9:37AM, sitting on another train. this one stops a few times on its way to Stirling, where i get off and change for the one to Inverness. i only left the backpacker's 20 minutes ago - an incredible luxury in my book. sitting in the bar sipping a coffee and looking relaxed, chatting to a couple of the folks i'd been hanging out with last night:
"What are you doing still sitting here? Shouldn't you be at the station?"
nah - i've got 20 minutes to get from here to there (pointing across the road to the sign 10 metres away that reads "Edinburgh Waverley"). you know what, i think i'm gonna be ok.
"HA! Well, we'll see you back here in half an hour when you miss it! We'll be waiting!"
sorry guys. it's been real, but i'm off.
true to prediction, i was not a happy lad when i awoke yesterday morning. the warm room and doona had saved me from the worst of it, but my legs were still stiff and aching and my shoulders whined in protest at the abuse. i lay there while my companions were getting up and got ready to face the day. the room had nearly emptied the day before - all that was left was Sam - a girl from Sydney who'd been there the night before, and a pretty Romanian girl who's name i hadn't caught who was there because she'd missed the train out to the farm she was headed to the night before. she'd asked a taxi driver about somewhere to stay and he'd pointed her towards the nearest hostel to the train station. she explained that she was a something between a horticulturist and a botanist and had been employed on a 6 month contract to work with rare flowers. never been out of home, and now she was in Scotland on what sounded like a pretty awesome adventure. she heard me grumbling about being stiff and achy (i explained that it was self-imposed misery, but she was sympathetic regardless) and the next thing i know she's kneeling on the floor and demanding that i give her a foot which she proceeded to massage. this sort of kindness from strangers was a bit of a shock, but i wasn't going to rock the boat.
when she was done i thanked her profusely and took her downstairs so that she could get a quick feed before she was picked up by someone from the farm. i asked the usual questions - the answers don't necessarily mean much to me, but it's comforting to talk about home, and it gets people's lips moving. she was from Transylvania, which got an instant grin out of me, and she made an obvious joke about vampires and werewolves. of course, it's somewhere i'd like to get to at some point and she insisted that i contact her before going so that her family could show me around. i'd known her for about 45 minutes at this point, and i nearly fell over by her earnest friendliness. i managed to dodge exchanging numbers to make sure the temptation didn't arrise, but as she headed out the door with a slightly confused looking scotsman carrying her bag i couldn't help but hope that she got by ok. some people are just too fucking nice for their own good, but she put a smile on my face and 24 hours later i can't help but wonder how she's getting on.
the Romanian girl now a memory, i finished shovelling cereal into my mouth and got myself ready to face the day. it wasn't until 10AM that my boots hit the pavement, sunglasses on my face to ward off the bright, sunny day which none-the-less felt like ice, and headed north. i'd taken 15 minutes out, sitting on the veneer floor of the dorm, stretching to get my unhappy muscles moving before getting kitted up and getting out. i could have headed down to Holyrood Castle, but after the day before's adventures the idea of another castle and more touristy shit did not sit well with me, so instead i took a bearing on the water i could see in the distance and headed for it, meandering otherwise aimlessly through the New Town.
the Georgian New Town was built with geometric precision after 300 years of Edinbrugh being confined to a mile-by-half-mile area behind the Flodden Wall, built to keep the English out but instead served to just keep the Scots in. for 300 years they built higher and higher inside the wall, expanding way past maximum capacity, creating a population and hygenic nightmare until it was finally decreed that the wall would no longer be maintained. the people took it into their own hands at that point and, so the story goes, they quietly demolished it inside of 5 months and sprawled with reckless abandon. the New Town is a victory of urban planning - the roads for the most part are grid-like, each block another series of uniform terrace houses. from up high it looks very impressive, especially seing as it was built in 3 stages over the course of a century. after 20 or so minutes of wandering generally northwards i was well and truly off any of the maps that i had so i just kept making educated guesses, letting my instincts, and then the bus stops be my guide. it took a little over an hour to get to the water, by which time i was staggering. most of the kinks had been worked out, but i was far from recovered, so after a little while of standing on the edge of the redevelopment i asked around and found a bus to take me back to Princes St (the edge of New Town closest to the train station). i was fortunate in that the number 10 took me through the suburb of Leith, somewhere i'd wanted to at least pass through so that i could drop an email to an old friend of mine of the same name and tell him i'd been there.
it was past midday by the point the bus let me off in front of the Sir Walter Scott Memorial, and i needed to sit down somewhere and sort myself out for an hour or two. in my travels i'd been pointed towards Rose St - a not-quite-street, not-quite-lane one block up from Princes St - which was reputed to be pretty much wall-to-wall bars and taverns. 40-odd of them. finding a place to sit down, have a quiet beer and some food was pretty easy - all i needed to do then was walk up one direction or another until i saw the familiar "Free WiFi" sticker in a window. walked, found, entered, connected, i had a pint (so that i'd be a customer) and started working out What The Fuck i Was Doing. having an extra day up my sleeve in the hostel was a bonus, but by this point i was starting to get a little sick of Edinburgh. don't get me wrong - nice town, but the time to move on was rapidly approaching. Inverness was the next place on the cards, but with Perth (Scotland) an hour or so north it was a temptation and i had a look at options, but in the end Perth went in the Too Hard Basket - i could have done it as a day-trip, but the timing was looking a bit harsh and i've had to hump my backpack around for the day, and hostels in the town were looking thin on the ground so without having to pay at lesat 3 times as much for a B&B an overnighter wasn't going to happen. 20 minutes later a £10 train ticket to Inverness was booked, as well as a couple of nights at a hostel near to the station and that was that.
plans made and sorted, i had something to eat and and a pint of water while i checked the news and investigated tours and things to do in Inverness and the surrounds. when my battery started to wind down i packed up and headed west along Princes St and up Carlton Hill where Eve and i had gone back on Sunday, enjoying the view for a little while before i headed back to the hostel.
i just got distracted in an amusing way: after changing trains at Stirling and now Inverness-bound, i wound up sitting across from a Swedish couple playing guitar and singing old James Taylor songs. we wound up getting chatting for something like half an hour about music, and since i have my music collection on my Eee i gave them an introduction to some reasonably obscure Australian music. i'm now SO glad i made up the Oz Mix - it made things a whole lot easier...
when i got in Sam had just got back from checking out the castle and we got chatting. i wanted more scotch, and managed to convince her to come up to High Street and try some, so 10 minutes were were swapping stories in the Albernach while sipping 21 year old Glenfarclas. having someone to hang out with was really very pleasant - we've next to nothing in common, apart from being a ridiculously long way from home, but a friendly face and company over pints seemed to be enough. back in the hostel bar we met up with Blondie (from Melbourne, with a penchant for giving people nicknames, which is probably why i can't remember hers) and Random (Steve from Winnipeg, Canada). for the rest of the evening i managed to gain the title of PC (for Perth/Canberra) and after playing cards and demolishing burgers the four of us headed off for a pub crawl which wound up lasting just one pub (the Bannerman where i'd been the day before) before fetching back up at the hostel again. i wasn't overly upset - i felt that i'd seen my share of pubs by this point and finishing the evening within staggering distance of my bed was entirely For The Win. Sam and i had the dorm to ourselves... although when we'd passed through after getting back from the Albernach the windows had been open and there was a strong smell of weed in the room. the Sneaky Stoner didn't resurface and by midnight i was showered and sleeping the sleep of the dead, and the rather tipsy.
meanwhile, the Swedes are back to singing and playing and making pleasant noise to my left and the view out the windor is of hills and trees and old stone buildings all dusted in snow. is it happened, the train wound up stopping at Perth, so i grabbed my camera, dumped out and took a bunch of hurried photos to prove i'd been there. from what i could see while passing through there's not really a lot going on, but at least i got there, if only for a minute or two. between the 24-Hour Friends back in Edinburgh, the jovial Swedes and my minor wish-fulfilment of getting to Perth, i'm in really quite high spirits. 24 hours ago i was starting to lose interest... now i'm back in the swing and curious as to what the world will look like when i get to my destination...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Edinburgh: you are guaranteed to regret this tomorrow...
sweet fuckery i hurt. i just climbed a mountain. a snow-covered mountain, no less. it's funny - we all have these things we want to do before we die. climbing a mountain was never really on my list, but now i've done it i think i'll add it anyway. it was only a little mountain, as far as mountains go - 251 metres in total. my trusty (and heavy - have i ever meantioned heavy?) Lonely Planet guide said that it was an easy walk. an hour or so. but i'll bet you the coffee i'm drinking those fuckers never did after a night of bloody snow.
a quick break to demolish my 2nd breakfast and i'm back, finishing off the coffee (which is good... so good). i'm sitting in The Rabbie Burns - it being the first place i found that looked like it had a decent lunch. in my mind, All Day Breakfast counts as lunch, and their version of the Big Breakfast included haggis so it had to be done. that, and it's warm, dry and there arev nice eastern-eurpoean women who seem more than happy to bring me coffee while i sit here feeling like i've just been beaten up and pissed on by excited Welsh rugby supporters (there was a lot of piss on the streets. i was informed that it was because the Welsh were in town. no love lost there then...).
i was on the street at 9AM. my alarm had gone off before 8, and of course got snoozed - my hand found it before my eyes rembered how to open and instinctively hit the right button. sleeping in a smallish dorm room with 8 or 9 other people left me better rested than i had expected - i passed out not much past midnight and apart from the creaking of the metal bunks as people shifted in their sleep, none of them were noisy or irritating. a quick shower later (and a MUCH better shower than back at base-camp) and i was shovelling toast, cereal and coffee down my throat, got tooled up and headed down towards the hill. Arthur's Seat is at the top of the highest mountain in the area and affords incredible views of the countryside. of course, right after the snow the air's far from clear. not foggy, just not clear, so i don't think many of my photos came out too well. still, for all the sore legs getting up there it was worth the view. coming down was quicker, but treacherous. i wound up on my arse at least twice, and i know i got air on the third slide, breaking the fall on my side. i got up swearing, pondering the relative entertainment of trying to get some laundry dry, imagining just how grubby i was going to wind up and wondering how the fucking hell the two old people ahead of me with walking sticks weren't just keeping pace, but making distance on me (no - seriously. how did they not slip and brek their fucking hips?). one of the benefits of being up a snowy mountain with very few people around was that when nature called, i did finally get to write my name in the snow. hoorjay!
eventually i fetched up back on level ground again and trudged back up the Royal Mile towards Edinburgh Castle. typically, the Mile is UPHILL to the fucking castle which is why i started assessing anything that looked like a relatively budget eatery on the way. this isn't at all the area for cheap food. welcome to Edinburg's Tourist Central. there are kilt shops and bagpipe shops and Historical Taverns so densely packed that if you tripped over one you'd faceplant in the next. still, it's pretty and entertaining. i'll pick this up again later this afternoon/evening.
---
another 4 hours later, another interesting location. right now i'm sitting in a basement scotch whisky bar with a shot of something lovely in a glass that looks like it was designed by craftsmen intent on ensuring that i enjoy its contents as much as humanly possible. it's less than 50 metres from the gates of the castle and had a sign above the door saying "The Scotch Whisky Experience" and somehow i knew i had to go and check it out.
after leaving The Rabbie Burns i
OOH FUCK, MY THROAT IS IN HEAVEN! IT'S LIKE A BURNING SLUG OF HAPPINESS!
sorry, anyway, i continued up the hill to the castle. i'm not going to go into the details of the place. come here. go see it. it's pretty, it's old, it's got a lot of history. i did the tour, which i recommend if only because it's free (well, after you pay the £10 entry fee), it runs every half an hour and you'll pick up a lot of useful information which comes in useful when you start to wander... and the view's spectacular.
i wound up hanging around there for the best part of 3 hours looking around all the little nooks and crannies of the place. by the time i left i was getting towards ruined. another long day with a LOT of walking (climbing, falling on my arse)
OOOOH IT'S SMOOTH, IT'S VELVETY, IT'S LIKE SOME SCOTTISH BASTARD LEARNED HOW TO TRAP JOY IN A BOTTLE!
erm... yeah. tired. sore. getting REALLY sore now, and i've still to do the cemetery tour i missed out on last night. plan of attack for the moment is to sit around in this little bar for a while longer and try something else. at £3.50/shot it's not the cheapest way to spend an afternoon, but they have nearly 300 different bottles of scotch on the wall and a lot of them i'll not get the chance to taste without spending over $150/bottle somewhere out in the world. that, and the bar attendant has a gorgeous accent and knows her stuff incredibly thoroughly.
hmm... note to self. find a single malt tour. probably best done from Inverness. i should get the chance to finish this off later tonight.
