tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39346774747258463092024-03-12T18:21:52.519-07:00Well, hello there, The Internet. I am Rich Fox. Allow me to shake digital your hand.Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-5824587907548161072011-05-18T03:54:00.000-07:002011-05-18T03:58:54.827-07:00A broomhandle solves nothing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uQyeWWFNzuaiQ-XlyD3shTmcKHgLL7oNyVH0cYppBqUWaohRz9aqG36OOyJ_FUm1J43tY_p9Kw00B-KNTqFZgi_PtWj0nvajmONglzmpMPmkm_CZ_-Ph63wjMtFCBnP74bCKylWFQ5o/s1600/me+colisium+nov+10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5uQyeWWFNzuaiQ-XlyD3shTmcKHgLL7oNyVH0cYppBqUWaohRz9aqG36OOyJ_FUm1J43tY_p9Kw00B-KNTqFZgi_PtWj0nvajmONglzmpMPmkm_CZ_-Ph63wjMtFCBnP74bCKylWFQ5o/s320/me+colisium+nov+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608008057892062962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And I can vouch for that. When you buy something like a relatively inexpensive drumkit, you come away thinking <span style="font-style: italic;">Well, it's certainly cheaper than the other ones in the shop by quite a long way</span>, and this is enough to dazzle you. After a while though you realise that it's 'cheap' for a reason - the skins are inferior and never sound tight enough, the stands are difficult to keep exactly in the position you want them, and the stool is made of a metal which bends by you just looking at it. I attempted to shove a broomhandle through the tripod of the stool to push through the firmly stuck extendable bit, and ended up with a double-ended wooden lightsabre until I eventually cut or drilled the broomhandle out. I'm not particularly DIY.<br /><br />For the second time in my life, I own a drum kit. It's a nice enough kit; it's black and made by a company called "Rock Tubs" (hence the cheapness). Effectively it's a step up from buying a kit from Argos. I bought the kit because I'm playing in a band which has been specifically brought together to play the live backing music for a version of <span style="font-style: italic;">Twelfth Night</span>, which is going to be set in the 1960s, so we're playing versions of <span style="font-style: italic;">All Along the Watch Tower, Loves is All Around, Hit the Road Jack, Folsom Prison Blues</span>, and the like. We've been practising for about three months now, and it sounds good. We've played live a couple of times and we've received some good reactions, so we seem to be all set. I've found myself obsessing recently (as I tend to when i properly get into something) about drumming. I've been watching a lot of Keith Moon videos on Youtube, and also <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeJyZ-j_zbI">Luke Flowers</a>, the drummr from The Cinematic Orchestra, who is possibly my favourite drummer. I'm not the best drummer in the world, but I can hold a beat and I suppose that's the main thing. I also only joined this band because of Max, my housemate from the first year, who excitedly told me one day all about this idea he'd got for <span style="font-style: italic;">Twelfth Night</span> set in the 60s, with a band and everything, and how he was looking for a drummer. I said I could drum, and I was asked to join.<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago, Max organised a social for the band, cast and crew of <span style="font-style: italic;">Twelfth Night</span>. Just a casual 'integrating' of everyone, before full rehearsals and run-throughs begin. Whilst out, Max sat next to me and we started talking about the first year and living together - the Aerobie nights, the Christmas party, jamming on guitar together, all of that - and he told me that he still, once in a while, reads this blog. I was delighted that someone out there actually still reads it because, having not updated it for about 7 months, I assumed that no one would want to read it anymore. Max said that he enjoyed reading it though because I'd actually documented those days in my words. Sure, everyone documents <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span> with Facebook (especially photos, where a picture supposedly captures everything) but Max said that he liked my blog because it was a new angle on events he remembered, events that he only had his perspective on. I know that makes 'events' sounds like serious, significant situations, but it's more a case of these are memories which, to Max, someone else deemed fit to document, and it's intriguing to find out why.<br /><br />I told him that I didn't really have interest in continuing this blog any more, seeing as it was meant to be a document of my time as an undergrad and that was coming to an end. He did advice me to wrap it up, though. Conclude it somehow. I agreed. I started the blog deliberately, so I should end it deliberately; it deserves that much. This blog meant a greaty deal to me during my time as an undergrad, especially during my first year and part of my second year. Or rather, writing it in meant a great deal to me. I still write now - I have two little notebooks, <span style="font-style: italic;">Fact</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Fiction</span> (I'm sure it's obvious what they're for, althogh sometimes I get them confused and with interesting results) which I write in fairly regularly. But I've simply found that as I've become busier and busier with whatever uni life has thrown my way, I simply haven't felt the need to keep something like a blog maintained.<br /><br />I look back now at some of the entires here and it's almost as if I was discussing what was going on in order to figure something out. Eventually, for a large part of my experiences at least, it seems I must have 'figured things out ' (whatever that means) because I just got into the flux of doing them instead of the hesitancy and the analysis. It's still there, obviously. That's who I am. But I'm a bit more of a do-er now, and that's a good thing.<br /><br />But this is the thing, isn't it? Things eventually just fall into place, and you don't notice them falling into place because you're too busy doing these things. To just <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> things instead of worrying about whether said things will work or fail is pretty much the best anyone can hope for, and in some ways it's possibly the best state of mind you can achieve. Yes, life can be shit; we lose things, we fail at things, we accidentally stick broomsticks up things, and sometimes we gain things that we didn't really want in the first place. But we should always carry on <span style="font-style: italic;">doing</span>, regardless. If history or evolution has taught us anything, it's that mankind is a <span style="font-style: italic;">Do-er of Things.</span> you look at structures like cathedrals, docks , superclubs in Ibiza or Stonehenge - man has always gotten up early and done things. Sometimes it's a mystery why he did it in the first place, but nonetheless he did it. He felt compelled to make estimations of the world which currently suurounds him by making things with purose and with use, and most of the time with zero aesthetic detriment to natural surroundings because they were part of <span style="font-style: italic;">his </span>nature. It's the same with individuals; you can create, no matter how small or ephemeral, in order to make estimates, to calculate, and it's the process - not the final product - which is the important bit.<br /><br />Anyway. I'm all done now. My dissertation is handed in. It was a long final year, and now it's over I suppose I need to find something else to keep me just as occupied (after all, why on earth would I want anything less now?) I feel the need to just do. I'll leave you with a decent-enough quote about satisfactory work from one of several above-average Western authors in the world, Kurt Vonnegut: "If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you're a one-eyed man in the Kingdom of the Blind".<br /><br /><br />Here's to half-assed jobs.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span></span> <div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1"><span class="post-author vcard"> </span><span class="post-icons"><span class="item-control blog-admin pid-559040187"><br /><br /><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=2787902320229566789&postID=5148456509496982471" title="Edit Post"> </a> </span> </span> </div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-83864016631560519352010-09-16T17:27:00.001-07:002010-09-16T17:59:11.893-07:00Jon<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4VJu0ZRGWlrVMFNk2eoKCEuU5y-hKIWVIbqPIQzXYovUaIM28f7HKCkF-nCdyM8dPkiw00T21BV4b0IkHflNdNO5LOU3KSxucgogIJgX71oKTYIPBePnLsOScGQU6_h0WCZU0sieP2A/s1600/jon+andie+01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4VJu0ZRGWlrVMFNk2eoKCEuU5y-hKIWVIbqPIQzXYovUaIM28f7HKCkF-nCdyM8dPkiw00T21BV4b0IkHflNdNO5LOU3KSxucgogIJgX71oKTYIPBePnLsOScGQU6_h0WCZU0sieP2A/s320/jon+andie+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517672671058452642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">No one had seen much of Jon in the last two, maybe three years, other than those who had made the effort to not be defeated by the un-returned call after un-returned call and either speak to his parents or just invite themselves round unannounced. It was the only way to see him. It was hard to understand why Jon even still had a mobile phone, considering the lengths he was taking to remove himself from the outside world so comprehensively.<br /><br />And yet, given that it has been around three years (certainly two) since he gave up on pretty much everything, the presence at Jon's funeral was startling and even life-affirming. That man will be missed, and he will be missed by a lot of people, many of whom hadn't seen him in the best part of ten years, let alone even knew he was an alcoholic. Jon died at the age of thirty-one due to alcoholism. This is extreme, tragic and unacceptable.<br /><br />The atmosphere at the funeral service, the wake and the gathering afterwards (where a select dozen or more of Jon's old friends met for a late meal) was as good as could only be hoped for. Perhaps it was because there was still enough youth to go around, seeing as most of us were still only aged around the thirty mark, but people seemed quick to joke and remember that Jon was a joker, a genuinely, appealingly funny man. I was told that the eulogy I performed for him read more like a best man speech than what it was. This was a compliment in every respect, but any joke I made, any comical reminiscence made public once more in front of a particularly rammed St Peters Church, Monkmoor, stemmed from Jon himself, his actions, his willingness to entertain, and his words.<br /><br />Thirty-one. It is unacceptable that he should leave us so young. We will not, and should not, be attending each others' funerals for decades to come. Jon was the first to leave us, and it is already opportune emotional strategy to imply that the love towards him, the respect shown for the effect he had so many he knew is down to simply dealing with his loss: say everything nice you can about him, it makes it all so much easier. But it is so much more than that. Jon really <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> represent the best of us. He actually was <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> decent, justifiably loved to <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> degree, leaving this world with not a single person to have a bad word against him. In the intervening years before we all start passing away (I don't mean to sound morbid with this train of thought) we may all make mistakes, things to move on from, things to learn and live by - Jon didn't really get chance to do these things. Alcoholism could be seen as his biggest mistake, but he never had chance to clean up. The chance never came to learn and move on. This is unnaceptable, yet accept it we must.<br /><br />At the funeral, his mother and father and younger sister Andrea (pictured here with Jon) held it together as best as they could, but there was a distance you could see in them. He had fallen so ill under his parents' roof. None of us can imagine the despair this must have caused them. Many of us have lost a dearly loved friend but they saw their first child slowly die. Yet people pulled together as best as they could for his funeral, the last ever moment where everyone could get together all at once in tenderness and show each other what he meant to them. This makes things a little more acceptable, when people travel from all corners of the country to say goodbye by being there, talking about him, and laughing at the appropriate times, which, regarding Jon's relentless sense of humour, should have been all the time. Indeed it was all the time that day.<br /><br />Many of the male friends at the funeral couldn't hold it together, particularly when his coffin was slowly lowered into the earth. It may be easy to understand that many of us will have been thinking <span style="font-style: italic;">that could have been me</span>. To go from such a person of joy to this in a mere thirty-one years displays how easy it is to become lost, never to be found again in time simply because you don't want to even find yourself. The mortality of it is distressing, how easy it could be to slip under. Jon was on the same path as the rest of us for so long, joking and playing, and no one seemed to notice when he chose to leave.<br /><br />Jon, it feels as if we barely knew you, yet you will be so missed.<br /></span></span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-46716853730014185182010-08-10T03:02:00.000-07:002010-08-10T03:34:12.292-07:00"Not every Marta's friends are really Marta's friends"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4d90yv6dkpftkjixQ8Tt_G_0AgSVY3l1yjZl11soCSN9ENljS7wWx2kOXjEG4VXTEdouL8KrYsWtnTHKXeQxmpqxbg7qmvpwuPDydk1PoA6sKorFSsWhJXYV85GoojZ2qRMsNcphsFc/s1600/italy20.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4d90yv6dkpftkjixQ8Tt_G_0AgSVY3l1yjZl11soCSN9ENljS7wWx2kOXjEG4VXTEdouL8KrYsWtnTHKXeQxmpqxbg7qmvpwuPDydk1PoA6sKorFSsWhJXYV85GoojZ2qRMsNcphsFc/s320/italy20.