Pepper Boy's nose trickled and shook as his eyes flaked open and his face screwed up. He forced his arms out awkwardly and yawned, leering and aching while his joints cracked. The airplane was ready to land in Seattle, and the cabin crew were ready to take their seats. Pepper Boy wasn't really asleep, but he had forced himself into a gargoyle-like state of assumed sleep in order to endure the grueling boredom and caged-in terror of his transatlantic voyage. He had survived the 1 hour flight to Dublin, that was easy. A quick glance of Ireland and then onto Phoenix, Arizona. Entering America was daunting and invasive, as bearded and gruff customs guards with vague Southern accents cropped and inspected every part of Pepper Boy's gaunt, pale European figure. His passport was stamped and manhandled relentlessly, his very existence scanned for instances of evil. Perhaps they'd enquire about his atheism. He'd have to be honest, he'd crack under the pressure to start telling lies and fables of God and his mouth would run away with him.
No, new continent, new start, play it cool and no crazy stories yet, he resolved. As he boarded the final leg, the 4 hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, the notion that this final leg will indeed be the second longest part left him pained and crestfallen. But that was 5 hours ago, and that drama was over now.
Pepper Boy's gargoyle-like retreat had paid off, and he was about to descend into Seattle Tacoma International, or whatever it was called. He had been given quite specific instructions by Patrick Richardson, to purchase an American cell-phone and sim Card when he landed in Phoenix, and to call his cell-phone when he did so in order to confirm that he had landed well and was on his way to Seattle. It would also be the first time that Pepper Boy would hear the voice of Patrick Richardson, and what a voice it was. A delicate, yet firm and nuanced Western brogue, Pepper Boy had little experience with discerning American accents but Patrick Richardson's sounded quite traditionally American, which felt comforting yet bizarre enough at the time.
Now that same weird jolting buzz wrapped Pepper Boy up as the plane descended towards the runway. Heads went back, arms grappled onto armrests as the plane dived and struck the ground, jolting a bit as it gradually yet dramatically slowed to a halt. After countless flights in the last couple of years Pepper Boy still found the plane landing process a daunting one. Luckily, this was his last of last for a while, and he let out a sigh of relief. He was finally here, the plane had landed in Seattle and people began to rise from their streets, clutching for their jackets and essentials as they strove for an exit. Pepper Boy took his time and stayed seated as he fingered his shoulder bag and jacket. He was about to set foot in America for real and meet and reside with Patrick Richardson, a well-meaning yet God-fearing man of some moral fibre that bore utterly no connection or relation with Pepper Boy except their Christian names. Pepper Boy still wondered how it had all happened and how Mr Richardson had offered him the invitation in the first place. But nonetheless he knew an opportunity such as this could not be turned down.
Patrick and Monica Richardson were going to greet him in the arrivals area, after he retrieved his bag and made his way down what would likely be an endless labyrinth of stairs and escalators to travel down. It was that moment that Pepper Boy alternately anticipated and dreaded all at once. What would they make of his strange Cumbrian accent and his hair? Would they even understand him well? Would they want to interrogate him instantly about every part of his belief system, values and what wicked culture he was stewing in back in socialist sinful England?
Well all of these paranoid thoughts were about to be put to the test now. After leaving the plane and enduring another rigorous series of stamps and hallways, checks and looks and hallways, Pepper Boy retrieved his scratched brown suitcase from a weirdly massive baggage cart and headed through another set of massive automatic doors as he reached a crowd of baying waiters, eager to greet their friend, associate or loved one.
Tired, nervous and displaced, Pepper Boy strode toward and approached Patrick and Monica Richardson, who themselves stood a bit taken aback, as if confronted with the sweeping reality of it all, then moved to extend their welcoming arms to the gaunt traveler they were about to take in as their own.
Friday, 18 January 2013
Monday, 14 January 2013
Pepper Boy's Adventure In Seattle
The Pacific Northwest, the mecca for grunge pilgrimage. Pepper Boy never thought he would ever get the chance to experience it in his lifetime, like many things it would remain a distant what-if, never to be achieved. Well the skies of fate or some other out there force had thrown him a bone of destiny. Some man by his namesake had used a simple internet application to add every other Pepper Boy in the virtual hemisphere. In his recent clashes with bad and good fortune in equal measures, being rattled then shaken then gently picked up and guided on Pepper Boy had grown no more or less skeptical, but was acutely aware of the possible qualities of this opportunity. Travel some 5,000 miles to visit and spend time with a family, bearing no connection or history other than name. An invite seemed rude to turn down, and not just to the inviters.
So, after saving up a couple of wages with little effort other than abstaining from his weekly purchases of jigsaws, Pepper Boy hopped on an Aer Lingus flight to Seattle. His journey would be a varied yet disorienting one, from Manchester to Dublin, then onto Atlanta International, then onto Phoenix International, and finally onto Seattle Tacoma. The whole journey would take about 21 hours, but by the time he would get to Seattle it would only be 6 o clock at night, still. Pepper Boy had always struggled to keep to time and organise himself at the best of times, and dealing with that kind of time distortion would prove troubling. Coupled with the pressure of making a good first impression to Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, he was already feeling like his first few hours in Seattle would be difficult ones.
But nonetheless, he had committed, and came too far to pull out of the adventure now. He sat down on seat 25C, an aisle seat, thankfully, and as he loaded his cabin bag into the overhead cabin bin among a crush of Irish and English voices. As he fumbled for his jacket and bag, settling them into neat comfortable spots to lie, he recoiled slightly as he realised what chain of events he undertook to get himself to this point. The cabin crew were finishing organising the people into their designated seats, and were about to begin the safety procedure demonstration thing that they do on every flight. It was all about to happen
So, after saving up a couple of wages with little effort other than abstaining from his weekly purchases of jigsaws, Pepper Boy hopped on an Aer Lingus flight to Seattle. His journey would be a varied yet disorienting one, from Manchester to Dublin, then onto Atlanta International, then onto Phoenix International, and finally onto Seattle Tacoma. The whole journey would take about 21 hours, but by the time he would get to Seattle it would only be 6 o clock at night, still. Pepper Boy had always struggled to keep to time and organise himself at the best of times, and dealing with that kind of time distortion would prove troubling. Coupled with the pressure of making a good first impression to Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, he was already feeling like his first few hours in Seattle would be difficult ones.
But nonetheless, he had committed, and came too far to pull out of the adventure now. He sat down on seat 25C, an aisle seat, thankfully, and as he loaded his cabin bag into the overhead cabin bin among a crush of Irish and English voices. As he fumbled for his jacket and bag, settling them into neat comfortable spots to lie, he recoiled slightly as he realised what chain of events he undertook to get himself to this point. The cabin crew were finishing organising the people into their designated seats, and were about to begin the safety procedure demonstration thing that they do on every flight. It was all about to happen
Sunday, 13 January 2013
crumbs
Someone else is out there doing it, and living it, and breathing it better.
Why branch out at all.
What little catflower is seizing the blue hour
pop vixen
Why branch out at all.
What little catflower is seizing the blue hour
pop vixen
Thursday, 4 October 2012
We Knew That We Couldn't Surv iv e
It was coming up for half past 7, and Bethany's progress in the getting ready stage of tonight was almost complete. She was usually punctual for everything and made use of the sometimes fleeting time well. Bethany initially thought that being on time was an inherent given, a status quo to which there doesn't exist a "not being on time" sense of time. But in her progress through life she had encountered a sizable number of contemporaries who failed to be ready or early for anything on time; nights out, parties, weddings, festivals, lectures, shopping days. Moreover, many of these people, particularly Bethany's college friends would always note to her her remarkable punctuality, at least in comparison to the perpetually behind them.
Though she was not particularly organised, Bethany did things in an almost sequentially organised fashion, rarely turning her attention away from a task to start another unless she had justifiable reason to do so. Sometimes it made her come off a bit strange and overly focused, especially as many of her hobbies tended to be activities that do not have specific boundaries for beginning and ending. For example, she loved to read, and would frequently finish books within record time of starting them, often reading chapters without interruption, soaking up hours and hours of her time, and everyone else's, judging by the way they reacted to her oddly fixated behavioural patterns. She would listen to discographies of bands for hours on end, simply to get herself familiar with their work and enjoy it as one continuous narrative whole.
"So what," she thought about that. There was nothing wrong with getting wrapped up in activities in such a way, especially when they didn't test your physical strength or stamina too much.
Still, she would probably need her stamina for tonight. Mancunians liked to drink, probably on par with Glaswegians and Bethany could barely keep up with the Glaswegian pace of drinking. Since she had made her move down three weeks ago she had barely spent a penny on alcohol, mostly because all her funds had been thrown at getting her dingy flat looking acceptable, and treating herself to a new haircut and some new clothes for starting her new job, if her location was undergoing such a revolution then at least her wardrobe could follow suit. So she resolved that she would line her stomach with a bottle of blue WKD and a ham sandwich, whipped up from the depths of her declining food stocks. She was more nervous than normal about this night out, for all her passion for nursing, she felt dwarfed and isolated in this now strange place, and she was sure her bolshy, Mancunian colleagues looked bemusedly at her retiring nature and strange habits.
As half past 7 became 8 o clock, Bethany applied the finishing touches of her proudly acquired Benefit eyeliner and threw on her denim jacket over her maxi dress and boots, the latter being a necessary choice as Bethany felt a strange sense of comfort in them. They were imposing and thick, and in her jaunt around Manchester's nightlife she would need to feel as outwardly tough and resilient as possible.
She brushed off feelings of hype and overwrought thought, and dashed out of her flat and into the night, and right on time as well. This first night out with her new coworkers was going to be a crucial one, as she would need to form some friendships fast, or be drowned under the weight of this increasingly lonely place. While routinely bringing herself back to the old adage of "just be yourself," Bethany mused painfully over the thought that she would have to make a good impression of herself tonight, and try and bond with her co-workers outside of work, while trying to hit the right balance between nice and friendly and too nice and overbearing.
