And now the end is near

Well it's my penultimate day working at Hertz, unless some last minute reprieve come along (which, in many ways, I hope it doesn't) and my final day having a regular lunch break. Tradition dictates that tomorrow, on my final day, I'll have to take a 2 hour break which will be spent entirely in the pub. Of course, I am a little worried that nobody else will come along thus proving exactly how unpopular I really am, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow to see.

In other words, this is the last time I'll be typing anything whilst in Uxbridge Library. If I'm not working in the area I think it's highly unlikely I'll ever come back here; It's not exactly one of England's most important spots of natural beauty after all. Still, at least today there a e no freaks about and I'm being left in relative peace, sitting, as I am, completely alone, a good 10m away from anybody else.

Right, so a status update. I finally managed to find somewhere that would sell me an iPod Touch; The Apple Store in Brent Cross. A quick call to them on Wednesday afternoon confirmed that they had “Loads” in stock (I can only assume that they're hoarding them, preventing other less fortunate retailers from taking any deliveries until they've made the most out of being the country's sole supplier). Straight after work I drove down to Brent Cross and, after double checking that HMV and Currys really wouldn't be able to sell me one (the rather helpful guy in HMV actually suggested that my best bet would be the Apple Store) I walked in to the Apple store looked around a bit, until a plump sales assistant asked me if I needed any help. “Yes”, I said, I'll have a 32gb iPod Touch please. Minutes later I finally had my iPod. It's fair to say that I'm really impressed. Yes, at £289 it did cost an awful lot of money, but, and I can say this in all honesty, I'm suffering not one iota of buyer's remorse. I'll probably say more about it in a future post, but I can't imagine that I'll give it any less than a glowing review. My only concern is that the iPod Touch will act as a sort of Gateway Gadget and lead on to harder Apple products. Let's put it this way, just a few days later I found myself in John Lewis looking at the Macbooks and, for the first time, considering the possibility that it might be a good idea to buy one once my main laptop dies. Scary stuff. I may yet deviate from the true Windows faith and become a Macolite (despite the added expense for what is, on a hardware level at least, pretty much the same machine as a Windows based PC).

A final moan about the library

It strikes me that this will be one of the last occasions on which I will find myself within the confines of Uxbridge Library. Whilst it's been a great place to shelter from the elements I have been subjected to some of the most inconsiderate, classless and downright odd people I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. This, of course, happens in all library's. You only need to look back at my writing accounts from just prior to getting my job at Hertz to see that. Today I am being treated to the dubious delights of a black woman, wearing a headscarf. Of course, as ever, I have literally no problem with her appearance; I only mention it to aid your mental image and add colour to the scene. In fact, all I care about is the noise she's making. Within a few minutes I noticed her murmuring to herself. I initially assumed that she was reading her book aloud. As time has passed it's become increasingly obvious that this is not the case. At the peak of each sentence her tone rises almost as if she's gained some sort of revelatory insight in whatever it is she's reading. Then I noticed she was doing it even when she wasn't reading. In fact, she's not even looking at the book, yet she continues with what I can only assume is some kind of chant or incantation. She's giggling to herself now. Giggling whist eating peanuts. If I had to hazard a guess I'd say that she's another one of those care in the community cases that, from what I can tell, seem intent on frequenting local libraries, freaking out and annoying intensely the patrons who just want to read and work quietly. For the record, I'm both freaked out and annoyed. I was writing something else altogether, but as things are, I can only observe and document the distractions.

I've actually been rather annoyed of late. Whilst loosing my job has filled me with nothing but joy (with only a hint of worry about where the money is going to come from to fund my gadget buying habit), I am a little distressed that I have not been able to find anywhere that can sell me the last gadget on my pre-moving out list; a New 32gb iPod Touch.

A Weekend on the Broads

A Weekend of Broads

And on that note, some tit as just decided to criticise me. And guess what? I didn't deserve it. Good morning gentle reader. Today I come to you live from the Norfolk Broads, where I am currently sitting on a boat bound for Thurne. Obviously I'm no longer piloting the boat; it would be hard to do that and type at the same time, but that's precisely what I've been doing for a large part of the trip. It;'s actually quite relaxing really. The boat moves at very sedate pace, but because it's so slow to manoeuvre too, key decisions about such trifling matters like steering need to be made well in advance. It was in one such situation that a torrent of abuse was unleashed upon me. Happily, the bile was not directed at me by a member of my crew, rather it came from a git of a sailor as he weaved about in front of me. I'd mad an attempt to pass behind his stern just as the rules state, only to have him change direction and block my path. This I didn't really mind. After all, sail boats are entirely at the whim of the winds. In other words, he couldn't help but impede my progress. He came about again and blocked me once more. I had just put the boat into hard reverse to avoid hitting him once more, when he yelled out impatiently “Can't you wait.” Aside from thinking that I was under the impression that “Waiting” was exactly what I was doing, I got a little agitated. Subsequently my “Sorry” was merely a sarcastic prefix to a justification of my actions which eventually climaxed with me telling the feckless Sailor to “Fuck off”. And quite rightly too. I, after all had stuck completely to the letter of the law. Additionally I had shown no real signs of impatience (since I didn't feel impatient, it would have been difficult to look impatient). Anyway, nods of agreement about my righteousness were, after a good ten minutes of ranting, enough to placate me. None the less, whilst I always appreciate constructive criticism, I hate it when some presumptuous twat decides to level it unfairly in my direction.

Anyway, aside from that (and the small, very minor and not at all damaging accident I had on the Saturday) the trip, on the whole, has been very pleasant and highly relaxing. Excluding Friday night, I've barely drunk at all. On Saturday morning, when I woke at about 7.30am I felt a little hangovery, but that soon cleared. Unfortunately, by 2.30pm I had an absolutely terrible headache. After a quick lie down and some paracetamol, it subsided, but, by the early evening it had returned once more. Perhaps it was partly cause a by the fact that my lunch had simply consisted of half a large packet of Chilli Heatwave Dorritos. It certaily wasn't the booze. Over the course of the day I managed only a shandy, one bottle of Carlsberg Export and a couple of pints in the evening.

Some small oddities I noticed about Wroxham, the small town that's home to Roy's business empire. We tried to get some chips, but by 7pm all of the proper chip shops (and by this I'm excluding the chinese take away and the kebab shop) had closed by 7pm. Also, there only seemed to be two pubs and perilously few places to eat. There were far more restaurants within any 20 meters of Rayners Lane tan in the whole town of Wroxham (though, Unlike Rayners lane they do have a McDonald's, albeit one within the property belonging to the ubiquitous Roy. Also, Rayners lane does, admittedly have more restaurants per square meter than anywhere else within greater London). We eventually settled on a little Pizzeria, where I, obviously went for the Margherita Pizza. A trip to one of Wroxham's fine drinking establishments followed, but only for one drink. The boat, along with all the booze contained therein, beckoned. Of course given my weakened state, it would have been unwise of we to imbibe any further alcoholic beverages. Instead, I stuck to the Coke that I'd purchased from the small Nisa convenient store we'd found on the way back. Some more drinking (not, as I've already said, by me) followed by a quick lie down (I was the sole participant in that activity) then, after an episode of Peep Show (or maybe two, I'm not sure), it was time for bed.