---
a chair in the bar downstairs from the hostel, my drink's changed to Guiness and i'm hearing american accents from the groups of people doing the pub quiz. i'd be in on it... in fact, i'm almost a little disappointed that i didn't pay attention to the signs saying it was on, but what the hell. i did the cemetery tour instead.
i bogged out of the whisky bar after having another shot and chatting to the bar attendent for a bit, getting some suggestions on out-of-the-way pubs to visit while i'm here. i wandered off and found one of them down on Cowgate and wound up having a couple of pints cruising the net. there was no "Free WiFi" sticker that i noticed, but their wireless router had pride of place, hanging in an ornate birdcage over the left-hand side of the bar, so i settled into one of the big, plush couches and drank local beer (which tasted oddly of peat) and cruised the net while i ate, catching up on the news from back home. i still read The Age, The Australian and (when i'm really bored) the Sydney Morning Herald to find out what's going on back home, otherwise i'd never know about the $950 K-Rudd wants to give me for Anzac Day.
anyway, fortified by my 3rd big meal of the day and happy from the two pints with which i'd followed my scotch i wandered back to the hostel to dump some stuff and have a bit of a sit down before wandering off to the ghost tour, which was also good fun. the guide for this evening was actually from Wollongong. she was trying to cover her accent with a bit of an english one, but her aussie kept shining through. it was fun, informative, theatrical, and i got a couple of pounds off the price because i'd gone along to the Vault tour the night before and had missed out on doing the cemetery last night.
i hiked back to the hostel through the wet, dark streets of Edinburgh's Old Town feeling exhausted. it's not that i covered a lot of miles today, but the place is hilly. REALLY hilly... compared to anywhere i've walked around before at least. the Old Town's also completely riddled with alleyways. as the buildings were built they just left bits out. some of these Closes are wide enough to drive a car down. one i walked down this evening was narrow enough that if someone had tried to pass me we would have had to both be pretty friendly. walking down one of these wet cobbled streets with insufficient lighting is actually really spooky, although that could have had a lot to do with the spooky tours i've done these last two nights. the Royal Mile which runs between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Castle (royalty lived in the one at the bottom of the hill, and came up to the one on top of the hill when they had to. links two castles, a mile long, not a very imaginative name) seems to be built along a ridge, and if you turn off in either direction you wind up heading down quite a steep slope. it would probably partly explain why i've not seen any fat people around since i got here (or in the local parlance: thaat be whah arve nae seen noo faht people in Ehd'nbraa). they burn it all off walking up and down the bloody hills.
still, ignoring how demolished i'm feeling at the moment (the litany goes as follows: sore chest and shoulders from my shoulder-bag, right bicep for some unknown reason, both knees, quads and calves, right palm from using it to break my fall on the mountain, feet from wearing these boots for 14 hours now and, of course, walking all fucking day) today's been good. i've extended my stay here for another 2 days since i got a 2-for-1 offer and it cost me the same as booking only for a single night. watch me complain - even if i do leave on wednesday it's not as if it cost me any more and i'm a fan of having flexibility.
tomorrow i think i'm going to go fairly easy... although i'm tempted to walk to the coastline directly to the north so that i can dip my toe in the North Sea. i probably won't get the chance at Inverness since it's on Loch Ness. still, while i don't mind trudging for miles on end i'm not climbing any more snowy fucking mountains for the next few days, i'll say that much. i'm relatively certain that my body is going to exact a penance upon me for my exertions today come tomorrow. i'll have a shower before bed tonight in an effort to appease the physical shell, but it's going to hurt one way or another and it'll take some work to get me moving again in the morning. still, another pint should help with the sleeping process. that would make... um... 4 today, plus scotch... but that was only tasting sizes so it doesn't count, right?
oh well. it's 11PM now and i've about had it so i can see an early night in my future... at least, once i finish my fresh Guiness...
a quick break to demolish my 2nd breakfast and i'm back, finishing off the coffee (which is good... so good). i'm sitting in The Rabbie Burns - it being the first place i found that looked like it had a decent lunch. in my mind, All Day Breakfast counts as lunch, and their version of the Big Breakfast included haggis so it had to be done. that, and it's warm, dry and there arev nice eastern-eurpoean women who seem more than happy to bring me coffee while i sit here feeling like i've just been beaten up and pissed on by excited Welsh rugby supporters (there was a lot of piss on the streets. i was informed that it was because the Welsh were in town. no love lost there then...).
i was on the street at 9AM. my alarm had gone off before 8, and of course got snoozed - my hand found it before my eyes rembered how to open and instinctively hit the right button. sleeping in a smallish dorm room with 8 or 9 other people left me better rested than i had expected - i passed out not much past midnight and apart from the creaking of the metal bunks as people shifted in their sleep, none of them were noisy or irritating. a quick shower later (and a MUCH better shower than back at base-camp) and i was shovelling toast, cereal and coffee down my throat, got tooled up and headed down towards the hill. Arthur's Seat is at the top of the highest mountain in the area and affords incredible views of the countryside. of course, right after the snow the air's far from clear. not foggy, just not clear, so i don't think many of my photos came out too well. still, for all the sore legs getting up there it was worth the view. coming down was quicker, but treacherous. i wound up on my arse at least twice, and i know i got air on the third slide, breaking the fall on my side. i got up swearing, pondering the relative entertainment of trying to get some laundry dry, imagining just how grubby i was going to wind up and wondering how the fucking hell the two old people ahead of me with walking sticks weren't just keeping pace, but making distance on me (no - seriously. how did they not slip and brek their fucking hips?). one of the benefits of being up a snowy mountain with very few people around was that when nature called, i did finally get to write my name in the snow. hoorjay!
eventually i fetched up back on level ground again and trudged back up the Royal Mile towards Edinburgh Castle. typically, the Mile is UPHILL to the fucking castle which is why i started assessing anything that looked like a relatively budget eatery on the way. this isn't at all the area for cheap food. welcome to Edinburg's Tourist Central. there are kilt shops and bagpipe shops and Historical Taverns so densely packed that if you tripped over one you'd faceplant in the next. still, it's pretty and entertaining. i'll pick this up again later this afternoon/evening.
---
another 4 hours later, another interesting location. right now i'm sitting in a basement scotch whisky bar with a shot of something lovely in a glass that looks like it was designed by craftsmen intent on ensuring that i enjoy its contents as much as humanly possible. it's less than 50 metres from the gates of the castle and had a sign above the door saying "The Scotch Whisky Experience" and somehow i knew i had to go and check it out.
after leaving The Rabbie Burns i
OOH FUCK, MY THROAT IS IN HEAVEN! IT'S LIKE A BURNING SLUG OF HAPPINESS!
sorry, anyway, i continued up the hill to the castle. i'm not going to go into the details of the place. come here. go see it. it's pretty, it's old, it's got a lot of history. i did the tour, which i recommend if only because it's free (well, after you pay the £10 entry fee), it runs every half an hour and you'll pick up a lot of useful information which comes in useful when you start to wander... and the view's spectacular.
i wound up hanging around there for the best part of 3 hours looking around all the little nooks and crannies of the place. by the time i left i was getting towards ruined. another long day with a LOT of walking (climbing, falling on my arse)
OOOOH IT'S SMOOTH, IT'S VELVETY, IT'S LIKE SOME SCOTTISH BASTARD LEARNED HOW TO TRAP JOY IN A BOTTLE!
erm... yeah. tired. sore. getting REALLY sore now, and i've still to do the cemetery tour i missed out on last night. plan of attack for the moment is to sit around in this little bar for a while longer and try something else. at £3.50/shot it's not the cheapest way to spend an afternoon, but they have nearly 300 different bottles of scotch on the wall and a lot of them i'll not get the chance to taste without spending over $150/bottle somewhere out in the world. that, and the bar attendant has a gorgeous accent and knows her stuff incredibly thoroughly.
hmm... note to self. find a single malt tour. probably best done from Inverness. i should get the chance to finish this off later tonight.
---
a chair in the bar downstairs from the hostel, my drink's changed to Guiness and i'm hearing american accents from the groups of people doing the pub quiz. i'd be in on it... in fact, i'm almost a little disappointed that i didn't pay attention to the signs saying it was on, but what the hell. i did the cemetery tour instead.
i bogged out of the whisky bar after having another shot and chatting to the bar attendent for a bit, getting some suggestions on out-of-the-way pubs to visit while i'm here. i wandered off and found one of them down on Cowgate and wound up having a couple of pints cruising the net. there was no "Free WiFi" sticker that i noticed, but their wireless router had pride of place, hanging in an ornate birdcage over the left-hand side of the bar, so i settled into one of the big, plush couches and drank local beer (which tasted oddly of peat) and cruised the net while i ate, catching up on the news from back home. i still read The Age, The Australian and (when i'm really bored) the Sydney Morning Herald to find out what's going on back home, otherwise i'd never know about the $950 K-Rudd wants to give me for Anzac Day.
anyway, fortified by my 3rd big meal of the day and happy from the two pints with which i'd followed my scotch i wandered back to the hostel to dump some stuff and have a bit of a sit down before wandering off to the ghost tour, which was also good fun. the guide for this evening was actually from Wollongong. she was trying to cover her accent with a bit of an english one, but her aussie kept shining through. it was fun, informative, theatrical, and i got a couple of pounds off the price because i'd gone along to the Vault tour the night before and had missed out on doing the cemetery last night.
i hiked back to the hostel through the wet, dark streets of Edinburgh's Old Town feeling exhausted. it's not that i covered a lot of miles today, but the place is hilly. REALLY hilly... compared to anywhere i've walked around before at least. the Old Town's also completely riddled with alleyways. as the buildings were built they just left bits out. some of these Closes are wide enough to drive a car down. one i walked down this evening was narrow enough that if someone had tried to pass me we would have had to both be pretty friendly. walking down one of these wet cobbled streets with insufficient lighting is actually really spooky, although that could have had a lot to do with the spooky tours i've done these last two nights. the Royal Mile which runs between Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Castle (royalty lived in the one at the bottom of the hill, and came up to the one on top of the hill when they had to. links two castles, a mile long, not a very imaginative name) seems to be built along a ridge, and if you turn off in either direction you wind up heading down quite a steep slope. it would probably partly explain why i've not seen any fat people around since i got here (or in the local parlance: thaat be whah arve nae seen noo faht people in Ehd'nbraa). they burn it all off walking up and down the bloody hills.
still, ignoring how demolished i'm feeling at the moment (the litany goes as follows: sore chest and shoulders from my shoulder-bag, right bicep for some unknown reason, both knees, quads and calves, right palm from using it to break my fall on the mountain, feet from wearing these boots for 14 hours now and, of course, walking all fucking day) today's been good. i've extended my stay here for another 2 days since i got a 2-for-1 offer and it cost me the same as booking only for a single night. watch me complain - even if i do leave on wednesday it's not as if it cost me any more and i'm a fan of having flexibility.
tomorrow i think i'm going to go fairly easy... although i'm tempted to walk to the coastline directly to the north so that i can dip my toe in the North Sea. i probably won't get the chance at Inverness since it's on Loch Ness. still, while i don't mind trudging for miles on end i'm not climbing any more snowy fucking mountains for the next few days, i'll say that much. i'm relatively certain that my body is going to exact a penance upon me for my exertions today come tomorrow. i'll have a shower before bed tonight in an effort to appease the physical shell, but it's going to hurt one way or another and it'll take some work to get me moving again in the morning. still, another pint should help with the sleeping process. that would make... um... 4 today, plus scotch... but that was only tasting sizes so it doesn't count, right?
oh well. it's 11PM now and i've about had it so i can see an early night in my future... at least, once i finish my fresh Guiness...
Edinburgh - a strangely ominous sort of place...
after the bright lights and modernity of London, Edinburgh was something of a shock. i'd seen a couple of photos before arriving - long shots of the castle, mostly. getting in i was completely unprepared for the weighty feeling of age you feel when you wander around the streets. it turns out that where i'm staying is actually across Market St from Edinburgh Waverley Station which is in the Old Town, and around here they're not fucking kidding with the word Old. in fact, the New town didn't actually fill me with feelings of modernity. most of that was still older than most of Australia, and i'd have been freaking out a bit if it wasn't so downright cool.
i wound up rather enjoying my train ride, polishing off 7 cups of coffee while i sat around and blogged, enjoying the luxury of space, comfort, and a power point. the train arrived on time at 2PM, and by 2:30PM i'd checked into my hostel. dumped my backpack and hit the street again to find Eve. i'd met Eve once before on my trip to Brighton and had faithfully Friended her on Facebook in order to make it easier to keep in touch later if the chance came up - it's the quickest and easiest way i've found to date to expand your social network. when browsing FB yesterday i noticed her status saying that she was up here, so i dropped her a line and we tentatively arranged to meet up when i got here. she's been here since Friday and had tramped across most of town already, but was keen on lunch and kind enough to shout me, so we found a place with a good wine list and ate hearty comfort-food while downing a bottle of good Italin red. we'd only really met briefly back at Brighton and hadn't really had much of a chance to talk, but it was pleasant to see a friendly place in a strange place and she has strong geek-roots so we had plenty to talk about.
we wound up wandering to an infamous graveyard not too far away and looked around until the light started to fade. it's infamous because of one particular internee who's supposedly one of the best-documented poltergeists in history. Edinburgh has a big thing going with ghosts apparantly. i don't know the full story, in part because the tour i was going to go on this evening was cancelled due to insufficient patronage, which is why i'm now sitting in one of the bars downstairs from my hostel having a pint to myself in a window seat, watching the snow fall outside.
as the light faded Eve suggested that we head up to Carlton Hill where there's a great view of the lights of the city to be seen and photographed. it's not the BIG hill nearby - that's a trip for another day with more light and more time, but we climbed up and took some photos before she had to go and pick up her bag and head off for the shuttle to the airport. having nothing else to do for an hour or so i stopped in the hostel to take stock and pull my book and the bottled water i'd nabbed on the train out of my shoulder bag in order to lighten the load a bit before heading off again.