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503725872590901154" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Some shots from Italy. I was mainly based round Lake Maggiore, due to my friend living and working in Sesto Calende. Managed to visit Turin, Milan and Verona also.</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Verona has to be one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited. You get to visit 'Juliet's Balcony', there's an original Roman arena still in full use (apart from the feeding of Christians to the lions) and the old town is surrounded by a rushing river. Tourism has yet to destroy the place. One of the most romantic places I've ever seen.<br /><br />Milan and Turin were also deeply impressive, especially the Egyptian Museum in Turin (the worl'd second best, aparently. I'd like to think that the best happens to be in Egypt, otherwise where will we be? The worlds third best Icelandic museum happens to be in Cardiff?). Milan has all the fashion and money associated with it, but it's also strikingly contrasted by the tram system and certain blocks of the town which feel like they were plucked straight from the 1930s. Turin is just gigantic due to so much of the city being rebuilt in order for the troops to be swiftly marched from one side of the city to the other should needs be. </span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMeWBja7m_1w24id-glWsqp09W1qnlqMxG324Nm8IJu-Nkhq9OSpKTsb_43fNL5afkjzo1DPWQ984Iz2Ies1zoNDiib6ihkLIgzsfQSDliKWwX8wiKE_TJC-iIsiGwgRPnM04sL7C-xM/s1600/italy21.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMeWBja7m_1w24id-glWsqp09W1qnlqMxG324Nm8IJu-Nkhq9OSpKTsb_43fNL5afkjzo1DPWQ984Iz2Ies1zoNDiib6ihkLIgzsfQSDliKWwX8wiKE_TJC-iIsiGwgRPnM04sL7C-xM/s320/italy21.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503722065693879874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-1chcaV8rYVJS6NuA8hfm4MMlEyF7ObtTDwZ-9Xu8k92aonl-vILQ97s7FhY1IXaNekUSN2Cynm_oKoodClvqlYcl_ER8mm3P4wM-vMdr17n3r7ck4QeG6n5-tSkv06RA73FHj7kU14/s1600/italy24.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-1chcaV8rYVJS6NuA8hfm4MMlEyF7ObtTDwZ-9Xu8k92aonl-vILQ97s7FhY1IXaNekUSN2Cynm_oKoodClvqlYcl_ER8mm3P4wM-vMdr17n3r7ck4QeG6n5-tSkv06RA73FHj7kU14/s320/italy24.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503722201649813202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Verona</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbxHH6XH9jVBzNh5jaM5KW4SF3P-qy9bFf7vPFdrb1eEddzLcNS7g4E1Io2Y41_-YDeN1ClqFi5zsWQou5-ydZeZyiSGoagUPUHKN1AFwtD-lcczyyAqS01nu2MSN5q_wJ8xy-nS6sDY/s1600/italy13.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbxHH6XH9jVBzNh5jaM5KW4SF3P-qy9bFf7vPFdrb1eEddzLcNS7g4E1Io2Y41_-YDeN1ClqFi5zsWQou5-ydZeZyiSGoagUPUHKN1AFwtD-lcczyyAqS01nu2MSN5q_wJ8xy-nS6sDY/s320/italy13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503723501150791602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Milan</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDfDWGSqfWB4urkb_BdWY4CCrrmNMwzWcIOoyXbK9LKEVkF3NHl3YK3ZLWZ2QScLj9ieBfL-GX8YKRq6-ap7ywGJZJmMBLw6FMUbuJK1vwRrGVBo6WrdxW8zJwiIuI7MYRZ06iA9MJWc/s1600/italy05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisDfDWGSqfWB4urkb_BdWY4CCrrmNMwzWcIOoyXbK9LKEVkF3NHl3YK3ZLWZ2QScLj9ieBfL-GX8YKRq6-ap7ywGJZJmMBLw6FMUbuJK1vwRrGVBo6WrdxW8zJwiIuI7MYRZ06iA9MJWc/s320/italy05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503722587465144866" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Arona, lake Maggiore</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiTfKCaABtCnCFjWoJ_gP2xBy1WJ29hGrwCeCGhyr0Uq6WZxagPZvnVhXxbjyc4knEaKCh4RKRXyChKEuUVKntO69KO78dGsIpBollezJSqlxpgGOd_KNOC3Zt40oPfjqE7CH3StlzjQ/s1600/italy26.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiiTfKCaABtCnCFjWoJ_gP2xBy1WJ29hGrwCeCGhyr0Uq6WZxagPZvnVhXxbjyc4knEaKCh4RKRXyChKEuUVKntO69KO78dGsIpBollezJSqlxpgGOd_KNOC3Zt40oPfjqE7CH3StlzjQ/s320/italy26.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503723070812317138" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSLgpZEc8HyB7OCa-lTqjzK_QyHp0lcp0MpxN3Vsn-tat9wxnGdy8IYqT5dC6DQIZm8GJVOpLSADcaW4E3K8X7bd8WzbOs8uxwN2j1VAzMcAr1mwsG5RLeiK9NV5bz-tU-eJ9rWfJ1qs/s1600/italy27.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSLgpZEc8HyB7OCa-lTqjzK_QyHp0lcp0MpxN3Vsn-tat9wxnGdy8IYqT5dC6DQIZm8GJVOpLSADcaW4E3K8X7bd8WzbOs8uxwN2j1VAzMcAr1mwsG5RLeiK9NV5bz-tU-eJ9rWfJ1qs/s320/italy27.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503723223170977074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIayM5sUh23hToF0eXnZZ07mqACiv_45QOMUO2utwb80kGO3jHXwcPVpKd3QpXHbfsoSWsRynt198rzQJFcqhM758x2O5g8OtgHQGgjwA3JqLr4cKVBG9KNnDA7Qm_KiMECMA2iWKYJc/s1600/italy37.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIayM5sUh23hToF0eXnZZ07mqACiv_45QOMUO2utwb80kGO3jHXwcPVpKd3QpXHbfsoSWsRynt198rzQJFcqhM758x2O5g8OtgHQGgjwA3JqLr4cKVBG9KNnDA7Qm_KiMECMA2iWKYJc/s320/italy37.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503722966604339922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Rocca di Angera (I should explain: this castle has one of the largest collections of dolls in the world, and dolls from all periods and countries. Some were beuatiful, some were bloody creepy).<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkm7Y2K2mUY32zQNB4d9p8LF5SIBEmGAp9WE9xV3Ae7Nqmmi8QigZDPGYNa4sbr7OLsPQ4KHZFX4_frOlehyphenhyphenxXeGm2VIaMXuDBUiZVagH1YZfAXk8UidSjJaXCBOVITg1i0Go7PVQl4c/s1600/italy09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkm7Y2K2mUY32zQNB4d9p8LF5SIBEmGAp9WE9xV3Ae7Nqmmi8QigZDPGYNa4sbr7OLsPQ4KHZFX4_frOlehyphenhyphenxXeGm2VIaMXuDBUiZVagH1YZfAXk8UidSjJaXCBOVITg1i0Go7PVQl4c/s320/italy09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503722814693792930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Isla Bella. Beautiful as it looks, that peacock proper went mental at the one on the right a few seconds later..</span></span>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-9114905420475695622010-07-18T11:07:00.000-07:002010-07-18T12:29:02.796-07:00Barcelona Plates<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwID5SiUkXFEGp81daT3WGT-KuZezjAsixzCADGaIn7dwUJ-O5tyK1xW8j1gjpbHsk8oXB0ByCm_cFhnSD5XcT7eH1kRGqs8tH9tlSq4EPI8awsoDnmhPHYFBGTpo1DHfHkM56_KZ4npU/s1600/bcn08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwID5SiUkXFEGp81daT3WGT-KuZezjAsixzCADGaIn7dwUJ-O5tyK1xW8j1gjpbHsk8oXB0ByCm_cFhnSD5XcT7eH1kRGqs8tH9tlSq4EPI8awsoDnmhPHYFBGTpo1DHfHkM56_KZ4npU/s320/bcn08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495309901952876930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Having now made two trips to Barcelona this year, I can firmly say I've made my mind up about the place. Firstly, there is much to be admired - the Sagrada Familia is astounding, even second time around. The world's only yet-to-be-finished cathedral is so beautiful and original in every way. The views from Mount Tibidabo over the city and the surrounding towns peeling off into the July haze. The Royal Palace, and the Olympic village behind it where the pool is now used by the general public (my first sunburn in about twenty years due to this..) The gothic old town, and the Roman ruins beneath which you can tour round. Hot chocolate at Cafe de L'opera. The MACBA gallery, etc.<br /><br />But, for me, there is a lot about the city that doesn't make me want to rush back - getting ripped-off no matter where you go (not that I'm anything but a tourist, obviously, but still). The fact that most people my sort of age, and the bars etc they frequent seem to be these cosmetically grungy, trendy places. There doesn't seem to be any great music or culture produced there these days. People just seem content with their strange-fringed haircuts, their tattoos, and their skateboards. It all just feels so <span style="font-style: italic;">art</span>less.<br /><br />Like I said initially though, very beautiful city, but I'm guessing that one of the reasons it's so popular with the British is the fact that alcohol can be cheap, and therefore it makes the place an automatic Stag/Hen weekend target. I can understand the draw from this point of view, although I intend my stag night to involve zombies somehow..<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrcTaTL4PcyXfkznV_BFsgVCQ7Cw9MA8WI_QBuPISutD3xq6EvvD_UmcB7DyBfeOD4JXIVfK7Y4apKjQ2ri2V1G7o4TRXOxwzJzs5qXNyh-DTbBJAfCOJrNhYL89Y5BUNslBnmkHwbnk/s1600/bcn04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrcTaTL4PcyXfkznV_BFsgVCQ7Cw9MA8WI_QBuPISutD3xq6EvvD_UmcB7DyBfeOD4JXIVfK7Y4apKjQ2ri2V1G7o4TRXOxwzJzs5qXNyh-DTbBJAfCOJrNhYL89Y5BUNslBnmkHwbnk/s320/bcn04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495315272614882706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We made tapas one evening: fried quails eggs on grilled peppers and tomatoes, Palma ham bites, fresh olives, patatas bravas, and sangria. It was immense. It was most definitely evenings like this which I went out there for. On the final night we went with a picnic to a late-night, open air viewing of A Clockwork Orange at Monjuic Castle.</span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fGjgVW2h54Mfxzr-qnvjnE0eM1uISajVmZwlN6v05c0WjqMbN28nquFn8TxjUPXRiah7357tyFe72TdfE4FG4Nj8gj84bbMEsjeUUvUcxtvLqbBcScJawdISwK3WiMX5h-YhxFWEj_w/s1600/ld07.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fGjgVW2h54Mfxzr-qnvjnE0eM1uISajVmZwlN6v05c0WjqMbN28nquFn8TxjUPXRiah7357tyFe72TdfE4FG4Nj8gj84bbMEsjeUUvUcxtvLqbBcScJawdISwK3WiMX5h-YhxFWEj_w/s320/ld07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495317515709946034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Made a six-day camping trip to the Lake District before I went to Spain. That was immense. Second time I've been there in twelve months (it seems that I can't visit places once for some reason..) Being a bunch of students, everyone seemed to be keen to discover what it was about the Lakes that inspired so many writers over the years, especially Wordsworth, and the Romantics. I think the problem there is that firstly, those guys were going there in order to be awed by it where as these days people go there in order to feel <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span> these writers felt. It's not the same thing. It's not a personal, first-hand feeling. It's in the shadow of several great wordsmiths' take on things, but it is in someone elses's shadow nonetheless.<br /><br />Luckily there was plenty to say about the trip which were our experiences and our experiences only, like swimming daily in Windermere, being frightened away from breakfast by a swan and her four signets, taking tea in Hawkshead whilst a complaining pair of middle class tossers contrive to moan about a sparrow landing on the female tosser's cake ("It actually landed <span style="font-style: italic;">on</span> the cake. Don't you think you should put a sign up, or something, you know, to <span style="font-style: italic;">warn </span>people?") And of course, the climbs.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHF4ExCAqHC8c2D840Tqj57FKXbLAwGFislj5Nj9elsjRt2rYq4GBh6kJ2G7a_UsdKjUxjjSCh41SVIOTb8LDsBCaFANH4Qk2PaCQOuCogrCwrqbJ6PDQo1IyI5av7HPMPf50V5Nkjfs/s1600/ld04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHF4ExCAqHC8c2D840Tqj57FKXbLAwGFislj5Nj9elsjRt2rYq4GBh6kJ2G7a_UsdKjUxjjSCh41SVIOTb8LDsBCaFANH4Qk2PaCQOuCogrCwrqbJ6PDQo1IyI5av7HPMPf50V5Nkjfs/s320/ld04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495320431779645618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsYTuiSwzS4cer8ObeWSOpLN4R6W256hIUQy6NamPuj8LV_4BNWU-VusqIk6tGHavaG8KijwUJHPiLFI3W2tysdK1OUV9l3UQkno7DOVtRtwNGYv52SfSmO4hJL-2iJLsm1a1-52a8x8/s1600/ld14.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsYTuiSwzS4cer8ObeWSOpLN4R6W256hIUQy6NamPuj8LV_4BNWU-VusqIk6tGHavaG8KijwUJHPiLFI3W2tysdK1OUV9l3UQkno7DOVtRtwNGYv52SfSmO4hJL-2iJLsm1a1-52a8x8/s320/ld14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495320834096851362" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I think everyone just found the trip so peaceful. Any minor squabbles were quickly ironed out, I think mainly because everyone was so glad to be there. Sleeping under the stars, the great outdoors - all the old cliches fit fine here. The Lakes are so ancient, so un-disappointing that anyone would have to be working pretty hard to talk themselves out of being impressed, and not finding the same voice to be awed as the Romantics could get you on your way there.<br /><br />I love the fact that it takes a moment to establish that this is in fact English soil. The sheer age of the land masses, and the way the sun dances over the cliffs, drops and peaks at such high speeds makes you realise that everything about Earth is the same age, if you look at its face close enough. And you can take the beaten path, or you can find a new way down, it's up to you. Only the centuries are watching.<br /><br />And here we stood for a few days, to take in as much as our eyesight or our attention spans would allow. I feel like it would never be enough, so I'll back again at the next opportunity, not to find something new but to yet again find something ancient.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwipmnZ23P2FFUmKmE9rhcABJc8XpYgUsSIdqIC9zvw9xiYZ7wlGffkmk1rliIRp4LWQefkl_mDbmHYuA34Kbnr5yBHQ9q9exuze8HDBExGsNVF4vquQIJRngYr-8A7iiJiXjEmsAeXg/s1600/vonnegut.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwipmnZ23P2FFUmKmE9rhcABJc8XpYgUsSIdqIC9zvw9xiYZ7wlGffkmk1rliIRp4LWQefkl_mDbmHYuA34Kbnr5yBHQ9q9exuze8HDBExGsNVF4vquQIJRngYr-8A7iiJiXjEmsAeXg/s320/vonnegut.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495323089824081874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Read a couple of books whilst I was on my travels. After many months of persistent urging from a friend, I finally read <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cat%27s_Cradle">Cat's Cradle</a> </span>by <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Kurt Vonnegut, Jr</span>. Yeah, I can see why it was so highly recommended. It features a fictional religion called Bokononism, which, unlike the sinister trappings of Scientology, is in fact ironic and shouldn't be taken seriously, adopted, promoted, revered or practised..<br /><br />..although, to be fair, given Vonnegut's humanist beliefs throughout his life and the positive affects achieved there from, it has to be said that Bokononism holds quite a few positive truths that probably wouldn't harm anyone to adopt and wouldn't cause much of a stir other than Vonnegut turning in his grave and calling you a mindless sheep.