The next morning I awoke ridiculously early. Well, ridiculously early by my standards. For some strange reason, every morning whilst on this trip I seemed to be waking up just a little after 7am. Perhaps a previously hidden sense of wanderlust was making me rise at such an ungodly hour; it certainly wasn't the bed which I actually found to be a little more comfortable than the creaky old thing I have at home which always seems to give me a backache. Regardless, one of my shipmates also seemed to be waking up at about the same time (eerily he seemed to know that I had left the land of nod as well, despite that fact that I was being almost entirely silent and completely immobile), so we set about the business of breakfast, showering (a process that required the boats engine to be turned on so as to heat up the water. Unfortunately this meant that we had to wake up our shipmate who slept up front in the main cabin). Once all of those duties had been taken care of we got the boat under way.

After lunch in a pleasant pub (which played host to a large breasted barmaid to whom I took a fancy. Obviously, being me, I did literally noting to sate my fancy, but there you go)in a place that I think was called Thurne, we headed off towards Potter Heigham, the place from which our last boating holiday of nine years ago had begun. This, as it turned out, was a terrible mistake. Last time out Potter Heighham had served simply as a starting point for the journey. Much as we had done with Stalham this time out, on outr previous trip, we had, on arrival at Potter Heigham, simply parked up the car, unloaded our gear and sailed away. If only we had simply sailed on this time around.

09/09/08

...then work came and made us free?

Work is getting extraordinarily tiresome. Fortunately, at the end of today I will have only 3 weeks more to endure. Actually, much of my job isn't too bad. However, what I do find to be entirely unpalatable is answering the phone. There I am subjected to the full gamut of human stupidity and cruelty, frequently within the same call. Yesterday, I had to deal with somebody who spoke only very broken English and didn't seem to understand any of my questions. Today I've been subjected to an idiotic tirade from a Northern simpleton who seemed incapable of allowing me to help him. The man had a new claim to report (at least that's how its seemed at first) so I told him that I'd have to transfer him to my colleague who deals with such things. Apparently this wasn't good enough. Instead of getting put in touch with someone who could actually help him, he chose to rant on to me. It finally transpired he had been sent some claim forms to fill in. Within the covering letter it suggested that the accident could be reported either by filling in the form or telephoning. The purpose of his call was to find out which he should do. Well, I say that was the purpose, but in actual fact it was more like the excuse for the call. The real reason he had called, or so it seemed to me, was to harp on about how terrible the service was, how I didn't know what I was doing (Of course I didn't. Right from the start, I'd told him that one of my colleagues deals with such matters). Finally he started racially abusing the Spanish driver who hit his car, protesting that he shouldn't have to go to all this trouble just because the Spanish couldn't drive. It was then that I hung up on him. Frankly I've no intention of entertaining bigoted idiots, especially now that I've lost my job there.

Actually, thinking back, I put the phone down after he insulted me. If there's one thing I can't stand even more than racism it's unwarranted criticism.

8/09/08

Well, after a whole weekend of research, I can conclude that my trip to America simply isn't happening. The main reason (excluding fear, which I actually seemed to have under control) is cost. After working out that I was nowhere near rich enough to travel from coast to coast I decided to scale things down a bit. My trip would be limited to one coast. I've never been to the West coast before, but the lure of the familiar drew me towards New York. So, I was going to the East Coast. After a little thought I eventually came up with a route. I'd fly in to Boston, then, after 4 nights I'd make my way to Niagara Falls, then up to Toronto. After that I'd head back down to Manhattan and fly back home from Washington after a brief tour of the sights. As it turns out, that was going to be too expensive too. By the time I pared it down to an affordable level there was little point in going at all, especially when you consider that fact that I might be going to New York next year to accompany a friend to the Marathon (though not on it, obviously). Basically, accommodation costs in Boston were a little high, but manageable. Niagara was, relatively speaking, a bargain, and Toronto wasn't too bad either. However New York would have cost me just as much as the other places, but instead of having my own bathroom, I'd have to share wash facilities in a hostel. All of this would have totally wiped out my savings.

At the end of the day, I think I basically objected to the idea of having to pay twice as much for an unaccompanied trip as I would have to pay if I could bring someone else along. My big adventure, which, I have to admit was conceived partially as a way to prove how fine I was about being alone , had just gone to prove exactly how much of a handicap it is to be single.

I just seem to be one of the few remaining single people that I know, and, unfortunately, that means that more and more often, I'm going to be left with nothing to do whilst my mates gallivant about with their significant others.

05/09/08

All things considered, it hasn't been such a bad week. Much of the depression has lifted (there was a very slight dip on Wednesday when I realised I wouldn't have a job and thus, no more money for toys), and I feel a little more like myself. Well, the “myself” that was always supposed to be. The one without the dark clouds.

There's so much planning required for the US trip though. Where exactly am I going to go, how will I get there, how long will I stay? At the moment I'll probably be flying in to San Francisco from which I'll make my way to New York (Where, this time, I'll have to make sure I explore more of the Village). However, once I've plotted it all out, it my become apparent that I've got the time to fly to Vancouver (a city I've wanted to visit due to the Douglas Coupland connection and a good review from a Canadian girl and former Vancouver resident who used to work at Hertz) and head down to California via Seattle, the home of Grunge music and expensive Starbucks Coffee. Lots of decisions to be made, but I'll try to defer them until I get a new passport. In the mean time I also have next weekend's trip to the Norfolk broads to look forward to. The boat, which is apparently going to cost us £130 each, sounds pretty well equipped. Two bathrooms (I think) and a separate bedroom for each of us. It's almost luxurious. Apparently my friend has posted all the details to Facebook, though, as ever, I can't check it whilst I'm at work since it's on the list of sites my Nazi employers deem unsuitable. Honestly, it's worse than communist China. Maybe I'll look in to finding a proxy for Facebook that actually works. After all, what's the worst they can do to me?

By the way, I'm becoming more and more impressed by this new mini laptop on a daily basis. Obviously I'd have hated it if I ended up with one of the models with the dodgy touchpad, but this particular version suits me fine. I barely notice that it's in my bag (a new, padded Belkin laptop messenger bag. It's designed for notebooks up to 12”, but it seems to do the trick) most days, and it seems pretty damn good to type on. The screens really not bad ether. It think I've got it at about 1/6 brightness and it seems perfectly fine to me. One of the few complaint I have is that all of the status lights (indicators for wi-fi, bluetooth, caps lock etc) are obscured by the palm of my right hand as I type. Unfortunately, since I'm not entirely a touch typist, I still have to look at the keyboard as I type, which has meant that I've completely failed to notice that everything's been changed to upper case. Fortunately, Open Office writer has a facility for changing the case of your writing, so it's not too much of an imposition.

Escape to the New World

Well, it looks like I've got my wish. I'm off the the US of A. My boss felt really bad about not renewing my contract. I ended up having to spend time consoling her about having to let me go. I actually feel great about it. I finally don't mind going in to work now. Knowing that it's all going to come to an end in four weeks time somehow makes the whole thing more palatable. I had none of the usual feelings of being strangled as I made my way to the station. No excessive, anxious sweating either. Maybe feeling all that on top of the alcohol sponsored nausea would have been too much for my body to take. Or, maybe, without work to worry about, all the anxiety and depression will go away.