in my research of last night i found a link to a couple of walking tours that looked interesting - one through a series of underground vaults built into one of the bridges between Old Town and New Town, the other which heads through a couple of the grave yards, including the one with the aforementioned poltergeist. ordinarily i'd avoid guided tours - i'd much rather wander the streets at my own pace, but when it comes to locked and out of the way places, or less-than-well documented history sometimes going with a guide can be awesome. fortuntely, the meeting point was just around the corner from my hostel, so i was there with plenty of time. the first tour was the underground, so i joined the crew and followed the David Tennant look-alike around and i'm so incredibly glad i went. he was funny, knowledgeable, and he presented in a remarkably entertaining way, discussing Scotish history in greater detail than you really thought necessary, until you realise that he was setting the scene as an explanation for what was later to come. one point he launched into a story about the visit of King George IV and by the time it was all explained and the relevance understood you were so enthralled that you'd forgotten why he was telling the story in the first place... and really didn't care. if you wind up in Edinburgh and you're looking for something to do of an evening, doing the City Of The Dead (ignore the wanky name) tours are well worth it.
after finishing up i had half an hour to kill before the Cemetery tour started and it was snowing in earnest. you'd think this would ruin a night-time walking tour, but i was excited. spooky cemetery at night? cool. spooky cemetery in the murky snow? FUCKING AWESOME! unfortunately they needed 15 people to run and with only 10 showing up the 9:30PM tour was cancelled. i was a little gutted since that was my plan for the evening out the window, but hey - this is how things go sometimes. i wandered the 10 minutes back to the hostel, grabbed a pint and found a seat to write stuff down.
it's been a long day. i'm tired, i'm achy and i'm certainly more alone than i've been in ages - sitting in a bar in a strange city listening to the bar staff (at least 3 of which are Australian from the accents) banter as they close up. they've let me sit here because i'm not in the way, but i expect i'll be moved along pretty soon. tomorrow will likely involve wandering up and down the Royal Mile, visiting Edinburgh Castle, and (if weather and light permits), hiking up to Arthur's Seat. there're are a few things to see around here, and i can see it occupying at least the next couple of days. right now i'm going to go and check the activity in the main bar next door, and if that's too boring or irritating i'll head upstairs and watch something on my Eee and get some sleep. breakfast's laid on here (which is impressive since i'm only paying £12/night) so i might as well try to get up early and take advantage of it, even if only in the hope that i can avoid spending cash on lunch (i know that's bad - don't start). i'm in a 10-person mixed dorm, but it didn't seem full when i was up there earlier, and with luck no one'll be too noisy, although i have ear plugs just in case.
meanwhile - note to self: buy a padlock for the under-bunk storage. i remember Moonbug once telling me that a padlock was essential equipment when backpacking, but the relevance of the comment didn't dawn on me until i saw the little wire cage under the bed today. i might make that something i keep an eye out for tomorrow... meanwhile, time to go see if there's anyone interesting in the other bar and let these guys close up...
i wound up rather enjoying my train ride, polishing off 7 cups of coffee while i sat around and blogged, enjoying the luxury of space, comfort, and a power point. the train arrived on time at 2PM, and by 2:30PM i'd checked into my hostel. dumped my backpack and hit the street again to find Eve. i'd met Eve once before on my trip to Brighton and had faithfully Friended her on Facebook in order to make it easier to keep in touch later if the chance came up - it's the quickest and easiest way i've found to date to expand your social network. when browsing FB yesterday i noticed her status saying that she was up here, so i dropped her a line and we tentatively arranged to meet up when i got here. she's been here since Friday and had tramped across most of town already, but was keen on lunch and kind enough to shout me, so we found a place with a good wine list and ate hearty comfort-food while downing a bottle of good Italin red. we'd only really met briefly back at Brighton and hadn't really had much of a chance to talk, but it was pleasant to see a friendly place in a strange place and she has strong geek-roots so we had plenty to talk about.
we wound up wandering to an infamous graveyard not too far away and looked around until the light started to fade. it's infamous because of one particular internee who's supposedly one of the best-documented poltergeists in history. Edinburgh has a big thing going with ghosts apparantly. i don't know the full story, in part because the tour i was going to go on this evening was cancelled due to insufficient patronage, which is why i'm now sitting in one of the bars downstairs from my hostel having a pint to myself in a window seat, watching the snow fall outside.
as the light faded Eve suggested that we head up to Carlton Hill where there's a great view of the lights of the city to be seen and photographed. it's not the BIG hill nearby - that's a trip for another day with more light and more time, but we climbed up and took some photos before she had to go and pick up her bag and head off for the shuttle to the airport. having nothing else to do for an hour or so i stopped in the hostel to take stock and pull my book and the bottled water i'd nabbed on the train out of my shoulder bag in order to lighten the load a bit before heading off again.
in my research of last night i found a link to a couple of walking tours that looked interesting - one through a series of underground vaults built into one of the bridges between Old Town and New Town, the other which heads through a couple of the grave yards, including the one with the aforementioned poltergeist. ordinarily i'd avoid guided tours - i'd much rather wander the streets at my own pace, but when it comes to locked and out of the way places, or less-than-well documented history sometimes going with a guide can be awesome. fortuntely, the meeting point was just around the corner from my hostel, so i was there with plenty of time. the first tour was the underground, so i joined the crew and followed the David Tennant look-alike around and i'm so incredibly glad i went. he was funny, knowledgeable, and he presented in a remarkably entertaining way, discussing Scotish history in greater detail than you really thought necessary, until you realise that he was setting the scene as an explanation for what was later to come. one point he launched into a story about the visit of King George IV and by the time it was all explained and the relevance understood you were so enthralled that you'd forgotten why he was telling the story in the first place... and really didn't care. if you wind up in Edinburgh and you're looking for something to do of an evening, doing the City Of The Dead (ignore the wanky name) tours are well worth it.
after finishing up i had half an hour to kill before the Cemetery tour started and it was snowing in earnest. you'd think this would ruin a night-time walking tour, but i was excited. spooky cemetery at night? cool. spooky cemetery in the murky snow? FUCKING AWESOME! unfortunately they needed 15 people to run and with only 10 showing up the 9:30PM tour was cancelled. i was a little gutted since that was my plan for the evening out the window, but hey - this is how things go sometimes. i wandered the 10 minutes back to the hostel, grabbed a pint and found a seat to write stuff down.
it's been a long day. i'm tired, i'm achy and i'm certainly more alone than i've been in ages - sitting in a bar in a strange city listening to the bar staff (at least 3 of which are Australian from the accents) banter as they close up. they've let me sit here because i'm not in the way, but i expect i'll be moved along pretty soon. tomorrow will likely involve wandering up and down the Royal Mile, visiting Edinburgh Castle, and (if weather and light permits), hiking up to Arthur's Seat. there're are a few things to see around here, and i can see it occupying at least the next couple of days. right now i'm going to go and check the activity in the main bar next door, and if that's too boring or irritating i'll head upstairs and watch something on my Eee and get some sleep. breakfast's laid on here (which is impressive since i'm only paying £12/night) so i might as well try to get up early and take advantage of it, even if only in the hope that i can avoid spending cash on lunch (i know that's bad - don't start). i'm in a 10-person mixed dorm, but it didn't seem full when i was up there earlier, and with luck no one'll be too noisy, although i have ear plugs just in case.
meanwhile - note to self: buy a padlock for the under-bunk storage. i remember Moonbug once telling me that a padlock was essential equipment when backpacking, but the relevance of the comment didn't dawn on me until i saw the little wire cage under the bed today. i might make that something i keep an eye out for tomorrow... meanwhile, time to go see if there's anyone interesting in the other bar and let these guys close up...
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Giving Up part 2 - this i did not expect (but could get used to)...
outside there are fields of white - where the city has gone icy and depressed, out here it still looks pure with a stark beauty that doesn't so much smack you in the eyeballs as sit back with a sherry and a pipe, its tweed jacket belying a hooligan past, the look in its eye asking cynically:
"... and?"
meanwhile i'm sitting here blogging while i look out the window, enjoying the graffiti sprayed on the walls around snowed-in soccer-fields enjoying the novelty of blogging while on public transport. what's that? yes, i KNOW i've been blogging a lot on public transport, but this is different - this is LIVE. somehow i managed to book a 1st-class ticket on the 9:05 to Edinburgh. i can only assume that thetrainline.com blindsided me, or that i clicked on the wrong checkbox, or that this was simply the cheapest fare available for today, and... you know what? fuck it. i have an enormous reclining seat in a cluster of 4 to myself, and all the coffee i can drink while i sit here with a power point and a WiFi connection and fuck you if you think i'm not going to make the most of it.
i was supposed to get some sleep last night - alarms (3 of were set for 6:59, 7:01 and 7:07 this morning, and with 4 and a half hours of sleep behind me i was awake, staring at the faint halo around the curtains and wishing for death. 7:33 and i was moving. 8:09 and i was out the door, Death Cab For Cute providing the now standard soundtrack for my "i'm up too early with too little sleep" experience. tube from Oval to Kings Cross St Pancras (Kings Cross is the city overland and national rail terminal, St Pancras is international) with enough time to collect my tickets and find my train, but not enough to get bored waiting. Kings Cross is a fairly unimpressive yellow-beige brick building notable only for its size and the triskell-motif'd clock. next door, St Pancras is far more impressive with a spire rising above the filth not unlike one of the many churches you see damn near everywhere in London.
of course, what you may be wondering (if you've been following the narrative in recent history) is what the fuck i'm doing in 1st-class on an overland train, and where the fuck am i going? see, i could have explained at the start, but starting there wouldn't have been so fun now, would it?
when last i spoke i mentioned that i was waiting for news from jobs to come in. since then i had another interview for a Team Leader job for a small government advisory commission (which went surprisingly well, thanks), and so i waited. then finally, on Friday afternoon i got news from both sets of pimps - their sympathetic speeches so similar they could have been carbon-copied:
"You did incredibly well at interview. They were really impressed with the way you answered the questions succinctly, they thought you have a great personality for the role, technical skills are right up there and your leadership style would work really well for them. It was a hard decision - it was down between you and one other guy, but in this situation they've decided not to move forward with you, but they really want to consider you for future roles if they come up."
well fuckery - you've got to be fucking kidding. 2nd best is 1st loser, and twice more i've been the best of the rest. i've said before that if the jobs i was in for didn't come through i'd be fucking off into the hinterlands and less than 48 hours later, being a man of my word, i'm on a train heading north at "surprisingly ridiculous"-an-hour and onto my second cup of "better than any airline i've ever been on" coffee.
Friday was not one of my shining moments - i waited and i was sick of waiting and 2 weeks of waiting culminated in one afternoon of failure. i'd spent the day bumming around the flat before heading into Leicester Square for a couple of hours, with plans of cruising the job sites, sorting out some paperwork and hitting the National Portrait Gallery (i walk past it almost every day and had never been in before). i must admit that while i enjoyed the gallery, it would have been nice to have seen more photographic work since i was fishing for ideas on composition in the interests of hopefully improving my own photography. the second call came through while i was on the bus on my way back to base-camp and i managed to not blow out the windows with a scream of rage and despair, (later 1/3 of a bottle of scotch helped wash down the bitter pill of failure) and within 5 minutes of walking in the door i was pulling open the bookmarks i'd saved weeks ago and started getting organised. come Saturday morning i booked the train out of town, and the first two nights in a hostel, while i sipped my morning coffee, then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon being shown around Greenwich Park (which has ducks and pigeons and squirrels and deer) by SiJ, then the evening watching Stargate, fixing the music player on my Eee, drying clothes and packing my shoulder bag and backpack.
you might notice that i've not discussed my plans, and the canny amongst you will have worked out that it's because i don't have any. i know where i'm staying tonight and tomorrow. past there i can't really bring myself to give a fuck. i can extend my stay in the hostel, or change if i want. i can find transport to get me to the next town. i've got my passport and access to enough cash to keep me for a year if the urge should strike to do something unexpected. i'm past caring and i'm past comprehension. i don't even know when i'll be back in London - it'll be either when the idea sits right with me, or i get bored of wandering. whichever comes first. in the meantime, i'm Dropping Off The Face Of The Planet with my middle finger raised in one final "fuck you" to anyone bored enough to watch me fall.
were it not for the absurd novelty of having a net connection on the train i'd have been officially Offline from the moment i walked out the door this morning. i'm a fairly well connected lad - being an IT professional and technology enthusiast i live a pretty hifi life. one of my great fantasies of the last couple of years has been to switch off and fuck off into the distance for a while. no phone, no net, just me, my PSD, access to transport and hopefully places i've never been. sure, i've got my Eee with me, but that just means i can write to my heart's content and worry about posting it all later. no email, no Facebook, no phone ringing. hell - if i didn't want to be able to take calls form pimps i'd have turned my fucking phone off and thrown it so hard at the fucking wall it'd have embedded in the plaster (i love this phone - i could do that and it'd probably STILL survive). i've been so tempted to fling the thing into the Thames, and wave goodbye and giggle maniacally as it sinks along with the last of my sanity, but i've managed to fight the urge.
so there you go. 4 months in this country is all it took for me to say "fuck it" and drop out. i expect i'll get back into the swing again when i go back to London, but for the time being i'm past making promises or building expectations. promises can be broken. expectations can be shattered. plans can fail, and i'm sick of the cloud of failure that follows me around as if i was Pig Pen in Peanuts. i've Given Up, Dropped Out and Fucked off. time to see how i go out in the world on my own, outside my comfort zone and reliant on no one, and at some stage eventually i'll even get around to telling you about it. meanwhile, if you don't know how to find me it's because i want it that way. leave a message.
Raven Out.
