In September I started a Screenwriting course at London's MET Film School. Set in the historic Ealing Studios, there is no place more packed with atmosphere in which to study film. But anyway, MET Film plug aside...I started this course. I had great excitement going into it because I was undertaking something that I knew I had a passion for - if not a passion that formed many parts of a fragmented, slightly incoherent mix of passions that all steer me towards Film. Hopefully this course would be a good place to start the search for clarity and direction.
The course convenes every other Saturday and initially involved a group of very reserved, cool individuals who had to be coaxed out of their shells a little to start sharing their film ideas. It's been a brilliant experience so far, we study short films in minute detail and it is incredible how much effort and consideration is put into a frame in order to add to the overall message of the story. I am opening my eyes to the wonder of film as well as the frustrating fact that screenwriting is not a straight-forward affair. You take two steps forward with a script and then either a step back or a collision with a brick wall - that nightmare metaphor that plagues all writers. The problem with a screenplay though is that you don't have the freedom to explain away an emotion or an encounter - obviosuly it has to be shown through pictures and dialogue and this is a lot harder than you would think.
I am on a meandering path with my script and due to time constraints I find myself maddly scribbling things down while on juddery London buses. But it is a start, and I am learning. I am learning how to structure not only my screenplay but also the short film that I want to write, direct, film and produce in the new year - all grand plans considering my full time job. Better get back to it.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Pubs, Grub and Films Noirs
I went to Herne Hill last night to visit an old friend who I haven't seen in 5 years and we managed to pick up pretty much where we left off. Apparently I haven't aged but I know i've got fatter.
Herne Hill is nice, it lies around the delightful Brockwell Park which boasts a lovely lido for those intermittent summer days as well as a manor house atop a hill - probably Herne Hill. There are nice pubs in the area too - old victorian saloons brought into the urban trendy yet unpretentious 21st century styles. They are the kind of pubs where people sit alone by a fire reading a book and sipping a cider. My kind of pub.
Tonight I am going to a friend's in Vauxhall to be cooked chicken casserole and watch Jean Pierre Melville films, my earthy rioja should compliment this all as a real treat :-)
Herne Hill is nice, it lies around the delightful Brockwell Park which boasts a lovely lido for those intermittent summer days as well as a manor house atop a hill - probably Herne Hill. There are nice pubs in the area too - old victorian saloons brought into the urban trendy yet unpretentious 21st century styles. They are the kind of pubs where people sit alone by a fire reading a book and sipping a cider. My kind of pub.
Tonight I am going to a friend's in Vauxhall to be cooked chicken casserole and watch Jean Pierre Melville films, my earthy rioja should compliment this all as a real treat :-)
Monday, March 15, 2010
Tales of the Country...
As tomorrow is mother's day I find myself again in the wide open spaces of the Cambridgeshire Fens, a flat landscape dotted with sinewy trees, still bare from the what seems the never-ending winter.
I drove up on Thursday evening. Snaking through the London suburbs I was glad to shrug off normal life for a few days of fresh air and replenishment. However this feeling of ease didn't last very long. It began to ebb away when, parking at a service station in Essex (desperate need for a pee) I was greeted by three parked cars opposite mine, all of which were occupied by rotund people of a certain age wearing vacant expressions – said expressions pointed at me, gazing as I exited my car following my every move. I could be perfectly rational and conclude that the occupants were in their cars for warmth on a chilly evening, humbly finishing off their oversized confectionery. However, this being Essex I decided that this, the Holiday Inn carpark at Bishop's Stortford was clearly a dogging hotspot.
Safely inside the building I hear Michael Jackson's 'Wanna be Startin Something' on the radio and my mood lightening, I decide to purchase a coffee (and get the hell out of there). Now, a true sign that portions are gettting larger is when I rest my coffee cup on the cup-holder of my ten year old car only to discover that it will not fit. I settle the coffee somewhat precariously in front of the gear stick and I switch on radio 1. It is at this point that all recollection of my coffee purchase (and any remaining sense) leaves my head - I am in Essex after all, and I speed off, head banging and hand tapping back onto the motorway. It is only when I smell the sickly sweet latte rising from my passenger seat floor that I remember how delicately my cup had been positioned between gear stick and dashboard – what a dickhead I am. Much general swearing and high-pitched screaming over, I resolve only to laugh at my ridiculous misfortune, that is until I remember I am driving on a motorway and should probably pay more attention.