Anyway, the reason why I was felling a little (but really only a very little) the worse for wear was that I'd been to a pub in Baker Street to discuss arrangements For next weekend's trip to the Norfolk Broads. I'll say more about that on another occasion, but a plan was set in motion. I'll work on Friday Morning, but then head straight to Seven Sisters from which I shall get a ride all the way up to England's flattest county. It transpires that I have 4 days Holiday owing to me, so I'm going to use 1.5 days for the trip to the broads and get full pay for the remainder. Not a bad deal I think. That should go some way to paying for my new iPod Touch, or maybe all the way towards buying a digital camera.

Apparently Gok Wan was in Uxbridge filming today. Unfortunately (or is that fortunately) I didn't make it out to lunch quick enough to bump in to him and the screaming masses that were following him around (seriously, is he worth that much adoration?). Instead, I sit hear in the library typing all this out after having first done a little light reading of “Dexter in the Dark”, the third and not quite as good as its predecessors, book in the “Dexter” series (as seen on TV-ish).

Once more I must take my leave of you. A couple more hours of work beckon. The countdown to freedom begins.

Untitled 2/09/08

The past few weeks since have been more than a little disappointing. I've felt more depressed. work's seemed worse than ever. To top it all off, my best friend in my office got offered a job and left on Friday.

Today I was told that I am to attend a meeting to discuss the end of my contract which expires on the 30^th September. What will be said at this meeting is, at present, a little unclear. At no point before today has there ever been a one on one meeting to discuss contract extensions, which would suggest that another contract term may not be on the cards. So, it seems likely that I will either loose my job altogether, be offered it on a full time, permanent basis or, and this is an outside possibility based a little on my demonstrated computer prowess and on my supervisors recent promotion to manager, be offered a new job altogether.

I shall find out at 4pm. To be honest, the best case scenario for me would be a contract extension. Then I could work for a month longer and build up a little much needed cash for a trip across America that I'm thinking of doing. Honestly though, my spirits are pretty low, so I don't really want to be working there for longer than I can possibly help it.

I should also note that today is the birthday of one of my friends (we're meeting up this evening, ostensibly to discuss an impending trip on the Norfolk Broads, but also, I'm presuming, to celebrate his 31st year on the planet) so happy birthday to him. On a rather sadder note it's also the twelfth anniversary of my Father's death. I don't think I've really said an awful lot about that subject. It was, perhaps, the cause of a major depression that stayed with me throughout much of my time as an undergraduate at university, the major result of which was my relatively poor degree. If only I'd thought to seek help back then? I wonder different things would have been? I'm only really grazing the subject, no doubt I'll broach it more fully at a later date. Maybe not. regardless, I can, of course, do nothing about it now. From here on in I can only have an impact on my future, a future which will, almost inevitably spell further unemployment along with a few, post work drinks.

The Return

Right, I really don't have a lot of time to type, so I'll make this quick. Yes, I haven't done anything with this blog for almost a year. I'm well aware of that. But I do have my reasons, and I'll go in to them later. By later I might mean later in this entry or on another day altogether. I'm far to fickle to be even vaguely committal at the moment.

Anyway, once more, I'm typing this blog during my lunch break from a library, Uxbridge library. This of course means that I'm almost certainly still working in Uxbridge, but do I still work for Hertz? Unfortunately, I do, which is obviously a cause of great distress to me.

On the plus side, I'm typing this blog entry on my brand new netbook, mini-laptop-thing. Its diminutive size should, hopefully, allow me to carry it around wherever I go, so hopefully that'll mean more writing from now on in. With it's smaller keyboard, it's a little different to type on, so a few more errors in my typing will probably creep in until I've managed to become accustomed to it. At the moment, with Wi-fi off and 10% of the battery depleted, It's telling me that I should get another 2.5 hours out of it. Anyway, we'll see. I love it though. It still has that wonderful “new electrical item smell”.

But, you might ask (you might ask, but I wouldn't be able to hear you even if you did), surely I must have spent the last 10-11 months doing more than buying a tiny little laptop (there was research of course. Lot's of tedious, painstaking research; I loved it.)? Of course they have. I've bought loads of other stuff too. An Xbox 360 (even though I'd previously said that I never would. See, I'm terribly fickle), a PS3(just for blu rays, not for games. I only own two games and one of those came with the machine). On top of that (physically as well as metaphorically. Well, technically it stands atop a brand new glass stand, but the consoles lie beneath so I think I can be excused my slight technical inaccuracy) sits a brand new(-ish, I've had it since November last year) 32” Sony HD LCD TV.

So, I've bought stuff. What else? Hmm, what else? I fell for a girl at work who didn't like me back (probably for the best, on reflection I think she may have been a bit unbalanced.) She then became quite obviously attracted to a new guy who started (actually, blatantly is a better word. No, an even better word would be shamelessly. She was, at times, all over the poor guy, which I guess is the main reason why he wouldn't have been all that interested.) She left, which was probably best for all concerned.

I've been on holiday twice, most recently to Dublin (Again,. I was there last in 2004) which was great, and before that, to Warsaw, which wasn't. Actually it was depressingly like going on holiday in Slough, if Slough were overpriced and had fewer people in it. Actually I get the impression that most of Warsaw's previous residents had found their way to Berkshire. Maybe they feel at home there, who knows. Anyway, Slough... I mean Warsaw was a wholly depressing place where many depressing things happened. Once I returned home I headed to my Doctor's and got diagnosed with depression. This probably won't come as much of a shock to those of you who've been following my previous musings. Clearly some outside force (actually it's clearly an inside force since it's taken up residence on my head) was guiding me down the wrong path, ensuring that I could never drag myself away from the mediocrity

The little voice that tells me that I'm incapable of doing any better is a little quieter now. The one that tells me that even if I am good enough I don't deserve good things to happen to me is lying (if a disembodied thing can lie) bleeding to death in the gutter. It's that last voice that nearly made me run away from a recent interview. I stood outside the building, waiting to go in to my delayed interview. The job was pretty damn good. The advert from the Metro simply read

COPYWRITER WANTED

Experience an advantage but by no means essential, would also suit graduate or first-time jobber. Healthy interest in consoles and video games a big plus. Good English, grammar and punctuation a must! Small company based in Fulham, offering a fast-track to management and more money within a year for the right person. Starting salary of £18,000, plus participation in weekly cash bonus scheme.

If you're available immediately and want to work in a fun and dynamic environment,
call ***** now on 020 7*******

So, the only contact details were a telephone number. Normally, this would have put me off altogether. “What, you mean I have to talk to someone to get this job. No way, I'm not going to do it.” And that would be that. I'd ignore the add and move on to something else. But not this time. Whether it was because of the extra mental strength imbued through medication, or maybe it was because I really wanted to write about video games (Let's be honest, it was probably a combination of both), after a morning of soul searching I, after my boss had gone home for the day, picked up the phone and dialled the number. I talked to the voice on the other end for a while. I'm told by my friend who sits across from me, that I sounded really confident. I don't really remember, but I guess I must have done something right because I'd somehow managed to talk my way into an interview. To my mind, the interview went pretty well. In fact, I was pretty sure I'd actually managed to pull it off. Whilst the ad had said Fulham, the actual location of the company was Parson's Green, just one stop down from Fulham Broadway. I knew that I could easily manage the 45 minute train ride. It would give me ample time to read or maybe even write. Plus, since work hours were 10am until 6pm,I'd actually have a little more time for a lie in every morning.