<br /><br />But.. hmmm. Look, it's a short book, and it's more of a Bokononist's primer than a story (although the story is amazing also). It's one of those books where after you've read it, you kind of feel like you've shed something that was holding you down, you know? I'm sure you've had that feeling from a book before. Everybody has. And one of the most powerful, soothing aspects of <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> book is the idea that it's okay to not understand absolutely everything around you, particularly the often complex and destructive actions of others, whether they be murderous, baffling or personally heartbreaking. Stuff just <span style="font-style: italic;">occurs</span>, even from one's self and beyond one's control:<br /></span></span><pre style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Tiger got to hunt<br />Bird got to fly<br />Man got to sit and wonder 'Why, why, why?'<br /><br />Tiger got to sleep<br />Bird got to land<br />Man got to tell himself he understand.<br /><br /></span></pre><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: normal;">As well as feeling like I've learnt something new from a book during my travels, I've also leaned something from experience: if you want to be found in a new place, sit at the highest point in the town, and wait. They will come to you.</span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /> </span><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-51727358914369215012010-05-22T01:10:00.000-07:002010-05-24T02:46:40.288-07:00On not drinking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeKQ-b6zYpxIclS_HeIYpkvFeXv0I_EJGQBESRaTstJdMwhU5J452p3_jefzLAtJnZpD7cp0Kkg45JiAlYdScHVPHMYOpZkRp5WkJzhSnxsr4fDDpMN4LMfyOrnAMTp5eLG-HoFB_VL_A/s1600/richard+booze+bottle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeKQ-b6zYpxIclS_HeIYpkvFeXv0I_EJGQBESRaTstJdMwhU5J452p3_jefzLAtJnZpD7cp0Kkg45JiAlYdScHVPHMYOpZkRp5WkJzhSnxsr4fDDpMN4LMfyOrnAMTp5eLG-HoFB_VL_A/s320/richard+booze+bottle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474011912686476610" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I remember when I first decided that I wouldn't drink again. I was seventeen, and it was after a night at Liberty's (previously The Fridge), Shrewsbury's only alternative night club at the time. I'd been moshing to Rage Against The Machine, Nine Inch Nails, and whatever else was dance floor-worthy at the time. I came away sweating, and had a sip of someone's pint. Even back then I remember thinking <span style="font-style: italic;">This sucks, why do people drink this stuff? </span>Throughout my carefully spent teenage years I had never gotten drunk once, therefore not done anything regrettable whilst under the influence. I saw fellow school friends who were pissed a lot on whatever they could buy or steal, or off their face on cheap speed, and I never, ever related to it and never wanted to be part of it. And these people were still my friends, but what they did looked kind of scary, and absolutely not cool to do, from how I could see it.<br /><br />It wasn't necessarily the fact they were doing it that made me not want to partake (even after offer after offer, and a fair amount of peer pressure) but it was the moments when they would be inebriated, but nobody would be looking; what I mean is, when people are pissed in group, they will act according in that group. They will laugh/fight/kiss/grope/vomit, and it's all documented as part of the group experience. But it's when someone has this look on their face, someone who peels away from the group just for a moment, and has this look of <span style="font-style: italic;">What exactly am I doing and what exactly do I think of this? </span>That moment was the only time I really saw the effect of getting wasted on people's faces. In an instant it's all gone, the magic, the coolness, because the individual feels lost in it - and then <span style="font-style: italic;">pow!</span>, you're back in the group, back in the room, and laughing along with everyone all over again.<br /><br />I was only interested in my friends at those fleeting moments of complete self-awareness, and from what I could see, it looked like they were coming along once in a while to come up for air. The school I went to wasn't shit; it was one of the most respected secondary schools in Shropshire. Over the road, though, you had Meole Brace school - twice as big therefore twice as much shit going on - and I think that Priory kids felt that they had to compete (cue the drink, drugs and general experimentation). I for one never even met many people from Meole Brace, let alone got wasted to show them how hard I was. But when my fellows were not wasted, they were my friends. When they got wasted, I walked away.<br /><br />So, after this one night at Liberty's, I'm walking back to my friend's house and he's telling me about this movement in the USA where there are loads if bands that promote a drink free/drug free lifestyle, and the positive existence available to you therein. I instantly, calmly and with a sense of relief, a sense of <span style="font-style: italic;">At last, something that suits me and my choices</span>, took up the Straight Edge lifestyle, got into the bands, and felt invincible. At that time, there was maybe a dozen or so of us that adopted the SXE existence, and we formed bands, and we worked hard at them, and we were a formidable presence on the town's music scene (if the word formidable can be used for anything to do with Shrewsbury). And, yeah, at first, we took it all pretty seriously, pretty intense. Persons of a certain disposition run the risk of militaristic tendencies when they adopt what some would consider <span style="font-style: italic;">extreme </span>life choices, and I think that I might have been that guy back then (I speak for myself only, because no one made me turn SXE - or, The Lifestyle).<br /><br />I was with a girl when I chose abstiance, and she had problems, and she drank a lot and she got into weed and I didn't know what to do about, so I would challenge her about it. I would repeatedly challenge her choices, not noticing the fact that she wasn't questioning my choices. So that was all quite intense (as first serious relationships often are anyway). Anyway, eventually we broke up, and I carried on with The Lifestyle. I found that the main area where I could 'talk about' my unusual decision at the age of seventeen onwards to give up all forms of inebriation was in the bands I was in. At first, it was all quite aggressive, angst-ridden stuff (from my point of view, although people seemed to seriously dig it) but after time, although I was quite an angry man for whatever reasons, the lyrics I began to write for the bands (for the front man, was I) began to seem very positive and inspirational; I dropped all the swearing, sustained the screaming, but wrote lyrics about self-discovery, beating your own path, and generally just looking for the best way to spend your days. The bands I was listening to evolved towards more mature, less aggro hardcore, and more towards a groovier, approachable style. The whole band was into it, and although we weren't all SXE, this was a very good thing, because how exactly can you get four or five people in a band together all with the exact same beliefs and extreme lifestyle choices, and not have at least one of them once in an a while thinking to themselves </span></span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;">What exactly am I doing and what exactly do I think of this? </span>I was in a band as a front man, and I led The Lifestyle, but I would never have used the band as a platform for the intricacies of exactly what it meant to be SXE; I did, however, use it for a voice about what I saw as positive in life, and yeah, obviously avoiding artificial stimulation was important to me, but it never came through in the lyrics other than <span style="font-style: italic;">Go forth and be positive to yourself, all the time.<br /><br /><br /></span>The band at the time became pretty popular, and we would do shows up and down England, often getting amazing responses from people who hadn't seen us before, and getting repeat responses from people who had seen us previously. Promoters would tell us that we were such fun to put on because, although we were heavy, we were so approachable (Lee, Matt and I even had ridiculous little dance routines to some of our songs. It was bliss), signed bands took us under their wing, and the audience just wanted to talk to us. As just a guy from Shrewsbury who just worked at KFC, this was intensely rewarding. I'd written lyrics and guitar riffs in my bedroom, and here we were playing this music to a happily listening crowd. The scene was, as you probably know, full of elitist types - sticking to their group of friends, their own bands, etc - and we had none of that, not when we got on the road as the four of us and got out there. Local shows became rarer, unfortunately, due to other bands disintegrating and people inevitably going off to university, but we carried on out of town, to give it a proper shot.<br /><br />Eventually, it all came to a sudden end when I quite one winter night. I would have been about twenty-one/twenty-two. I just felt a serious dip in my confidence, and I look back now and see it as being a bad year in many ways; my parents broke up, my girlfriend of the time and I broke up (tried to stay friends, but it was bleak for a while) and I knew that I hated my job but didn't know what to do next. I quit the band, and the band therefore collapsed in the form it was, because I wrote such a huge proportion of the music and all the lyrics. I felt so bad for the other guys, but I knew they had the determination to carry on with something new, and they did. I, however, withdrew for some time. I got a new job (the projection job), but wasn't it a band for a long time.<br /><br />I lived with some friends in a couple of different houses during my early twenties, and even though we had parties and all that, I still never drank or partook in anything at all. Any girlfriend I was with, she obviously drank (some a lot more than others) but all the time I never did - and I know it probably sounds odd to keep mentioning abstinence in this way, but to me it was the most solid thing in my life; the one thing I knew was true and solid, that I did not drink alcohol, that I rejected that most predictable and nasty of hedonistic pursuits, and I was there, always, quite simply , Rich. So much around me could be lost at any time (through my own doing or just because that is the nature of things) but my choice to abstain defined me, if only simply <span style="font-style: italic;">to me</span>.<br /><br />I got into reading a great deal at the same time as I formed a couple more bands, which is something I still greatly enjoy now. My job allowed me to read and do nothing else, day after day. I felt like I discovered a lot more about anything from so much reading, but I withdrew even more from pretty much everything social (even if I attended social events, I would excuse myself early or just feel uncomfortable being there). As years went by, my friends obviously began to mature, so if any of them started out as massive drinkers, this inevitably calmed down a bit as they calmed down also. My friends are a civilised, fun-loving bunch, and this is a decent set-up for any social scene. The drugs pretty much vanished (not that there had been much anyway) and people began to settle down and find their adult selves. It seems I, on the other hand, got somewhat lost in time.<br /><br />The thing about that projectionist job was that, firstly, I was good at it ,and my boss/es downstairs didn't know a single thing about how the projectors worked, so they left me the fuck alone. I worked under four general managers in that place (typical place like that, where a manager came and went each year), and all of them left me alone and respected my team of projectionists (even though all we essentially did was drink tea, read books and talk about books, and get really good at table tennis - but this was because we were efficient with the job <span style="font-style: italic;">first</span>, then we could muck about). Secondly, the job gave me enough money to do what I wanted with my holiday time, so I went to Japan, and I went to Iceland, and I went to Greece. I never did the whole year away-thing; I preferred short, intensive holidays, and still do.<br /><br />Eventually, the repetition (and unforeseen social limitations) of my job, combined with my still somewhat pariah-like lifestyle choices lead me to depression. I never saw it coming, but I was starving for something in my life. Every time I had a girlfriend, I felt intimidated and not at all into their nocturnal social habits (just going to the pub with friends) and, yes, there was probably some form of anxiety going on in their anyway, but relationships ended and friends drifted, and it took its toll. I became sadder than I have ever known, and it eventually took me to see somebody.<br /><br />One of the first things they said was <span style="font-style: italic;">Why did you never go to university?</span>, and I said that I had done for one year (just commuting to the local one) but that I saw university as an excuse for hedonism, full of young , irresponsible idiots, and I didn't want to be round that. At this time, I sounded like a frustrated extremist,and I knew it, and it was killing me. But I considered university after it was brought up this time, perhaps because the prospect of life in this town and in that job, whilst I watched my friends beat their own path, made me feel distinctly low. A few months later, I applied to university much to the delight, relief and respect of my family and friends.<br /><br />So, I came to university, and my first year took some time getting used to. I was, indeed, surrounded my hedonistic youth, but if I'd just wanted to see all of that as bad and pointless, I could do that, but part of me also noticed that I was making friends and proving to myself that this was a massively good idea, and that came through. Joining a student society, working with people, and getting a job have helped prove to me that I can do this. But there was still something, some barrier between me and my experience here.