemoaned the lack of rhetoric or soundbites.
The Financial Times however had something positive to say describing how it inspired and roused hope among a population that is fearful of the future.

Trying to gage the reaction of cynical British university students is perhaps best summed up in quoting someone who turned to me half way through the speech and growled "what a load of bullshit". Perhaps it's a British thing - we don't go in for all that inspirational patriotism like the Americans do. They lap it up, but at the same time there is something admirable in the faith and belief that has been stirred among Americans. I can hear the voice of the cynics now "they're just naive" they shout and they'd probably say that the American Dream is just an illusion. However, since the inauguration of a black president, there is certainly a renewed enthusiasm in it.

Still, Obama comes to power with his work cut out. I watched Panorama last night where a BBC journalist travelled across America meeting people who can't afford health care. A third world charity sets itself up in rural Kentucky so that thousands can queue for hours in the cold just to see a doctor. 23 thousand Americans die a year from lack of basic health care and it is one of Obama's aims to reform this apparently unjust industry; something that could cost 3 trillion dollars.

It seems though that Americans are divided over this issue. Not since the 1920s has there been such a large gap between rich and poor. Those who can afford it have the best health care in the world, but the rich fear that if the health care industry is reformed, their access to quality care will suffer. They cite Britain's NHS and its long waiting-lists as an example.
However, for many millions of Americans, the need for access to basic health care seems to outweigh the argument of the wealthy. Panorama interviewed a woman in need of a lung transplant to treat her cancer. It's expensive, she is poor and lives in a trailer with 5 children. If she doesn't get the operation soon, she will die. It seems unfair that a woman should be denied a chance to live simply because she cannot afford treatment and the taste you're left with is all the more bitter when you remember that this is the richest nation on earth, but rich for a few it seems...

The New Age that Obama promises is a fairer age, where diplomacy takes precedent over aggression. If anything good should come out of this election, it is the hope that America will be seen as a force for good in the world again. Yet as I write this, that cynical voice in my head starts up again. Que sera, sera.