One the way up there, I got a message on my mobile to let me know that the interview would have to be delayed by 30minutes. Not a big deal really. Sure, the delay added to my overall nervousness, but at least it would give me time to explore the surrounding area. Whilst there was little in the way of chain stores and restaurants (the delay had made me realise that I was craving a McDonalds Cheeseburger) there were a whole bunch of pubs, cafés and, most importantly, a library. Looking at the area's denizens I briefly fretted over not being (or looking) quite cool enough to work somewhere like this, but a trip to the nearby Gregg's Bakery for a sausage roll, where I noted the similarly not-cooler-than-thou clientèle, quelled my worries.

Anyway, to the interview itself. It took me a while to find the exact location of the office. On my reccy when I'd first arrived, I'd noted the company's sign, which I assumed would be pretty near to their front door. I headed down the side alley, a route suggested by the positioning of the signage, expecting to be greeted by a handy front door. Instead I found a man who, judging by his accent, was of Eastern European origin. Apparently there's an old joke Hollywood joke about a polish actress who sleeps with a screenwriter to get a part in a movie, the joke being that screenwriters have no power over hiring and firing for a movie (or over anything really), but the Polish actress was to dumb to know that. Effectively, in this branch of mildly racist humour, the average Pole is cast in much the same part as the Irishmen in “There was an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman” jokes. I've never really understood how those jokes could have come about, since pretty much everybody I've ever met from Ireland seems to be pretty sharp. Conversely, the Eastern European man (for argument's sake, I'll say he was Polish) was doing his level best to reinforce the stereotype. Since, he was working on an entranceway to what, logically, seemed like the portal to the office sought, I asked him if he could point me in the right direction. His reply went something like this... “Many people have ask me where is this company. I do not know. Perhaps is next door?” I answered probably not, but thanked him for his help none the less. Obviously I'm not all that fond of racism and xenophobic stereotyping, so I would still be hopeful that this particular predjudice wouldturn out to be absolute codswallop.

As it turned out, the doorway he was working on happened to be the entryway to the office I required. In other words, he was so thick (or perhaps simply ill informed; I'll give him the benefit of the doubt) that he didn't even know for whom he was actually working.

Anyway, after making a few enquiries of another gentleman who was clearly more clued up than the Pole, I discovered that I had to go through the entrance of the building next door in order to get to the interview. The builders therein who were working on what appeared to the the kitchen and toilet area, were far more clued up than their Eastern European counterpart. From them I found out that the interviews were taking place just upstairs and that, as soon as the current one was over, I could start mine.

A short while, and a trip to the toilet later (last minute nerves perhaps) it was time for my interview. A woman with black hair and olive skin came to meet me. It transpired that this was the same woman who had spoken to me on the phone a couple of days earlier.

Until the downstairs building work was completed, the company was based entirely in one, near pristine, white room., accessible via a dirt covered, but clearly newly refurbished, staircase. My interviewer apologised for the messy stairs, noting that it didn't seem worthwhile cleaning them whilst all the building work was going on. I looked around the room. Sitting atop the desk on the right side of the room was a pristine, porcelain white iMac. It's newly opened box lay just a few meters away in the corner of the room. On the opposite desk was a Sony Vaio Laptop which my interviewer had clearly just been using.

The interview itself too the form of a brief chat, a handing over of my work examples and a quick 15 minute writing test during which I had to come up with promotional-(ish) blurb for 3 new/upcoming games, writing 100 words on each. The games were Resident Evil 5 (a game nobody really knows an awful lot about besides the “controversial”fact that it was set in Africa, meaning that all the bad guy Zombies would be black), The Star Wars, The Force Unleashed, a new multi-media/marketing opportunity tie in, which I'd never heard of, so I ended up writing an awful lot about Star Wars in general. The final game was Fallout 3. I'd heard the title, but knew little else about it. Handy then, that I was provided with a couple of magazines and the whole of the internet for research.

I don't think I did too badly. Apparently I did well enough to meet the guy who was bankrolling the operation too, so I went away with a good feeling about the whole thing. I'd find out on Monday afternoon whether my faith had been misplaced.

So, Monday afternoon came and went, and I received no call. By the time I returned home I was deflated. It seemed likely that I hadn't got the job. I actually spent a while convincing myself that not getting the job wasn't altogether bad. It was, of course, but there's no use pining after something that I clearly couldn't have. Or could I? At about 7pm my phone rang. Upon answering I was greeted by an apology that it had taken so long to get back to me. Apparently they'd had “shitloads” of applicants and it had taken some time to whittle them down. Anyway, they'd compiled a short-list of three people and I was on it. I'd get a final decision the next day.

When the decision finally came on Tuesday afternoon I was disappointed. I hadn't got the job. Worse, from what he'd said “we had to choose somebody” I got the impression that they'd virtually picked the winner's name out of a hat. I was pretty despondent despite the promise that they'd look me up in a few months time when they planned to expand and new positions became available. It remains to be seen whether that actually happens.

Yet another job related post.

Again, massive gap between post. Sorry, but I just don’t seem to be able to get round to writing anything when I’m really busy. So, what have I been up to since my last post, live from a top Harrow library. I think I mentioned this before, but my plan for my time off was to actually do some proper writing. Unfortunately the two posts prior to this one are the only results of my good intentions. On the Friday of my first week of freedom from the servitude of work I was told by my agency that they’d managed to secure an interview for me at Hertz in Uxbridge. The job didn’t sound great, but, even after working at the school for 6 weeks and taking out £1000 of my investments, I still had very little money in my bank account. This was mostly as a result of having gone deep into my overdraft just prior to my job in the school. Anyway, I certainly didn’t have enough to keep me going for much more than a month so, as much as I wanted to spend a few months writing, I was in dire need of extra funding. The interview was scheduled for the following Monday. Thankfully it was midway through the afternoon, at 2.45, which at least meant that I wasn’t going to turn up to it all flustered, tired and hot, something that I think had scuppered my chances of getting the job from a few weeks earlier where the interview had taken place at 10am, just after a brief appointment at the agency at 9.30am to discuss how I should approach the interview. I rushed to that and was then kept waiting for a good 10 minutes before anybody would talk to me. That then meant that I had to rush down the road to the place where I was having the actual interview, something that ensured that I turned up thoroughly hot and bothered. Shame really. Boss aside, the job looked quite good. Well, the job looked ok, but one of the girls in the office was really hot. I certainly wouldn’t have minded getting up every morning to see her. Anyway, I digress, I didn’t get that job, but I’d learned exactly where I’d gone wrong. I’d suggested to the agency that morning interviews were really a bad idea. Basically I knew I’d stand a better chance of getting a job if I’d been able to get a good lie in and could travel to the interview at a leisurely pace. I also realised that having a suit that actually fit me was quite a good idea, and I’d bought one (actually had one bought for me by my Mum, but still) a few weeks earlier. Before the interview came the pre-interview preparation at the agency. This time they wanted me to go to their branch in Hounslow. They’d actually asked me to be there for 11am, but, sensibly I thought, I asked then if that could be moved to 12.30 so that I could go straight from there to my interview in Uxbridge. Being me, I didn’t manage to sleep particularly well on Sunday night and I awoke on Monday morning some while before my alarm went off feeling more than a little tired. Still, I felt a little better after having some sausages for breakfast. I got dressed at a leisurely pace (no rushing this morning, no matter what) and got in my car a full hour before my 12.30 appointment. More than ample time, I though, to get there considering the fact that my satnav had told me it would take only 30 minutes. I took my jacket off, set up my satnav, turned on the air-conditioning and set it to full blast. There was no way I’d turn up looking all hot and sweatty this time. After a minute or so of driving, my satnav actually managed to get a fix on a few satellites (I’m sure it used to just find them straight away) and the calming voice of satnav-Sally began to guide me towards Hounslow.