Contrary to the popular city dweller image of the countryside as being an idyll of tranquil trickling water, rabbits skipping arm in arm with beavers and geese gossiping down the lane, I can relate that it is in fact a sinister and treacherous place full of carniverous predators, decapitating farm machinery and strange locals that cycle in straw hats. Yesterday evening I took a stroll down the lane enjoying the longer evenings and less hostile weather when I turned a bend and suddenly found myself face to face with two large dogs (in the country dogs don't sit indoors, they roam outside waiting for another person to maim). The general expression of mania in the dogs' eyes convinced me to quicken my pace in the opposite direction, taking care not to plunge head first into a ditch on the way. Once back safely inside, panting, hair in disarray, expression of shock, I take to the nearest armchair and quietly recover my calm (mother keeps the gin with the potatoes)
Gin having barely parted my lips and we hear a loud rapping noise on the front door. Confused expressions exchanged between mother and me, (who knocks at the door in the country in the pitch black night?) well my intimate knowledge of any horror film told me that it could only be an axe-wiedling murderer quietly lurking in the near darkness. We decide to ignore the knocks, but they pursist. We then realise the knocks (and doorbell ringing) is coming from the back door- an entrance with a direct view into the living room where we sat ears perked. Before I could shout to mother 'where's the gun' a loud tapping and what I perceived as a slow rasping noise came from the window directly beside me (my imagination can occasionally cloud my recollection of events so if this all appears a bit fantastical to you, it most probably is near complete make-believe). My mother now thoroughly annoyed that someone would disturb the One Show jumps up and marches to the back door, me in hot pursuit, to find a large bald man darkening the doorway. In a panicked voice he asks if we have scrap metal, we say we don't (despite the rusting farm equipment in the field beside the house). Irritated my mother slams the door and we sit quietly contemplating the strange event and the general strangeness of Fen folk.
As I return to London tomorrow evening I will probably be more tense than before I left, will no doubt have recurring anxiety stemming from the events that befell me whilst in the country and will have to most probably take a leave of absence, bury myself in the city streets and recuperate my now tender strength via a spot of retail therapy and sublime cooking. I always breathe a sigh of relief when I turn the corner on that motorway and see on the horizon the glass towers of central London because it is where I feel safest – far from hairpin bends, drooling locals and murderous combines...
I drove up on Thursday evening. Snaking through the London suburbs I was glad to shrug off normal life for a few days of fresh air and replenishment. However this feeling of ease didn't last very long. It began to ebb away when, parking at a service station in Essex (desperate need for a pee) I was greeted by three parked cars opposite mine, all of which were occupied by rotund people of a certain age wearing vacant expressions – said expressions pointed at me, gazing as I exited my car following my every move. I could be perfectly rational and conclude that the occupants were in their cars for warmth on a chilly evening, humbly finishing off their oversized confectionery. However, this being Essex I decided that this, the Holiday Inn carpark at Bishop's Stortford was clearly a dogging hotspot.
Safely inside the building I hear Michael Jackson's 'Wanna be Startin Something' on the radio and my mood lightening, I decide to purchase a coffee (and get the hell out of there). Now, a true sign that portions are gettting larger is when I rest my coffee cup on the cup-holder of my ten year old car only to discover that it will not fit. I settle the coffee somewhat precariously in front of the gear stick and I switch on radio 1. It is at this point that all recollection of my coffee purchase (and any remaining sense) leaves my head - I am in Essex after all, and I speed off, head banging and hand tapping back onto the motorway. It is only when I smell the sickly sweet latte rising from my passenger seat floor that I remember how delicately my cup had been positioned between gear stick and dashboard – what a dickhead I am. Much general swearing and high-pitched screaming over, I resolve only to laugh at my ridiculous misfortune, that is until I remember I am driving on a motorway and should probably pay more attention.
Contrary to the popular city dweller image of the countryside as being an idyll of tranquil trickling water, rabbits skipping arm in arm with beavers and geese gossiping down the lane, I can relate that it is in fact a sinister and treacherous place full of carniverous predators, decapitating farm machinery and strange locals that cycle in straw hats. Yesterday evening I took a stroll down the lane enjoying the longer evenings and less hostile weather when I turned a bend and suddenly found myself face to face with two large dogs (in the country dogs don't sit indoors, they roam outside waiting for another person to maim). The general expression of mania in the dogs' eyes convinced me to quicken my pace in the opposite direction, taking care not to plunge head first into a ditch on the way. Once back safely inside, panting, hair in disarray, expression of shock, I take to the nearest armchair and quietly recover my calm (mother keeps the gin with the potatoes)
Gin having barely parted my lips and we hear a loud rapping noise on the front door. Confused expressions exchanged between mother and me, (who knocks at the door in the country in the pitch black night?) well my intimate knowledge of any horror film told me that it could only be an axe-wiedling murderer quietly lurking in the near darkness. We decide to ignore the knocks, but they pursist. We then realise the knocks (and doorbell ringing) is coming from the back door- an entrance with a direct view into the living room where we sat ears perked. Before I could shout to mother 'where's the gun' a loud tapping and what I perceived as a slow rasping noise came from the window directly beside me (my imagination can occasionally cloud my recollection of events so if this all appears a bit fantastical to you, it most probably is near complete make-believe). My mother now thoroughly annoyed that someone would disturb the One Show jumps up and marches to the back door, me in hot pursuit, to find a large bald man darkening the doorway. In a panicked voice he asks if we have scrap metal, we say we don't (despite the rusting farm equipment in the field beside the house). Irritated my mother slams the door and we sit quietly contemplating the strange event and the general strangeness of Fen folk.