"... and?"
meanwhile i'm sitting here blogging while i look out the window, enjoying the graffiti sprayed on the walls around snowed-in soccer-fields enjoying the novelty of blogging while on public transport. what's that? yes, i KNOW i've been blogging a lot on public transport, but this is different - this is LIVE. somehow i managed to book a 1st-class ticket on the 9:05 to Edinburgh. i can only assume that thetrainline.com blindsided me, or that i clicked on the wrong checkbox, or that this was simply the cheapest fare available for today, and... you know what? fuck it. i have an enormous reclining seat in a cluster of 4 to myself, and all the coffee i can drink while i sit here with a power point and a WiFi connection and fuck you if you think i'm not going to make the most of it.
i was supposed to get some sleep last night - alarms (3 of were set for 6:59, 7:01 and 7:07 this morning, and with 4 and a half hours of sleep behind me i was awake, staring at the faint halo around the curtains and wishing for death. 7:33 and i was moving. 8:09 and i was out the door, Death Cab For Cute providing the now standard soundtrack for my "i'm up too early with too little sleep" experience. tube from Oval to Kings Cross St Pancras (Kings Cross is the city overland and national rail terminal, St Pancras is international) with enough time to collect my tickets and find my train, but not enough to get bored waiting. Kings Cross is a fairly unimpressive yellow-beige brick building notable only for its size and the triskell-motif'd clock. next door, St Pancras is far more impressive with a spire rising above the filth not unlike one of the many churches you see damn near everywhere in London.
of course, what you may be wondering (if you've been following the narrative in recent history) is what the fuck i'm doing in 1st-class on an overland train, and where the fuck am i going? see, i could have explained at the start, but starting there wouldn't have been so fun now, would it?
when last i spoke i mentioned that i was waiting for news from jobs to come in. since then i had another interview for a Team Leader job for a small government advisory commission (which went surprisingly well, thanks), and so i waited. then finally, on Friday afternoon i got news from both sets of pimps - their sympathetic speeches so similar they could have been carbon-copied:
"You did incredibly well at interview. They were really impressed with the way you answered the questions succinctly, they thought you have a great personality for the role, technical skills are right up there and your leadership style would work really well for them. It was a hard decision - it was down between you and one other guy, but in this situation they've decided not to move forward with you, but they really want to consider you for future roles if they come up."
well fuckery - you've got to be fucking kidding. 2nd best is 1st loser, and twice more i've been the best of the rest. i've said before that if the jobs i was in for didn't come through i'd be fucking off into the hinterlands and less than 48 hours later, being a man of my word, i'm on a train heading north at "surprisingly ridiculous"-an-hour and onto my second cup of "better than any airline i've ever been on" coffee.
Friday was not one of my shining moments - i waited and i was sick of waiting and 2 weeks of waiting culminated in one afternoon of failure. i'd spent the day bumming around the flat before heading into Leicester Square for a couple of hours, with plans of cruising the job sites, sorting out some paperwork and hitting the National Portrait Gallery (i walk past it almost every day and had never been in before). i must admit that while i enjoyed the gallery, it would have been nice to have seen more photographic work since i was fishing for ideas on composition in the interests of hopefully improving my own photography. the second call came through while i was on the bus on my way back to base-camp and i managed to not blow out the windows with a scream of rage and despair, (later 1/3 of a bottle of scotch helped wash down the bitter pill of failure) and within 5 minutes of walking in the door i was pulling open the bookmarks i'd saved weeks ago and started getting organised. come Saturday morning i booked the train out of town, and the first two nights in a hostel, while i sipped my morning coffee, then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon being shown around Greenwich Park (which has ducks and pigeons and squirrels and deer) by SiJ, then the evening watching Stargate, fixing the music player on my Eee, drying clothes and packing my shoulder bag and backpack.
you might notice that i've not discussed my plans, and the canny amongst you will have worked out that it's because i don't have any. i know where i'm staying tonight and tomorrow. past there i can't really bring myself to give a fuck. i can extend my stay in the hostel, or change if i want. i can find transport to get me to the next town. i've got my passport and access to enough cash to keep me for a year if the urge should strike to do something unexpected. i'm past caring and i'm past comprehension. i don't even know when i'll be back in London - it'll be either when the idea sits right with me, or i get bored of wandering. whichever comes first. in the meantime, i'm Dropping Off The Face Of The Planet with my middle finger raised in one final "fuck you" to anyone bored enough to watch me fall.
were it not for the absurd novelty of having a net connection on the train i'd have been officially Offline from the moment i walked out the door this morning. i'm a fairly well connected lad - being an IT professional and technology enthusiast i live a pretty hifi life. one of my great fantasies of the last couple of years has been to switch off and fuck off into the distance for a while. no phone, no net, just me, my PSD, access to transport and hopefully places i've never been. sure, i've got my Eee with me, but that just means i can write to my heart's content and worry about posting it all later. no email, no Facebook, no phone ringing. hell - if i didn't want to be able to take calls form pimps i'd have turned my fucking phone off and thrown it so hard at the fucking wall it'd have embedded in the plaster (i love this phone - i could do that and it'd probably STILL survive). i've been so tempted to fling the thing into the Thames, and wave goodbye and giggle maniacally as it sinks along with the last of my sanity, but i've managed to fight the urge.
so there you go. 4 months in this country is all it took for me to say "fuck it" and drop out. i expect i'll get back into the swing again when i go back to London, but for the time being i'm past making promises or building expectations. promises can be broken. expectations can be shattered. plans can fail, and i'm sick of the cloud of failure that follows me around as if i was Pig Pen in Peanuts. i've Given Up, Dropped Out and Fucked off. time to see how i go out in the world on my own, outside my comfort zone and reliant on no one, and at some stage eventually i'll even get around to telling you about it. meanwhile, if you don't know how to find me it's because i want it that way. leave a message.
Raven Out.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Snippets #10: on UI complexity and the path to the ubergeek...
waiting for the bullet to hit has given me plenty of time to think, but little motivation to discuss. sitting on a 5-hour train ride, on the other hand, has given me opportunity and enough caffeine to wire up an entire LAN party.
i am an observant soul, and i observe many things that other people ignore. this isn't to say that a lot of detail doesn't pass me by, but i know that the unusual workings of my brain makes interesting connections sometimes. what i've been seeing in recent history has struck me as being so obvious that i'm amazed i never saw it before. when i was young and a noob my computer was pretty simple. it did what it did, which was about as much as i could make it do, and that was that. gradually as i became somewhat skilled my machine started to get whiz-bang. i had little programs to that made things pretty and perform every service under the sun - 3 different IM's, 4 different browsers, 3 CD Burning tools, a music player that put pretty patterns on the screen - you name it.
then, one day, i had to reinstall my OS because my hard drive died and i lost it all, so i rebuilt it. and again, and again as i switched and changed machines until eventually i just couldn't be bothered spending 12 hours reinstalling everything again every time it happened. since then my UI has become more and more austere, and since i got into linux, far less complicated in many respects. in fact, i was looking the other day at switching distro's to version advertised as being less complex still than the one i'm using at the moment.
this got me to thinking about some of the ubergeeks i've met over the years and how many of them eschew even a GUI a lot of the time and instead live primarily a text-based flatland. i remember sitting around uni wondering why they lived with such asceticism when it was so easy to rig up a pretty interface, which is when my inner eye turned outwards again and looked at some of what louise has been doing with her laptop - prettying up the desktop, adding tools, fiddling with RSS feeds... and i can't bring myself to care overly about any of it while i hack config files in a terminal window. it's almost like a bell-curve: as you get better and better your personal machine gets more and more complicated, until there comes a point where the complexity is in what you do, not how it looks and UI customisation drops away. louise is now where i was back at uni as she tracks the ever-improving average curve and i'm now assuming the role of the ubergeek with a ponytail, beard... and... a cheap sports car... with a penchant for alternative OS's...
oh fuck. i've grown up to become the arrogant, overconfident pricks i always hated. oh well, fuck it. at least i'm not massively overweight and i've had sex with actual women. i remember having a conversation with Spoon some years ago about how we were like the New Breed of geek - all the technical ability and aptitude but without anywhere near the social deficiencies that the previous generation was cursed with. we're stronger, faster, better, with an understanding of basic fucking hygiene and the ability to provide multiple-orgasms. we'll be superseded soon enough, but for the time being we're inheriting the world and we'll take no prisoners when the time comes to line up the Old Guard against the wall. we're kinder to our juniors than our predecessors and better able to evolve to cope with the changing environment and it's only a matter of time before those smelly sons of bitches get decommissioned.
all hail the nouveaugeek!
i am an observant soul, and i observe many things that other people ignore. this isn't to say that a lot of detail doesn't pass me by, but i know that the unusual workings of my brain makes interesting connections sometimes. what i've been seeing in recent history has struck me as being so obvious that i'm amazed i never saw it before. when i was young and a noob my computer was pretty simple. it did what it did, which was about as much as i could make it do, and that was that. gradually as i became somewhat skilled my machine started to get whiz-bang. i had little programs to that made things pretty and perform every service under the sun - 3 different IM's, 4 different browsers, 3 CD Burning tools, a music player that put pretty patterns on the screen - you name it.
then, one day, i had to reinstall my OS because my hard drive died and i lost it all, so i rebuilt it. and again, and again as i switched and changed machines until eventually i just couldn't be bothered spending 12 hours reinstalling everything again every time it happened. since then my UI has become more and more austere, and since i got into linux, far less complicated in many respects. in fact, i was looking the other day at switching distro's to version advertised as being less complex still than the one i'm using at the moment.
this got me to thinking about some of the ubergeeks i've met over the years and how many of them eschew even a GUI a lot of the time and instead live primarily a text-based flatland. i remember sitting around uni wondering why they lived with such asceticism when it was so easy to rig up a pretty interface, which is when my inner eye turned outwards again and looked at some of what louise has been doing with her laptop - prettying up the desktop, adding tools, fiddling with RSS feeds... and i can't bring myself to care overly about any of it while i hack config files in a terminal window. it's almost like a bell-curve: as you get better and better your personal machine gets more and more complicated, until there comes a point where the complexity is in what you do, not how it looks and UI customisation drops away. louise is now where i was back at uni as she tracks the ever-improving average curve and i'm now assuming the role of the ubergeek with a ponytail, beard... and... a cheap sports car... with a penchant for alternative OS's...
oh fuck. i've grown up to become the arrogant, overconfident pricks i always hated. oh well, fuck it. at least i'm not massively overweight and i've had sex with actual women. i remember having a conversation with Spoon some years ago about how we were like the New Breed of geek - all the technical ability and aptitude but without anywhere near the social deficiencies that the previous generation was cursed with. we're stronger, faster, better, with an understanding of basic fucking hygiene and the ability to provide multiple-orgasms. we'll be superseded soon enough, but for the time being we're inheriting the world and we'll take no prisoners when the time comes to line up the Old Guard against the wall. we're kinder to our juniors than our predecessors and better able to evolve to cope with the changing environment and it's only a matter of time before those smelly sons of bitches get decommissioned.
all hail the nouveaugeek!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Snippets #9: on togetherness...
it started to dawn on me as my mind wandered through the leavings of half a dozen different cognitive loose-ends this evening that people seem to find it insanely important that i be one of them. not me specifically, i think, more just me because i happen to be there at the time. it shows in the sorts of questions i get asked - they usually lead with: "So -
are you a foodie then?" erm... i like food?
how long have you been vegan?"actually, i'm an omnivore. i just have a lot of vegan friends...
would you consider voting for the conservative party?" not until they all commit mass-suicide.
have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?" haven't you accepted me as yours?
... and so on.
it's always nice to know that you're part of something that's bigger than you are. that you're surrounded by likewise individuals. to be able to look around the room and think: "These are MY people. We share the same ideals. I am one of them," and know that you're all safe and happy because you all think alike. i can't say that i'm overly different - i've always enjoyed a member of a marginalised minority - in high school i was in the cynically-named "Cool Gang", at uni i was in the computer and science fiction clubs, in the real world i ride motorcycles and assume all of the self-indulgent airs that come with being fast and vulnerable. being part of a small marginalised subset makes you feel special, like you're superior to the rest of society because you stand apart and meeting other people who share your minority views or habits reinforces how much better you all are because of it.
it's all bullshit though, of couse. we all like to think we're so alternative with our shoices of food, esoteric conversations about the literary criticism of Battlestar Galactica and penchant for ludicrously dangerous forms of transport.
"Ooh, I'm so special because I choose to physically love more than one person."
no, you just like to sleep around and get laid as much as humanly possible! not that there's anything wrong with that or that i really give a crap! i don't really care if you're preferred way of getting off is to be surrounded by cossaks who jerk off all over you while you sit on a small pink stool in a frilly bonnet and insist on being called Sister Pauline while a midget in a gimp-suit shoves cucumbers up your date and a small lamb licks honey off your testicles. seriously, it's fascinating to hear about. the first time. ok, maybe the second so i can get a proper grip (pardon the pun) on the details. what i don't want to hear is how isolated you feel because society won't accept your "alternative" lifestyle repeated over and over again ad nauseum.
what shits me to tears is when people give me grief because i'm NOT in on their subculture, as if by not subscribing to their newsletter i'm automatically one of the opressors who want to stop them from doing what they want to do. seriously, as long as the midget's happy, or at least well paid, i don't give a fuck WHAT you have them shove up your arse, and as long as you don't expect me to watch or join in (and you showered before coming out to the pub) i'm sure we'll get along just fine.
i understand though. i really do. we all have things that we're interested in, and when you live a lifestyle that 67% of the rest of the people around you don't or won't understand you tend to become suspicious of the people you come across, assuming that they'll judge you for it. we all want to be accepted for who we are and the choices we make and as long as these choices don't get in the way of what other people want to do when there's no reason why we shouldn't be. having these little cliques and groups makes us feel included... validated... like we're not alone. very few people really want to be alone and throughout history people have tended to cleave towards likeminded communities - the christians in the first centuries AD, science fiction fans at conventions, gay people in King's Cross, it doesn't matter. i just would have hoped that by now we'd be at the point where people with non-mainstream lifestyles could be accepted, and likewise, where these people could be less cagey about those who DON'T.
right now i'm exploring what it's like to be an oddball without a scene. i've not searched for, nor found, an SF group here in London. i've not explored the social groups for any of my hobbies. i hang around with special-interst groups, but their interests aren't really mine. the people i hang with tend to be random rather than people who indulge in any of my particular obsessions, and the odd thing is that usually we're all pretty accepting of each other. i'm finding it pleasant that i'm "that guys who's into x, y and z" as opposed to "one of us" or "one of them", without any of the assumption that i must conform to a label... except for Australian. that one i've been wearing often, loudly and with pride. fortunately or unfortunately, with my accent it's inescapable so i might as well just go with it...
are you a foodie then?" erm... i like food?
how long have you been vegan?"actually, i'm an omnivore. i just have a lot of vegan friends...
would you consider voting for the conservative party?" not until they all commit mass-suicide.
have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?" haven't you accepted me as yours?