Her fast-paced and teeth-clenching work didn't prove for much of a setting for forming new solid friendships, but she had struck up a vague connection with a plucky redhead called Rachel (Rach) from somewhere near Stockport, as Rach put it bluntly. Rach was something of a busybody/gossip in the hospital, and seemed to know or at least have an active interest in everyone's shady goings-on. Perhaps it was Bethany's offbeat demeanour and peculiar Scottish accent that piqued the salacious Rach's interest in her, but at this stage Bethany was just happy someone even recognised her existence, at least enough to cordially invite her along with some workmates after a shift.
Consisting mostly of nurses and nurse practitioners (doctors, nurses, surgeons and other staff didn't seem to interact much outside of their occupational social boundaries), the work night out's lineup was still unconfirmed, at least to Bethany. She had neglected to ask Rach who exactly would be going, but that lineup was always subject to change with these things. Rach proffered a specific and generic set of instructions, Bethany was to call her when she was leaving and to call again when she reached the cross of Princess Street and Portland Street.
And that was what Bethany did. Leaving the 37, or 57, or 146 bus (approximately every bus leaving Bethany's street in Longsight somehow dutifully went through the city centre, and she didn't pay much attention to which bus she got on) she rung the salacious Rach once again, confirming her co-ordinates and asking for further instructions.
B: "Hi Rachel, that's me at Princess Street now, where will I get you in?"
R: "Where will you get me in? Haha what does that mean? You scottish people are mad, alright, we're in a place called the Tiger Lounge, have you been there yet? It's on Cooper Street, just up Princess Street. Dead easy to find. I'll meet you outside it in 5 minutes love, me and Courtney will be having a ciggie."
B: "Ah right yeah that's great (Bethany was going to have walk even further up Princess Street, why the hell did Rachel send her down here!?), I'll be there soon, I've not been before but I know where you mean. I'll see you in a bit. Who is all there so far?"
R: "Great. Well right now it's me, Courtney (Courtnehhh), Bianca (Beeyankah), one of the A+E girls, Graham (Gray-uum) from Radiology and Marta (*poorly pronounced faux-european*), the Polish girl from A+E as well. I don't know if Marta was too keen on coming, I thought she thought we were all a bit loud and crude but she's dead nice and she drinks Stella! I love Stella and there she's knocking it back without a care in t'world! Everyone was callin me a lesbo for drinking it last week as well, and she's definitely not a lesbo and she drinks it. By the way right, do you think I come off like a lesbian? Not that that's a bad thing or nothing, I just need to know."
B: "Ummm... no I don't think you're a lesbian. Or you act like a lesbian, Rach. I'll...I'll be there soon, and we can talk about it."
R: "All right then. Are you a lesbian? Not that it's a thing or anything, just that me and Coutrney were thinking about it earlier, cos i mean you hadn't said if you had been checking out any blokes about the hospital or that."
B: "I'm not a lesbian Rachel. I had a couple of experiences, you know, the way everyone did when they were drunk and 18, but I'm a boring straight (Beth laughed nervously, sex or even sexuality was never a subject she wanted to scream from the rooftops about)."
R: "All right then fair enough ya big lesbo. See you soon love."
B: "See you in a bit ya big dyke."
Bethany chirped with a stunted laugh as she hung up, afraid the dropping of the d-word might have been a step too far in the banter. Who knows how Manchester people react to certain forms of humour, or how "far" constitutes "far" here. It was all a bit much for the slightly daunted Bethany, who wandered round the corner of Princess Street and swung right into Cooper Street, where she could make out a waving Rachel and some figures next to her, avidly consuming cigarettes en masse. Should Bethany point out to them the hypocrisy of them smoking away while essentially being agent to help save, lengthen and improve people's lives, something that smoking did the exact opposite to.
"Fuck it," she thought; Hypocritical quandaries aside, she was here to make an impression, have some fun, and finally start enjoying herself and living her life.
Though she was not particularly organised, Bethany did things in an almost sequentially organised fashion, rarely turning her attention away from a task to start another unless she had justifiable reason to do so. Sometimes it made her come off a bit strange and overly focused, especially as many of her hobbies tended to be activities that do not have specific boundaries for beginning and ending. For example, she loved to read, and would frequently finish books within record time of starting them, often reading chapters without interruption, soaking up hours and hours of her time, and everyone else's, judging by the way they reacted to her oddly fixated behavioural patterns. She would listen to discographies of bands for hours on end, simply to get herself familiar with their work and enjoy it as one continuous narrative whole.
"So what," she thought about that. There was nothing wrong with getting wrapped up in activities in such a way, especially when they didn't test your physical strength or stamina too much.
Still, she would probably need her stamina for tonight. Mancunians liked to drink, probably on par with Glaswegians and Bethany could barely keep up with the Glaswegian pace of drinking. Since she had made her move down three weeks ago she had barely spent a penny on alcohol, mostly because all her funds had been thrown at getting her dingy flat looking acceptable, and treating herself to a new haircut and some new clothes for starting her new job, if her location was undergoing such a revolution then at least her wardrobe could follow suit. So she resolved that she would line her stomach with a bottle of blue WKD and a ham sandwich, whipped up from the depths of her declining food stocks. She was more nervous than normal about this night out, for all her passion for nursing, she felt dwarfed and isolated in this now strange place, and she was sure her bolshy, Mancunian colleagues looked bemusedly at her retiring nature and strange habits.
As half past 7 became 8 o clock, Bethany applied the finishing touches of her proudly acquired Benefit eyeliner and threw on her denim jacket over her maxi dress and boots, the latter being a necessary choice as Bethany felt a strange sense of comfort in them. They were imposing and thick, and in her jaunt around Manchester's nightlife she would need to feel as outwardly tough and resilient as possible.
She brushed off feelings of hype and overwrought thought, and dashed out of her flat and into the night, and right on time as well. This first night out with her new coworkers was going to be a crucial one, as she would need to form some friendships fast, or be drowned under the weight of this increasingly lonely place. While routinely bringing herself back to the old adage of "just be yourself," Bethany mused painfully over the thought that she would have to make a good impression of herself tonight, and try and bond with her co-workers outside of work, while trying to hit the right balance between nice and friendly and too nice and overbearing.
Her fast-paced and teeth-clenching work didn't prove for much of a setting for forming new solid friendships, but she had struck up a vague connection with a plucky redhead called Rachel (Rach) from somewhere near Stockport, as Rach put it bluntly. Rach was something of a busybody/gossip in the hospital, and seemed to know or at least have an active interest in everyone's shady goings-on. Perhaps it was Bethany's offbeat demeanour and peculiar Scottish accent that piqued the salacious Rach's interest in her, but at this stage Bethany was just happy someone even recognised her existence, at least enough to cordially invite her along with some workmates after a shift.
Consisting mostly of nurses and nurse practitioners (doctors, nurses, surgeons and other staff didn't seem to interact much outside of their occupational social boundaries), the work night out's lineup was still unconfirmed, at least to Bethany. She had neglected to ask Rach who exactly would be going, but that lineup was always subject to change with these things. Rach proffered a specific and generic set of instructions, Bethany was to call her when she was leaving and to call again when she reached the cross of Princess Street and Portland Street.
And that was what Bethany did. Leaving the 37, or 57, or 146 bus (approximately every bus leaving Bethany's street in Longsight somehow dutifully went through the city centre, and she didn't pay much attention to which bus she got on) she rung the salacious Rach once again, confirming her co-ordinates and asking for further instructions.
B: "Hi Rachel, that's me at Princess Street now, where will I get you in?"
R: "Where will you get me in? Haha what does that mean? You scottish people are mad, alright, we're in a place called the Tiger Lounge, have you been there yet? It's on Cooper Street, just up Princess Street. Dead easy to find. I'll meet you outside it in 5 minutes love, me and Courtney will be having a ciggie."
B: "Ah right yeah that's great (Bethany was going to have walk even further up Princess Street, why the hell did Rachel send her down here!?), I'll be there soon, I've not been before but I know where you mean. I'll see you in a bit. Who is all there so far?"
R: "Great. Well right now it's me, Courtney (Courtnehhh), Bianca (Beeyankah), one of the A+E girls, Graham (Gray-uum) from Radiology and Marta (*poorly pronounced faux-european*), the Polish girl from A+E as well. I don't know if Marta was too keen on coming, I thought she thought we were all a bit loud and crude but she's dead nice and she drinks Stella! I love Stella and there she's knocking it back without a care in t'world! Everyone was callin me a lesbo for drinking it last week as well, and she's definitely not a lesbo and she drinks it. By the way right, do you think I come off like a lesbian? Not that that's a bad thing or nothing, I just need to know."
B: "Ummm... no I don't think you're a lesbian. Or you act like a lesbian, Rach. I'll...I'll be there soon, and we can talk about it."
R: "All right then. Are you a lesbian? Not that it's a thing or anything, just that me and Coutrney were thinking about it earlier, cos i mean you hadn't said if you had been checking out any blokes about the hospital or that."
B: "I'm not a lesbian Rachel. I had a couple of experiences, you know, the way everyone did when they were drunk and 18, but I'm a boring straight (Beth laughed nervously, sex or even sexuality was never a subject she wanted to scream from the rooftops about)."
R: "All right then fair enough ya big lesbo. See you soon love."
B: "See you in a bit ya big dyke."
Bethany chirped with a stunted laugh as she hung up, afraid the dropping of the d-word might have been a step too far in the banter. Who knows how Manchester people react to certain forms of humour, or how "far" constitutes "far" here. It was all a bit much for the slightly daunted Bethany, who wandered round the corner of Princess Street and swung right into Cooper Street, where she could make out a waving Rachel and some figures next to her, avidly consuming cigarettes en masse. Should Bethany point out to them the hypocrisy of them smoking away while essentially being agent to help save, lengthen and improve people's lives, something that smoking did the exact opposite to.
"Fuck it," she thought; Hypocritical quandaries aside, she was here to make an impression, have some fun, and finally start enjoying herself and living her life.