<br /><br />I guess things came to a head around winter time this year. I had my doubts about myself in the course; <span style="font-style: italic;">was I too old to be here? Wasn't it a young person's game and I was an </span>impostor<span style="font-style: italic;">?</span> Things made me question myself, and also getting a part time job at another cinema made me afraid that I had taken a massive step backwards. The speed at which people came and left my life was intense, and I'm someone who naturally makes a connection, gets<span style="font-style: italic;"> involved</span>. By March, the society I'm treasurer for hadn't managed to organise the seven-date tour of clubs we had hoped for (sad really, I was sincerely looking forward to being on the road again, just like the old days) so we instead went to Barcelona; that is,the five of us who had shown any interest in the tour.<br /><br />The exhaustion of the first two terms of the year so far, and the impromptu excitement of this holiday made me feel relieved, and I was intensely glad at that moment of these four people being here, with me, in my life, in, as it happens, Barcelona. So, that first night out there, in a not very good tapas bar, with the fireworks and crowds of a successfully-won Barcelona FC streaming past the doors, I drank Sangria. Nobody gave that much of a shit, including myself. The next night, I got quite drunk on red wine (as I did for the next few nights) but I had a great time, and I was with people I trusted to look after me (although I was fine anyway). Put it like this, if I had started drinking in some student bar (or god forbid, The Venue) then the whole transition might not have worked for the sheer bleakness of it all. As you learn in an English (and also an art degree) context is, therefore, all.<br /><br />The time away in Spain, and the time back now, has made me want to embrace things a lot more, rather than just dismiss that which I cannot understand, cannot ever know, or might somewhere along the line <span style="font-style: italic;">possibly</span> cause me harm. That is living in fear, and that is something that rules much of many people's lives. I've seen it in people, wanted to save them from fear, from deciding to stay in when they should go out and embrace things, and I have felt like a failure when I haven't helped them, and in fact possibly hindered them. And I look back at the lyrics I used to write when I was in bands - lyrics about self-discovery, and embracing life for the brief, golden, perpetual celebration it really can be if you sculpt it so - and I try to remember. It's important that I remember.<br /><br />I began writing years ago - a diary, poetry, short stories - as if leaving bands was one thing, but leaving writing of lyrics or anything like that was impossible to do. And I can do it with confidence. When you embrace things in life, you feel new things. Senses find the right gear, and if they don't, you move on to the next thing. I wrote in Barcelona about the place, about how I feel, about what I think of my companions, and I've written since, and I will continue to write, and take pictures. Whatever neurosis and paranoias I brought with my to university, if I thought they would shake off as soon as I stepped foot onto campus, I was wrong - these things take time, and when you're in your early thirties and certain (perhaps subconscious) hard-earned habits are highly adhesive, it can take longer to shake them. But I'm trying, and I'm attempting to put myself on the right path, otherwise I'm going to spoil a lot of this university experience for myself.<br /><br />Sometimes things just don't work, and other times things are fluid and move at a befitting pace. But life goes on no matter which path you choose, so fuck common sense, and fuck abstinence, and embrace and care for those around you, and listen hard to what they say. Oh god, just listen hard, even if you're too dumb to understand. And listen to yourself, and what you would like to try this evening, in a bad tapas bar, or in a pub in town, or at the beach, on at a hardcore metal show.<br /><br />Give me some time, but I'm learning to not say no.<br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGV9F7Uwi_KWk-ruaIchrIsM3080Ttse6edhwRU3c16fvAx_IznKOpcdNRs1AwLr6J5Uxhjlb4Jt2RMHFIhYX8KsXVQY6ZmrzBkN2g8RsQL7Y9GMtGCQ6beCF5TNPZfDfIp0c-itfLzW4/s1600/190510+%2831%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGV9F7Uwi_KWk-ruaIchrIsM3080Ttse6edhwRU3c16fvAx_IznKOpcdNRs1AwLr6J5Uxhjlb4Jt2RMHFIhYX8KsXVQY6ZmrzBkN2g8RsQL7Y9GMtGCQ6beCF5TNPZfDfIp0c-itfLzW4/s320/190510+%2831%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474030597548967250" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-87671243397687641532010-04-08T16:29:00.001-07:002010-04-23T03:05:39.512-07:00Velvet Waltz<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49-y9Prk7Af6d-jkc8b8ufCNDSQB6_7RC1BxgwyHtxxX2ZkT8c8HCLhzyWfwgI1kUYGSuKo_myRcO2aRHJkQp-8j55Z9KYu4DRAB7_adro3QZGOnm0fZjMpb0R1ktAtVHf68Z9ydqaig/s1600/richchartinmanhats.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49-y9Prk7Af6d-jkc8b8ufCNDSQB6_7RC1BxgwyHtxxX2ZkT8c8HCLhzyWfwgI1kUYGSuKo_myRcO2aRHJkQp-8j55Z9KYu4DRAB7_adro3QZGOnm0fZjMpb0R1ktAtVHf68Z9ydqaig/s320/richchartinmanhats.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457913097330132178" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So draws to an imminent close the second year of this pulsating bastard they call a degree. To think and take in all at once the stuff that can happen during the first 66.6% of an undergraduate degree could be enough to cause total nuclear melt down.. only, you know, in your own head rather than in some dubiously secretive yet cripplingly financially destitute former Russian state.<br /><br />Handed in my final essay for the term yesterday, but I've still got a 4000 word SF essay for when we return, as well as my Creative Writing portfolio. Time is moving very quickly indeed.<br /><br />Salsa came in the forms of both wonderment and absolute bollocks over the last month or so. On the good side, I was re-elected treasurer for next year with 62 out of 62 votes (I'm pretty sure it was the Dominos I'd ordered for everyone that really swung it) and we ended the year having had some of the most successful socials the society has held, and also up a couple of hundred quid. Christ knows what we'll spend that on.<br /><br />The bollocks came in the form of the stress and organisation, then failure of the 7-date UK tour we had been planning since January. Unfortunately, when it came to the crunch, people just didn't seem that interested. Sad but true. However, of the few of us that were keen, one member kindly offered us to stay in her dad's apartment in Barcelona during the same period as well, seeing as we'd all be free anyway. And seeing as it's basically cost us what the tour would have done each anyway, that's that. Barcelona it is! Never been to Spain before, quite looking forward to the break from it all now..<br /><br />For our final SF seminar this week (where Kayte, Luke and I had to present on <span style="font-style: italic;">Nicola Robson's <span style="font-weight: bold;">Natural History</span></span>) we made and distributed Tin Man-style headgear in keeping with the augmentation/cyborg themes of the novel. We insisted that everyone where the helmets in order for the presentation to fully work; they complied and all was well.<br /><br />Been taking quite a few portraits of friends (ones leaving, ones staying, ones already gone) over the last couple of weeks. Because of the speed by which everything comes and goes at university, I've felt compelled to document it all as much as I can now. Here's some shots (an ongoing project now):<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7_Offru123vEIha8Vzse9PddemMNO0x01MM_SS7sEJ0FSnGvITkFYZE3tYd0Aq6KQpEmFiigx7phwMU8BDJ8QPQ66_D5yBrUvW_7jDwX0Qr-BWqSI-s7gbMAm4nsCFvDIW4cRgi40Do/s1600/zaffie03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7_Offru123vEIha8Vzse9PddemMNO0x01MM_SS7sEJ0FSnGvITkFYZE3tYd0Aq6KQpEmFiigx7phwMU8BDJ8QPQ66_D5yBrUvW_7jDwX0Qr-BWqSI-s7gbMAm4nsCFvDIW4cRgi40Do/s320/zaffie03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457917040519180978" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FSzQmOwnSX_ReW-8RWzcIzcmzKk0x3oRZ6O9sl_8SZHdJbMBYAhiEa5WKx-N42je0V2dD8pHVVxrHemZrQCoiyASTlkcLoQawTrS84it2bb_xfbWuZbDtwZiEjblwqflQD0YQhkp1Co/s1600/zaffie06.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FSzQmOwnSX_ReW-8RWzcIzcmzKk0x3oRZ6O9sl_8SZHdJbMBYAhiEa5WKx-N42je0V2dD8pHVVxrHemZrQCoiyASTlkcLoQawTrS84it2bb_xfbWuZbDtwZiEjblwqflQD0YQhkp1Co/s320/zaffie06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457916922854126002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Zaffie<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGo4VvGmre1FTmTfjT598W4SCr1mZr3O8ZB3KKJocgkGPJz9vIR43Z47TcMjtj_JZXEfY2C7R0Bn5OQJMAcFp_VvxWaKdwLxn6Qrb-g5t4tPm47enP3mK6wu3h5cmEIqT37_dnix8aNy0/s1600/chiara02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGo4VvGmre1FTmTfjT598W4SCr1mZr3O8ZB3KKJocgkGPJz9vIR43Z47TcMjtj_JZXEfY2C7R0Bn5OQJMAcFp_VvxWaKdwLxn6Qrb-g5t4tPm47enP3mK6wu3h5cmEIqT37_dnix8aNy0/s320/chiara02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457917303215795010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Chiara</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOjB6NYRatj3_Z5hHfOwqGrLVtCsSsq48FGgW1GDmqO64HKRlwMZkQXJRsp4ngGyK2U79b9HxsBgSqdHdq22X3fz1mWNIpv-rDh767mxvV53vk2yXCvmcFA0Db1Fy7IQnSMF5z_snZ74/s1600/kenny01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOjB6NYRatj3_Z5hHfOwqGrLVtCsSsq48FGgW1GDmqO64HKRlwMZkQXJRsp4ngGyK2U79b9HxsBgSqdHdq22X3fz1mWNIpv-rDh767mxvV53vk2yXCvmcFA0Db1Fy7IQnSMF5z_snZ74/s320/kenny01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457917190607760466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Kenny</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0G5DHoM5haIYaLVOw390uedvLcdqR92vOPA1jXB1vKNSIBOqsyhyUxGVBbVbS-et163-BniSN_e8aQwqB8jC5CFktxi_li7lErIGzjNDpIMHGUzUjm5uT4En9EvFvN97xOlkqeQW4gc/s1600/mils01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0G5DHoM5haIYaLVOw390uedvLcdqR92vOPA1jXB1vKNSIBOqsyhyUxGVBbVbS-et163-BniSN_e8aQwqB8jC5CFktxi_li7lErIGzjNDpIMHGUzUjm5uT4En9EvFvN97xOlkqeQW4gc/s320/mils01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457916742944099746" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Mils</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09WiUKbguJf0rb9PGIACGaL2Fkp5Chs3lt-Yt3Jgs4rKb3CKOFIPA_SLxBcbv8RUqVIY6joPC7OfmXv5FGW1AIEgz9HyBsX3WfuOvzDM4tk4iezlZeMrzJkzF7fwM_IxMuIae1wsFhow/s1600/kennyfran02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09WiUKbguJf0rb9PGIACGaL2Fkp5Chs3lt-Yt3Jgs4rKb3CKOFIPA_SLxBcbv8RUqVIY6joPC7OfmXv5FGW1AIEgz9HyBsX3WfuOvzDM4tk4iezlZeMrzJkzF7fwM_IxMuIae1wsFhow/s320/kennyfran02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457916528895332850" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Kenny & Francesca</span></span><br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When I say that things here move too fast and too many to really understand what it going on, I truly mean it. There is so much symbolism, every day. All day long at times. And when it isn't that, it is something else. It is quiet, and this is the time to make lists:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Daylight list (year two) -</span><br /><br />The hill, sitting on the bench or the grass <span style="font-style: italic;">..the potential of it all</span>.<br />Sometimes the coffee is made well ..<span style="font-style: italic;">a good start to things always</span>.<br />Laura Veirs 11minutes, Arts the Beat Doctor, 21 minutes<br />'A sensitive and original approach to the subject' <span style="font-style: italic;">..nothing to get too involved in. Thank god.<br /></span>I'll walk you home if you want<br />Cookies? Rounds slags, more like <span style="font-style: italic;"> ..because they go down too easily<br /></span>Those are my demands<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> ..Fair enough. I think we can appease you.<br /></span></span>Does my guitar keep you up? ..<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> We're just lucky you can sing<br /></span></span>Saxondale.<br />Then Partridge. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">..One more before bed?</span><br /> </span></span>Remember the baseball bat guy? He sat on our sofa.<br />Killing Joke invented everything. ..<span style="font-style: italic;">What, even the Ped Egg?<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Random yet affectionate text regarding recipient’s previous geographical location, </span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > followed by hyperbolic reference to the passing of time. </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > Amusing and ironic retraction of affection. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > Iconic representation of a kiss.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Kazuo Ishiguro doing a reading locally ..</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > couldn't make it, but the informing was an act of absolute kindness</span><br /> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">New found patience <span style="font-style: italic;"> ..never too late, remember this</span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br />Night time list (year two) -</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Cold in the morning <span style="font-style: italic;"> ..but warm by the evening. You know this</span>.<br />The bricks are everywhere in the morning <span style="font-style: italic;"> ..but rebuilt by the evening. You know this</span>.<br />Someone's parents dying ..<span style="font-style: italic;"> what can I do? What can I do here to be brave and to love and listen?<br /></span>Is this guilt? ..<span style="font-style: italic;">this is pretty big</span><br /> This must be regret ..<span style="font-style: italic;">come on now positive</span><br /> 10/90 seriously <span style="font-style: italic;"> ..come on</span><br />Alice in Chains, Jane's Addiction, Soundgarden, Deftones, Helmet, Kerbdog 4 hrs<br /> <br /> <span style="font-style: italic;"> There is so much symbolism</span>. </span><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br /></span></span>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-58808936953655459532010-03-08T15:39:00.001-08:002010-03-08T16:19:02.429-08:00You're not a pedo, You're not a pedo..