Satnavs are, in my opinion, fantastic. I always used to worry a bit about going somewhere I’d never been to before. Obviously it didn’t put me off enough to shy away from making the journey altogether, but, owing to my somewhat poor sense of direction, I was unwilling to set off anywhere new without first printing out a map of the route along with detailed directions from both the AA route planner and MS Autoroute. This tended to mean that I had to drive with a set of directions sitting on my steering wheel, something that diverted my attention from the actual driving and made me more likely to have an accident or be pulled over by some overzealous and, undoubtedly, bored, policeman. With satnav, this isn’t a problem anymore. Theoretically. Unfortunately, every time I go somewhere there seems to be some previously unpredicted obstacle right at the end of my journey. My trip to Hounslow was no different. A few hundred meters from my destination I was faced with a set of roadworks that completely blocked my route. Subsequently I ended up having to find my way around them, aided only by someone at the agency who had called to find out if I was OK, since I was now about 10 minutes late. Personally I didn’t mind about being 10 minutes late. It was in trying not to be late to my pre-interview preparation that I got myself flustered. I wasn’t about to repeat the mistake. Besides, I had plenty of time to make it to the interview afterwards. After all, it didn’t start for another two hours, and it was only another 30minute journey from Hounslow to Uxbridge.

Eventually I made it to the pay and display car park across the road from the agency. I subsequently discovered that there were a fair few unused parking spaces within the grounds of the agency, but I’d been told that I‘d have to park in the Pay and display, so that was what I did.

The agency’s Hounslow branch was a good deal more impressive than the Ealing one. Where as the Ealing branch was situated above a shop on the High Street, Hounslow had it’s own, recently constructed building. They both shared the same sort of fixtures and fittings with each branch being decorated in the company colours, but Hounslow somehow seemed more impressive. I think that’s the only context in which I could possibly describe anything to do with Hounslow as being impressive. Hounslow is, after all, a bit of a dump, so I was bound to find anything that wasn’t in keeping with the rest of the area’s shabby un-chic appearance to be a pleasant surprise.

The preparation seemed to go well. I said all the right things, so they sent me off on my way, seemingly confident that I’d get the job.

I got back in my car, once again engaging the air-con and set off towards Uxbridge. It was a little after 1pm. About 30 minutes later, after having got a little lost despite my satnav (on ti occasion it was my fault. I’d failed to notice that it had actually directed me to the right place, despite Sally’s declaration that I was exactly where I wanted to be. I’d managed to drive just a little to far, and gone right past the massive and fairly noticeable Hertz building and was about to enter a Buses only zone. Still, I finally made it to reception with only… 1hour to spare. Great, I was in for a long wait. Still, at least I’d be able to go through all the information the agency had given me about the job. After getting a pass I parked my car in the visitors section of the underground car park and slowly got myself together. It was dark, so I went off to reception to wait and do my final preparation. It was 2pm. 45 minutes before my interview.

35 minutes later I was collected for my interview. The building, dating back all the way to 2002, seemed very much like any ordinary large office. At least, it looked like any ordinary large office I’d seen on TV. Previously I’d only worked for small companies in small offices. This was on an altogether different scale. The interview went pretty well, I thought, with the only blip coming when one of the interviewers asked how old I was. What is this obsession with my age? It was the second time in as many interviews that I’d been asked how old I was and I was beginging to get paranoid about it. Do I just look particularly decrepit. Maybe it’s the thinning hair and the expanding waist?

After the interview, as tradition seems to dictate, I got a limited tour of the building which took in the canteen (nicer than I’d expected. I think that my idea of a canteen still backdates to when I was last at school. Of course at the time of the interview, the last time I’d been at school had been only 10 days earlier) and the Gym (way smaller and far less well appointed that I’d imagined, though perhaps, I’d imagined something that was pretty much unrealistic. I’d never been to a gym before and I guess I just imagined it would be like all of those dedicated gyms that I’ve seen on TV. I really must get out more). Apparently gym membership was only £10 a month, not bad considering that it did, in fact, have everything you’d need for a good workout. I made some enthusiastic noises; having the opportunity to exercise in my lunch break was certainly appealing, but ultimately I think my phobia of exposing myself in front of strangers would prevent me from ever using it.

I toyed with the idea of doing a bit of shopping before I went home, but ultimately I couldn’t be bothered. Well, I couldn’t be bothered and didn’t have any money anyway so there was really very little point in prolonging my stay in Uxbridge. I set off home.

Once there, I got changed and, as instructed, gave the agency a call. I found myself actually being pretty positive (though I voiced my concern that I’d been asked, once more, how old I was. The lady at the agency to whom I spoke could only comment that I had looked pretty smart from behind, but she hadn’t seen me from the front so was unable to comment on the effects of my potential rapid aging.) At the end of the conversation she promised to give Hertz a call and get back to me ASAP. About 20 minutes later she did just that. Apparently they were impressed by both candidates (me and the other guy) but, ultimately, when pressed, they were forced to admit that I was the best. Obviously this was highly gratifying, but it did have the unfortunate effect of thrusting me, once more, back into employment. I was to start on Wednesday.

So, I had one day to prepare myself. One day to buy a new pair of trousers and perhaps a shirt. I’d also decided to do something on that day that I’d been putting off for a long time. I was going to get my eyes tested so that I could buy a new pair of glasses to replaced my 7 year old, heavily scratched and, in the corner of one lens, chipped pair. The lens had been chipped after I’d gone down to Brighton to visit a friend and we, drunkenly, decided to have a pretend fight in the street. After he accidentally (or so he assures me) cuffed me across the head, the left lens came loose and shot across the pavement. When we eventually found it, a chip had appeared in the top right hand corner. Nothing that would impede my vision, but I would have to put up with this relatively minor cosmetic blemish for another 5 years.

The Next Day….

I obviously had to get used to getting up for work every morning, so in preparation I decided to wake up bright and early at 11am.

My plan was to go on a shopping trip to Uxbridge, the aim being to both acquire a new pair of trousers, and see exactly how to get to the Hertz building from the station. I’d decided that to spare myself the hassle of driving, I’d get to work by tube. I’d actually started to develop something of a hatred for driving after having to spend an hour in heavy traffic each morning whilst attempting to make it to Heston on time. I certainly didn’t want to repeat the experience. Driving should, after all, be fun, not a chore. I’d reserve car trips for pleasure purposes, like my now weekly trip out for drinks in Marlow where I’d be able to really “open her up”(whether you can truly “open up” a 5 year old Vauxhall Astra is, however, debatable, but with its sports suspension if definitely hold on to the road well, even if the stiff ride means that running over anything larger than a tiny pebble feels like it’s dislodging your spine) on the twisty A-Roads and actually have some fun. Of course I’d still use my car to get the weekly shopping, but that would be in the evening when I wouldn’t have to deal with rush hour traffic.