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
We Knew That We Couldn't Surviiive
The dark of night crept in slowly, despite the train's disconcerting whir as it hurtled through the English countryside. Leticia and Wesley were whizzing somewhere between Crewe and Manchester, at least, that was the last stop Wesley remembers them pulling away from. Neither of them really grasped the notion that they had to change at Preston until the robotic Virgin Trains tannoy voice bellowed the call that the train would soon be approaching Preston. Just when they were officially sanctioned 'out of the woods' and could relax they were in upheaval again, jostling and grabbing frantically to leave this doomed train and board another, set for Manchester. As they left the train, due for London, an even more distant destination but one not pertinent to this voyage, Wesley's eyes hovered around the looming Preston train station lights, a daunting howl of trains, weaving in and out of another as they arrive and depart, and the familiar monotone, robotic tannoys directing commuters on their chosen path. It had nothing on the spectral glass kingdom of Glasgow Central, but it had a greyed out, Northern charm that despite its blandness, had a quaint kick for Wesley. Perhaps he had been watching too much Coronation Street as of late.
Leticia's initial buzz had simmered to a focused pensive growl as she plodded through the station, leading the way in a sense as she directed herself and Wesley to Platform 6, for the Manchester Piccadilly train. It had not been officially stated that Leticia was taking charge of this trip, but it had somewhat become the accepted status quo, as Leticia had hatched the frankly reckless plan in the first place. What if their house got trashed? What about their innocent, ignorant flatmate Harry, of whom they had completely disregarded in all the chaos. Back in Carlisle it dawned on Wesley that Harry would quickly wonder where they've gone and why their things are gone, then to be greeted at the door by the cartoonishly intimidating and daunting Sprinkle and two of his mates, and be asking for them, with callous intent. Harry, poor Harry, pondered Wesley. He didn't even take drugs and he would likely have a panic attack at the mere mention of all this being possible, which played a large part in why Leticia and Wesley were hell-bound to phone him to fill him in on this. As neither could bring themselves to do it by Penrith, they anxiously awaited a phonecall from his number, staring blankly into their mobile phone screens.
The mood had turned somewhat serious, and somewhat sour as trajectory became reality, something terrible was going to happen to Harry, and the house if he just happened to be in when Sprinkle came knocking. Ignorant of who each other were, the initial hilarity would dissipate as Sprinkle would demand information about the errant Leticia and Wesley. An ignorant Harry would be lost for an answer, genuinely denied as such which in turn would not go down well with Sprinkle, who would reasonably yet incorrectly assume that it was all lies to cover for them.
It was this though that finally compelled a frantic Wesley to make that call. But he wouldn't to Harry himself.
N: "Wesley."
W: "Hi Nancy. I need to ask a peculiar yet essential favour of you. Are you with Harry just now or know where he is?"
N: "Oh right. Well I saw Harry today with that girl he's seeing going into the subway, they must have been heading into town."
W: "Cool, what time would this have been about?"
N: "Errr, about half 4 I guess, would've been as I was coming back from work so yeah about half 4, 5 o clock. Why?"
W: "No reason. Look, errr... Me and Leticia are going to see her sister for a few days, she's taken a bad turn and Leticia doesn't think she's doing so well, and she's a bit lonely, so we've decided to go keep her company.
N: "Oh right that's nice... Doesn't Leticia's sister live in England or something?"
W: "Well yeah, we're in Preston right now actually, about to head on a train to Manchester."
N: "Fucking hell when did you two decide this? And why wasn't anyone invited?"
W: "It was a pretty on the spot decision. I'll need to explain it later. Right this is the favour part."
N: "Here it comes. Is it to tell Harry that you've fucked off and left him in the house to deal with things while you two live it up?"
W: "Yes. That and, not to go back to the house tonight. At least not until later. Try and get him out or see where he is with that date and keep him away from the flat for a bit. It's for his own good. I'll explain tomorrow. It's nothing serious."
N: "What the fuck? Why does he have to stay away from the house? Has something happened? What the fuck's going on? Let me speak to Leticia."
W: "Nanc... right now isn't the best time. All I can say for now is, Leticia and I...need to stay away from Glasgow for a wee while. And so does Harry from that flat, at least for tonight."
N: "Wesley, tell me what the fuck yous two have done now. This isn't funny. Where's Leticia? I'm phoning her."
The call bleeped, and Nancy disconnected. Wesley appeared crestfallen. Leticia stared at him and waited for her phone to ring. She held it up, as a picture of her and Nancy, eating ice cream (one of those personalised pictures when a friend calls function) and tapped the disconnect button.
"I can't face her right now. She's probably already worked out what's happened. At least she'll be smart enough to get Harry away from the flat." Leticia declared.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the train bound for Manchester, Leticia and Wesley had decided to turn off their phones, at least until they had to give Leticia's unstable sister a call to confirm we were nearly at Piccadilly, and she would greet them from the station, and no doubt be filled in on the nonsense that her younger sibling had gotten herself into. Wesley witnessed Leticia send a lengthy, carefully plotted text as they got on the train, no doubt to Nancy, but he didn't want to heighten the tension by pestering her as to what the text said. He could already surmise it contained mixed messages of placation as to their situation, and brief explanation of the dangerous web they had weaved. Although being utterly disapproving and appalled at their ridiculous actions, Nancy could be trusted to go into Mother Hen mode and provide crucial damage control, especially for the blissfully ignorant Harry, who, upon having to hear about their tangle second hand from his mutual friend Nancy, would surely be so infuriated and betrayed that they would probably not see him again after they would inevitably return. Wesley predicted that the paranoid android's first reaction would be to stamp and moan and curse Leticia and his names into the grounds of hell. Next he would call his boisterous, reactionary father who would whoosh down with a removal van from Aberfoyle and collect his precious son and his things and take him away from the hellish drug den flat by tomorrow afternoon. Said outraged father would then hound Wesley and Leticia's mobiles with calls, baying for blood, and with good reason.
It had never been plain sailing in Leticia, Wesley and Harry's living situation, even from day one. Since the relatively sheltered Harry had clung to the more duplicitous and streetwise Leticia from the start of university, perhaps admiring her sense of purpose and achievability of her goals, however dubious they were. Despite their best behaviour and parent pleasing charms, Wesley, Leticia, Nancy and Siobhan had never managed to really present themselves well to Harry painfully traditional and stereotypical father. Poor performances at Harry's "dignified" 21st birthday celebration had cemented this notion, and this latest life-threatening drama would seal the cement with even more cement, while gaining some points for being so comically outrageous and dangerous. Some unpaid rent is one thing, drug dealers destroying your house over an errantly gained drug debt is another. In some form Wesley and Leticia might make great case studies for a typical moralistic and outraged Daily Mail article on the wayward and degenerate youth of today. The stuff of legend, perhaps.
Leticia leant her head against the window and peered out into the dark English countryside, anxiously awaiting the next leg of their adventure, which was about to commence. Wesley tapped his rucksack, still saying little and in a way, the silence at this point felt appropriate as the calm before the storm
Leticia's initial buzz had simmered to a focused pensive growl as she plodded through the station, leading the way in a sense as she directed herself and Wesley to Platform 6, for the Manchester Piccadilly train. It had not been officially stated that Leticia was taking charge of this trip, but it had somewhat become the accepted status quo, as Leticia had hatched the frankly reckless plan in the first place. What if their house got trashed? What about their innocent, ignorant flatmate Harry, of whom they had completely disregarded in all the chaos. Back in Carlisle it dawned on Wesley that Harry would quickly wonder where they've gone and why their things are gone, then to be greeted at the door by the cartoonishly intimidating and daunting Sprinkle and two of his mates, and be asking for them, with callous intent. Harry, poor Harry, pondered Wesley. He didn't even take drugs and he would likely have a panic attack at the mere mention of all this being possible, which played a large part in why Leticia and Wesley were hell-bound to phone him to fill him in on this. As neither could bring themselves to do it by Penrith, they anxiously awaited a phonecall from his number, staring blankly into their mobile phone screens.
The mood had turned somewhat serious, and somewhat sour as trajectory became reality, something terrible was going to happen to Harry, and the house if he just happened to be in when Sprinkle came knocking. Ignorant of who each other were, the initial hilarity would dissipate as Sprinkle would demand information about the errant Leticia and Wesley. An ignorant Harry would be lost for an answer, genuinely denied as such which in turn would not go down well with Sprinkle, who would reasonably yet incorrectly assume that it was all lies to cover for them.
It was this though that finally compelled a frantic Wesley to make that call. But he wouldn't to Harry himself.
N: "Wesley."
W: "Hi Nancy. I need to ask a peculiar yet essential favour of you. Are you with Harry just now or know where he is?"
N: "Oh right. Well I saw Harry today with that girl he's seeing going into the subway, they must have been heading into town."
W: "Cool, what time would this have been about?"
N: "Errr, about half 4 I guess, would've been as I was coming back from work so yeah about half 4, 5 o clock. Why?"
W: "No reason. Look, errr... Me and Leticia are going to see her sister for a few days, she's taken a bad turn and Leticia doesn't think she's doing so well, and she's a bit lonely, so we've decided to go keep her company.
N: "Oh right that's nice... Doesn't Leticia's sister live in England or something?"
W: "Well yeah, we're in Preston right now actually, about to head on a train to Manchester."
N: "Fucking hell when did you two decide this? And why wasn't anyone invited?"
W: "It was a pretty on the spot decision. I'll need to explain it later. Right this is the favour part."
N: "Here it comes. Is it to tell Harry that you've fucked off and left him in the house to deal with things while you two live it up?"
W: "Yes. That and, not to go back to the house tonight. At least not until later. Try and get him out or see where he is with that date and keep him away from the flat for a bit. It's for his own good. I'll explain tomorrow. It's nothing serious."
N: "What the fuck? Why does he have to stay away from the house? Has something happened? What the fuck's going on? Let me speak to Leticia."
W: "Nanc... right now isn't the best time. All I can say for now is, Leticia and I...need to stay away from Glasgow for a wee while. And so does Harry from that flat, at least for tonight."
N: "Wesley, tell me what the fuck yous two have done now. This isn't funny. Where's Leticia? I'm phoning her."