... and so on.
it's always nice to know that you're part of something that's bigger than you are. that you're surrounded by likewise individuals. to be able to look around the room and think: "These are MY people. We share the same ideals. I am one of them," and know that you're all safe and happy because you all think alike. i can't say that i'm overly different - i've always enjoyed a member of a marginalised minority - in high school i was in the cynically-named "Cool Gang", at uni i was in the computer and science fiction clubs, in the real world i ride motorcycles and assume all of the self-indulgent airs that come with being fast and vulnerable. being part of a small marginalised subset makes you feel special, like you're superior to the rest of society because you stand apart and meeting other people who share your minority views or habits reinforces how much better you all are because of it.
it's all bullshit though, of couse. we all like to think we're so alternative with our shoices of food, esoteric conversations about the literary criticism of Battlestar Galactica and penchant for ludicrously dangerous forms of transport.
"Ooh, I'm so special because I choose to physically love more than one person."
no, you just like to sleep around and get laid as much as humanly possible! not that there's anything wrong with that or that i really give a crap! i don't really care if you're preferred way of getting off is to be surrounded by cossaks who jerk off all over you while you sit on a small pink stool in a frilly bonnet and insist on being called Sister Pauline while a midget in a gimp-suit shoves cucumbers up your date and a small lamb licks honey off your testicles. seriously, it's fascinating to hear about. the first time. ok, maybe the second so i can get a proper grip (pardon the pun) on the details. what i don't want to hear is how isolated you feel because society won't accept your "alternative" lifestyle repeated over and over again ad nauseum.
what shits me to tears is when people give me grief because i'm NOT in on their subculture, as if by not subscribing to their newsletter i'm automatically one of the opressors who want to stop them from doing what they want to do. seriously, as long as the midget's happy, or at least well paid, i don't give a fuck WHAT you have them shove up your arse, and as long as you don't expect me to watch or join in (and you showered before coming out to the pub) i'm sure we'll get along just fine.
i understand though. i really do. we all have things that we're interested in, and when you live a lifestyle that 67% of the rest of the people around you don't or won't understand you tend to become suspicious of the people you come across, assuming that they'll judge you for it. we all want to be accepted for who we are and the choices we make and as long as these choices don't get in the way of what other people want to do when there's no reason why we shouldn't be. having these little cliques and groups makes us feel included... validated... like we're not alone. very few people really want to be alone and throughout history people have tended to cleave towards likeminded communities - the christians in the first centuries AD, science fiction fans at conventions, gay people in King's Cross, it doesn't matter. i just would have hoped that by now we'd be at the point where people with non-mainstream lifestyles could be accepted, and likewise, where these people could be less cagey about those who DON'T.
right now i'm exploring what it's like to be an oddball without a scene. i've not searched for, nor found, an SF group here in London. i've not explored the social groups for any of my hobbies. i hang around with special-interst groups, but their interests aren't really mine. the people i hang with tend to be random rather than people who indulge in any of my particular obsessions, and the odd thing is that usually we're all pretty accepting of each other. i'm finding it pleasant that i'm "that guys who's into x, y and z" as opposed to "one of us" or "one of them", without any of the assumption that i must conform to a label... except for Australian. that one i've been wearing often, loudly and with pride. fortunately or unfortunately, with my accent it's inescapable so i might as well just go with it...
my day in the snow...
in the last 24 hours London has had the most snow drop on it that it's experienced in the last 18 years and pretty much everything ground to a halt. it was snowing lightly yesterday when i was on the bus, then while i was in Woolwich it started in earnest, laying a thin layer on everything. out on the balcony at SiJ's place i could see little kids running around, cars sliding down the hill and one poor motorcyclist who seemed desperate to get safely home while his rear end kept sliding out on him.
i headed for the bus fairly early and managed to get back to basecamp without mishap, where it was up to ~2 inches. comparing notes with louise, we looked out the window half an hour later to see it coming down thick and fast, and our reaction was the same: let's go downstairs! rugged up and down in the cold it was beautiful - everything was white, still frozen. no slush yet, traffic hadn't melted any of it yet. we were laughing, jumping around the footpath like children. i jokingly threw a snowball at her and she landed on her arse giggling. we horsed around until i lost feeling in my hands and came back in and watched it out the window for a while before we hit the sack.
it snowed through most of the night and by this morning it was a complete and total debacle out there. 4-6 inches covered everything that'd take it. louise managed to get to work eventually, but TFL canceled every bus route, every overland train and most of the tubes were either suspended or on massively reduced services. i got a call at 10ish advising that my interview for the day had been postponed, which did not impress me, but so many people were unable to get to work that it was almost like an unofficial holiday. London just... stopped. i lay around and checked the news and before too long realised that i had a mission for the day: rug up, go out in it, experience REAL snow and take as many photos as possible.
i cruised Facebook for a while to see if anyone wanted to join in, and suggested that if louise was considering getting out of work early she should hook in and come for the ride. by midday i was getting off the tube (Northern Line was the 2nd-least effected tube line) at Embankment and walking down the north bank of the Thames towards Westminster with my camera going mad. it took me nearly an hour and a half to get from from Westminster to Trafalgar Square to St Martin's-in-the-Fields to Charing Cross Station, partly because i kept stopping to take photos, partly because trudging down icy footpaths was slow going. louise met me near Trafalgar Square and fed me the second half of her sandwich, and we moved on through Admiralty Arch and through the park running alongside The Mall until we eventually reached Buckingham Palace, on through St James' Park and then up to Green Park where we parked ourselves in a pub and had hot chocolate. by the time we'd gone through Leicester Square it was 4:30 and she was getting dizzy spells so i helped her to Leicester Square Station and we headed back, getting in just as it was starting to get dark.
i was incredibly glad i'd dressed appropriately for it - two pairs of socks under my boots which were laced up to the top (by the time we were done in the parks my trousers were soaked to the knees. my feet? toasty and dry. thank you Steel Blue work boots!), singlet, long-sleeved shirt, short-sleeved shirt, coat, gloves, scarf and hat. i'd brought louise her gloves and mittens, as well as my spare hat, and with her boots and ski-jacket she was sorted. when we stopped at The Clarence in Green Park it took quite a while to remove all the layers, and our jackets and scarves etc took up a couch of their own.
it was quite amazing how quiet it was in town - with transport links cut off sod all anyone was getting anywhere, but there were a huge number of people in the parks mucking around, rolling snowmen, throwing snowballs, lads out with their girlfriends, parents playing with their kids... everyone having a lovely time and just simply loving it. the atmosphere was infectious and we spent four-odd hours with the biggest, stupidest grins on our faces. louise commented on it as being the best single day we've had since we got here and i find it hard to disagree too loudly. i wound up taking 240 photos over the course of the day which i'll be culling down a little, but most of them came out really well so it won't be by much. we had the best time, and all it took was a blizzard which ground the entire city to a screeching halt!
meanwhile, i was called in to do some more work tomorrow for Louis Vuitton - they have one computer that refuses to boot and i've negotiated a flat day-rate - no matter how quick i get it done, i get paid for the whole day to make it worth my while. this means i need to be up pretty early to get in there, but i suppose it's worth it... that said, i'm pretty worn out from today so i can see me sleeping well tonight...
i headed for the bus fairly early and managed to get back to basecamp without mishap, where it was up to ~2 inches. comparing notes with louise, we looked out the window half an hour later to see it coming down thick and fast, and our reaction was the same: let's go downstairs! rugged up and down in the cold it was beautiful - everything was white, still frozen. no slush yet, traffic hadn't melted any of it yet. we were laughing, jumping around the footpath like children. i jokingly threw a snowball at her and she landed on her arse giggling. we horsed around until i lost feeling in my hands and came back in and watched it out the window for a while before we hit the sack.
it snowed through most of the night and by this morning it was a complete and total debacle out there. 4-6 inches covered everything that'd take it. louise managed to get to work eventually, but TFL canceled every bus route, every overland train and most of the tubes were either suspended or on massively reduced services. i got a call at 10ish advising that my interview for the day had been postponed, which did not impress me, but so many people were unable to get to work that it was almost like an unofficial holiday. London just... stopped. i lay around and checked the news and before too long realised that i had a mission for the day: rug up, go out in it, experience REAL snow and take as many photos as possible.
i cruised Facebook for a while to see if anyone wanted to join in, and suggested that if louise was considering getting out of work early she should hook in and come for the ride. by midday i was getting off the tube (Northern Line was the 2nd-least effected tube line) at Embankment and walking down the north bank of the Thames towards Westminster with my camera going mad. it took me nearly an hour and a half to get from from Westminster to Trafalgar Square to St Martin's-in-the-Fields to Charing Cross Station, partly because i kept stopping to take photos, partly because trudging down icy footpaths was slow going. louise met me near Trafalgar Square and fed me the second half of her sandwich, and we moved on through Admiralty Arch and through the park running alongside The Mall until we eventually reached Buckingham Palace, on through St James' Park and then up to Green Park where we parked ourselves in a pub and had hot chocolate. by the time we'd gone through Leicester Square it was 4:30 and she was getting dizzy spells so i helped her to Leicester Square Station and we headed back, getting in just as it was starting to get dark.
i was incredibly glad i'd dressed appropriately for it - two pairs of socks under my boots which were laced up to the top (by the time we were done in the parks my trousers were soaked to the knees. my feet? toasty and dry. thank you Steel Blue work boots!), singlet, long-sleeved shirt, short-sleeved shirt, coat, gloves, scarf and hat. i'd brought louise her gloves and mittens, as well as my spare hat, and with her boots and ski-jacket she was sorted. when we stopped at The Clarence in Green Park it took quite a while to remove all the layers, and our jackets and scarves etc took up a couch of their own.
it was quite amazing how quiet it was in town - with transport links cut off sod all anyone was getting anywhere, but there were a huge number of people in the parks mucking around, rolling snowmen, throwing snowballs, lads out with their girlfriends, parents playing with their kids... everyone having a lovely time and just simply loving it. the atmosphere was infectious and we spent four-odd hours with the biggest, stupidest grins on our faces. louise commented on it as being the best single day we've had since we got here and i find it hard to disagree too loudly. i wound up taking 240 photos over the course of the day which i'll be culling down a little, but most of them came out really well so it won't be by much. we had the best time, and all it took was a blizzard which ground the entire city to a screeching halt!
meanwhile, i was called in to do some more work tomorrow for Louis Vuitton - they have one computer that refuses to boot and i've negotiated a flat day-rate - no matter how quick i get it done, i get paid for the whole day to make it worth my while. this means i need to be up pretty early to get in there, but i suppose it's worth it... that said, i'm pretty worn out from today so i can see me sleeping well tonight...
Monday, February 2, 2009
gourmet while you wait...
after a freezing start to the year the weather went mild, giving London a couple of weeks of comparatively warm weather. my scarf and gloves got stowed and i went out for a few days without a couple of my regular layers, then just as suddenly the weather went "psych!" like a 13 year old in an american sit-com and went fucking freezing again, with a brief moment of snow again as i was waking up this morning.
i'm blogging on the bus again, heading out on the hour-trip to Woolwich to help an english girl make lammingtons, and beg the use of her bath (the hot water at my place being barely enough to wash the dishes, let alone run a hot bath. i'll not complain - it's a good time to sit, look out the window and reflect on the last few days.
yesterday, after a month or so of meaning to, louise and i finally wandered out to the Borough Market off near London Bridge - absurdly packed and full of gourmet food (Ondine, pay attention!). you want a whole, unbutchered hare or pheasant? check. cheeses made in some farm's back shed, sliced off a 20kg wheel? got it. wild boar sausages, venison jerky, ostrich burgers? just keep your eyes open (the ostrich burger was really very good - that i can vouch for). 13 different kinds of olives, extra virgin olive oil, infused with a chunk of truffle... hell - whole black truffles stored in a jar on a bed of wild rice (£46 for one the size of a toddler's fist). organic bakers (selling brownies of the sort that chocaholic's dreams are made of), organic cheese and yogurt, organic coffee... fuck - think of it and some fucker's selling an organic one. it was great to wander and snack and taste and smell... well, as much as we could smell over the pervasive fumes of mulled wine which seemed to be a requirement. the application process for a stall must be:
"Good morning, what will you be selling then?"
We specialise in Jersey and Guensey organic raw sheep's milk cheese.
