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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, January 23, 2009
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...
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...
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
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.
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.
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