The call bleeped, and Nancy disconnected. Wesley appeared crestfallen. Leticia stared at him and waited for her phone to ring. She held it up, as a picture of her and Nancy, eating ice cream (one of those personalised pictures when a friend calls function) and tapped the disconnect button.
"I can't face her right now. She's probably already worked out what's happened. At least she'll be smart enough to get Harry away from the flat." Leticia declared.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On the train bound for Manchester, Leticia and Wesley had decided to turn off their phones, at least until they had to give Leticia's unstable sister a call to confirm we were nearly at Piccadilly, and she would greet them from the station, and no doubt be filled in on the nonsense that her younger sibling had gotten herself into. Wesley witnessed Leticia send a lengthy, carefully plotted text as they got on the train, no doubt to Nancy, but he didn't want to heighten the tension by pestering her as to what the text said. He could already surmise it contained mixed messages of placation as to their situation, and brief explanation of the dangerous web they had weaved. Although being utterly disapproving and appalled at their ridiculous actions, Nancy could be trusted to go into Mother Hen mode and provide crucial damage control, especially for the blissfully ignorant Harry, who, upon having to hear about their tangle second hand from his mutual friend Nancy, would surely be so infuriated and betrayed that they would probably not see him again after they would inevitably return. Wesley predicted that the paranoid android's first reaction would be to stamp and moan and curse Leticia and his names into the grounds of hell. Next he would call his boisterous, reactionary father who would whoosh down with a removal van from Aberfoyle and collect his precious son and his things and take him away from the hellish drug den flat by tomorrow afternoon. Said outraged father would then hound Wesley and Leticia's mobiles with calls, baying for blood, and with good reason.
It had never been plain sailing in Leticia, Wesley and Harry's living situation, even from day one. Since the relatively sheltered Harry had clung to the more duplicitous and streetwise Leticia from the start of university, perhaps admiring her sense of purpose and achievability of her goals, however dubious they were. Despite their best behaviour and parent pleasing charms, Wesley, Leticia, Nancy and Siobhan had never managed to really present themselves well to Harry painfully traditional and stereotypical father. Poor performances at Harry's "dignified" 21st birthday celebration had cemented this notion, and this latest life-threatening drama would seal the cement with even more cement, while gaining some points for being so comically outrageous and dangerous. Some unpaid rent is one thing, drug dealers destroying your house over an errantly gained drug debt is another. In some form Wesley and Leticia might make great case studies for a typical moralistic and outraged Daily Mail article on the wayward and degenerate youth of today. The stuff of legend, perhaps.
Leticia leant her head against the window and peered out into the dark English countryside, anxiously awaiting the next leg of their adventure, which was about to commence. Wesley tapped his rucksack, still saying little and in a way, the silence at this point felt appropriate as the calm before the storm
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
We Knew That We Couldn't Surviive
Bethany tucked away the bag of jelly babies into her right jacket pocket, hurriedly relieving the duty of carrying them from her hands, which she preferred to keep free to sway amiably by her side, or to rifle through to a new song choice on her cheap mp3 player. It was almost like a stance of security for her, as if by keeping her hands free she was quick to react to whatever could approach her in the street, living or object. Maybe it was a faint yet poignant nod to her younger days, when she would prepare herself mentally and physically for any oncoming bullies or unsavoury types, who would surely take any chance to trip and push her into the mud.
Still, it was coming up for 7 and she was desperate to get back to her flat. She had spent the day aimlessly trudging round the Northern Quarter, initially hoping to find the promise of a new job, but as that search grew fruitless she started hoping she would find...anything. A new bar, or cafe, or place to go. Or that new job, or something to indicate a new turn around in her fortunes. A run-in with a new mysterious friend, who would show her the world. Truth be told she was underwhelmed by what she thought would be her big break; her impulsively epic jaunt to a new city, that for her harked the post-war migration of troubled youths heading for swelling cities to find fortune and adventure.
No, she was injecting far too much wonder and romance into this whole moving business. It had been a year now, and it was as much a sensible, pragmatic progression in her step to being a...district nurse.
"Well fuck those fucking NHS bastards to fuck."
Though her outward demeanor emanated a cool yet weary optimism about the whole situation, Bethany was stirring fear and petty anger within herself at the whole situation. Gross misconduct for something that was so commonplace and of little risk or offense to anyone; patient or doctor. Still, she must move fast and seek out a new source of income, except for selling her unnecessary things off to sustain her very existence down here in the wild. Returning home, jobless and defeated would surely make her a laughing stock among everyone. Plus she would have to find a job up there too.
She ventured around, ready to throw herself at a new path in life. That path just needed to come. And she didn't know many people in this city, and it had been a year now. People at the hospital were either busy, overworked or dead and since she had no previous connections down here it still felt like she was a bit..out of place, swamped and unknown in this town. Nonetheless, she projected a carefully measured ambivalent zeal about her new world. It was just more in its pupating, early awkward stages of creation than she made it out to be.
"Who knows," Bethany pondered wistfully, "maybe the hospital thing was a sign, that I need to try something new, that the stress really would have been too much," her mind wandered back to extended meetings with a baudy and patronising occupational therapist, who seethingly and viciously recited line after line about "mentality building" and "stress management" and all other sorts of management-think bullshit.
So Bethany was taking her recent career destroying mishap as a beacon, a sign to dive into something new. She heard a vibrate in her handbag, stuffed full of poorly written CVs, makeup and various essentials, it was her phone!
Still, it was coming up for 7 and she was desperate to get back to her flat. She had spent the day aimlessly trudging round the Northern Quarter, initially hoping to find the promise of a new job, but as that search grew fruitless she started hoping she would find...anything. A new bar, or cafe, or place to go. Or that new job, or something to indicate a new turn around in her fortunes. A run-in with a new mysterious friend, who would show her the world. Truth be told she was underwhelmed by what she thought would be her big break; her impulsively epic jaunt to a new city, that for her harked the post-war migration of troubled youths heading for swelling cities to find fortune and adventure.
No, she was injecting far too much wonder and romance into this whole moving business. It had been a year now, and it was as much a sensible, pragmatic progression in her step to being a...district nurse.
"Well fuck those fucking NHS bastards to fuck."
Though her outward demeanor emanated a cool yet weary optimism about the whole situation, Bethany was stirring fear and petty anger within herself at the whole situation. Gross misconduct for something that was so commonplace and of little risk or offense to anyone; patient or doctor. Still, she must move fast and seek out a new source of income, except for selling her unnecessary things off to sustain her very existence down here in the wild. Returning home, jobless and defeated would surely make her a laughing stock among everyone. Plus she would have to find a job up there too.
She ventured around, ready to throw herself at a new path in life. That path just needed to come. And she didn't know many people in this city, and it had been a year now. People at the hospital were either busy, overworked or dead and since she had no previous connections down here it still felt like she was a bit..out of place, swamped and unknown in this town. Nonetheless, she projected a carefully measured ambivalent zeal about her new world. It was just more in its pupating, early awkward stages of creation than she made it out to be.
"Who knows," Bethany pondered wistfully, "maybe the hospital thing was a sign, that I need to try something new, that the stress really would have been too much," her mind wandered back to extended meetings with a baudy and patronising occupational therapist, who seethingly and viciously recited line after line about "mentality building" and "stress management" and all other sorts of management-think bullshit.
So Bethany was taking her recent career destroying mishap as a beacon, a sign to dive into something new. She heard a vibrate in her handbag, stuffed full of poorly written CVs, makeup and various essentials, it was her phone!
Sunday, 23 September 2012
We Knew That We Couldn't Survive
Leticia and Wesley considered their situation, knowing that things looked bleak. It was fast approaching sunset and they had yet to acquire even half of the money that they were supposed to have by midnight. Sprinkle would arrive at their door bang on the death of the evening and then they really would have had it. It was useless getting the police involved, and none of their friends wanted to be involved. Strangely enough Leticia fretted more at the disloyalty of her so-called loyal friends, who as it emerged would not rally round to help her in her moment of need. "Apparently not," she thought. Meanwhile Wesley grabbed an old wooden chair and rose to perch himself on it, his head in his hands and slowly considering the gravity of his situation. It was like he regressed back to the mentality of the sweet, pie-eyed teen tasting the world for the first time. Some sinister temporal force had transported him through time, space and mind to facing a gangland death, or severe beating. They had exhausted all options and could not conceive a way out of this.
"You know how in television shows people just run away at the drop of a hat, leave their job, family, friends, everything behind and just hop off somewhere and start afresh for the sake of the story?"
"Yeah, loads."
"Let's do that! I mean think about it, we have no way of paying these people back and they're probably gonna kill us, or kick our heads in bad, and/or steal our stuff. Lets just run away for a bit, take what we need."
"Are you sure? Where can we go? What are we gonna tell people?"
"We'll just explain when we get there. We can go tonight. We could go to Manchester. My sister lives there, I'll just phone and ask to stay with her, she's got a massive flat, and Sky Plus!"
"Your sister won't just let us turn up at her house at this short notice, will she? And what are you gonna do about work?"
"She's went right off the rails since she got sacked from the hospital. Last week she got a hamster, then took it back cos she thinks it was trying to kill itself. She'll be fine if I tell her why. She'll like the company, she's dead lonely dow there. Fuck work. I'll just phone and say I'm sick for a few days, or I've had a family emergency in Manchester and I need to go to Manchester cos my family's in Manchester. And my family is in Manchester."
"I dunno...how are we going to get there? Can we afford the train with £204.62 between us?"
"Yeah, we can get the train tonight. We'll pack some bags and just make our way to the station. If you check the trains I'll start packing our bags."
"Are we really going to do this? This does seem quite drastic, illogical and unjustified."
"Shut up with the English lesson. This is what you do, and this is what we're doing, like that Ryan Davidson from my work. He got into trouble with some kiddy porn on his laptop. I mean there was never any porn of that sort found anywhere on his computers as it turned out, but with things like that there's no smoke without fire, and everyone just turned against him. Poor guy, it was guilty before proven innocent, he had to run away, he went to Manchester and he had REAL PROBLEMS. Now granted this scenario is nothing like that but this is a REAL PROBLEM. We owe some very bad men an amount of money that we need to get to them tonight that we just cannot feasibly do. Otherwise we're going to die. Or worse. So I posit, that we tackle this REAL PROBLEM by escaping this city, this country altogether."