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34py1oEZAksSaPgItG6wV0HzgXukgXrgQtf_EMYDImarrQKbekFvtExPuqJHQcVwyZJ__AQCo-zZaMWY0NpPcSvLO7mdqEAS8YYxFcHbDs3mDtfFaw9rD5JiGDuDnJgCJMLBOa3X5xeA/s1600-h/aerobie+march+2010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34py1oEZAksSaPgItG6wV0HzgXukgXrgQtf_EMYDImarrQKbekFvtExPuqJHQcVwyZJ__AQCo-zZaMWY0NpPcSvLO7mdqEAS8YYxFcHbDs3mDtfFaw9rD5JiGDuDnJgCJMLBOa3X5xeA/s320/aerobie+march+2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446412132420143938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So..</span> </span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Quick run down of recent excitement:<br /><br />Actually managed to get in some top-notch Aerobie with Mary, Charlotte and Max, due to a brief spell of nice weather. Hadn't had a proper session since.. oh, god.. maybe last June? May, even? Christ. And I remember when there was a point when this here blog seemed to be about nothing but those little flighty sods. Anyway, after a few rusty moments of shit throwing/catching, loss of the disc over the fence (repeatedly, but regained due to Mary and Charlotte's ninja-like agility) and general filth of the muddy field we resorted to (can't beat Parkwood sports field, let's face it) it turned out to be a good session, and no mistake.<br /><br />One strange thing that happened right after was that we were walking back towards the house when two young girls (no older than eleven) come running up to me; one grabs my Aerobie and says "Wow, cool frisbee, mate! Can I have a go?" and starts to swiftly walk away with it. Before I could chase her or do anything, she falls on her arse onto the pavement, and the disc is retrieved. Before she gets up, she just kind of looks up at us. I ask her is she is okay, and she gives me a look as if she was about to from saying "Fuck off, clean-shirt." We moved on.<br /><br />Had a visit from Chris back home. Somewhat epic weekend, beginning with taking him straight to Orange Street on the Friday, followed by two 4am-nighters out and about, seeing people, talking like we'd just invented it, etc. Truly great to have someone from back home to show everything that goes on in this here town. Makes it all seem a bit more real, in a way..<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkxB5JzxnNYsJYZZD2EdrdvWtcQP3MRf5KWZ0_D1x429YhjGnf4mE5159gpES4ROHOvvdlij9F1nKJDbS9BaTfdWSwSYdd7Ozogz9nsRlRijoRZ47DN1a06fiP1p0vPEkVfwZNNvXrLmg/s1600-h/becky+duncan+feb+2010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkxB5JzxnNYsJYZZD2EdrdvWtcQP3MRf5KWZ0_D1x429YhjGnf4mE5159gpES4ROHOvvdlij9F1nKJDbS9BaTfdWSwSYdd7Ozogz9nsRlRijoRZ47DN1a06fiP1p0vPEkVfwZNNvXrLmg/s320/becky+duncan+feb+2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446416282117639218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Put up Duncan and Becky for a couple of nights whilst Duncan visited old friends from university. Became good friends with Becky during her final year, and subsequently friends with Duncan through her. Took the pair of them to a Salsa event in town on the Saturday, where I think they were both into it enough to join me at a London club in a few weeks..<br /><br />Speaking of Salsa, we're currently planning a seven-date tour of the south coast salsa clubs.<br /><br />Photographic evidence of a change in the weather:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Bt1YQWWxqrqr00NZWCaBIG056W0QIWE7DxnLI4cf1H-HfILUtz0qjjBO1k4xNrpJPfVjKxSLIOjzJajq9W_E-c9RFjtaPX-DckQeHyTFVFPnX2w3M17q6SAxYYnimJkeFe9SklrOPFs/s1600-h/lino+charlotte+march+2010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Bt1YQWWxqrqr00NZWCaBIG056W0QIWE7DxnLI4cf1H-HfILUtz0qjjBO1k4xNrpJPfVjKxSLIOjzJajq9W_E-c9RFjtaPX-DckQeHyTFVFPnX2w3M17q6SAxYYnimJkeFe9SklrOPFs/s320/lino+charlotte+march+2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446417323124201090" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Marcelino and Charlotte basking (Charlotte was back from Tokyo for a brief time recently)</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCfDp07gpZaeO-A80ZLAcWWwB_XpGHYLXa1FNvopfcD0nhqohyize3Ii84Uh1T6y77kmXrF0-Szr3sCAChSlcXyQ_78zzF_BpjrtMrsUmU78R_IcpZykXX66et5UOzL6J-A8wqvPVSHY/s1600-h/aga.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCfDp07gpZaeO-A80ZLAcWWwB_XpGHYLXa1FNvopfcD0nhqohyize3Ii84Uh1T6y77kmXrF0-Szr3sCAChSlcXyQ_78zzF_BpjrtMrsUmU78R_IcpZykXX66et5UOzL6J-A8wqvPVSHY/s320/aga.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446417231076798594" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Agnieszka out and about. Beautiful sun, but harsh winds that day. So it goes.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxiTN-UexaRTtSzJUpXgyZA7D0bQLc_7EQeeRIfRc6mumQHjT3TvCDGAjp3CfFP3KexyNOjYoB7TqP6-9Q8AP5CjjOq76JtznJFR7Ukmk63aAHzXDlPHX_SIRkg_VJO8EzUxJIU02Gk7k/s1600-h/spence+march+2010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxiTN-UexaRTtSzJUpXgyZA7D0bQLc_7EQeeRIfRc6mumQHjT3TvCDGAjp3CfFP3KexyNOjYoB7TqP6-9Q8AP5CjjOq76JtznJFR7Ukmk63aAHzXDlPHX_SIRkg_VJO8EzUxJIU02Gk7k/s320/spence+march+2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446419357624962338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Spencer.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWSHZh5J0P36Mi_nW-T9fcl-xetgN9pkoMKOXbvjgNnS3phZm9ZVvPh_F-HGKMoj5nVNF7wTTcC-l8KgNe38ctuMn_VB1qA3tKghH3RfU5keTQyyGYFl_Kxua50T9AV1vYrSTFUrWric/s1600-h/salsa+feb+2010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtWSHZh5J0P36Mi_nW-T9fcl-xetgN9pkoMKOXbvjgNnS3phZm9ZVvPh_F-HGKMoj5nVNF7wTTcC-l8KgNe38ctuMn_VB1qA3tKghH3RfU5keTQyyGYFl_Kxua50T9AV1vYrSTFUrWric/s320/salsa+feb+2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446419257377889842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Rehearsals for the International Showcase (Salsa won the Dance Section, obviously).</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOvcCVo837sJGdUYlPu0CSRnv-xp5KnikpxeAWbr1T3wWcwUOlBRzejr6wLDoRnGPPyi6Lx9B9V7dT5k9fwMdGg-DRfbH7F3hRbbuN0HrnE_rc34FpcJ5d6hLbc4QxPMUhWmL7o7S7hU/s1600-h/house+06+mils.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOvcCVo837sJGdUYlPu0CSRnv-xp5KnikpxeAWbr1T3wWcwUOlBRzejr6wLDoRnGPPyi6Lx9B9V7dT5k9fwMdGg-DRfbH7F3hRbbuN0HrnE_rc34FpcJ5d6hLbc4QxPMUhWmL7o7S7hU/s320/house+06+mils.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446421480093596514" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >We've signed up for 88 Tenterden Drive again. It all seems to be moving pretty fast. Soon comes Manchester..<br /><br /></span></div></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-37781721390638523862010-02-04T16:50:00.001-08:002010-02-04T17:20:55.303-08:00In this manner, the issue was decided.<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-bIc9bM-ZQCem6h84ADQ51VicE5QR4aq2mhcF8GWsFpWmzyBKf6cv-69HIAKPHju4QP-xxdtgjWUiURccdq0zZ9jXO4JmJ-nF5dCS1mmCUVVWtMDXqvgsqe8AW5w37cwgwY-uWXzerg/s1600-h/white+hot+yeah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-bIc9bM-ZQCem6h84ADQ51VicE5QR4aq2mhcF8GWsFpWmzyBKf6cv-69HIAKPHju4QP-xxdtgjWUiURccdq0zZ9jXO4JmJ-nF5dCS1mmCUVVWtMDXqvgsqe8AW5w37cwgwY-uWXzerg/s320/white+hot+yeah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434555605418568626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Losing weeks pretty quickly now. Keeping on top of the reading, though (currently <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Last Orders</span> by Graham Swift (1996)) and soon the assignments will need proper attention. Had a very strange situation in the Gulbenkian cafe the other day; a girl walked in and sat on the sofa opposite me. I waved and she waved back, and I picked up my stuff to sit by her and the conversation went something like this;<br />Me - How's it going?<br />Girl - Ok, I guess. I'm finding it tough to meet people, though.<br />Me - What do you mean?<br />Girl - Well, I only really know the people in my seminars. I don't really have anyone to hang out with.<br />Me - That's a shame. I thought you were quite funny when we met.<br />Girl - ..I'm sorry?<br />Me - When we met. In the library cafe.<br />Girl - In the.. ?<br />Me - Yeah, you remember. I bought a coffee, and then asked for a cup of water, and then asked for a teaspoon and then ended with 'Those are my demands'. You replied with 'Fair enough. I think we can appease you.' I thought that was funny.<br />Girl - I've.. never met you before today.<br />Me - ...What? Then who..?<br />Girl - That wasn't me.<br />Me -Oh. Right. Ermm.. sorry about that. God, you really do look like this girl who..<br />Girl - I just know you from Salsa.<br />Me - ..What? Salsa?<br />Girl - Yeah. I've seen you teaching Salsa.<br />Me - Have.. we danced before?<br />Girl - No. I've never met you until today.<br />Me - Right. But we both do Salsa?<br />Girl - Yes.<br />Me - Ok. Right. What's your name then?<br /><br />And so on and so on and so on. Sometimes, and this goes without saying, this campus is very small indeed.<br /><br />The above picture of two white hot chocolates in at <a href="http://www.visitkent.co.uk/food-drink/thedms.asp?dms=13&venue=3031028"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Chambers Cafe</span></a>, where Kenny and I popped in for lunch on Wednesday. When ordering, I couldn't remember if it was 'hot white chocolate' or 'white hot chocolate' (the second one makes me think of the centre of the sun for some reason), so our drinks were presented to us thusly to assay any confusion. The end.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgsd8AscahsTTlj0FbvstkYS9Dg6yDh8qrUliqrExfZjdX4Ety9Zmq0jCLuf6srlLBIf4OJQ-wSLRDmYIqODDBE-q4QkVv3qGQUQ5kDelyIwYQbwPX2U_TP38dgciexSMchUbICxGKNc/s1600-h/china+rich+scarlett.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgsd8AscahsTTlj0FbvstkYS9Dg6yDh8qrUliqrExfZjdX4Ety9Zmq0jCLuf6srlLBIf4OJQ-wSLRDmYIqODDBE-q4QkVv3qGQUQ5kDelyIwYQbwPX2U_TP38dgciexSMchUbICxGKNc/s320/china+rich+scarlett.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434559136870280610" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Bit of a literary wet dream for me on Tuesday night. <a href="http://www.panmacmillan.com/authors%20Illustrators/displayPage.asp?PageTitle=Individual%20Contributor&ContributorID=69950"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">China Mieville </span></a>was doing a reading and Q & A session in the Missing Link building, much to the fawning adoration of Paul March-Russell ( my Science Fictions module convener) as well as to many a wine-sipping SF-head, including myself. It was highly entertaining to hear him read excerpts from Kraken, his soon to be published latest novel, and also to hear him almost childishly stamp his feet in defence of the much maligned genre of SF as a whole. In the audience was none other than <a href="http://www.kent.ac.uk/english/people/profiles/thomas.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Scarlett Thomas</span></a>, brilliant author and undoubtedly one of the reasons why I decided to take writing seriously for myself as well as reading, and my eventual decision to go back to university. I unashamedly asked both authors to let me have my picture taken with them, throwing dignified caution to the wind. If you know not of these authors, you are dead to the joys of life. Get out.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QRgyqHg5EA1xqPbvYjKWv4arOnWEoZ39J56DlOB9IMCayicsNfNCPgeKRjXR91oIwLVxchjfG666JR8Q3uKXKjuQcVZMPpPE_MftJgwuBG4kk3BUz5hHQDXrBNrIDHshcdNAA-Q7560/s1600-h/portugese.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QRgyqHg5EA1xqPbvYjKWv4arOnWEoZ39J56DlOB9IMCayicsNfNCPgeKRjXR91oIwLVxchjfG666JR8Q3uKXKjuQcVZMPpPE_MftJgwuBG4kk3BUz5hHQDXrBNrIDHshcdNAA-Q7560/s320/portugese.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434561327238295362" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">My friend Anabela came over Sunday and cooked traditional Portugese food for all of us, basically confirming that all in all university life is often arse-shatteringly good. As well as pea, chicken and chotizo stew, we also had a chicken, peppers and onion casserole type-thing, and vegetarian quiche. All of this was rounded off with home made banana cake and coffee.<br /><br />Saw <a href="http://www.davidodoherty.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">David O' Doherty</span></a> live on saturday also.<br /><br />Boo yah!<br /></span></span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-57789378188331516232010-01-28T17:03:00.000-08:002010-01-30T02:59:59.501-08:00They are driftin' from do' to do'<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7NNm-YhQRKHoenkA8ed75XPsJh_0q49U6VtXJ4p5_bl7GEjIr8QNpvduCGhbO4LyTSoS247VY8lw2vkenldxSfRyptwdvVyMi7o6FDN5RHiivj2HWmnp-lpZZ40yeJoDQCYDtRH9IHY/s1600-h/gemwem+franwan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7NNm-YhQRKHoenkA8ed75XPsJh_0q49U6VtXJ4p5_bl7GEjIr8QNpvduCGhbO4LyTSoS247VY8lw2vkenldxSfRyptwdvVyMi7o6FDN5RHiivj2HWmnp-lpZZ40yeJoDQCYDtRH9IHY/s320/gemwem+franwan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431962506154653298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Doesn't matter how busy I find myself with work, everyone seems to be more busy and more </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >I know what I'm doing so get out of my way</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">theirs</span>. Anyhow, still ticking along. Keeping my eye on the prize.<br /><br />There's this cat who keeps hanging round the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Gulbenkian</span> at night. Not seen him during the day. I know he is a him because he has a cat's penis. Quite a nice cat, actually. We fed him some beef the other night and he loved that, but he doesn't look starving. Where the hell does he keep coming from? I was stroking him after my shift, and he put up with it for about two minutes before swiping his claws along my arm in a very <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> don't see any more beef in that hand of yours, so dangle</span> kind of manner. Some of the staff wanted to tempt him into the building. What's that about? Where is he going to go for starters, let alone the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hygiene</span> concerns and all that. Clearly from this reasoning, I am too sensible, and they are too taken in by fur.