"Ah, we can always do with another stall selling that... wait... I don't see anything on your application form about selling mulled wine."
Well, no - it's not something we really do at Ben's Bovine Botherer's Farms...
"Oh no, we can't be having with that. EVERYBODY's got to sell mulled wine in winter, otherwise no one'll be able to tell it's English! The nerve of some people. You'll never fit in. Out!"
But...
"OUT!"
as we wandered we picked up some cheese, bread, some fresh apples and other odds and ends before heading back to base-camp for the evening and having cheese and cold-cuts for tea and watched movies until we were sick of the idea.
we'd have gotten in earlier, in part, had i not been out so late the night before. my resolve to Not Drink Too Much was tested hugely by the free booze at the Ruby Blue Lounge and one of the saffas (South Africans) who declared me to be his new favourite drinking buddy, but i managed to stop at 7 (or at least, that's the point i was at when the tab ran out). a good time was had - a big bunch of drunken IT Professionals in a classy venue with various girlfriends and wives trying not to look so uncomfortable. i managed to narrowly skirt a conversation that started with the line "You see, the idea that everything started from nothing, which exploded, and that after billions of years we've learned to walk and talk, is harder for me to believe than that God made it all in 7 days," but the rest of it was pretty damn jovial. i tried to leave at 9ish, but was dragged back in. i tried to make a move at 10:30 but was prevented. 11:30 and i finally excaped, walking Cathy (one of staff) to her bus stop since it was right next to mine. when i got in louise was still feeling a bit sick, but looked much better than she had for the week previous.
it's been a slow week, as i've discussed previously. i'm about ready to shoot people - if they could just tell me that i don't have the godsdamned jobs i'd be able to go and do something productive. you know, like Scotland (ok, i don't know how productive Scotland is or isn't, but doing Scotland would be in my book). each day that goes by drags while i wait and try not too piss off the pimps by badgering them too much. maybe i'll just do a spur-of-the-moment trip to Oxford or something in the meantime - where i can go and see and be back from in a day. something that doesn't involve sitting around the house in my tracky-daks.
meanwhile, i should probably pay attention to where this bus is going now so that i don't wind up in Plumstead.
i'm blogging on the bus again, heading out on the hour-trip to Woolwich to help an english girl make lammingtons, and beg the use of her bath (the hot water at my place being barely enough to wash the dishes, let alone run a hot bath. i'll not complain - it's a good time to sit, look out the window and reflect on the last few days.
yesterday, after a month or so of meaning to, louise and i finally wandered out to the Borough Market off near London Bridge - absurdly packed and full of gourmet food (Ondine, pay attention!). you want a whole, unbutchered hare or pheasant? check. cheeses made in some farm's back shed, sliced off a 20kg wheel? got it. wild boar sausages, venison jerky, ostrich burgers? just keep your eyes open (the ostrich burger was really very good - that i can vouch for). 13 different kinds of olives, extra virgin olive oil, infused with a chunk of truffle... hell - whole black truffles stored in a jar on a bed of wild rice (£46 for one the size of a toddler's fist). organic bakers (selling brownies of the sort that chocaholic's dreams are made of), organic cheese and yogurt, organic coffee... fuck - think of it and some fucker's selling an organic one. it was great to wander and snack and taste and smell... well, as much as we could smell over the pervasive fumes of mulled wine which seemed to be a requirement. the application process for a stall must be:
"Good morning, what will you be selling then?"
We specialise in Jersey and Guensey organic raw sheep's milk cheese.
"Ah, we can always do with another stall selling that... wait... I don't see anything on your application form about selling mulled wine."
Well, no - it's not something we really do at Ben's Bovine Botherer's Farms...
"Oh no, we can't be having with that. EVERYBODY's got to sell mulled wine in winter, otherwise no one'll be able to tell it's English! The nerve of some people. You'll never fit in. Out!"
But...
"OUT!"
as we wandered we picked up some cheese, bread, some fresh apples and other odds and ends before heading back to base-camp for the evening and having cheese and cold-cuts for tea and watched movies until we were sick of the idea.
we'd have gotten in earlier, in part, had i not been out so late the night before. my resolve to Not Drink Too Much was tested hugely by the free booze at the Ruby Blue Lounge and one of the saffas (South Africans) who declared me to be his new favourite drinking buddy, but i managed to stop at 7 (or at least, that's the point i was at when the tab ran out). a good time was had - a big bunch of drunken IT Professionals in a classy venue with various girlfriends and wives trying not to look so uncomfortable. i managed to narrowly skirt a conversation that started with the line "You see, the idea that everything started from nothing, which exploded, and that after billions of years we've learned to walk and talk, is harder for me to believe than that God made it all in 7 days," but the rest of it was pretty damn jovial. i tried to leave at 9ish, but was dragged back in. i tried to make a move at 10:30 but was prevented. 11:30 and i finally excaped, walking Cathy (one of staff) to her bus stop since it was right next to mine. when i got in louise was still feeling a bit sick, but looked much better than she had for the week previous.
it's been a slow week, as i've discussed previously. i'm about ready to shoot people - if they could just tell me that i don't have the godsdamned jobs i'd be able to go and do something productive. you know, like Scotland (ok, i don't know how productive Scotland is or isn't, but doing Scotland would be in my book). each day that goes by drags while i wait and try not too piss off the pimps by badgering them too much. maybe i'll just do a spur-of-the-moment trip to Oxford or something in the meantime - where i can go and see and be back from in a day. something that doesn't involve sitting around the house in my tracky-daks.
meanwhile, i should probably pay attention to where this bus is going now so that i don't wind up in Plumstead.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
i am Schrodinger's Cat...
i'm quietly freaking out right now. back before the end of last year i had a meeting with a pimp to discuss a contract for a housing company out in West London. it looked ok - money wasn't awesome, but acceptable. he thought i was going to be a great fit so i went for it. days passed, other interviews came and went, i did a couple of short contracts and the year ended with no news. game on after NY and i got word that the job was still live, but they'd decided to take it Perm. this generally means that i'm out of the running because no fucker in this town wants to look at a Working Holiday Maker for a perm job, so: shit. wait, what? they're still keen on me? well fuckery. fine by me!
days became weeks and they were taking their sweet fucking time with it, then suddenly they want me for a phone-interview. no problem, i say. the pimp sends me a cheat-sheet with some useful info and i take the call in the kitchen with my laptop in front of me and all my notes spread out. i hit it long, straight and into the crowd for a clean 6. i'm up for a second-round, face-to-face interview, which is confirmed the following week. i'm in there early, looking smart, and i spend the next hour Making An Impression - i've got the answers, i get on with the guys, we joke, we laugh, it's fucking textbook. technical skills? spot on. business process and procedure? i could re-write their books for them. personality and integration? don't even ask. i AM this fucking job. when will they have a decision made? end of the day they'll be in touch with my pimp. i'm fucking stoked.
the day ends and my phone's not rung. the next day's Friday and i'm pacing back and forth in the office in Leicester Square. phone rings at 6PM saying that they love me, they want me, they've already written off everyone but me and some other guy (there are 2 roles going, so i'm not stressed at this), and it's likely he won't accept an offer anyway since he won't take the cash they're offering. awesome. so What The Fuck? they had a candidate reschedule to the following Tuesday and they want to ponder some stuff over the weekend. ok, ok. Tuesday. i'll know Tuesday.
today's fucking Tuesday. i dived on my phone both times it rang to hear the wrong voices from the wrong agencies talking about other jobs. i play it cool and score a send-down (my CV's going in front of the client) for something i don't give a fuck about, but will take if offered since any backup is good. where the fuck is my pimp? i'm climbing the fucking walls here!
basically, this job is next-to fucking perfect. if it were in Central it'd be a dream. we're talking a modern infrastructure which needs a few upgrades, in a team which is rebuilding itself and needs fresh ideas on how to move forward from a hands-on techie who likes to get in and dirty. technology i know and more i want to play with, no sandpits to dance around which means everyone plays with everything. bunch of decent-seeming blokes working to make their world better and a slot for someone who wants to spend the next 18-24 months kicking arse and taking names, and they're offering £40-45k for the priviledge. this sitting at the top of my CV and i'm writing my own ticket - 2 years to ride out the bear market and the sort of role that makes pimps wet themselves. 2 years to get thoroughly sick of London, or not. 2 years to make some cash and work out what the next 10 have in store.
that's what's sitting in my head at the moment while i sit here in a box waiting to know whether i live or die. will the lid open to see me liberated with a golden ticket, or is the isotope going to decay and release the poison that prevents me from ever seeing daylight? i can't see outside the fucking box and my fingernails are stuck to the walls where i've tried to claw my way out. because i'll tell you what: i'm getting really fucking sick of this. this is the one. this is the job. this is the tipping point. if my phone rings tomorrow morning and i get a "i've got some bad news for you," i'm booking a train ticket to Scotland and going backpacking. i've got it all planned... in as much as i'm making a plan. i'll get to Edinburgh, wander around until i'm sick of the idea then find my way to Inverness (probably) for a few days, before moving on to Glasgow (maybe) and then back to London (unless somewhere else interesting blips on my radar). no idea how i'll get around but i know there'll be options. part of the adventure is working it out as i go along and running without a schedule. louise is working, and taking time off when she's not sure as to her future wouldn't be the best move for her (it's looking really good for her in this job, but there's still that uncertainty), but that doesn't stop her from meeting me up for a weekender somewhere - keep up the "travelling together" idea we always discussed before we got on that 'plane.
when i get back here i'll put another week or two into job-hunting again... if i've got the heart for it. as soon as i'm sick of it again i'm thinking Ireland, in the same style as Scotland. i've got the cash to do it. being loathe to spend more than absolutely necessary has meant that my slush-fund is healthy. the short-contracts i've covered have paid enough to keep me in rent, food and entertainment for the month and this has been a huge stress-relief.
of course, if the gods see fit to smile upon this damned soul then i'm looking at weekenders and a bit of settling in. maybe go for those music lessons i've been thinking about starting for far too long now? maybe find a nicer place to live with room for visitors? put some cash together and try to convince a couple of persons to come and pay me a visit and see some of this town? either way things go down i have an idea of how to move forward and that in itself has put a real spring in my step in the last few days. even failure has is opportunities. once again, Chinese New Year is going to be my marker for the end and the beginning. as much as i've long-considered Hope to be a tortuous whore of a feeling, i seem to have some at the moment so for the time being i'm going to go with it.
one way or another i seem to be entering a period of Change. i was flicking through my photo collection with someone or other and they commented that i've pretty much not changed much in the last 5... 6 years? the clothes change as they wear out, but they're still black and similar. the goatee's as it has been for over 10 years now. the pony-tail grew out and stuck for more than 6 so far. am i still thinking the same, "running over the same old ground, year after year"? have i been standing still while the world moves around me? maybe i'm overdue for some re-evaluation and re-consideration. what else should i be Giving Up while i'm in the process of a Slash & Burn? the process has been becoming attractive the more i start to think about it and the results? well, we'll just have to see, won't we?
days became weeks and they were taking their sweet fucking time with it, then suddenly they want me for a phone-interview. no problem, i say. the pimp sends me a cheat-sheet with some useful info and i take the call in the kitchen with my laptop in front of me and all my notes spread out. i hit it long, straight and into the crowd for a clean 6. i'm up for a second-round, face-to-face interview, which is confirmed the following week. i'm in there early, looking smart, and i spend the next hour Making An Impression - i've got the answers, i get on with the guys, we joke, we laugh, it's fucking textbook. technical skills? spot on. business process and procedure? i could re-write their books for them. personality and integration? don't even ask. i AM this fucking job. when will they have a decision made? end of the day they'll be in touch with my pimp. i'm fucking stoked.
the day ends and my phone's not rung. the next day's Friday and i'm pacing back and forth in the office in Leicester Square. phone rings at 6PM saying that they love me, they want me, they've already written off everyone but me and some other guy (there are 2 roles going, so i'm not stressed at this), and it's likely he won't accept an offer anyway since he won't take the cash they're offering. awesome. so What The Fuck? they had a candidate reschedule to the following Tuesday and they want to ponder some stuff over the weekend. ok, ok. Tuesday. i'll know Tuesday.
today's fucking Tuesday. i dived on my phone both times it rang to hear the wrong voices from the wrong agencies talking about other jobs. i play it cool and score a send-down (my CV's going in front of the client) for something i don't give a fuck about, but will take if offered since any backup is good. where the fuck is my pimp? i'm climbing the fucking walls here!
basically, this job is next-to fucking perfect. if it were in Central it'd be a dream. we're talking a modern infrastructure which needs a few upgrades, in a team which is rebuilding itself and needs fresh ideas on how to move forward from a hands-on techie who likes to get in and dirty. technology i know and more i want to play with, no sandpits to dance around which means everyone plays with everything. bunch of decent-seeming blokes working to make their world better and a slot for someone who wants to spend the next 18-24 months kicking arse and taking names, and they're offering £40-45k for the priviledge. this sitting at the top of my CV and i'm writing my own ticket - 2 years to ride out the bear market and the sort of role that makes pimps wet themselves. 2 years to get thoroughly sick of London, or not. 2 years to make some cash and work out what the next 10 have in store.