As I return to London tomorrow evening I will probably be more tense than before I left, will no doubt have recurring anxiety stemming from the events that befell me whilst in the country and will have to most probably take a leave of absence, bury myself in the city streets and recuperate my now tender strength via a spot of retail therapy and sublime cooking. I always breathe a sigh of relief when I turn the corner on that motorway and see on the horizon the glass towers of central London because it is where I feel safest – far from hairpin bends, drooling locals and murderous combines...
Monday, January 25, 2010
I ran out of work at lunch today. Fortunately for me I had not broken the shredder, nor made kettle explode. I was simply ready for fresh air!
I walked eagerly along Pall Mall, passed the imposing gentlemens' clubs flanking one side of this grand thoroughfare. I quickly found myself in the hustle and bustle of Trafalgar Square. A stiff easterly breeze ensured I maintained a brisk momentum and I continued unabated through the swarms of tourists with my gaze fixed on Charing Cross. I sloped down Villiers Street - a grubby pedestrian alley that runs parrallel to the station. Here life itself never stops as office workers hurry about their daily routine - whether it be grabbing lunch or a brief chance to loosen up with seemingly sadistic on-street Chinese masseuses.
Through Embankment station I glided, hurried up the steps to Hungerford Bridge spurred on by what awaited me. At the top I gazed in awe as from here is one of the greatest views of London. A thousand times I have trodden this bridge but the scenery never fails to whisk my breath away, for it is a scene that reconciles all of London's history and modernity, jumbled together to present a city that's very presence booms power and might.
As I reached the other side, I turned and crossed again but this time I walked the other side with a fantastic view of the London Eye accompanied by Big Ben striking a quarter past one. Before long I found myself in Trafalgar Sq again but hurriedly burrowing my way deeper into the West End's labyrinth streets, I was met with all possibilities of diversity and life in just a few short metres as I wound my way through Chinatown and Soho. I was suddenly out in the open again, now under the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus - again working the crowds, trying in vain to get anywhere quickly. I paused on Piccadilly and sloped past an antiques market in St James Church. By this time I was peckish so I sauntered across a delightful landscaped park saluting a robin on the way and made it back to my desk in time to relax and recover from the sensory assault that is London.
What a marvellous trip! Taking in so many sights and all in half an hour. I really do love London because it displays all of life in its inexhaustible ways - and for that I can never be bored.
I walked eagerly along Pall Mall, passed the imposing gentlemens' clubs flanking one side of this grand thoroughfare. I quickly found myself in the hustle and bustle of Trafalgar Square. A stiff easterly breeze ensured I maintained a brisk momentum and I continued unabated through the swarms of tourists with my gaze fixed on Charing Cross. I sloped down Villiers Street - a grubby pedestrian alley that runs parrallel to the station. Here life itself never stops as office workers hurry about their daily routine - whether it be grabbing lunch or a brief chance to loosen up with seemingly sadistic on-street Chinese masseuses.
Through Embankment station I glided, hurried up the steps to Hungerford Bridge spurred on by what awaited me. At the top I gazed in awe as from here is one of the greatest views of London. A thousand times I have trodden this bridge but the scenery never fails to whisk my breath away, for it is a scene that reconciles all of London's history and modernity, jumbled together to present a city that's very presence booms power and might.
As I reached the other side, I turned and crossed again but this time I walked the other side with a fantastic view of the London Eye accompanied by Big Ben striking a quarter past one. Before long I found myself in Trafalgar Sq again but hurriedly burrowing my way deeper into the West End's labyrinth streets, I was met with all possibilities of diversity and life in just a few short metres as I wound my way through Chinatown and Soho. I was suddenly out in the open again, now under the neon lights of Piccadilly Circus - again working the crowds, trying in vain to get anywhere quickly. I paused on Piccadilly and sloped past an antiques market in St James Church. By this time I was peckish so I sauntered across a delightful landscaped park saluting a robin on the way and made it back to my desk in time to relax and recover from the sensory assault that is London.