And they did. The Manchester train was at 27 minutes past 6 and would get them into the safety and anonymity of Manchester by half past 10. But an efficient and pleasant journey was not the priority in this expedition. No, the fact that Leticia and Wesley managed to get on a train and weave through the streets, avoiding bad men that might or might not be there. Paranoia was heavy on their heads too. Leticia packed a modest bag, of some artifacts and clothes, and things she would need for her journey. The gravity began to hit her too, and she paused and swayed for a moment, grasping what she was about to undertake. She would somehow have to explain this to her family and their friends would probably laugh about it eventually. She reached for her phone charger, threading it between her fingers as she began to ponder the amount of phone calls she would have to make in the next few days. Difficult and in a way incredible phone calls. "I've ran away to Manchester to escape some dealers who are after me and Wesley." would be the gist of them. "Can you watch the house, and err, not tell anyone anything." Their friends would surely be discussing it back home mockingly, with wild bemusement, and some concern for Wesley and Leticia's situation.
"So what!" she thought. They had shat it big style when the going had got tough, to put it one way. Wesley ad Leticia were left alone to deal with this, and for lack of money, this proved the best option, if they wanted to stay alive and well.
Wesley hurriedly tossed some t-shirts, jeans and his wallet, phone and what remaining money he had left. He picked up a docking station, probably irrelevant at this time but wincing as he discarded it, realising that it, and many other things he would have to discard, and he wasn't sure what he was running to, or what would be there for him when he came back. What would people say if they found out about this? Well... In an oncoming rush of sense it dawned that his mere survival was on stake at the moment, and keeping up appearances was a moot point if the former could not be fulfilled. So, like he was packing for an impromptu holiday, he filled two bags full of an assemble of essentials, for touristing or escaping the criminal underworld.
The warm swell of electric steam phased through the massive open-plan station building as Wesley and Leticia made their way through its towering arches and up to the ticket office. The essence of surreality began to set in as they handed over a series of crumpled up and sweaty £10 and £20 notes to produce two open return tickets to Manchester. It began to set in for Wesley as he glanced at the departure date on the open ticket, and for once in his life he really had no idea which date inbetween the 3rd September and the 2nd October he would be coming back. Or if he would come back and the whole ticket would be useless. Leticia seemed to be handling the gravity of the situation well, that she had even put on a pair of sunglasses for the journey seemed at best flagrant and defiant in Wesley's eyes. Or maybe she was just concealing some feelings more fraught and worried than excited.
After six unsuccessful calls Leticia viciously rattled out a text on her phone, imploring her sister to call her as soon as humanly possible. She poo-poo'ed the subject when Wesley inquired about her sister's response and permission to let them invade her life with their real problem for the time being. It was fruitless to discuss it now anyway as the tickets were bought and they had committed themselves to this epic journey, of sorts. It certainly felt more surreal and Wesley, as he slowly began to wonder if somehow cameras were tracking and recording such an event.
"I wish I'd brought sunglasses." He thought.
And so they boarded the train headed for Manchester. Their collective hearts jumped as Leticia's stupid Nicki Minaj ringtone sounded out against the hollows of all escapist escaping fantasy and the device vibrated wildly. Wesley's hands leaped to cover his mouth as Leticia answered the phone to her sister's frantic voice.
The conversation was quick, stunted and direct as Leticia plunged her finger into her ear to eliminate the noise from the grumbling train. She explained their situation briefly, skipping out important details, for the benefit of the public. Wesley's eyes sharpened as he considered that Leticia's unstable yet probably still quite compos mentis enough to instantly refuse an impromptu visit from her shallow younger sister and aloof and flaky friend, on a Wednesday night, no less.
And lone behold, she did. Maybe Leticia used some Jedi mind trick on her. Or maybe she was just rendered insane by boredom from unemployment and this latest drama will prove to lighten up her life, if only briefly. And as such, they were off into the night and off to Manchester
"You know how in television shows people just run away at the drop of a hat, leave their job, family, friends, everything behind and just hop off somewhere and start afresh for the sake of the story?"
"Yeah, loads."
"Let's do that! I mean think about it, we have no way of paying these people back and they're probably gonna kill us, or kick our heads in bad, and/or steal our stuff. Lets just run away for a bit, take what we need."
"Are you sure? Where can we go? What are we gonna tell people?"
"We'll just explain when we get there. We can go tonight. We could go to Manchester. My sister lives there, I'll just phone and ask to stay with her, she's got a massive flat, and Sky Plus!"
"Your sister won't just let us turn up at her house at this short notice, will she? And what are you gonna do about work?"
"She's went right off the rails since she got sacked from the hospital. Last week she got a hamster, then took it back cos she thinks it was trying to kill itself. She'll be fine if I tell her why. She'll like the company, she's dead lonely dow there. Fuck work. I'll just phone and say I'm sick for a few days, or I've had a family emergency in Manchester and I need to go to Manchester cos my family's in Manchester. And my family is in Manchester."
"I dunno...how are we going to get there? Can we afford the train with £204.62 between us?"
"Yeah, we can get the train tonight. We'll pack some bags and just make our way to the station. If you check the trains I'll start packing our bags."
"Are we really going to do this? This does seem quite drastic, illogical and unjustified."
"Shut up with the English lesson. This is what you do, and this is what we're doing, like that Ryan Davidson from my work. He got into trouble with some kiddy porn on his laptop. I mean there was never any porn of that sort found anywhere on his computers as it turned out, but with things like that there's no smoke without fire, and everyone just turned against him. Poor guy, it was guilty before proven innocent, he had to run away, he went to Manchester and he had REAL PROBLEMS. Now granted this scenario is nothing like that but this is a REAL PROBLEM. We owe some very bad men an amount of money that we need to get to them tonight that we just cannot feasibly do. Otherwise we're going to die. Or worse. So I posit, that we tackle this REAL PROBLEM by escaping this city, this country altogether."
And they did. The Manchester train was at 27 minutes past 6 and would get them into the safety and anonymity of Manchester by half past 10. But an efficient and pleasant journey was not the priority in this expedition. No, the fact that Leticia and Wesley managed to get on a train and weave through the streets, avoiding bad men that might or might not be there. Paranoia was heavy on their heads too. Leticia packed a modest bag, of some artifacts and clothes, and things she would need for her journey. The gravity began to hit her too, and she paused and swayed for a moment, grasping what she was about to undertake. She would somehow have to explain this to her family and their friends would probably laugh about it eventually. She reached for her phone charger, threading it between her fingers as she began to ponder the amount of phone calls she would have to make in the next few days. Difficult and in a way incredible phone calls. "I've ran away to Manchester to escape some dealers who are after me and Wesley." would be the gist of them. "Can you watch the house, and err, not tell anyone anything." Their friends would surely be discussing it back home mockingly, with wild bemusement, and some concern for Wesley and Leticia's situation.
"So what!" she thought. They had shat it big style when the going had got tough, to put it one way. Wesley ad Leticia were left alone to deal with this, and for lack of money, this proved the best option, if they wanted to stay alive and well.
Wesley hurriedly tossed some t-shirts, jeans and his wallet, phone and what remaining money he had left. He picked up a docking station, probably irrelevant at this time but wincing as he discarded it, realising that it, and many other things he would have to discard, and he wasn't sure what he was running to, or what would be there for him when he came back. What would people say if they found out about this? Well... In an oncoming rush of sense it dawned that his mere survival was on stake at the moment, and keeping up appearances was a moot point if the former could not be fulfilled. So, like he was packing for an impromptu holiday, he filled two bags full of an assemble of essentials, for touristing or escaping the criminal underworld.
The warm swell of electric steam phased through the massive open-plan station building as Wesley and Leticia made their way through its towering arches and up to the ticket office. The essence of surreality began to set in as they handed over a series of crumpled up and sweaty £10 and £20 notes to produce two open return tickets to Manchester. It began to set in for Wesley as he glanced at the departure date on the open ticket, and for once in his life he really had no idea which date inbetween the 3rd September and the 2nd October he would be coming back. Or if he would come back and the whole ticket would be useless. Leticia seemed to be handling the gravity of the situation well, that she had even put on a pair of sunglasses for the journey seemed at best flagrant and defiant in Wesley's eyes. Or maybe she was just concealing some feelings more fraught and worried than excited.
After six unsuccessful calls Leticia viciously rattled out a text on her phone, imploring her sister to call her as soon as humanly possible. She poo-poo'ed the subject when Wesley inquired about her sister's response and permission to let them invade her life with their real problem for the time being. It was fruitless to discuss it now anyway as the tickets were bought and they had committed themselves to this epic journey, of sorts. It certainly felt more surreal and Wesley, as he slowly began to wonder if somehow cameras were tracking and recording such an event.
"I wish I'd brought sunglasses." He thought.
And so they boarded the train headed for Manchester. Their collective hearts jumped as Leticia's stupid Nicki Minaj ringtone sounded out against the hollows of all escapist escaping fantasy and the device vibrated wildly. Wesley's hands leaped to cover his mouth as Leticia answered the phone to her sister's frantic voice.
The conversation was quick, stunted and direct as Leticia plunged her finger into her ear to eliminate the noise from the grumbling train. She explained their situation briefly, skipping out important details, for the benefit of the public. Wesley's eyes sharpened as he considered that Leticia's unstable yet probably still quite compos mentis enough to instantly refuse an impromptu visit from her shallow younger sister and aloof and flaky friend, on a Wednesday night, no less.