that's what's sitting in my head at the moment while i sit here in a box waiting to know whether i live or die. will the lid open to see me liberated with a golden ticket, or is the isotope going to decay and release the poison that prevents me from ever seeing daylight? i can't see outside the fucking box and my fingernails are stuck to the walls where i've tried to claw my way out. because i'll tell you what: i'm getting really fucking sick of this. this is the one. this is the job. this is the tipping point. if my phone rings tomorrow morning and i get a "i've got some bad news for you," i'm booking a train ticket to Scotland and going backpacking. i've got it all planned... in as much as i'm making a plan. i'll get to Edinburgh, wander around until i'm sick of the idea then find my way to Inverness (probably) for a few days, before moving on to Glasgow (maybe) and then back to London (unless somewhere else interesting blips on my radar). no idea how i'll get around but i know there'll be options. part of the adventure is working it out as i go along and running without a schedule. louise is working, and taking time off when she's not sure as to her future wouldn't be the best move for her (it's looking really good for her in this job, but there's still that uncertainty), but that doesn't stop her from meeting me up for a weekender somewhere - keep up the "travelling together" idea we always discussed before we got on that 'plane.
when i get back here i'll put another week or two into job-hunting again... if i've got the heart for it. as soon as i'm sick of it again i'm thinking Ireland, in the same style as Scotland. i've got the cash to do it. being loathe to spend more than absolutely necessary has meant that my slush-fund is healthy. the short-contracts i've covered have paid enough to keep me in rent, food and entertainment for the month and this has been a huge stress-relief.
of course, if the gods see fit to smile upon this damned soul then i'm looking at weekenders and a bit of settling in. maybe go for those music lessons i've been thinking about starting for far too long now? maybe find a nicer place to live with room for visitors? put some cash together and try to convince a couple of persons to come and pay me a visit and see some of this town? either way things go down i have an idea of how to move forward and that in itself has put a real spring in my step in the last few days. even failure has is opportunities. once again, Chinese New Year is going to be my marker for the end and the beginning. as much as i've long-considered Hope to be a tortuous whore of a feeling, i seem to have some at the moment so for the time being i'm going to go with it.
one way or another i seem to be entering a period of Change. i was flicking through my photo collection with someone or other and they commented that i've pretty much not changed much in the last 5... 6 years? the clothes change as they wear out, but they're still black and similar. the goatee's as it has been for over 10 years now. the pony-tail grew out and stuck for more than 6 so far. am i still thinking the same, "running over the same old ground, year after year"? have i been standing still while the world moves around me? maybe i'm overdue for some re-evaluation and re-consideration. what else should i be Giving Up while i'm in the process of a Slash & Burn? the process has been becoming attractive the more i start to think about it and the results? well, we'll just have to see, won't we?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
my liver looked up and screamed "save me!", and i looked down and whispered "no"...
i've heard more than a few times people claiming that London's got a drinking problem. i never really gave it too much credence to be honest, until i was having a conversation with... um... someone - i forget whom, could have been anyone - who was saying that because you've got a strong reliance on public transport and so (relatively) few people drive, it's really easy to sink pint after pint because you don't have to drive home. certainly, there are plenty of places to get a drink in the city... in just about every area i've been in so far. it hasn't helped that "going out for a drink" has become one of my main passtimes since i came here. it's the social aspect. you meet up with some people, you find a pub or a bar and you sit around over a few beers.
friday night i was out for tea with Cam's Vegan Meetup group and where did we go afterwards? the second-nearest pub (the nearest was too full) for a few beers. saturday night? out with louise to meet up with some of her friends. we met at a pub. then headed for a house-party. then another pub. sunday? pub, then a Walkabout.
i was supposed to be going to a movie session at Adnan's on Saturday, but cancelled at the last minute. there were a couple of reasons for this, but primary of them was thus: louise and i had a rough-patch leading up to NYE. we've sorted the worst of oyur shit out and are not getting along great again, so when she invited me to come and hang with her friends i thought that in the interest of better relations i really should go along for the ride. it was a good night which ended in a rowdy pub in Chiswick which was having a pre-pre-Australia Day party. we went pretty hard, which was dumb, but fun, although we still got back to base-camp at a reasonable hour.
why was having a big night Saturday dumb? because we both knew that Sunday was going to be fucking stupid. Australia Day was something we'd been looking forward to for ages. this year it was on a Monday which would have got in the way of having a particularly huge time, but the Walkabouts (an Australian-themed bar chain i'd managed to avoid until now) were doing it big on the Sunday to compensate. we had a plan to start in Covent Garden, meet some people, then head for the big Walkabout in Temple, on the Thames Embankment. get back to base Saturday night, get a late-night burger into us then get some sleep and be ready for a Big Fucking Day.
great plan, right?
i woke up in the morning to the sound of Louise throwing up into a plastic bag because the bathroom was occupied. she'd been ok the night before, but come morning and she was NOT in a good way. i went over, donated a hair-lacky to the cause (i've always got 3 in my hair which means there's always one i can spare) and rubbed her back until she was done and went back to bed to lie down. after waking up a bit i popped downstairs and picked her up some chips, a couple of small baguettes and some hommus - bread to settle the stomach, hommus because it's light and easy to keep down. she ate, felt a bit better, advised that she was good to go and we made our move into town.
we started easy - louise with a coke and me with a beer which i sipped. Alison, on her last day in town before flying out, and her friend Anna met us up and we footed it down to Temple to meet up with Daniel and his crew. when we got there it was Australian flags and accents as far as the eye could see, good music and a great vibe. i migrated to Snakebites and louise onto Vodka+Redbulls really fast. i honestly don't have a blow-by-blow for you, and you don't need one. as the hours ticked past we went round after round after round. we got to know Daniel's mates. Cam showed up and joined the fun for a while before heading off. louise made a stealthy escape not long before Allison and Anna, and Laura got in somewhere around 8:30ish. by this time i'd been drinking solidly for about 5 hours and Daniel and i had started swiping unattended drinks rather than heading to the bar. i found out later that she helped me to the tube station ("what are friends for?" she said later when i thanked her) and i seemed to have made it home ok from there, although i must have tripped over something somewhere because i'd grazed my knee - i didn't remember. what's that? i didn't menion eating anywhere in there? that would be because i forgot to, for the entire day. shit, you say? shit indeed.
i'll tell you what though - it was a GREAT day. still, i've made the executive decision that after 2 bouts of memory-loss in a month it's time to slow down and i've taken myself off the booze in any real way for the next little while. it IS way too easy to be drinking here. of course, that was going to happen on Australia Day regardless, but it's a habit i'll nipping in the bud here and now. i've been trying to steer my social events towards cafe's rather than bars for the last little while now in the theory that this will reduce my alcohol consumption some and this has been good so far, but i can see a serious shift towards diet-coke in my future. not that i have any intention of giving up booze wholesale, but a limit of 3 pints to an evening may be a good idea instead of the... um... i lost count at 8 or 9 on Sunday. hmm...
friday night i was out for tea with Cam's Vegan Meetup group and where did we go afterwards? the second-nearest pub (the nearest was too full) for a few beers. saturday night? out with louise to meet up with some of her friends. we met at a pub. then headed for a house-party. then another pub. sunday? pub, then a Walkabout.
i was supposed to be going to a movie session at Adnan's on Saturday, but cancelled at the last minute. there were a couple of reasons for this, but primary of them was thus: louise and i had a rough-patch leading up to NYE. we've sorted the worst of oyur shit out and are not getting along great again, so when she invited me to come and hang with her friends i thought that in the interest of better relations i really should go along for the ride. it was a good night which ended in a rowdy pub in Chiswick which was having a pre-pre-Australia Day party. we went pretty hard, which was dumb, but fun, although we still got back to base-camp at a reasonable hour.
why was having a big night Saturday dumb? because we both knew that Sunday was going to be fucking stupid. Australia Day was something we'd been looking forward to for ages. this year it was on a Monday which would have got in the way of having a particularly huge time, but the Walkabouts (an Australian-themed bar chain i'd managed to avoid until now) were doing it big on the Sunday to compensate. we had a plan to start in Covent Garden, meet some people, then head for the big Walkabout in Temple, on the Thames Embankment. get back to base Saturday night, get a late-night burger into us then get some sleep and be ready for a Big Fucking Day.
great plan, right?
i woke up in the morning to the sound of Louise throwing up into a plastic bag because the bathroom was occupied. she'd been ok the night before, but come morning and she was NOT in a good way. i went over, donated a hair-lacky to the cause (i've always got 3 in my hair which means there's always one i can spare) and rubbed her back until she was done and went back to bed to lie down. after waking up a bit i popped downstairs and picked her up some chips, a couple of small baguettes and some hommus - bread to settle the stomach, hommus because it's light and easy to keep down. she ate, felt a bit better, advised that she was good to go and we made our move into town.
we started easy - louise with a coke and me with a beer which i sipped. Alison, on her last day in town before flying out, and her friend Anna met us up and we footed it down to Temple to meet up with Daniel and his crew. when we got there it was Australian flags and accents as far as the eye could see, good music and a great vibe. i migrated to Snakebites and louise onto Vodka+Redbulls really fast. i honestly don't have a blow-by-blow for you, and you don't need one. as the hours ticked past we went round after round after round. we got to know Daniel's mates. Cam showed up and joined the fun for a while before heading off. louise made a stealthy escape not long before Allison and Anna, and Laura got in somewhere around 8:30ish. by this time i'd been drinking solidly for about 5 hours and Daniel and i had started swiping unattended drinks rather than heading to the bar. i found out later that she helped me to the tube station ("what are friends for?" she said later when i thanked her) and i seemed to have made it home ok from there, although i must have tripped over something somewhere because i'd grazed my knee - i didn't remember. what's that? i didn't menion eating anywhere in there? that would be because i forgot to, for the entire day. shit, you say? shit indeed.
i'll tell you what though - it was a GREAT day. still, i've made the executive decision that after 2 bouts of memory-loss in a month it's time to slow down and i've taken myself off the booze in any real way for the next little while. it IS way too easy to be drinking here. of course, that was going to happen on Australia Day regardless, but it's a habit i'll nipping in the bud here and now. i've been trying to steer my social events towards cafe's rather than bars for the last little while now in the theory that this will reduce my alcohol consumption some and this has been good so far, but i can see a serious shift towards diet-coke in my future. not that i have any intention of giving up booze wholesale, but a limit of 3 pints to an evening may be a good idea instead of the... um... i lost count at 8 or 9 on Sunday. hmm...
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Giving Up (is not as bad as it sounds)...
i've been meaning to write something for days, but the thoughts in my head were a jumbled mess of crap so anything i wrote would have been worse. on monday i was going to write about despair, but i realised i needed to harden up and quit whinging. yesterday i was going to write about being irritated, but i realised i was irritated by the most trivial bullshit and was being ridiculously unreasonable. things are going well... or well enough that i need to be looking forward, not down. tonight i figured i should say SOMETHING, so i set myself the time limit of a rapidly dying battery and sat down to at least say what i've been up to.
the weekend was fun. after my Argos Experience i met up with the Internationals for coffee. Moonbug came along with a new arrival from Perth - another Paul i'd met years ago in Perth but never got to know very well. we wound up with Australians on one half of the table, and Other Internationals on the other, with me sitting in the middle trying to keep track of both sides. a contingent moved to a nearby pub and i hung around there for a pint until i decided that i was feeling just too crappy to stay out and left. i spent the rest of the evening eating chinese food and talking to people on Skype and cruising the net. a thought struck me the other day and i'd grabbed a piece of cardboard that was lying around and started sketching some ideas for another tattoo. i keep picking it up, adding to it, changing it, remodelling it then throwing it away again. i'm starting to get the elements the way i want them in my head, even if the final details are still a little fuzzy, so i worked on that for a bit.
Sunday came and i was feeling much better after having a comfortable night's sleep. after having fun with my new poi i met up with Laura for tea which was pleasant - shooting the breeze while eating cheap vegan buffet before wandering aimlessly the streets around Piccadilly Circus, winding up in Leicester Square in time to catch the briefest glimpse of Kate Winslett when she showed up for the premiere of her latest movie. i ditched the Canadian at 7ish and headed for Charing Cross Station to meet up with Adnan, Marti and Alice (a French girl i'd not met previously) and we cafe-hopped, drinking coffee and discussing arthouse cinema until 10ish. well caffeinated and with a spring in my step. we dropped Alice at Trafalgar Square, before walking across the river where i parted company and walked back to base-camp for no better reason than that i was in the mood to walk.
i swung into Leicester Square on Monday to find out that there was now a betting pool on who was going to be next to get a job. after inputting my stats into the formula i came out with 170-7 odds - the words odds in the room, and thereby the one everyone's put their 5p on. me, i put the penny i found in the street on the way in on Daniel if for no better reason than that betting on me was a sure-fire way to jinx myself. i have the 2nd-round interview for the permanent job i've been working on for the last few weeks tomorrow. the phone interview i had for it last thursday went well - the feedback was excellent. tomorrow's the do-or-die and i'm throwing everything i've got into it - every dirty trick, any coaching i could get from the pimp, any pre-planning and fore-thought i can do. a lot's riding on me getting it, and i'm not talking about the betting pool. if i don't get it i'm going to quit job hunting for the next week or two and go travelling - Scotland for a start, then... who knows? i figure i'll wander and go where the wind blows. it's liberating to Give Up.