Inevitably, just as I was about to leave for Rayners Lane Station, my Mum professed a desire to come along. On the plus side she did at least “help” with choosing trousers. I ended up buying the pair that she said she didn’t like; a sure indicator that I’d made the right choice. I also bought a couple of shirts in the sale at Burtons, one for work and one for non-work. Unfortunately, after only one wash, the shirt, which had previously been a perfect fit, managed to shrink meaning that it unfortunately had to go back. Still, otherwise it was a successful trip. I’d worked out how to get to work and I’d got some clothes to wear once I made it there. Time however, had marched on, so I had to head straight from Uxbridge to Harrow where I’d had my 2.30 eye test appointment at Boots opticians.

The initial signs weren’t all that good. I was kept waiting for about 25 minutes, and during that time two people had appeared to complain about their glasses. One persons glasses didn’t fit (an easily rectifiable problem though, with careful measuring it shouldn’t have happened in the first place) and the other was insisting that the glasses had not been prepared to her prescription.

Eventually I was ushered in the back room to have my eye test. I subsequently found out that the vision in my right eye has improved, which didn’t really come as a shock to me. My eyesight had seemed to be getting better of late and, owing to the state of my glasses, it had been preferable to look at things without my artificial ocular aids. The only down side was the glaucoma test which apparently showed that I was in the high end of the safe area, meaning that I was at risk of being at risk. So, not all that bad really.

Choosing the glasses was, however, a bit of a nightmare. It was buy one get one of the same or lower price free, so I’d have to choose a spare pair as well. Happily my Mum, who’d reappeared after her own shopping odyssey, was once more, on hand to offer some expert advice.

I should add that I’m usually pretty good at making decisions on things. Remember, just hours before I’d managed to choose a pair of trousers with no meaningful input from anyone else. However, the glasses thing had me stumped. I was pretty sure that I’d found the primary pair, but I couldn’t seem to find a second pair that I liked and that would actually suit my face.

In the end I’d got fed up with (and slightly revolted) at looking at my face in the mirror. I ended up being convinced that no pair would ever look good because I’d be the one wearing them. Things were further complicated by the fact that I’d limited myself to glasses under £99.99 by choosing the primary pair at that price. The second pair, if it was being used as sunglasses, had to cost the same or less than the primary pair. In the end I went for a near identically styled pair that simply had slightly smaller lenses.

Of course, once I’d chosen the glasses and declared as much to the optician they presented me with the option of having photosensative lenses. More decision. In the end I went for the photosenstive lenses (even though they cost £90 more) for the primary and regular, but scratch proof lenses for the spare set. In retrospect I think that I should have had sunglasses as the spare pair since the reactalight lenses don’t change if I’m looking through my car windscreen, which sort of negates one of my intended uses.

Anyway, having solved the glasses conundrum I had to face my first day of work. And I’ll tell you all about it another time. Hopefully soonish. And, if I do get around to writing again you can hear about how bad my training was, how I managed to start a massive argument with a "senior" member of staff after having been there for only 3 weeks and how I somehow managed to get my contract renewed.

New Post

The next post was actually written 6 weeks ago, but I just never got around to finishing/posting it. Plus it was ridiculously long and contained an awful lot of rambling rubbish. Actually, I'm not sure ho that makes it any different to any of my other posts. Anyway, in the interest of actually contributing to my blog I am going to publish it. I've been a little off writing of late (work/mood related badness), but hopefully I'll get back to writing again soon. In the meantime, here's the full, unedited mid-late July blog post.

Nothing

I didn't head to the library today. My local one was closed and I didn't fancy the walk to the centre of Harrow. Needless to say, my mother's endless requests prevented me from doing any writing whatsoever. Perhaps tomorrow will be better. I think this is my shortest ever post.

Day 2

Today I’m in Rayners lane library, finishing off my blog entries. Let’s put it this way, I now long for the halcyon, relatively noise free, day at Gayton Library. There are far more problems with Rayners lane Library. First, down to an incredibly bad bit of planning half of what used to be the study area is now designated as a children’s library. There may be a flimsy wall and doors between us, but I could still hear them shrieking and whooping. Not the kids fault, but bloody annoying all the same. Then there’s been someone who decided to have a long conversation about the poor mark she got on her essay that she didn’t feel she deserved. Quite frankly, I think she did deserve it if only because she talks loudly to people on her mobile phone in libraries. After all, when I got a call (from the agency, offering me interviews at jobs that had a sales aspect. When will they learn? That said, I’d rather they mentioned things to me than not). Then there’s the scary Asian guy, who picked up a newspaper, and, unbelievably loudly turned, no flung, each page open as if he was trying to cause maximum annoyance. This was clearly part of his two pronged aural assault because he combined it with the sort of heavy breathing that would put Darth Vader to shame (two Darth mentions in as many post. I’m a hack). Of course, the thing I found most disturbing about him was the fact that he spent a good few minutes, as he started reading the paper; he sat in his seat, rocking his upper body back and forth in the manner of a complete loon. Libraries are truly scary places. I’ll give Gayton one more go tomorrow (Rayners Lane’s closed on Wednesdays), but I’m starting to think this whole library thing might not work out as well as I could have hoped. I definitely, so far, prefer Gayton. For one it’s simply a nicer environment. Secondly they don’t mind you having a drink whilst you work. In fact, given the presence of a hot drinks station they clearly encourage it. Rayners Lane, backwards thinking as ever, have signs across the library that completely forbid food and/or drink.

Plus, whilst I have been writing, I still haven’t actually properly started my screenplay. I think that maybe I don’t enjoy having to tediously set up the formatting etc. Maybe I’ll give all that a go when I get home. Anyway, that’s where I have to head right now because my battery is once more, about to die. There are plug sockets by the desk at Gayton, so I should be able to use it off the mains. Failing that I’ll probably borrow my sister’s battery (she has the same laptop, so it should work). I should really get myself a spare battery for just this sort of occasion. Perhaps once one crops up on eBay that I can actually afford and finishes at a time when I can actually be at my computer for the close of the auction, and not finished at 10.44pm on Friday night when any sane person is bound to be out down the pub.

Unemployed again. Occupationally, but hopefully not cerebrally.

Right now I’m sitting in Gayton Library attempting to write. It’s not exactly going well owing to the fact that some people are so bloody inconsiderate. First a mother let her children loose on the study area where they decided that it would be a great idea to play games, the sister occasionally yelling “Jump” to ensure that her younger brother took the correct course of action. They left, but were replaced by a slightly more annoying girl who decided that it would be a great idea to carry on with a phone conversation in what I think must be Polish. So far my wonderful experiment of trying to get some aggravation free time to write during the day in the library isn’t going all that well.

Ah good. They’ve all fucked off. Now maybe I’ll get a bit of peace.