<br /><br />Decided after much deliberation with people that the best movie of the last ten years was the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Coen</span> Brothers' <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">O Brother, Where Are Thou? </span>(2000). Hard to explain why. Just ticked a lot of boxes for me. I'm sure there have been 'greater' films in the last ten years (for want of a better word) but I'm just in total admiration of it, not least because of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Chris Thomas King'</span>s cover of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Skip <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">James's</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> </span><a style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWUu7sUyMPE">Hard Time Killing Floor Blues</a>. This is a song to drown to, and I have done a lot recently.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJzk2dCwxl2qOxtJcIqM4rvhAcdcfkTL5qJ3WfJS_TqhSfavI89CTTWAukexxtHa5kCJrTdFrlQc7ezSpQfWE8BA46eAA3MqQyNXY1e5gsLNUVCzOgUaf1bWjsdjzuZDSWrcOScU5im8/s1600-h/IMG00406-20100125-2218.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJzk2dCwxl2qOxtJcIqM4rvhAcdcfkTL5qJ3WfJS_TqhSfavI89CTTWAukexxtHa5kCJrTdFrlQc7ezSpQfWE8BA46eAA3MqQyNXY1e5gsLNUVCzOgUaf1bWjsdjzuZDSWrcOScU5im8/s320/IMG00406-20100125-2218.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431965805645333810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By coincidence, I showed <span style="font-style: italic;">O Brother</span> at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Gulbenkian</span> recently. I also came downstairs that night to find a giant hand-painted tapestry depicting scenes from the film hanging over the windows. There was also a few country musicians performing in the cafe. Weird, unexpected evening. Good start to the year, though. A continuation of nice things to come, let's hope.<br /><br />Got three essays back: 63% for Media (better than 40% last term..), and I also got 76% for Language in Literature and 71% for Theories of Discourse and Culture. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">TDC</span> is the one I'm most happy <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">about</span>. That was a hard essay. Deconstructionism is a tough <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">gooch</span>, no matter which way you wax it. However, the source material (<a href="http://www.nyx.net/%7Ekbanker/chautauqua/carver.htm"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Raymond Carver's So Much Water So Close To Home</span></a>) was something I have profound interest in. There's something about Carver's stories that almost gives away the fact he died young. I know that's a strange thing to say - they're not suicidal or anything. It's just that Carver wrote stories where everything is forthcoming, and characters <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">seem</span> at ease with this. This is also something I myself am beginning to understand; dwelling on the past. What's the point? If you're here now, you're here now, and the future is forthcoming, but you're here now. My degree is happening now. My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">PGCE</span> is forthcoming. Where ever I end up after I get out of this very small town is forthcoming. Has anything ever been so tender on the mind?<br /><br />Other news; got a new tattoo (pics to follow) inspired by the cover to <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Michael Marshall Smith</span>'s SF thriller, <a href="http://www.michaelmarshallsmith.com/"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Spares</span></a>. The idea came about when I was sat, turning 32, in the Yorkshire House pub back in the Shire with Ted and Dominic, and I recalled that about 10 years and 1 week to that day I'd been recommended it by a friend. Since then, pretty much every single person I know (especially ex-projectionists) have gone out and read it and loved it. I can seriously see several people back home getting a similar tattoo now - Aidan and Ted for starters. After I got it done I sent them the template and said '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Ok</span>, your turn'. They're getting <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">theirs</span> next week. Almost feels like we're forming a cult.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHhruNDX2l7LhSOen9xJyw7q8uQoURPM_OQTjohqe5cgJK1ag7TfJ4XYCh-16ECud9iGfWbqUxAwIUkGZBC-NphgVY1LVgGkt6mpssUg3NZzQ_mqA-Ihy7s1FM1ay6iL8SufgqCh8tKcY/s1600-h/charlaublai.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHhruNDX2l7LhSOen9xJyw7q8uQoURPM_OQTjohqe5cgJK1ag7TfJ4XYCh-16ECud9iGfWbqUxAwIUkGZBC-NphgVY1LVgGkt6mpssUg3NZzQ_mqA-Ihy7s1FM1ay6iL8SufgqCh8tKcY/s320/charlaublai.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431975069313455458" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Charlotte is addicted to <a href="http://www.thepcmanwebsite.com/media/pacman_flash/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Pac</span> Man</span></a>. She seemed almost genuinely furious when I first showed her the various free online versions you can play, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">knowing</span> full well that she would be instantly hooked. I often get home late to hear the inimitable <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">wakakakaka</span> of the pill-popping <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">wazzack</span>, followed by shouts of despair and 'Fuck you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Pinky</span>' <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">emanating</span> from the front room. She even got a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Pac</span> Man mug for Christmas, which hasn't actually got <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Pac</span> Man on it. Bit strange.<br /><br />Read a couple of books recently which have had the odd effect of making me well up because of a powerful relation I've found with the protagonists. It's a strange feeling, and it means I'm either finding, by sheer coincidence, books that seem to tap into something emotionally sensitive about myself, or that I'm looking too hard for any kind of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">relatable</span> symbolism. Probably a bit of both. Anyway, I found the character Karl in <span style="font-style: italic;">Michael </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Moorcock's</span> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Behold The Man </span>(1969) highly interesting. I think he displayed an honesty in men that not many are prepared to admit. I also read <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Haruki</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Murakami's</span> <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">South Of The Border, West Of The Sun </span>(1992). First <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Murakami</span> book I'd read in a long time (seven months is long for me), I can always rely on his books to say something to me. How gruesomely self-indulgent I find reading at times. I positively wallow.<br /><br />Saw <a href="http://www.richardherring.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Richard Herring</span></a> performing <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Hitler Moustache </span>at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Horsebridge</span> Arts Centre, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Whitstable</span> last Saturday. Another fine 90 minutes of stand-up. Always an interesting mix of people there too. People like Richard Herring always manage to bring fans out of the woodwork I notice.<br /><br />Stay off the drink and drugs, kids.<br /></span></span></div></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-76916404544990354662010-01-14T17:04:00.000-08:002010-01-14T17:42:43.405-08:00Pretty sleeping patterns<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbRgbOEpLfFJJIPEb6G24flmENM6EBnm79Z7oRMG5_9X93eK2C342yOysvCZKqU6l8ei7NGk_eY0nWVcJZtlaVzura83Y2Ohqnysm9pfaZCo2wdw6wAN-AZRjah2Y8ZvqAVAu9iiTCLE/s1600-h/cornflake+box+game.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbRgbOEpLfFJJIPEb6G24flmENM6EBnm79Z7oRMG5_9X93eK2C342yOysvCZKqU6l8ei7NGk_eY0nWVcJZtlaVzura83Y2Ohqnysm9pfaZCo2wdw6wAN-AZRjah2Y8ZvqAVAu9iiTCLE/s320/cornflake+box+game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426766395152947346" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sleep isn't coming home any time soon, and I'm tired of waiting up for it. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Keep checking the time, but it hardly makes me feel any better. Weather today was the colour of gravestones. Still, work was peaceful and passed swiftly, and I've written 2850 words of a 4000 word essay in just over 24 hours, so, when I'm actually done complaining about meteorological events that I have no control over, I have to concede that it's been a good day.<br /><br />Had a 10-hour power cut yesterday that scuppered my original essay-writing plans. If I can't stick to my original preparations, I feel as if it's all going to turn to hell. Maybe a residual element of this carried into today, hence the weather-based foreboding. Anyway, that was a very long power cut. I drove to Asda and bought candles (seems like half of Hales Place had the same idea as me only hours before, because all that was left was posh, lightly-scented ones that did the job, but gave the house a sort of Gothic/amateur porn video look). I went and sat in the office at work, then I stayed over at Fran and Chiara's, all in order to continue with the essay. Managed to chip away at it quite well.<br /><br />It's always the same with essays; I make reams of multicoloured notes, emphatically digging out all the information, and when it comes to putting it all into a decipherable entity I suddenly feel something along the lines of 'Oh my god, I've researched the wrong thing!' or 'Oh my god, this is completely illegible!' I browse the Internet for a few minutes, then I get going. Once I've made the leap from daunting slab of marble to first chip of the sculpture (not trying to say my essays are works of art or anything quite so sanctimonious) I am very much away.<br /><br />..oh god, just had a flicker in the lights..<br /> .. power might go out again soon..<br /> .. I don't think those Scottish 100% quarter pounder beefburgers with herbs will last another half-defrosting..<br /><br />Anyway, nothing I can do about it. I wonder if Fran and Chiara are still up and about..?<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WRENao0COSHFtgV7bFjIMyc_wa2sCz74x9Qoa985dALSOJLEFsf9EC_VQYHaNoTCrbWfn0wshKaJ6Iq_uLd6lSnIocubsnNxskEmhT6sZDPhFhHmtwzAmozRrf-F_uagzYDm0A-XyqA/s1600-h/kenny+kyveli+fran+01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WRENao0COSHFtgV7bFjIMyc_wa2sCz74x9Qoa985dALSOJLEFsf9EC_VQYHaNoTCrbWfn0wshKaJ6Iq_uLd6lSnIocubsnNxskEmhT6sZDPhFhHmtwzAmozRrf-F_uagzYDm0A-XyqA/s320/kenny+kyveli+fran+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426769402077457346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've wanted very much this week to get up early and go swimming each morning, but lack of sleep has prevented me from achieving this. I remember the last term of my first year was enriched by daily trips to the swimming baths, followed by hard revision and essay work, all of which made me happily fall asleep by midnight ready to do it all again the next day. This year so far, the earliest I've found myself nodding off has been 2am - the latest, 6:15am. This is not good enough if I want to be up by 7:30am. And, yes, it's true; the older I get the more sleep I need. I think, if I can't get up that early, I need to do things to make myself very tired like running around the block (or at least walking even further). It seems that just having the occasional anxiety attack isn't actually what qualifies as exercise. Of course, the last term was in the summer, so that was enough to make me want to be up and about nice and early. This weather makes me just want to dash from one sofa to the next in as quick a time as possible. I <span style="font-style: italic;">will </span>pick up some exercise soon and I <span style="font-style: italic;">will </span>stop wasting your time with this.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgQrUataeLo-StZhKF26e68z-8nR6bVN6lY28a2R_u3miLkk2Fv_uYZi11DU_nOpbVZ4pjL2twnmPPIHGnjiIMjM6MmQZiWfDMm5Ao_JssMRxzqUI120J7TkC5LIglviMyy4HAhdBL7Q/s1600-h/car+park+snow+01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgQrUataeLo-StZhKF26e68z-8nR6bVN6lY28a2R_u3miLkk2Fv_uYZi11DU_nOpbVZ4pjL2twnmPPIHGnjiIMjM6MmQZiWfDMm5Ao_JssMRxzqUI120J7TkC5LIglviMyy4HAhdBL7Q/s320/car+park+snow+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426772077005011842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Whenever I do feel out of sorts, I find that something usually comes my way that brings me out of it with a shock, reminding me why I do what I do. Reminding me how to adore things all over again. It's my nature to get deep into the things that don't need such depth, but it is also my nature to come out the other side electric with that which surrounds me. I've had conversations recently with people that have just come along and reminded me of everything all at once.<br /><br />I need you to know that our talking means everything to me, it's the reason why I keep going.<br /><br />Facts, desires, sleeping patterns.<br />What offends you?<br />House mate's bizarre nocturnal habits.<br />Dreams about losing teeth.<br />That perfume again.<br />Good car journey.<br />Mutual respect.<br />Do you think <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> could work here?<br />That Raymond Carver story again.<br />Giggling under my duvet.<br />Fear of judgement over the phone.<br />An album bought and an album loved.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How </span>long since we spoke?<br />Do we need to take things<span style="font-style: italic;"> this</span> seriously?