Giving Up has been weighing on my mind. the approach i've been taking to a lot of things has been Not Working, which means that it's time to Give Up on a lot of my ideas, plans and pre-conceived notions. if your strategy is failing then it's time to rethink your strategy and if there's one thing i'm getting pissed off at it's the constant stench of Failure. it's been so long since i've Failed in anything near this Epic scale and i've not dealt with it as well as i'd have liked so it's time to Give Up on what i thought i wanted and focus instead on what i Need. it's time to pull a Descartes: erase my framework and rebuild it anew. the way i've been playing things has not been making me happy, so why the fuck am i persisting with it? why not just pack a bag and go somewhere - book a train ticket there and work out how i'm getting back later. the idea sits well with me and i'm more than happy to trust my instincts and go with it. my instincts have usually served me well over the years so when they're screaming at me i'll listen.
i left Leicester Square today with Hilltop Hoods playing in my ears and a spring in my step. i'd applied for a couple more jobs, but my heart wasn't in it, so i didn't put too much thought into it - i just bummed around drinking coffee and chatting with the other job-hopefuls until it hit 5 and i got bored enough to get out. talking back past Trafalgar Square with my coat flowing in the breeze and a spring in my step for no reason other than it felt right... for 5 minutes i remembered what it was like to feel Untouchable. i'll see how tomorrow goes - i should know the result by friday which means that this weekend i'll either be celebrating or commiserating, but at least i have a direction for what comes next one way or the other...
the weekend was fun. after my Argos Experience i met up with the Internationals for coffee. Moonbug came along with a new arrival from Perth - another Paul i'd met years ago in Perth but never got to know very well. we wound up with Australians on one half of the table, and Other Internationals on the other, with me sitting in the middle trying to keep track of both sides. a contingent moved to a nearby pub and i hung around there for a pint until i decided that i was feeling just too crappy to stay out and left. i spent the rest of the evening eating chinese food and talking to people on Skype and cruising the net. a thought struck me the other day and i'd grabbed a piece of cardboard that was lying around and started sketching some ideas for another tattoo. i keep picking it up, adding to it, changing it, remodelling it then throwing it away again. i'm starting to get the elements the way i want them in my head, even if the final details are still a little fuzzy, so i worked on that for a bit.
Sunday came and i was feeling much better after having a comfortable night's sleep. after having fun with my new poi i met up with Laura for tea which was pleasant - shooting the breeze while eating cheap vegan buffet before wandering aimlessly the streets around Piccadilly Circus, winding up in Leicester Square in time to catch the briefest glimpse of Kate Winslett when she showed up for the premiere of her latest movie. i ditched the Canadian at 7ish and headed for Charing Cross Station to meet up with Adnan, Marti and Alice (a French girl i'd not met previously) and we cafe-hopped, drinking coffee and discussing arthouse cinema until 10ish. well caffeinated and with a spring in my step. we dropped Alice at Trafalgar Square, before walking across the river where i parted company and walked back to base-camp for no better reason than that i was in the mood to walk.
i swung into Leicester Square on Monday to find out that there was now a betting pool on who was going to be next to get a job. after inputting my stats into the formula i came out with 170-7 odds - the words odds in the room, and thereby the one everyone's put their 5p on. me, i put the penny i found in the street on the way in on Daniel if for no better reason than that betting on me was a sure-fire way to jinx myself. i have the 2nd-round interview for the permanent job i've been working on for the last few weeks tomorrow. the phone interview i had for it last thursday went well - the feedback was excellent. tomorrow's the do-or-die and i'm throwing everything i've got into it - every dirty trick, any coaching i could get from the pimp, any pre-planning and fore-thought i can do. a lot's riding on me getting it, and i'm not talking about the betting pool. if i don't get it i'm going to quit job hunting for the next week or two and go travelling - Scotland for a start, then... who knows? i figure i'll wander and go where the wind blows. it's liberating to Give Up.
Giving Up has been weighing on my mind. the approach i've been taking to a lot of things has been Not Working, which means that it's time to Give Up on a lot of my ideas, plans and pre-conceived notions. if your strategy is failing then it's time to rethink your strategy and if there's one thing i'm getting pissed off at it's the constant stench of Failure. it's been so long since i've Failed in anything near this Epic scale and i've not dealt with it as well as i'd have liked so it's time to Give Up on what i thought i wanted and focus instead on what i Need. it's time to pull a Descartes: erase my framework and rebuild it anew. the way i've been playing things has not been making me happy, so why the fuck am i persisting with it? why not just pack a bag and go somewhere - book a train ticket there and work out how i'm getting back later. the idea sits well with me and i'm more than happy to trust my instincts and go with it. my instincts have usually served me well over the years so when they're screaming at me i'll listen.
i left Leicester Square today with Hilltop Hoods playing in my ears and a spring in my step. i'd applied for a couple more jobs, but my heart wasn't in it, so i didn't put too much thought into it - i just bummed around drinking coffee and chatting with the other job-hopefuls until it hit 5 and i got bored enough to get out. talking back past Trafalgar Square with my coat flowing in the breeze and a spring in my step for no reason other than it felt right... for 5 minutes i remembered what it was like to feel Untouchable. i'll see how tomorrow goes - i should know the result by friday which means that this weekend i'll either be celebrating or commiserating, but at least i have a direction for what comes next one way or the other...
Monday, January 19, 2009
joy in motion...
the thought hit me while i was chatting online like a fast-acting poison from a shakespearean play - in through my ear and infecting my head. it was an old memory, and old hobby i've not indulged in for far too long. i knew i could still do it. the muscle-memory remains, but i'm so out of practice i knew i'd be rusty. fuck it. now i wanted back in, so i did a quick search online and found out that the only store in the UK that hasn't gone purely online was up in Camden Lock Market so i got dressed and bolted for the tube.
2 hours later i was in a park i'd found in Holborn back when i had one of my first job interviews called Lincoln Inn Fields, spinning my newly-acquired poi around my head like a madman, listening to a playlist i'd constructed on the go playing fast beats off my PSD. i can still do it, but at the same time i've lost it. the moves are there but the art of stringing them together with grace will take a while to come back to me. i kept tangling the strings together on the complicated changes, but i wasn't caring. i started slow, moving pattern into pattern until i was warmed up, waited for Less Talk More Rokk to come on, pretended i was performing again and went off.
and by fuck it felt good - the buzz from cranking some dance music loud and slipping into the groove. play, adjust the strings, play, adjust some more until the length was right for the low tricks and play some more until my arms turned to jelly. i used to be able to spin for hours before i got tired - it's just muscles i've not used like that for years. i kept playing, trying out some patterns i'd never got around to perfecting back in the day, smacking myself in the face and avoiding hitting small children and dogs, until a grizzled old guy gruffly moved me along so he could lock the gates. the idea of parks that CLOSE is a little foreign to me, but it's not my park so who am i to argue?
i hit the street and wandered east towards Leicester Square until i found a Costa on the southern (less fashionable) end of Regent St to sink some caffeine - it came out in a soup-mug with two handles it's so fucking big - so that i could do some writing while i waited for Laura to finish shopping before we meet up for a drink or food or something.
there's a park across the road from base-camp - an old cemetery-turned-children's playground next to the church, but it's grassy and i'm thinking that would be an ideal spot to get some practice in and exercise when i'm feeling stiff and sore. i'll build my arms back up to strength and with any luck my knees will continue to behave. i'd forgotten how good it felt to jump around and weave patterns in the air. give me movement and bloodflow, give me speed and grace, give me fire and peace. give me back a little of what i used to love and memories of when my car smelled permanently of kerosene, from back in the days when my world used to burn and spin...
2 hours later i was in a park i'd found in Holborn back when i had one of my first job interviews called Lincoln Inn Fields, spinning my newly-acquired poi around my head like a madman, listening to a playlist i'd constructed on the go playing fast beats off my PSD. i can still do it, but at the same time i've lost it. the moves are there but the art of stringing them together with grace will take a while to come back to me. i kept tangling the strings together on the complicated changes, but i wasn't caring. i started slow, moving pattern into pattern until i was warmed up, waited for Less Talk More Rokk to come on, pretended i was performing again and went off.
and by fuck it felt good - the buzz from cranking some dance music loud and slipping into the groove. play, adjust the strings, play, adjust some more until the length was right for the low tricks and play some more until my arms turned to jelly. i used to be able to spin for hours before i got tired - it's just muscles i've not used like that for years. i kept playing, trying out some patterns i'd never got around to perfecting back in the day, smacking myself in the face and avoiding hitting small children and dogs, until a grizzled old guy gruffly moved me along so he could lock the gates. the idea of parks that CLOSE is a little foreign to me, but it's not my park so who am i to argue?
i hit the street and wandered east towards Leicester Square until i found a Costa on the southern (less fashionable) end of Regent St to sink some caffeine - it came out in a soup-mug with two handles it's so fucking big - so that i could do some writing while i waited for Laura to finish shopping before we meet up for a drink or food or something.
there's a park across the road from base-camp - an old cemetery-turned-children's playground next to the church, but it's grassy and i'm thinking that would be an ideal spot to get some practice in and exercise when i'm feeling stiff and sore. i'll build my arms back up to strength and with any luck my knees will continue to behave. i'd forgotten how good it felt to jump around and weave patterns in the air. give me movement and bloodflow, give me speed and grace, give me fire and peace. give me back a little of what i used to love and memories of when my car smelled permanently of kerosene, from back in the days when my world used to burn and spin...
Sunday, January 18, 2009
this is not the shopping experience you were looking for...
today, after hearing about it more than a few times, i was a recipient of the Argos Experience. Argos is probably best described as all the joys of catalogue-shopping, but with the added agravation of having to actually leave the house. the way it works is thus: you head into the store and walk up to one of the desks upon which there is a catalogue, a terminal and a notepad. you flick through the catalogue and find what you want. today, for me, it was a doona. every item has a unique 7-digit code which you can punch into the terminal to see if the store has one in stock. odds are they don't have it, but there are a range if similar items you can try. once you've found one that fits the bill and which the terminal says they have you write the code down on a piece of paper and take it to a cashier and pay for it. once paid you're furnished with an order number which you take to a third desk where the pickers find the thing and give it to you. simple? sure. why not.
i was more than a little irritated before i even walked into the store. i'd been out to Primark (purveyors of all things cheap and nasty) a couple of days prior and picked up bed linen to replace the stuff i'd been kindly loaned by louise's cousin way back when we first moved into base-camp a couple of months ago. i'd just been paid for the first time, and sorting that out has been high on my agenda. unfortunately i ran afoul of a) the fucking bullshit customer service you get in cheap-arse stores and b) the British aversion to the cold, which is why they had only 2 weights in doonas: Really Fucking Warm and Survive A Nuclear Winter. these weights are designated by TOG ratings. i now know that 15 is as high as it goes and i wish i'd been wiser prior to purchase otherwise i'd have walked the hell out of the fucking store instead of grabbing the last queen-size TOG 13.5 doona they had in stock. que a couple of days later once i'd washed the doona cover (i like to wash these things before i use them) and tried to sleep under the damn thing. last night i woke up every half hour or so in a sweat, overheating and boiling in my skin. this morning's trip to Borough Markets was set aside and instead louise and i walked into Brixton.
it was a beautiful day today - warm (by comparison to lately) with a sunny sky, so i took the opportunity to wear short-sleeves and get some sun on my pasty skin. we checked a few things out in Brixton before entering Argos and by this time what little sanity i had left after the night before was wearing thin. after flicking through the catalogue and trying the codes for anything cheap that fit the bill (i'd figured on getting a TOG 7.5 doona on the theory there was no way i could overheat under something described as "summer" weight) and finding that anything that fit my needs was "not in stock" i was so frustrated i was about ready to take my head in my hands, tear my face off and stick it to the wall. fuck it. i picked the cheapest, close-enough option and paid for it before waiting at the pick-up area while pushy motherfuckers waved their tickets at the harried staff. through great fortitude i managed to not drop anyone to their knees and beat their brains out on the counter before i was handed my item and bolted for the door.
i hate to say that this was a fair indication of my day thereafter, but i'll save that for another post...
i was more than a little irritated before i even walked into the store. i'd been out to Primark (purveyors of all things cheap and nasty) a couple of days prior and picked up bed linen to replace the stuff i'd been kindly loaned by louise's cousin way back when we first moved into base-camp a couple of months ago. i'd just been paid for the first time, and sorting that out has been high on my agenda. unfortunately i ran afoul of a) the fucking bullshit customer service you get in cheap-arse stores and b) the British aversion to the cold, which is why they had only 2 weights in doonas: Really Fucking Warm and Survive A Nuclear Winter. these weights are designated by TOG ratings. i now know that 15 is as high as it goes and i wish i'd been wiser prior to purchase otherwise i'd have walked the hell out of the fucking store instead of grabbing the last queen-size TOG 13.5 doona they had in stock. que a couple of days later once i'd washed the doona cover (i like to wash these things before i use them) and tried to sleep under the damn thing. last night i woke up every half hour or so in a sweat, overheating and boiling in my skin. this morning's trip to Borough Markets was set aside and instead louise and i walked into Brixton.
it was a beautiful day today - warm (by comparison to lately) with a sunny sky, so i took the opportunity to wear short-sleeves and get some sun on my pasty skin. we checked a few things out in Brixton before entering Argos and by this time what little sanity i had left after the night before was wearing thin. after flicking through the catalogue and trying the codes for anything cheap that fit the bill (i'd figured on getting a TOG 7.5 doona on the theory there was no way i could overheat under something described as "summer" weight) and finding that anything that fit my needs was "not in stock" i was so frustrated i was about ready to take my head in my hands, tear my face off and stick it to the wall. fuck it. i picked the cheapest, close-enough option and paid for it before waiting at the pick-up area while pushy motherfuckers waved their tickets at the harried staff. through great fortitude i managed to not drop anyone to their knees and beat their brains out on the counter before i was handed my item and bolted for the door.
i hate to say that this was a fair indication of my day thereafter, but i'll save that for another post...
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