And lone behold, she did. Maybe Leticia used some Jedi mind trick on her. Or maybe she was just rendered insane by boredom from unemployment and this latest drama will prove to lighten up her life, if only briefly. And as such, they were off into the night and off to Manchester
Thursday, 20 September 2012
As He Sat Idly And Watched The Misty Rain Float Down
It was a mild day, cloudy and smirry with wet as cars and buses lashed in and out of weaving streets. Streets that weaved uncertain tales of urban something or other, confusing the humdrum crashing of a thousand plodding feet along them. It could have been any day but it definitely felt like a week day. Maybe Thursday. or Monday. He sat idly and watched the misty rain float down, cautiously approaching the wet tarred street. He had already skipped through the pages of most of the day, having closed his ears, eyes and doors to the world before 2 o clock. 2 o clock was not a significant hour of the day, that he felt it ample time to spring into action and join the ranks of humanity and society. No, 2 o clock was merely an agreeable time to rise from the depths of somnolence and begin a routine of conscious action for the day.
As he sat idly he felt the oncoming drudgery of work approaching. not that employment itself was brutish and unfeasible, more his trepidation stemmed from the process of getting oneself ready to suitably enter the workplace, or risk being observed, smelt or thought of differently. The many faces in that place, with few exceptions were cold and unfriendly, and he would do his best to avoid unnecessary pleasantries with them, for the benefit of everyone involved.
He had always felt out of place in these places, like a foreign invader unaccustomed and unwilling to participate in the rituals or adhere to the cultural do's and dont's. So be it.
It was a rainy afternoon, like any other and soon he would be in real boy's clothes, ready to participate in the day. Of the adventures that awaited him, none sounded too exciting, save for an exploding train or a runaway sandwich, the journey to and from meant the same, felt the same, smelt the same and tasted the same. Carbonated juice to ease the pain and small, short conversations about work, education and holidays to 'pass' as interested. But alas, there was fun and variety to be had in the rainy repetitious and nefarious world. He didn't even have to be 'he', so she knew this too. She was for the most part assured that recreational drugs and carbonated drinks and alcohol was what awaited her on the other side. and she could stare at the pretty lights and wonder aloud 'I want to be a part of them'
As he sat idly he felt the oncoming drudgery of work approaching. not that employment itself was brutish and unfeasible, more his trepidation stemmed from the process of getting oneself ready to suitably enter the workplace, or risk being observed, smelt or thought of differently. The many faces in that place, with few exceptions were cold and unfriendly, and he would do his best to avoid unnecessary pleasantries with them, for the benefit of everyone involved.
He had always felt out of place in these places, like a foreign invader unaccustomed and unwilling to participate in the rituals or adhere to the cultural do's and dont's. So be it.
It was a rainy afternoon, like any other and soon he would be in real boy's clothes, ready to participate in the day. Of the adventures that awaited him, none sounded too exciting, save for an exploding train or a runaway sandwich, the journey to and from meant the same, felt the same, smelt the same and tasted the same. Carbonated juice to ease the pain and small, short conversations about work, education and holidays to 'pass' as interested. But alas, there was fun and variety to be had in the rainy repetitious and nefarious world. He didn't even have to be 'he', so she knew this too. She was for the most part assured that recreational drugs and carbonated drinks and alcohol was what awaited her on the other side. and she could stare at the pretty lights and wonder aloud 'I want to be a part of them'
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
Locked Away In A Cupboard From The World
Receding into a hermit-like state, stepping outside of the pace of life and generally staying in for a bit and not talking to no one.
Monday, 17 September 2012
Cold
"And like a familiar benevolent enveloping warm, the spark of creativity returned."
"Holding your head under a towel and hot water and lemons is as much a relief from life as it is congested sinuses."
"Phase one of the plan is an extended period of silence."
"What would you do if I did a thing that was really annoying and it really annoyed you, would you be annoyed?"
I'm ill. So ill. Well, not that ill. I don't do ill well. I shudder to think how I'd handle a life-changing diagnosis. Probably freak out.
I caught my illness during freshers week, ironically its nothing that can be termed "Freshers Flu." Classes start back next week and I have prepared myself little to none. No extra reading done for dissertation. No books bought. As it is it looks like i'll be diving into Honours head-first. I'll fret now but it will be fine. The timetables also went out sometime recently, and I'm in every day, but it looks like Strathclyde's Sociology department are very receptive to the body clocks of their students, and not a single class choice, lecture or tutorial occurs before 11. Thus it's an hour to 2 hours every day, which is magic for going to the library and working. Or getting high.
The Delgados
I'm revisiting them once again. Beautiful, jarring and poetic pop, so out of its time and forward thinking. I stutter at my usual archive panic with their albums, but as youtube seems to kindly host most of their discography I'm getting into the vibe in a random order (by clicking random links on the suggestion vids on the right hand side)
"Holding your head under a towel and hot water and lemons is as much a relief from life as it is congested sinuses."
"Phase one of the plan is an extended period of silence."
"What would you do if I did a thing that was really annoying and it really annoyed you, would you be annoyed?"
I'm ill. So ill. Well, not that ill. I don't do ill well. I shudder to think how I'd handle a life-changing diagnosis. Probably freak out.
I caught my illness during freshers week, ironically its nothing that can be termed "Freshers Flu." Classes start back next week and I have prepared myself little to none. No extra reading done for dissertation. No books bought. As it is it looks like i'll be diving into Honours head-first. I'll fret now but it will be fine. The timetables also went out sometime recently, and I'm in every day, but it looks like Strathclyde's Sociology department are very receptive to the body clocks of their students, and not a single class choice, lecture or tutorial occurs before 11. Thus it's an hour to 2 hours every day, which is magic for going to the library and working. Or getting high.
The Delgados
I'm revisiting them once again. Beautiful, jarring and poetic pop, so out of its time and forward thinking. I stutter at my usual archive panic with their albums, but as youtube seems to kindly host most of their discography I'm getting into the vibe in a random order (by clicking random links on the suggestion vids on the right hand side)
Saturday, 15 September 2012
All This Nonsense Happening Is Frazzling My Mind
"that cold is an omen...don't go back to the old streets or the old house... ever."
"the same man, with broken, charred teeth and a permanent broken, chapped frown gets on the same train as me every day at bellgrove and moves up to the top of the train ready to leave the train at queen street as close as possible to the ticket people, most likely to beat the oncoming rush of commuters at half 4 from the more central stations, the ones too close to queen street so the ticket inspectors don't/can't be bothered. Maybe I'll see him every day for the rest of eternity and eventually we'll strike up an unlikely friendship. or probably not, he looks old, alcoholic, irascible and likely smells. oh well, plenty more fish in the sea."
It's Real
It really is real. Real as in, summer is over and university starts back incredibly soon, and life reverts to normal, as they say. Well, summers are usually up and down for me (I suppose they are for everyone in the bipolar Scottish climate) but this one just sped by fleetingly, effectively making my last summer before my last year at university a crap one. My ingenius work schedule plan to give me a plethora of free time turned out badly as it emerges that people don't tend to do things from Mondays to Wednesdays. So as it is most of the things I did and people I saw and events I..undertook occurred before working the next morning. And predictably, the weather was a bit crap.
I can't shake the feeling that this summer was wasted. Perhaps they all start to trickle down the excitement drain of life as you stop getting a 'summer' away from the institution that makes you look forward to a reprieve from it.
Oh well. Starting back 4th year and winter will just have to be the most fun imaginable in those circumstances. They're frazzling my mind.
Sweden
It was fun. 7 days august into september with Billie, flying BA, staying in a lovely house in the middle of Stockholm (Billie's mum Gitte's friend from art school Marlin's mum's 'Winter house' meaning not the house she stays in during summer - the family are loaded). Days 1 through 5 were much fun, seeing old sites and returning to the house I used to live in in Enskede. The place is still as creepy as before and I even ventured into the creepy forest adjacent to it with video camera and Billie in tow. Also walked past my old school, Stockholm International School (International School of Stockholm when I was there) but didn't feel appropriate venturing in. It was actually a bit sad/nostalgic visiting them places, I always felt Sweden was a strange time in my life, less like a foreign adventure than an extended 'paradox' minigame level, in which I was suddenly whisked away there then ripped away from it and ushered back, more by fate than employment commitments. Despite getting a bit stressed out by the Sunday, and worn out by the monday, we thoroughly enjoyed the fun. Swedish people are largely a nice bunch, although their drink prices are insane (£7.50 for a glass of white wine, though I hear it's a similar story across other places in Europe, the touristey one). If anything it's instilled a niche for travelling, something I previously shunned as financially infeasible and needless, as I was pretty happy in sunny Glasgow. Hoping to go to Berlin, Amsterdam and possibly somewhere in France next year, and have a sizeable amount of people interested in it.
My new favourite song at the moment. My musical obsessions were bent on Yuck for a while, but Wild Nothing's neo-shoegaze pop is very alluring at this wistful, strange time of year (I hate September and so does America and Billie Joe Armstrong). Hopefully going to review him on 30th November, and if someone else snaps it up then so be it, I'll fork out the 8 quid.
"I'm stoned as fuck every day, 20 bags are getting smaller and smaller and food isn't tasting quite as good."
"My laptop's in the repair shop getting fixed again, goodbye £35."
"Once again consigned to the overdraft. I can't look after this damn money at all. Time for some serious money saving planning."
"Oh God, how much will Pukka pads cost this year?"
"I'm too ill even to get a hard on. It's frazzling my mind."
"the same man, with broken, charred teeth and a permanent broken, chapped frown gets on the same train as me every day at bellgrove and moves up to the top of the train ready to leave the train at queen street as close as possible to the ticket people, most likely to beat the oncoming rush of commuters at half 4 from the more central stations, the ones too close to queen street so the ticket inspectors don't/can't be bothered. Maybe I'll see him every day for the rest of eternity and eventually we'll strike up an unlikely friendship. or probably not, he looks old, alcoholic, irascible and likely smells. oh well, plenty more fish in the sea."
It's Real
It really is real. Real as in, summer is over and university starts back incredibly soon, and life reverts to normal, as they say. Well, summers are usually up and down for me (I suppose they are for everyone in the bipolar Scottish climate) but this one just sped by fleetingly, effectively making my last summer before my last year at university a crap one. My ingenius work schedule plan to give me a plethora of free time turned out badly as it emerges that people don't tend to do things from Mondays to Wednesdays. So as it is most of the things I did and people I saw and events I..undertook occurred before working the next morning. And predictably, the weather was a bit crap.