<br />Calm now.<br />Just keep quiet for a moment.<br /><br />The power might cut out any second.<br />Just keep quiet for a moment.<br /><br />Keep it up.<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /></span></span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-16495009301717866822010-01-08T18:43:00.001-08:002010-01-08T18:47:23.573-08:00July flame<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchYier128QStLi0s1s7kJxOQ78no6IoNy20-OQgBt87jdt8nKj7OcDh9ev4ItYaMDPzFlinJjzvv2QnEk-Rd2iS7IW6WF2X8ivC8Bp2xTepwveTLWDDzmOPw63DD6J2PZQP5GlTGXsCk/s1600-h/snow03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchYier128QStLi0s1s7kJxOQ78no6IoNy20-OQgBt87jdt8nKj7OcDh9ev4ItYaMDPzFlinJjzvv2QnEk-Rd2iS7IW6WF2X8ivC8Bp2xTepwveTLWDDzmOPw63DD6J2PZQP5GlTGXsCk/s320/snow03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424565727651280418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9zb0zbchhellwGh1cvc2_6ZtOfBdm7AUOKDQwVwkoLkqkhYAmcN4QEQ2VfreJk53-VVYpkXq-hGQ09TT3UbhNxpRTot8-4aoJ1t9ixOfNrpmafftbcAGjtGkBlNrb_YrP6Ftxbol4Og/s1600-h/snow04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9zb0zbchhellwGh1cvc2_6ZtOfBdm7AUOKDQwVwkoLkqkhYAmcN4QEQ2VfreJk53-VVYpkXq-hGQ09TT3UbhNxpRTot8-4aoJ1t9ixOfNrpmafftbcAGjtGkBlNrb_YrP6Ftxbol4Og/s320/snow04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424565625769159906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuRwwEoRGbsBdEpZwsBrRzPOyYQdo5Cl8qvQs38DR_TbdiC4MV9lf0vun4jp9sO6hd_xUZWpzjapuEmxzeF1HwyfqHGGpp5UHTWh4pueIH_1Pa9B5vMYuCiOCw9gJu4tLoBpuKQ6ccF4/s1600-h/snow02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuRwwEoRGbsBdEpZwsBrRzPOyYQdo5Cl8qvQs38DR_TbdiC4MV9lf0vun4jp9sO6hd_xUZWpzjapuEmxzeF1HwyfqHGGpp5UHTWh4pueIH_1Pa9B5vMYuCiOCw9gJu4tLoBpuKQ6ccF4/s320/snow02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424565525552521282" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOqccXqD76wozH_KGtFjHI-VlVz8ZdJy-_oqW1znroiQKKMpALsvCnN-DCqKHWy322DSU_tSzk1ypXMDCtPgMhltjX-mkR9fIx9x9Fq4sOUDiQFrhEWPvjb_CjJkno7w-xwNNSw5mMoU/s1600-h/snow05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmOqccXqD76wozH_KGtFjHI-VlVz8ZdJy-_oqW1znroiQKKMpALsvCnN-DCqKHWy322DSU_tSzk1ypXMDCtPgMhltjX-mkR9fIx9x9Fq4sOUDiQFrhEWPvjb_CjJkno7w-xwNNSw5mMoU/s320/snow05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424565441840874738" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wiw4CA1bsusNWPBb4Ek090c2xZlUJDB4nBxRntiy-nyYPIO97-oJLyIOwBe8GA2trnAkkQ6h_xGbljaUCPkmnaESC8-zLdwlnUgxKf07FOpahT5Ku9u7q4jH8dyNM-qJvXPVbP5LJfo/s1600-h/snow01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wiw4CA1bsusNWPBb4Ek090c2xZlUJDB4nBxRntiy-nyYPIO97-oJLyIOwBe8GA2trnAkkQ6h_xGbljaUCPkmnaESC8-zLdwlnUgxKf07FOpahT5Ku9u7q4jH8dyNM-qJvXPVbP5LJfo/s320/snow01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424565363011337746" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3L3gA8ceXucerGRGQtk22mP0BAAzZs63k0UBSYoY7mlVm4V-H1fHJWCMr9dBCRyGcXNonAKYPwep8eygrVp2Nclf0t5XSG2QactLSGj5wDs94IZjcncx7V7lZ7PcPS8IzDmFusEzSsJI/s1600-h/snow06.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3L3gA8ceXucerGRGQtk22mP0BAAzZs63k0UBSYoY7mlVm4V-H1fHJWCMr9dBCRyGcXNonAKYPwep8eygrVp2Nclf0t5XSG2QactLSGj5wDs94IZjcncx7V7lZ7PcPS8IzDmFusEzSsJI/s320/snow06.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424565273721942482" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">2:09am. Good time for a walk after it's been snowing.</span></span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">People can't get in and others can't get out of wherever they need to be.</span></span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">How can something so peaceful cause so much trouble?</span></span>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-27888474924034308952010-01-06T17:30:00.000-08:002010-01-06T17:56:24.768-08:00The traveller has come<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >A brief pictorial run-down of the last two bastard weeks:<br /></span><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAG9NWr9L84oUKcVQGQScm4PKqjRSndUKBppvd4gy_H1EDN_V5qGK5pm6sG6Ej6XpfR4j3Q1FGwWhruf3qykotQMKjHDjHjxI4VGGMBgADUhqbtiSMVhmlNazfvXdy2rZNKXOf-_nuQ_s/s1600-h/bloggy7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAG9NWr9L84oUKcVQGQScm4PKqjRSndUKBppvd4gy_H1EDN_V5qGK5pm6sG6Ej6XpfR4j3Q1FGwWhruf3qykotQMKjHDjHjxI4VGGMBgADUhqbtiSMVhmlNazfvXdy2rZNKXOf-_nuQ_s/s320/bloggy7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423804606816777298" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >An epic day of </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Doctor Who</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > and concerning foodstuffs (note the burgers with waffles, melted cheese and chili ketchup above) with a good friend before heading home the next morning..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaLaqIxE1Tfs4-qxN6WDMR6ureMVWWM-ZVYYl8f8retVCBzsiWQL3EzhyphenhyphenVtfMijP7zjb43LMwMB2M5XmxvZnudL_jZqwm-X6iVt4FR6E-2IKr12xrOQpQAQU8WnABvPXdLhZ_SVgPpb0/s1600-h/IMG00290-20091222-1542.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhaLaqIxE1Tfs4-qxN6WDMR6ureMVWWM-ZVYYl8f8retVCBzsiWQL3EzhyphenhyphenVtfMijP7zjb43LMwMB2M5XmxvZnudL_jZqwm-X6iVt4FR6E-2IKr12xrOQpQAQU8WnABvPXdLhZ_SVgPpb0/s320/IMG00290-20091222-1542.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806497269986338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKulh8vFHu3AjSfrR_D9Dwpwg3W9Y3SpyV3FTvVKdib0VEmSQmsUTjkSrpA1q8T9sVdDovHiTOWIF3wH0ExWWSfIL9vCrbBTcGsjibNOfum43f8lBRlycGN_MK_cQjZ3F56nU1fTMwZ3g/s1600-h/bloggy2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKulh8vFHu3AjSfrR_D9Dwpwg3W9Y3SpyV3FTvVKdib0VEmSQmsUTjkSrpA1q8T9sVdDovHiTOWIF3wH0ExWWSfIL9vCrbBTcGsjibNOfum43f8lBRlycGN_MK_cQjZ3F56nU1fTMwZ3g/s320/bloggy2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423805211500387586" border="0" /></a><br />Let's get ready to ramble! Christmas morning atop Pontsford Hill (usual chilly routine of dad's) with neighbours Mark and Alan. Tin of chocolates had been left at the top by 'Grandad'. The chocolates were molar-fracturingly cold..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxYgQa2W-4KB9hEuRBG3bpC3SPVB7wp_OMF0uv38qmkdFFJEbCXS8KV6PuTqWb_s96gDfeDBFtYSKnY4q_46kJoVeguh43WLspvS3MFPZvnctRIVFdJoKuZtLXneWncewEgrYrhvFaGE/s1600-h/bloggy3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxYgQa2W-4KB9hEuRBG3bpC3SPVB7wp_OMF0uv38qmkdFFJEbCXS8KV6PuTqWb_s96gDfeDBFtYSKnY4q_46kJoVeguh43WLspvS3MFPZvnctRIVFdJoKuZtLXneWncewEgrYrhvFaGE/s320/bloggy3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806043255384498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2HXguUoRi5Aae8E60AqNi1O9_R1WrbUlEPqDWOu4gex5UkE8u-bi8UIsjrdjQfzCaCGP4ElOc_zm1oWgYpYwHKx8qaiyHj1FaxUc606lQIrkvvY4LQaCeOO0bTtnMaMBNTJZJowGW7w/s1600-h/bloggy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2HXguUoRi5Aae8E60AqNi1O9_R1WrbUlEPqDWOu4gex5UkE8u-bi8UIsjrdjQfzCaCGP4ElOc_zm1oWgYpYwHKx8qaiyHj1FaxUc606lQIrkvvY4LQaCeOO0bTtnMaMBNTJZJowGW7w/s320/bloggy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806050775932514" border="0" /></a></span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />Wished I'd remembered to bring my camera home for this. The Wrekin, as viewed from Pontesford Hill, 9:05am Christmas morning. The mist surrounding the base of it makes it look dramatically mountainous (but it isn't a mountain it's a massive hill and nothing more so don't believe any exaggerating locals)..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxosCYE77t2DFQayY4ZlswVIwFif5xMjThSX28NjO9c2-JNEjx9NcfxZw4K1QCP-emtnE8flxeerMiLrNCy1MyHFSiy8gkrY5DCcjbNg69XZC9-AzeNRGjnZxaIoEsGf0wcQhreE1Xiv0/s1600-h/bloggy5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxosCYE77t2DFQayY4ZlswVIwFif5xMjThSX28NjO9c2-JNEjx9NcfxZw4K1QCP-emtnE8flxeerMiLrNCy1MyHFSiy8gkrY5DCcjbNg69XZC9-AzeNRGjnZxaIoEsGf0wcQhreE1Xiv0/s320/bloggy5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806053959246530" border="0" /></a><br />Superb Christmas gift from mother - a make-your-own plasticine Morph! A genuine childhood hero. Here his is lovingly recreated precisely as he appeared in the short animated adventures I watched as a child after school. No difference whatsoever...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupEuFXYFH_bBb-DFhYpr5qMLHTqRs_1iMFjQMFP9JnTtVUBF9RYcKV7J1LQgSIQQeTQJsLrbSrJn1rvIPKCDBZzbykhfHJucTrArKBA0vIMq9JvZflB-z6rYYNuIPXqXWENuNU-TK0nY/s1600-h/ted+ben.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupEuFXYFH_bBb-DFhYpr5qMLHTqRs_1iMFjQMFP9JnTtVUBF9RYcKV7J1LQgSIQQeTQJsLrbSrJn1rvIPKCDBZzbykhfHJucTrArKBA0vIMq9JvZflB-z6rYYNuIPXqXWENuNU-TK0nY/s320/ted+ben.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806507706646402" border="0" /></a><br />Ben and Ted, 27th December. It was decided at this moment that, should I die young, they promised to turn up to my funeral in full Nazi officer uniforms. No real reason, just to detract from any sadness, I suppose..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjgZIxX9Oph8H8F0UP0zpwZUy0UltRjiCNMxIENUPPhHHAIk2gL2cPmnYgpFvh-AkZdUZFQac5CfCwWRRhcCPDCGg3leqt-KRLn8JZGeYhrFqauXkQ_0wJiQv5tUHGRdQblAUku_ZzoI/s1600-h/bloggy6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihjgZIxX9Oph8H8F0UP0zpwZUy0UltRjiCNMxIENUPPhHHAIk2gL2cPmnYgpFvh-AkZdUZFQac5CfCwWRRhcCPDCGg3leqt-KRLn8JZGeYhrFqauXkQ_0wJiQv5tUHGRdQblAUku_ZzoI/s320/bloggy6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806056922462498" border="0" /></a><br />The journey home was 4 1/2 hours of precarious snow-covered crawling back to Canterbury. Never before has any godforsaken services looked to pretty...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChnSijxA-M6lsIaEpnoXcJq6MiX5KcQZbXbxb8-s6DPAsS9YSyHhGoW88o_MrdDG_kZP1Ex-BwnLJ9NAmoni0xvpR-izl5Y0tQuOzyKczQwdtTveQG-Fqrp-rBmP-rIC5f0q7rtZrHwg/s1600-h/chiara.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChnSijxA-M6lsIaEpnoXcJq6MiX5KcQZbXbxb8-s6DPAsS9YSyHhGoW88o_MrdDG_kZP1Ex-BwnLJ9NAmoni0xvpR-izl5Y0tQuOzyKczQwdtTveQG-Fqrp-rBmP-rIC5f0q7rtZrHwg/s320/chiara.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806503677094674" border="0" /></a><br />First night back. Chiara, looking like an erotic hot drinks advert..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RON3-KMq-4Iqlu2oU7AQ6p7cBoHjncd_4bQPV5CPUJeA3Anv4n2i11PEg0vdk_tJGnQlBaL4i0hmD-G3OwQHsGrC8iMNDeXCDoIGGJHJNFTwlyTl-e304O1WqSOZ_X3glqzSs_MGBy4/s1600-h/bloggy4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RON3-KMq-4Iqlu2oU7AQ6p7cBoHjncd_4bQPV5CPUJeA3Anv4n2i11PEg0vdk_tJGnQlBaL4i0hmD-G3OwQHsGrC8iMNDeXCDoIGGJHJNFTwlyTl-e304O1WqSOZ_X3glqzSs_MGBy4/s320/bloggy4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423806062914265282" border="0" /></a></span> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />Handsome devil, ready to take on term 2, 2009/2010. The painting behind me hangs on dad's front room wall. It is truly immense.</span>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-74305579175107363412009-12-19T07:55:00.000-08:002009-12-19T07:57:18.843-08:00Homeward bound<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh693Kluh6wXqhkvprSh1Nb9OfW7z-cbxGDKuIfXkicGppsSCqLwRNZiPHKUfj4G5e1yFT-2sxNFszpkgx0tQcobegQSrXFXi4PLkkQSyLJ6o0Pwk5UTeCDs3tEclIYablJBFQZft-8xKc/s1600-h/shrewsbury+tiltshift+small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh693Kluh6wXqhkvprSh1Nb9OfW7z-cbxGDKuIfXkicGppsSCqLwRNZiPHKUfj4G5e1yFT-2sxNFszpkgx0tQcobegQSrXFXi4PLkkQSyLJ6o0Pwk5UTeCDs3tEclIYablJBFQZft-8xKc/s320/shrewsbury+tiltshift+small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416976694058257954" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_KR40mC4YUOXmkDn_2QJYNhkuHBt9OSb_lG9GbXWRNvQSpERr1a4GATR0fkdYCpmAnn8bpAUZe8oX5Dult4bj_nv9YE8jNotlqXMbYWejUvW55fdHxxOSyIIY0HWXT9MG4vku-crCTI/s1600-h/canterbury+tiltshift+small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb_KR40mC4YUOXmkDn_2QJYNhkuHBt9OSb_lG9GbXWRNvQSpERr1a4GATR0fkdYCpmAnn8bpAUZe8oX5Dult4bj_nv9YE8jNotlqXMbYWejUvW55fdHxxOSyIIY0HWXT9MG4vku-crCTI/s320/canterbury+tiltshift+small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416976803783082882" border="0" /></a>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-85799118425516327672009-12-17T17:27:00.000-08:002009-12-17T17:28:31.670-08:00Periodic table<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7O5GlbNGYuAEbfDNEgQBA5iLA9cxV-vNDdU1-i6Crm0ohNUt6ZTSfboco82J-BeLHgb3D8up2dC_VwVSsFu2TMG9Z3K1zvb1byF4QY3Uzu_QYD-6CxbBCtAeaULR0aI78QfC0K3r3cU/s1600-h/periodic+table.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7O5GlbNGYuAEbfDNEgQBA5iLA9cxV-vNDdU1-i6Crm0ohNUt6ZTSfboco82J-BeLHgb3D8up2dC_VwVSsFu2TMG9Z3K1zvb1byF4QY3Uzu_QYD-6CxbBCtAeaULR0aI78QfC0K3r3cU/s320/periodic+table.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416381954038968482" border="0" /></a>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-11839727046354830472009-12-15T16:58:00.000-08:002009-12-15T16:59:02.100-08:00Your homework is ready.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBUJjbX_KoyLXpgB6_8XBpapgMoh9co2IXA2-usg6iyfiTmBjaQHqFkCD27rAC9QqUKh5s1SAFXxgSCXZvVlAiyF-q9unwjS2qkDTg4aUgOZyae-xNQJH-z5i0bKVwo-pLvq-hXmajMQ/s1600-h/colour+codes+%28small%29+04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBUJjbX_KoyLXpgB6_8XBpapgMoh9co2IXA2-usg6iyfiTmBjaQHqFkCD27rAC9QqUKh5s1SAFXxgSCXZvVlAiyF-q9unwjS2qkDTg4aUgOZyae-xNQJH-z5i0bKVwo-pLvq-hXmajMQ/s320/colour+codes+%28small%29+04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415632160355653778" border="0" /></a>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-8843035928673933132009-12-13T17:42:00.001-08:002009-12-13T17:43:24.807-08:00Sinatra<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUavoC60hGfrQZ6Z3JbexteIWYfy18SpcetmDxpX-N44R6E3tpDQ3Y84FusM0k30RkaFoB2jKUioQDpKE2a_5MwlAMAICw0vrRJm2PYxHAiKqs0Ivv9apKKTxiYjBRmI47eGUqt1yYck/s1600-h/sinatra+-+engine+%28small%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUavoC60hGfrQZ6Z3JbexteIWYfy18SpcetmDxpX-N44R6E3tpDQ3Y84FusM0k30RkaFoB2jKUioQDpKE2a_5MwlAMAICw0vrRJm2PYxHAiKqs0Ivv9apKKTxiYjBRmI47eGUqt1yYck/s320/sinatra+-+engine+%28small%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414901461807016866" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWM8N8BQZm4Dm3BMmhBq4uxwNgR0h80SceDNlmi2mfwY-L2GiLSkv8iFaQPy862LbjhF773e0D0YK2Dr4OqX8Gc0T3N3gVdfn84KRJbwhLEUnlYWK3mlNNDDZIkXOmw9BXOKpSqFTfeb0/s1600-h/sinatra+-+book+cover+02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWM8N8BQZm4Dm3BMmhBq4uxwNgR0h80SceDNlmi2mfwY-L2GiLSkv8iFaQPy862LbjhF773e0D0YK2Dr4OqX8Gc0T3N3gVdfn84KRJbwhLEUnlYWK3mlNNDDZIkXOmw9BXOKpSqFTfeb0/s320/sinatra+-+book+cover+02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414901366300989186" border="0" /></a>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-53707366733664408022009-12-05T08:04:00.001-08:002009-12-05T16:30:56.776-08:00Lasting winter blues<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Okay, four months is a long time. Although, maybe it isn't that long, hence why I haven't actually had time to even look at this.