Of course, you may ask, what am I doing in a library in the middle of the working day? Unfortunately my temping job at the school in Heston finally came to an end. I had hoped that it would last another three weeks (which it would have done had the girl who was returning to the position after maternity leave managed to get the Head’s PA position for which she had applied), but then I hadn’t expected it to last quite as long as it did, so I at least have to be thankful for the work I’ve managed to get.

It’s actually been the most pleasant experience of work that I’ve ever had. Sure the work was pretty dull, tedious and, forgive me for sounding a touch self important, a little beneath me.

(FFS the kids are back and now they’re banging on a computer’s keyboard for, seemingly, no reason. You’d think that their mother would exert some sort of control over them. Could she not, at least, exhibit some kind of consideration for the other users of the study area who, just like me, probably just want to have a little peace and quiet? Now the boy is providing a commentary to his inane computer game antics. This is seriously annoying. )

Where was I? Ah yes, work. Yes, the job itself may not have been particularly intellectually taxing (it was actually fairly mindless, save for my brief stints on reception which were merely terrifying) and the journey, which sometimes lasted as much as 1hour and 15minutes, was a hellish odyssey though a slow crawl through heavy traffic, but the school itself was a really nice place to be. It took me a couple of weeks to get relaxed. After all I’d been used to working in an environment where people were constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to make a mistake for which I could be gratuitously chastised. Did there people not realises that, by putting me under so much more pressure than was absolutely necessary, they were making my life far more difficult and setting me up to fail. Do they not realise that the very act of observing someone changes their behaviour? Idiots. Bu the school was nothing like this. Everybody just let you get on with things, and if you did cock up, your failure was met only with a laugh, a smile and comment along the lines of, “Oh well, not to worry.” Under those kind of circumstances do you think I ever made the same mistake twice? Of course not. Not like in the gulag that was my last work place. Working at that place was only one step removed from working for the evil empire in star wars. I probably wasn’t far off having Darth Vader force choke me for my minor slip ups.

It’s nice to finally have a nice experience of work. I was beginning to think that jobs were simply meant to be unpleasant and torturous. This has at least restored my faith in work and human nature a little. The kids are still little shits though. I like working in a school, but I’m not altogether sure about teaching at the moment. I’m not exactly certain that I’m confident enough to stand up in front of a class of children, all of whom are just waiting to pounce on me should I show the slightest weakness. Actually, put like that it sounds a little like my last job, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad. Still, if I can make it in to the course through clearing I’ll definitely go. It’ll allow me to add another string to my bow and give me a steady, guaranteed income for the 9 months of training. Plus, should I move away, I’ll have some peace and quiet for writing. On that subject, I’m also considering a journalism course, but since that’ll actually cost money, I’m not so sure about it. I know that, ultimately, I’d love to be a writer, but I’m not entirely sure, at this point, that journalism is the right route to take. Still, at lest not having a job at the moment is giving me time to decide. Having a little time to write also helps.

Well, my battery is showing that I only have about 10 minutes left (though it’s frequently wrong. At 0% I often manage to get another 15-20 minutes and today I’ll probably eek a little more time out of it owing to the fact that I’ve switched off my Wi-Fi), so it’s almost time to pack up and go.

Has working at the library been a good idea? Will I manage to finish the first draft of my film if I keep working here over the next few weeks (or for however long it is that I remain unemployed)? Well, firstly I’m probably going to give Rayners Lane library a try tomorrow. Rayners Lane is certainly closer (I only walked here today because I had to pay in a cheque and Harrow has my closest HSBC Bank) and I’m hoping it’ll be a fair bit quieter too (though I’m actually getting used to the small children’s constant chatter that seems to be rapidly turning in to an argument). I’m certainly going to have to get used to typing again too since the fingers on my left hand are now starting to really ache. Could I cope with this for the whole day? Actually it wouldn’t be so bad. At Rayners Lane I could certainly do a morning stint, head home to recharge (my laptop with electricity and me with lunch) and then come back in the afternoon to continue working for a couple of hours. Actually that doesn’t sound so bad. Plus I won’t have to worry about an alarm clock since my agency seems intent on calling me a little after 8.30 every morning so as to as me inane questions like, as they did this morning, “Are you still available for work?”. Of course I bloody well am. What kind of a stupid question is that? And why did it need to be asked at 8.34am?

So, in conclusion, coming to the library to write is definitely a good idea. I’ll actually get a sense of achievement from having actually, ahem, achieved something worthwhile. Plus it’ll get me out of the house for much of the day and thus prevent me from incurring large does of moaning from Mum. Finally it’ll keep me in the habit of working (even if it’s for no money), which can only be a good thing. Oh, and if I do decide to occasionally come to Gayton Library it’ll provide me with the exercise I so clearly need. It would be nice to be a touch more svelte. At least then I’d feel better, look better, and feel like I had a touch more to offer to any prospective girlfriend/casual shag.

I’ve just noticed that the mother actually left her two annoying brats up here alone whilst she left the library. That’s terribly irresponsible behaviour. Then again it’s probably to be expected from .someone who clearly lacks any kind of consideration/

Ok, let’s see how this lasts for, but I’m going to give this routine a go.

1. Wake up at around 9.30-10am. Exercise (weights and sit-ups) and have breakfast.

2. Head to the library and write until my battery runs out (or until I get hungry if I’m actually allowed to plug my laptop in).

3. Go back for lunch and recharge my battery (If necessary).

4. Head back to the library until it’s time to go home for dinner.

5. Do some miles on my exercise bike whilst watching a Film/TV show in my laptop. I’m really glad I bought a laptop now. Worth every penny.

Well, at least I can give it a go for the week and see if it works out. Maybe at the end of it I’ll have a finished screenplay and a healthy body. Worst case scenario I’ll feel a little healthier through walking and I’ll have got away from mum for the day.

Right. 1% battery life. Time to go. Shame, I actually wanted to stay longer. I think this working at the library thing may actually work out. Now for the long walk back home.

Still Busy

I had a bit of a hectic weekend. An early start on Saturday (12pm is early for a Saturday) was necessitated by my participation in a Clapham based treasure hunt. I’d hoped we were going to be able to make up a team of four, but as things turned out, only myself and my friend who’d told me about it, were able to make it. I was actually a little shocked that nobody else wanted to come. Firstly it was, at least, something different to do. It wouldn’t simply be a night out at the pub. Secondly it looked like fun. And it was. Sure we got rained on a few times and yes, we only managed to come 17^th out of 21 teams (I think a lack of local knowledge played a part. Now that we’ve walked most of the way around Clapham I’m sure we’ll do better next year) but it was al still a lot of fun. In many ways, walking around and solving clues kind of made it feel like a Graphic Adventure from days of yore (sorry, geeky comment I know). After the first question I actually thought that we’d do an awful lot worse than we did, especially since we’d managed to completely fail to follow the predetermined route. In our defence we thought it logical to answer question no. 1 first and didn’t really notice that there was a red route marked on the map. Actually we had a fairly good stab at answering the first question, considering the fact that half of it was missing. The question had consisted of a clue and an equation that needed to be solved to work out where to go to get the answer. Unfortunately part of the equation was missing so that it didn’t actually look like an equation at all. And that’s why we managed to waste 20 minutes walking up and down a street desperately trying to work out the answer to a question that we could, as it turned out, only answer through blind luck. At least it turned out that we weren’t as big a pair of idiots as we initially thought.