I can't shake the feeling that this summer was wasted. Perhaps they all start to trickle down the excitement drain of life as you stop getting a 'summer' away from the institution that makes you look forward to a reprieve from it.
Oh well. Starting back 4th year and winter will just have to be the most fun imaginable in those circumstances. They're frazzling my mind.
Sweden
It was fun. 7 days august into september with Billie, flying BA, staying in a lovely house in the middle of Stockholm (Billie's mum Gitte's friend from art school Marlin's mum's 'Winter house' meaning not the house she stays in during summer - the family are loaded). Days 1 through 5 were much fun, seeing old sites and returning to the house I used to live in in Enskede. The place is still as creepy as before and I even ventured into the creepy forest adjacent to it with video camera and Billie in tow. Also walked past my old school, Stockholm International School (International School of Stockholm when I was there) but didn't feel appropriate venturing in. It was actually a bit sad/nostalgic visiting them places, I always felt Sweden was a strange time in my life, less like a foreign adventure than an extended 'paradox' minigame level, in which I was suddenly whisked away there then ripped away from it and ushered back, more by fate than employment commitments. Despite getting a bit stressed out by the Sunday, and worn out by the monday, we thoroughly enjoyed the fun. Swedish people are largely a nice bunch, although their drink prices are insane (£7.50 for a glass of white wine, though I hear it's a similar story across other places in Europe, the touristey one). If anything it's instilled a niche for travelling, something I previously shunned as financially infeasible and needless, as I was pretty happy in sunny Glasgow. Hoping to go to Berlin, Amsterdam and possibly somewhere in France next year, and have a sizeable amount of people interested in it.
"I'm stoned as fuck every day, 20 bags are getting smaller and smaller and food isn't tasting quite as good."
"My laptop's in the repair shop getting fixed again, goodbye £35."
"Once again consigned to the overdraft. I can't look after this damn money at all. Time for some serious money saving planning."
"Oh God, how much will Pukka pads cost this year?"
"I'm too ill even to get a hard on. It's frazzling my mind."
Monday, 20 August 2012
Frightened Rabbit - State Hospital
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFoiQD45iv0&feature=player_embedded
So yeah, Frightened Rabbit are doing that "free EP" thing again, not that that is a bad thing (however sarcastic or cutting that previous statement came across over the choice of words, it wasn't). The first we're hearing from them properly in ages is a reverb'ed up, all rousing and building chest-pounding pop anthem. Seems like they're taking some cues from Meursault, whom ironically owe a significant stylistic debt to Frightened Rabbit in return.
The aforementioned chest pounding, rolling drums that tend to hallmark FR songs are subtle and pop up into action when they need to for a big moment. And the sparse and interconnecting guitar/keyboard licks serve up well for the "epic lo-fi" thing that's flying about these days. And of course, Scott's vocals and lyrics are ubiquitous and on form, but the "heart beats like a breeze block thrown down the stairs" refrain veers into corny territory (for this listener at least - then again I found "Jesus is just a spanish boy's name" a bit too silly to hit home as well)
Geography points for the vid's sparkly overheads of Glasgow as well, ugly gas towers and all.
So yeah, Frightened Rabbit are doing that "free EP" thing again, not that that is a bad thing (however sarcastic or cutting that previous statement came across over the choice of words, it wasn't). The first we're hearing from them properly in ages is a reverb'ed up, all rousing and building chest-pounding pop anthem. Seems like they're taking some cues from Meursault, whom ironically owe a significant stylistic debt to Frightened Rabbit in return.
The aforementioned chest pounding, rolling drums that tend to hallmark FR songs are subtle and pop up into action when they need to for a big moment. And the sparse and interconnecting guitar/keyboard licks serve up well for the "epic lo-fi" thing that's flying about these days. And of course, Scott's vocals and lyrics are ubiquitous and on form, but the "heart beats like a breeze block thrown down the stairs" refrain veers into corny territory (for this listener at least - then again I found "Jesus is just a spanish boy's name" a bit too silly to hit home as well)
Geography points for the vid's sparkly overheads of Glasgow as well, ugly gas towers and all.
Friday, 27 July 2012
Awkward
Last week i returned to a hairdresser that I used to go to, before I found one that cuts my hair much closer to the painfully exact and obsessive specifications I have set in my head for the top of my head. As my current hairdresser was on holiday, and I needed a haircut badly, this was my only easy option. Returning to an old hairdresser (they work in the same salon) to me feels like a prodigal animal trudging slowly back towards whomever it betrayed and deserted for another. I was pretty sure I was either going to get a revenge shite cut or something equally nefarious for my crime. Or that's all just bored dramatising on my part. Regardless, the haircut hour came and I exchanged a pleasant and crucial hello. You see, this old hairdresser in question I had to leave because a) he was a rather attractive man, and the way hairdressers need to occupy an uncomfortable comfort space around your face and head made things anatomically and biologically difficult and b) the new girl I go to does it better and how I like it. So at the time it was all a seamless and necessary transition to go from old to new, and now new to old was proving weird already. Normally I give hairdressers all my chat and indulge in theirs, and I certainly did with this one. I always thought it a customary thing to do; you and your hairdresser had a professional yet personal and specific relationship, good haircuts justly earn loyalty, and your connection with them is enhanced with friendly, inane banter. Well this haircut was not to be an overall pleasant one. The first few minutes involved some chatter of the general work, play, what festivals? nature, then everything seemed to veer towards a very natural, preferred silence. Preferred in the sense that when the talking stopped, it actually seemed to improve the atmosphere. He just got on with the snipping and when it ended, I dutifully OK'ed the front and back of my head (he cut my fringe too short and gelled it to make me look like Simon from the Inbetweeners but I expected worse in the name of revenge) and made off into the day, quickly heading for the nearest shop window to properly inspect the damage myself. I guess this hairdresser thing is probably all just hoo-hah. Maybe there's no secret code of loyalty or scorned aftertastes of customers past.
More and more often I recognise people in work that I have had past histories with, or a bare connection in the distant past with. Frustratingly any actual conversation with them beyond the bounds of general introductory chatter is a non-starter, and the general nitter-natter itself is tense enough. As tasking as work conversations can be, this added level of tense familiarity only seems to make things worse. Many of these familiaries I have avoided altogether. And now it's too late to initiate any conversation, as it'll just seem forced.
Oh well.
More and more often I recognise people in work that I have had past histories with, or a bare connection in the distant past with. Frustratingly any actual conversation with them beyond the bounds of general introductory chatter is a non-starter, and the general nitter-natter itself is tense enough. As tasking as work conversations can be, this added level of tense familiarity only seems to make things worse. Many of these familiaries I have avoided altogether. And now it's too late to initiate any conversation, as it'll just seem forced.
Oh well.
Sunday, 15 July 2012
Tuesday Girl
Tuesday girl was thrown aback when she caught sight of her latest work schedule, that had her slaving away for a marathon number of days in the one go, effective next week until eternity. Previously her shift pattern had her drifting in and out the building a day in a go; in on a monday, off on a tuesday, in on a wednesday for a bit, in every 2nd alternating thursday with every alternating friday in between. then alternating between being in on a saturday one week and sunday the other, meaning sometimes she was in thursday, off friday, in saturday , off sunday and all sorts, and then sometimes off friday and saturday as things changed. they just changed. she didnt really care much for what reason they changed around sometimes but it suited her.
she never really wanted to feel too attached in that place. the transient working days weaving in and out of each other fitted in with her way of doing things, she came and went out of time, out of sight, out of mind.
that way, work never got on top of her and never dragged her down and set a wicked anchor down in her search for pleasure. but that time had came to an end, it would seem. due to another big change that she never really paid attention to, things were moving on and her transient days were over. she would now work set days, from saturday, to sunday, most of the morning and much of the best times of the afternoon, then monday and tuesday during the day and then off wednesday and thursday then in on a friday night.
and so it was. forever it would appear. her whitewash weekends were gone forever and hangover tuesdays were gone. she thought this was the end, her drinking groove was shattered, her adventuring times were unfeasible now. what would she do, where would she go, what would she see? she liked to listen to the drunks on the street on a vacant friday night; the drunks angry, discontent and unable to handle the moderate amount of alcohol they saved up all their energy and pennies from their drab, meaningless working week before. she liked to wander old train tracks and graveyards on an empty sunday.
wednesday and thursday became the only free days she had. at first she was at a loss but she asked Monday Boy for advice. dutifully he advised her she could go out on tuesday nights and wednesday nights, and of course there was plenty to do and see on those days.
"all your worries are for nothing." he reassured her.
Tuesday Girl took his words in her stride, but with some inherent trepidation. Trudging and plodding through a grey and dreary work week, she clumsily arrived at Tuesday evening. Throwing on a preferred pair of shoes and a suitable dress she headed out into the night. Who knew what she could expect?
Monday Boy never steered her right, and Wednesday Gal and Thursday Dude were obnoxious, vile and unsavoury creatures. But it would do for now.
she never really wanted to feel too attached in that place. the transient working days weaving in and out of each other fitted in with her way of doing things, she came and went out of time, out of sight, out of mind.
that way, work never got on top of her and never dragged her down and set a wicked anchor down in her search for pleasure. but that time had came to an end, it would seem. due to another big change that she never really paid attention to, things were moving on and her transient days were over. she would now work set days, from saturday, to sunday, most of the morning and much of the best times of the afternoon, then monday and tuesday during the day and then off wednesday and thursday then in on a friday night.
and so it was. forever it would appear. her whitewash weekends were gone forever and hangover tuesdays were gone. she thought this was the end, her drinking groove was shattered, her adventuring times were unfeasible now. what would she do, where would she go, what would she see? she liked to listen to the drunks on the street on a vacant friday night; the drunks angry, discontent and unable to handle the moderate amount of alcohol they saved up all their energy and pennies from their drab, meaningless working week before. she liked to wander old train tracks and graveyards on an empty sunday.
wednesday and thursday became the only free days she had. at first she was at a loss but she asked Monday Boy for advice. dutifully he advised her she could go out on tuesday nights and wednesday nights, and of course there was plenty to do and see on those days.