What a marvellous trip! Taking in so many sights and all in half an hour. I really do love London because it displays all of life in its inexhaustible ways - and for that I can never be bored.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Twenty-Ten
It's a new year and a new decade, perfect for people who believe in the symbolic significance of the occasion to renew and renovate, to make resolutions and to start afresh.
2010 is made all the more symbolic for me because it marks the passing of a period of life that must now be resigned to my past. Leaving education and embarking on one's 'graduate' life is symbolic enough - in many respects it means a coming of age . Those graduates lucky enough to find a job will revel in the opportunity to earn their own money, accumulate experience and gain status in society. With all these positives also comes the daunting prospect of so much change and transition all at once. Learning how to wade through the quagmire of office politics and emerge on the other side not bitten down by fellow colleagues - well that's one thing. Having to adapt to multi-tasking, and adopt a consistent 'office persona' is another. It all takes time.
It has taken me the best part of 5 months to reach a point where things have finally begun to click and my life starts to seem somewhat routine in my eyes. Suddenly before you know it, things that once terrified you or seemed impossible are done without breaking sweat. I am not boasting, I think it is the same for everyone.
And so I start 2010 after a much needed rest and somewhat tumultuous reflection over the past intense few months and I hope to go forward with a somewhat clearer vision for the next decade. Perhaps a vision for the decade is a bit optimistic -best to deal with the here and now but one thing I am going to keep as my new mantra is to always have little projects on the go, with the hope that these will serve to expand horizons and provide enriching experiences.
I am aware that many people rush through life constantly distracting themselves. I don't want life to be one constant distraction. I want the things that I do to carry meaning and slot into an overarching vision. Perhaps I am an idealistic 23 year old but I am too restless to settle for the same everyday experiences, especially when I know that there is so much to get out of life. I do believe though that it is up to the individual to enrich their life and that is why this year I am setting myself a series of targets so that I can start that process.
If you think it all sounds cliched and idealistic, well, the proof is in the pudding. It will be interesting to see how I get on throughout the year, how often I lose this symbolic optimism and whether during such times I keep it going, or let it slide. Essentially, I am setting myself a challenge.
Well, we will see this time next year - god knows where I'll be or what I'll doing. Scary? yes, mildly but also ever so slightly more exciting.
2010 is made all the more symbolic for me because it marks the passing of a period of life that must now be resigned to my past. Leaving education and embarking on one's 'graduate' life is symbolic enough - in many respects it means a coming of age . Those graduates lucky enough to find a job will revel in the opportunity to earn their own money, accumulate experience and gain status in society. With all these positives also comes the daunting prospect of so much change and transition all at once. Learning how to wade through the quagmire of office politics and emerge on the other side not bitten down by fellow colleagues - well that's one thing. Having to adapt to multi-tasking, and adopt a consistent 'office persona' is another. It all takes time.
It has taken me the best part of 5 months to reach a point where things have finally begun to click and my life starts to seem somewhat routine in my eyes. Suddenly before you know it, things that once terrified you or seemed impossible are done without breaking sweat. I am not boasting, I think it is the same for everyone.
And so I start 2010 after a much needed rest and somewhat tumultuous reflection over the past intense few months and I hope to go forward with a somewhat clearer vision for the next decade. Perhaps a vision for the decade is a bit optimistic -best to deal with the here and now but one thing I am going to keep as my new mantra is to always have little projects on the go, with the hope that these will serve to expand horizons and provide enriching experiences.
I am aware that many people rush through life constantly distracting themselves. I don't want life to be one constant distraction. I want the things that I do to carry meaning and slot into an overarching vision. Perhaps I am an idealistic 23 year old but I am too restless to settle for the same everyday experiences, especially when I know that there is so much to get out of life. I do believe though that it is up to the individual to enrich their life and that is why this year I am setting myself a series of targets so that I can start that process.
If you think it all sounds cliched and idealistic, well, the proof is in the pudding. It will be interesting to see how I get on throughout the year, how often I lose this symbolic optimism and whether during such times I keep it going, or let it slide. Essentially, I am setting myself a challenge.
Well, we will see this time next year - god knows where I'll be or what I'll doing. Scary? yes, mildly but also ever so slightly more exciting.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 23, 2009
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.
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.
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