Oh, and I also managed to properly meet the girl my friend is currently seeing. She was actually one of the organisers though he didn’t tell me who she was until after we’d left her company. I managed to properly meet her at the drinks at The Microbar afterwards. She seemed really nice. I finally got home a little before 12am and went to bed, absolutely knackered. But I wasn’t going to be able to rest for long. The next day I was off to see, amongst others, Kaiser Chiefs at the O2 Wireless festival in Hyde Park.

I woke up the next day, still tired from the events of the day before. Luckily I’d had the foresight to download a copy of the previous nights Dr Who just before I went to bed. Since I wasn’t meeting up until 3pm I’d have plenty of time to watch it whilst I ate breakfast. Of course, no matter how much time I have I always end up rushing to get ready, and that morning was no exception. Despite my customary unpreparedness I still managed to make it to Marble Arch Station (TFL, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to close the whole Piccadilly line, including Hyde Park Station, for the weekend) more or less on time. That’s more than could be said for my friend, who kept me waiting another 15 minutes. Ah well, I can’t complain, it was because of him that we’d managed to get half price tickets, £23 instead of £46. Besides, I had to get some cash out. Central London is full of cash machines, but is one within five minutes walking distance of Marble Arch Station. After buying a couple of 500ml bottles of Coke at Superdrug (2 for £1.40 instead of 95p each. I couldn’t resist) I gave up my search for an ATM and waited for my friend. It turned out that he was in need of cash, so we both set off on our quest for a cash machine. I really can’t believe that there aren’t any within a 10 or 15 minute walk of the park. Unbelievable. Eventually we found and HSBC bank. I’d initially assumed that it was some sort of heat induced hallucination. No way could we have finally found somewhere to get cash. As it turned out, we hadn’t. The bank was bereft of an external cash machine. Our quest continued. Finally we found some sort of Arabic bank. Wary that they might charge some sort of fee for cash withdrawals we ended up taking a trip across and a bit up the road to the Natwest. At last we had our money. Walking back, my friend noticed something odd. All of the newsstands sold only foreign papers, not a News of the world or a Sunday Times on view anywhere. Very strange. Perhaps we’d stepped through a portal and into some strange foreign land with no ATMs. Perhaps we’d stepped through another to make it back to our country, resplendent in all its bank-having glory. Or maybe not. Maybe that’s just nonsense. There’s no such think as a trans-continental portal. Still, I have a friend who has a theory about Ikea. My friend thinks that there is, in fact, only one Ikea in existence. All the other sites are simply gateways, or portals that teleport you to the solitary store. It would certainly explain why there are some many people speaking in foreign languages inside each store.

Anyway, I digress. After we’d got our money we headed off to meet my friend’s friend, who actually had the tickets. As it turned out, the tickets were stored as a sort of barcodey thing MMS message on my friend’s friend’s phone. It wasn’t actually a barcode, more a sort of 1cm square thing with a randomly pixelated pattern on it. Scanners read the pattern and allowed us to gain entry to the event. Quite cool, and quite high tech, but I do miss not having a printed ticket stub as a memento of the day.

We walked inside the walled area that played host to the festival and immediately saw two things. Firstly, a beer tent that sold, quite moderately priced Tuborg beer, something I hadn’t had since my trip to Copenhagen a few years ago. For £3 a pint, I expected it to be terribly watered down, but it was actually quite tasty. This, I thought, was a good omen. The second think we saw was an array of cash machines. Shit. Sure they would have charged us an extortionate amount to get at our money, but it would have saved our odyssey across the bank free wilderness of Hyde Park’s surrounding streets. Anyway, after joining up with another friend and his girlfriend, we got some beer and extortionately priced food (there had to be a catch and £6 for a burger was it. I actually went for the less wallet busting £3 spicy potato wedges with all the ketchup I could fit in my plastic tray. I went a little bit crazy with the condiments, but when don’t I) we found a place to sit. An orange jumpsuit wearing Japanese band were leaping about excitedly on stage. Not bad, but possibly a bit too manic for the first act. Of course they weren’t the first act. The day was, after all, already four hours old by the time we got in. Anyway, the orange jump-suited guys were followed by Mumm-Ra (Named, I assume, after the bad guy in Thunder cats), a band who’s songs I heard a little on XFM. Not bad, but not all that memorable. Unlike Pigeon Detectives, who were absolutely brilliant. As soon at the Mumm-Ra set ended there was a mass exodus from the main stage to the XFM tent where they were playing. Demand to see the ‘Detectives (or maybe the Pigeons) was so high that they had to turn people away from the tent. They played a great set and put on a good performance. They really seemed to be communicating with the crowd. There was even time for a bit of a sing-along. Throughout the 35minutes they were on stage they consistently proved that they were a band to watch out for. After they finished it was time for the last two acts, Editors and Kaiser Chiefs.

If I’d have written a review of Kaiser Chief’s latest single, “Everything is average nowadays” it would have simply read “Q.E.D”. That’s until I saw them perform at the wireless festival where they flagrantly failed to make their own point. They were, in fact, nothing short of spectacular. The animated antics of Ricky Wilson were in total contract to Editors who were about as interesting to look at as five static blokes playing instruments. That’s not to say that they didn’t playa good set, they just didn’t look entirely comfortable on such a large stage. Of course I did spend an awful lot of my time looking at my friend, who’d come along with his new special lady. That sound, in some way, twisted, but I can assure you that it wasn’t. I was mesmerised only by my friend who, throughout pretty much every song, simply stood, peering up at the stage as if straining to see what was happening but couldn’t quite make out what all the fuss was about. Obviously this kind of behaviour induced my other friend and me to hurl empty beer cups at him. I scored a direct, albeit only to his back, whilst my friend managed hit him with a cunningly crafted (or exceedingly lucky) ricochet shot which bounced of the ginger noggin of an innocent bystander and caught my friend on the back of his head. He did at least become slightly more lively during the ‘ Chiefs (chief’s performance of “I predict a riot though I suspect that his limited bouncing was more as a result of trying to remain upright when faced with the problem of a near riotously jubilant crowd who clearly had no time whatsoever for inactive bystanders.

I like festivals and gigs because everyone’s so friendly. I did get a little upset, however, when somebody said that I didn’t look very Rock and Roll. I was, initially a little perturbed, I almost let it ruin my weekend (I tend to dwell on irrelevant details and minor critiques on my character and appearance, perhaps because I’m actually a touch self obsessed and narcissistic as well as being, conversely, quite insecure.), but then I thought of Hunter S. Thompson. He didn’t exactly look Rock and Roll, did he? Take the image we get of him from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” He most certainly doesn't look cool. Basically, he looks like what he is, a writer. Despite all the though, he was, without a doubt, Rock and Roll. Perhaps even more so because he didn’t conform to any self-consciously cool image. He was who he was. The guy got his remains shot out of a cannon by Johnny Depp for fuck’s sake. If that’s not Rock and fucking Roll I don’t know what is.

Anyway, it was a great weekend, but I was unbelievably knackered at the end of it. Shame, since I had to go to work the next day. Let me put it this way, it was not an easy week, and the quiet weekend in that followed was extremely welcome.