"all your worries are for nothing." he reassured her.
Tuesday Girl took his words in her stride, but with some inherent trepidation. Trudging and plodding through a grey and dreary work week, she clumsily arrived at Tuesday evening. Throwing on a preferred pair of shoes and a suitable dress she headed out into the night. Who knew what she could expect?
Monday Boy never steered her right, and Wednesday Gal and Thursday Dude were obnoxious, vile and unsavoury creatures. But it would do for now.
Wednesday, 13 June 2012
Plane Shame
Not a few moments ago I booked the third flight I have ever prepared and arranged for myself. This is also the first time I'll be travelling abroad, another thing that as will be revealed, I'm not crazy about.
Flying has been a pretty horrific and looming spectre in my life; planes are cramped, foosty and sterile cabins of death, not the luxurious high-tech glamorous and cosmopolitan engines of wonder that we knew them as before 9/11.
In fact as a youngster I vaguely remember plane journeys as exciting, whooshing, whirring, up in the sky, wahhhh, and so on. Then when the aforementioned 9/11 happened, and a year later a holiday to America that involved a bunch of 6 hour and 9 hour flights I found myself pretty traumatised by going on a plane, even going to the airport. Perhaps it's been this, coupled with a childhood that's always involved plane journeys as something never to be looked forward to (points for the socialisation breeds character ) argument.
Alas, on the 28th august I embark on my first proper flight, with connections and waiting times and all. Levying the pressure is myself and Billie (also travelling)'s choice to fly British Airways and avoid any of the stress and shit associated with the low cost ones. The snob in me has to subvert cost for comfort in this instance.
And I better get a bastarding camera in time for it
Flying has been a pretty horrific and looming spectre in my life; planes are cramped, foosty and sterile cabins of death, not the luxurious high-tech glamorous and cosmopolitan engines of wonder that we knew them as before 9/11.
In fact as a youngster I vaguely remember plane journeys as exciting, whooshing, whirring, up in the sky, wahhhh, and so on. Then when the aforementioned 9/11 happened, and a year later a holiday to America that involved a bunch of 6 hour and 9 hour flights I found myself pretty traumatised by going on a plane, even going to the airport. Perhaps it's been this, coupled with a childhood that's always involved plane journeys as something never to be looked forward to (points for the socialisation breeds character ) argument.
Alas, on the 28th august I embark on my first proper flight, with connections and waiting times and all. Levying the pressure is myself and Billie (also travelling)'s choice to fly British Airways and avoid any of the stress and shit associated with the low cost ones. The snob in me has to subvert cost for comfort in this instance.
And I better get a bastarding camera in time for it
Sunday, 13 May 2012
So What If Wind Farms Destroy The Countryside
I had an extremely archetypal Sunday. Bus into town with Emma and Al, coffee, errands and negotiating shitey East end buses on a sunday service back to the house of love. In the pishing rain.
It could've been a great Belle and Sebastian super 8-style video.
Anyway. Work is starting to click into place and applying for Sociology honours looks like it's gonna be in light years when and if they ever get our marks back. I'm too late to apply for politics anyway so I just have to sit tight. On a brighter note 4th year offers a "Journalism and Politics" module which hopefully offers a NCTJ qualification as a potential jobline to stranded Sociologists (Hey i may not be able to bake a cake or open a jar, but I sure can compare strains of feminism across historical periods)
Uch, I don't think im aiming for enlightenment or emotional catharsis with this blog anymore. I'm going to adopt a more conventional and partisan routine in future, find a current issue and discuss the hell out of it. It's a shame the world is mostly a boring place.
It could've been a great Belle and Sebastian super 8-style video.
Anyway. Work is starting to click into place and applying for Sociology honours looks like it's gonna be in light years when and if they ever get our marks back. I'm too late to apply for politics anyway so I just have to sit tight. On a brighter note 4th year offers a "Journalism and Politics" module which hopefully offers a NCTJ qualification as a potential jobline to stranded Sociologists (Hey i may not be able to bake a cake or open a jar, but I sure can compare strains of feminism across historical periods)
Uch, I don't think im aiming for enlightenment or emotional catharsis with this blog anymore. I'm going to adopt a more conventional and partisan routine in future, find a current issue and discuss the hell out of it. It's a shame the world is mostly a boring place.
Saturday, 28 April 2012
Return of the Burn
Among many things that got sidelined over in essay time, blog was sadly one of them. Globalisation and European Politics got finished quite prompt, though had to pull a dreaded all nighter for the proposal, which I thought would be little more than a "giant plan." it wasn't. It's 500 words over and tails off towards the end but it's in and fuck it, it's in.
Tesco began. It's alright. Pretty much the "call centre experience" that it promised. except theyre nice to you, there's no targets and the canteen is cheap. and management can do their jobs. so good news on that front.
Now look towards pesudo-summer, that is, when summer starts in may for us lucky students whose courses finish early. European Politics exam on 22nd May but thatll be a breeze (well, should be)
Tesco began. It's alright. Pretty much the "call centre experience" that it promised. except theyre nice to you, there's no targets and the canteen is cheap. and management can do their jobs. so good news on that front.
Now look towards pesudo-summer, that is, when summer starts in may for us lucky students whose courses finish early. European Politics exam on 22nd May but thatll be a breeze (well, should be)
Monday, 26 March 2012
Hope Springs And Simultaneously Brings You Down
I'm in a bit of a limbo right now. A limbo of people, a limbo of life, a limbo of employment and a limbo of education.
I don't know what I really want. I've been pursuing new jobs and thinking about what I wanna do for Honours, what I'd like to do after honours (namely if i even wanna stay in university to do a postgrad or something beyond the degree). And then there's the writing and what that could bring.
Still it doesn't seem like enough. There's a still a vague and indefinite yet stark sense of want and entitlement within me and I don't know what it's really aimed at. I'm getting mighty sick of just going after things for the sake of wanting them, only to realise they're either unattainable, useless or not worth having anyway.
Life drags you in these weird directions and points you at these indiscriminate targets.
I don't know what I really want. I've been pursuing new jobs and thinking about what I wanna do for Honours, what I'd like to do after honours (namely if i even wanna stay in university to do a postgrad or something beyond the degree). And then there's the writing and what that could bring.
Still it doesn't seem like enough. There's a still a vague and indefinite yet stark sense of want and entitlement within me and I don't know what it's really aimed at. I'm getting mighty sick of just going after things for the sake of wanting them, only to realise they're either unattainable, useless or not worth having anyway.
Life drags you in these weird directions and points you at these indiscriminate targets.
Friday, 23 March 2012
I Put My Face Close To The Fan Just To Hear My Robot Voice
Life is excellent for having those necessary (and ultimately deserved) good twists of fate. The twists of fate that are more like a delicious twisted inverted ankle.
Twisted seems to the theme of this post. Despite this, the day is sunny, I have some new choons on the go and the Letters review was well well received. And I'm getting to cover the Girobabies gig next saturday!
Awk aye, watch this space like a pot that doesn't boil
Twisted seems to the theme of this post. Despite this, the day is sunny, I have some new choons on the go and the Letters review was well well received. And I'm getting to cover the Girobabies gig next saturday!
Awk aye, watch this space like a pot that doesn't boil
Wednesday, 21 March 2012
Who Rules the Waves? You Rule the Waves!
Tonight I did my first live review for shout, accompanied by my good friend and assistant for the night Vicky. I've never actually been to Captain's Rest before, but it actually seems like somewhere I would drink - minus the wanky and much maligned west end-ness.
funnily enough, new pub etiquette is never a stronghold, and at local gigs the crowdn is terminally cliquey and no one says much of anything to anyone outside of their sanctum. After not knowing where the gigs even are, trying to enter before the doors opened and asking the wrong guy about the bands that were on, I triumphantly waved me and vic through with our +1's. It was quite tempting to proudly announce my "I'M HERE FOR FREE" status to whomever cared to listen. Fuck it. Bought the main bands' CD single thing for £2 (gotta love socialism) and headed down.
First band (Who I wasnt reviewing) were sunny, cheery and witty! Cafe Disco they were called, notably because the guitarist and drummer happened to be females and the singer/bassist and other guitarist happened to be guys. A weird inversion of the standard co-ed pop band formula. But they were good.
Letters (who I was there for) - Also really good. Tried maniacally to get a hold of the setlist or find out the names of the songs, including trying to approach the suinger on stage. Enough upsetting the apple cart, I sat at the front giving it Bill Burroughs, frantically scribbling and sipping on some reasonably priced Rekorderlig. Luckily the chatty lead singer (interesting as the band donned black and grey and denoted themselves as 'dark pop') clearly announced the name of each song. Maybe he heard my psychic pleas.
So there.
Things I learned
funnily enough, new pub etiquette is never a stronghold, and at local gigs the crowdn is terminally cliquey and no one says much of anything to anyone outside of their sanctum. After not knowing where the gigs even are, trying to enter before the doors opened and asking the wrong guy about the bands that were on, I triumphantly waved me and vic through with our +1's. It was quite tempting to proudly announce my "I'M HERE FOR FREE" status to whomever cared to listen. Fuck it. Bought the main bands' CD single thing for £2 (gotta love socialism) and headed down.
First band (Who I wasnt reviewing) were sunny, cheery and witty! Cafe Disco they were called, notably because the guitarist and drummer happened to be females and the singer/bassist and other guitarist happened to be guys. A weird inversion of the standard co-ed pop band formula. But they were good.
Letters (who I was there for) - Also really good. Tried maniacally to get a hold of the setlist or find out the names of the songs, including trying to approach the suinger on stage. Enough upsetting the apple cart, I sat at the front giving it Bill Burroughs, frantically scribbling and sipping on some reasonably priced Rekorderlig. Luckily the chatty lead singer (interesting as the band donned black and grey and denoted themselves as 'dark pop') clearly announced the name of each song. Maybe he heard my psychic pleas.
So there.
Things I learned
- Captain's Rest is nice, cheap, convinient and has FUCKING AMAZING PA setup for gigs.
- It's cliquey as fuck
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)