</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, obviously I'm in Stage 2 now of the degree. Whenever people warned me that the workload increased in the second year (as well as the fact that it all actually counts from now on in), they weren't exaggerating. The reading has been hardcore, and the essays have been tough. But I seem to be doing okay, a little behind compared to last year, but okay. My first essay was only 40%, which was a shock. I talked it through with my tutor, which shone some light on it, but I still couldn't fully explain myself. I'll just call that one a blip.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The house we're living in is great. We all get on so well as a household, and I've said it before but I'll say it again, these are the only people I wanted to live with this year, and I got them, and I am extremely grateful to have them and this to come back to on these long winter nights.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Before I came to university, I went to Brussels and Amsterdam with some friends. Although it was an interesting excursion and the company was great, I was <a href="http://www.crowwing.com/images/chipmunks.JPG">out of sorts</a>, so I ruined it for myself. The reasons for which will probably stick with me for some time and are too long and protracted to explain here, right now. Maybe another time. Anyway, here are some pictures from the trip:</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UxaNLxLXUaW3fc0gLHKlSWKOu0o5r3L0IM4vbcsQudsoOaDDp4_oGFHAC1uM_H4czCUe6fyB_b5JnHa7roV7DggagSeaWq_pQpuEl0Ry0XQRlBoYjCyMXagBgLk9UVPGrYwq3MTqwe4/s1600-h/db01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_UxaNLxLXUaW3fc0gLHKlSWKOu0o5r3L0IM4vbcsQudsoOaDDp4_oGFHAC1uM_H4czCUe6fyB_b5JnHa7roV7DggagSeaWq_pQpuEl0Ry0XQRlBoYjCyMXagBgLk9UVPGrYwq3MTqwe4/s320/db01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411795624432874370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivhcCr522_dXH1SkBaFglmXCULlId2b6L-sXOugH2NGIR6h1b3PBEedT5oxzo7h88-ZvDaG5oWTqn5s8nGHW2KC93mnI7OKWKUN6pYf8NIFFOUInTBFQgUw82zZdX21jlvCn5TGYOWVGE/s1600-h/db02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivhcCr522_dXH1SkBaFglmXCULlId2b6L-sXOugH2NGIR6h1b3PBEedT5oxzo7h88-ZvDaG5oWTqn5s8nGHW2KC93mnI7OKWKUN6pYf8NIFFOUInTBFQgUw82zZdX21jlvCn5TGYOWVGE/s320/db02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411795727711884466" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You know, when I look at the group shot below, it makes me stop and think. I haven't actually looked at these photos until last week when I finally took them off my camera. This was, quite obviously, a staged photo; just for the sake of us all being together, just one holiday snap. And it comes off so well, and I didn't see it before. You've got Kurt, with his inappropriate amount of black clothing for the sun and his positive kilograms of camera gear (which Justin was always 'borrowing', never letting Kurt get much a look in with the pictures). You've got Duncan, the giant of a man, holding for dear life onto that tiny child's park toy. Becky's there, draped unselfconsciously over Duncan. Ayumi's there, self consciously not approving of her face having to be on a photo. There's Hayley, leaning round the back, adding more than a little Ally Sheedy/Breakfast Club feel to the whole thing. And then there's me; a beanied, grinning, sentimental spaz, getting everyone to submit to the indignity of the picture in the first place. But it's the joy that's here in the picture, that's what threw me. I didn't see it whilst I was in it, but there was joy here. There was calm, and there was nodding and listening, and there was laughter. And I need to be forgiven, and I need everyone to know that I <span style="font-style: italic;">know </span>we had a good time. And it will be, here, forever more, only that: </span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRv4uohSfa2rn7tGg-ON9ZNPXGzyEDXqJRyZ41ZYd8Yp4snnJP6aset8GWQ9Ibd0I6KzvnBlfPtRnhhmBs4JJXzkRzuti8owd99Y4EPZtKz7d-Z06mxaaLUtP-YiMc-GM0KmI1RvQVDVs/s1600-h/amsterdam2009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRv4uohSfa2rn7tGg-ON9ZNPXGzyEDXqJRyZ41ZYd8Yp4snnJP6aset8GWQ9Ibd0I6KzvnBlfPtRnhhmBs4JJXzkRzuti8owd99Y4EPZtKz7d-Z06mxaaLUtP-YiMc-GM0KmI1RvQVDVs/s320/amsterdam2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411795845180062018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">..and then I look at the picture below and it gives a good impression of what I thought Amsterdam thought of me, all those milena ago:</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMr_xxzpV7z5oa-XngQaTGzZkakt9eXf7L7L8Pt-8kGqMWstcOYh3pLFt2ZDFkRdUwMF4YHtyF5Fky3UW9-jpssbYAedr7_5ZV1oghzE19SiaT7hGAFY0U3wR3tziJR_Fex5bgcmeCJM/s1600-h/amsterdam200902.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMr_xxzpV7z5oa-XngQaTGzZkakt9eXf7L7L8Pt-8kGqMWstcOYh3pLFt2ZDFkRdUwMF4YHtyF5Fky3UW9-jpssbYAedr7_5ZV1oghzE19SiaT7hGAFY0U3wR3tziJR_Fex5bgcmeCJM/s320/amsterdam200902.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411801513879615106" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I managed to get a job as a projectionist at the Gulbenkian cinema on campus, just four shifts every two weeks, which is fine. Getting back into that type of work has been great, and leaves me plenty of time for studies (especially on shift).<br /><br />One of my modules is called <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Science Fictions - A Comparative Approach</span>. I'm doing a presentation on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solaris_%28novel%29"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Solaris</span></a> next week, and it has gotten under my skin. Stanislaw Lem's 1961 novel concerns a psychologist travelling to the space station orbiting the ocean planet of Solaris, to investigate the strange reports and actions of the small team of researchers on board. Once there, the protaginist realises that Solaris has a very strange effect on the human mind, especially where guilt and memory is concerned. I've found the book distressing, and it can make shadows appear, especially at night. I have so much to say about it, and maybe I'll put something up here once the presentation is done.<br /><br />That's it for now. Rushed, I know, but I'm still holding tight until this all slows down.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*Some names and events over the last few months have been changed/left out to protect the innocent.<br /></span></span></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbOYm-EaFJt7So-wYIfgFlWm3Xbh3Tfx9lvllR9Giqf_NNipWT5nHhppWdQRjGdL8TXYfRSpjR3Clfv5dIDi_vLvWkoDTM-o4SJVja5PUUNXDHs1j8PeLkrwlLjtP_vNex3Xy-e3pRV4/s1600-h/comic+02.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbOYm-EaFJt7So-wYIfgFlWm3Xbh3Tfx9lvllR9Giqf_NNipWT5nHhppWdQRjGdL8TXYfRSpjR3Clfv5dIDi_vLvWkoDTM-o4SJVja5PUUNXDHs1j8PeLkrwlLjtP_vNex3Xy-e3pRV4/s320/comic+02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411803313758571938" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Matt Slater, Wolverhampton</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNeJlzUhorVqxEX5AbBaGWqWT_KXw3efBT72EZK1QNxIgw-4ngyyBBeucst-Oywyok6PHyez_iWaNT6riLOmCgFL9jiyxEXnEPAMhi77UU3QB3gy0JY0dqk2wobaxedycBjGx4F4aSJI/s1600-h/comic+05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNeJlzUhorVqxEX5AbBaGWqWT_KXw3efBT72EZK1QNxIgw-4ngyyBBeucst-Oywyok6PHyez_iWaNT6riLOmCgFL9jiyxEXnEPAMhi77UU3QB3gy0JY0dqk2wobaxedycBjGx4F4aSJI/s320/comic+05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411784088161842354" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Vanessa Craig, Brisbane</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAXQ1NmdLL8fhZ9CNUwDO9xsvTThk8_eWl0i0Lvgf0Vyvk0xRiTWoV8h8wOD51tdH70epOvCFthajh8gJ3FulpId7t0hA06Z6QFDWTjGQvnNhygSz1vD_isZg-0RUnlU5N7a7Q8h-z0fQ/s1600-h/fantastic+four.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAXQ1NmdLL8fhZ9CNUwDO9xsvTThk8_eWl0i0Lvgf0Vyvk0xRiTWoV8h8wOD51tdH70epOvCFthajh8gJ3FulpId7t0hA06Z6QFDWTjGQvnNhygSz1vD_isZg-0RUnlU5N7a7Q8h-z0fQ/s320/fantastic+four.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411784387796319442" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Jenna Bartlett, Nebraska</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZl5MfbSyHz29-reGVFkY-HhdkYVdrulQLiDEMSqn07hjsK8dWH2D9OL2XfR0TRZ2bwLbgAgwCuxNCw3sArm9riGqTM7dVxDs6DWDcCLKiq4fklPuZRr1zs0CXkvVS_UXjwK_L2GVLVg/s1600-h/comic+07.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfZl5MfbSyHz29-reGVFkY-HhdkYVdrulQLiDEMSqn07hjsK8dWH2D9OL2XfR0TRZ2bwLbgAgwCuxNCw3sArm9riGqTM7dVxDs6DWDcCLKiq4fklPuZRr1zs0CXkvVS_UXjwK_L2GVLVg/s320/comic+07.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411784655392713634" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Tim Conway, Aberdeen</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIFsehjVW2Ecc4TWn2XdTQSSkS_CU2ftun3klsvIC6xeVT_nb5kax1MCVDB8fB12ydsMRkWRPrO00ASi8JFmCBxxN14xEA67SkEgiMvNMSjgbtAKFVbQiFOiEvPKjnYWyEuXXhjvTQ88/s1600-h/comic+04.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIFsehjVW2Ecc4TWn2XdTQSSkS_CU2ftun3klsvIC6xeVT_nb5kax1MCVDB8fB12ydsMRkWRPrO00ASi8JFmCBxxN14xEA67SkEgiMvNMSjgbtAKFVbQiFOiEvPKjnYWyEuXXhjvTQ88/s320/comic+04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411784976338765858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Paul Edgars, Toronto</span> </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwNL6o1sSMqc2OPNoF0rWTHkEj3LDauhm65KNRDV80KO_GQZtiFjY-FeJjbqB8gLX3wKbP-0zLMLRvqRrW1l6CdaYPhFulDd33KSq0Kd1-Ot45DLzprJMpfT6WoOL011s7G6h8gBNrxU/s1600-h/comic+08.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwNL6o1sSMqc2OPNoF0rWTHkEj3LDauhm65KNRDV80KO_GQZtiFjY-FeJjbqB8gLX3wKbP-0zLMLRvqRrW1l6CdaYPhFulDd33KSq0Kd1-Ot45DLzprJMpfT6WoOL011s7G6h8gBNrxU/s320/comic+08.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411785255272788130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Sally Gittins, Co. Antrim</span></span>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-89497514764936802972009-08-28T16:35:00.001-07:002009-08-28T16:36:32.818-07:00Flighty bastards<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGK4sWuAX6u3OJmQkqKAzI3gOhsvuFHo13nL01g4EH1WIRwtk8hhumoPqTy51lXBzkKehUC4nNxUTyob4FJ89Lql3bgx491_BN6_F6PBSbXJr6JZ7hCozdMBLRBbpY9a1m04U3muQCHT8/s1600-h/flighty+bastards.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGK4sWuAX6u3OJmQkqKAzI3gOhsvuFHo13nL01g4EH1WIRwtk8hhumoPqTy51lXBzkKehUC4nNxUTyob4FJ89Lql3bgx491_BN6_F6PBSbXJr6JZ7hCozdMBLRBbpY9a1m04U3muQCHT8/s320/flighty+bastards.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375162654184290786" border="0" /></a>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-59273876012089062009-08-22T07:17:00.000-07:002009-08-23T15:20:29.280-07:00Teetering over the precipice of foolishness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHNDIbVxV9TYBYMdmzaVh4jhgEvYMdQkJviVAN6vu5DFx_vn13bP3GlBbjkiV7Ldd1k0cvYRjGSWXFgAE1v_q4ycVI-mUm8wd1YThgME4UvQfNzZyM1O6iuxHGrPszXFDsl5pZsjfGPW8/s1600-h/rubbish+opinionated+internet+twat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHNDIbVxV9TYBYMdmzaVh4jhgEvYMdQkJviVAN6vu5DFx_vn13bP3GlBbjkiV7Ldd1k0cvYRjGSWXFgAE1v_q4ycVI-mUm8wd1YThgME4UvQfNzZyM1O6iuxHGrPszXFDsl5pZsjfGPW8/s320/rubbish+opinionated+internet+twat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372808975514670738" border="0" /></a><br /><blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'd like to begin today's sermon by talking about the comedian <a style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OcUTvEKAZE">Stephen Carlin</a>. For anyone who doesn't know his stuff, follow that there link to some of his stand up videos on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">YouTube</span>. Now, the reason why I feel the need to talk about him is to do with peoples' opinions of him - or, more specifically, one person's opinion of him, and how I reacted to it.<br /><br />If you follow the aforementioned link, you can see full well what I think of one particular <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">individual's</span> opinion of him and how I responded to it, firstly out of feeling the need to stick my tuppence <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">worth's</span> in, and also as a way of combating the manner by which the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Internet</span> is overflowing with forced, inarticulate opinions over pretty much anything. Reading the comments/reviews people have left on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Internet</span> can be at once an entertaining and also deeply frustrating thing. Sites such as Amazon <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">pathed</span> the way for (partially) democratic public recommendation of everything they sell. In theory, this should be a good thing: who are you going to trust more over the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">quality</span> of a movie you have yet to see? A member of the public, perhaps from basically the same demographic as you who has something they feel the need to say about the film yet who has no financial gain to be made from voicing their recommendation, or an advert for the film produced by the studio who first and foremost want your money?<br /><br />As a result (and I can clarify this from personal experience), for any item on sale, there are usually one or two reviews that are articulate, objective and help to swing a decision. However, these reviews are often beset on either side by an absolute mire of brainless, misspelled and reactionary opinions, which often miss the point of whatever they're mouthing-off about. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Cynical-C</span> blog has collated a brilliant list called <a href="http://www.cynical-c.com/?cat=85"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">One-Star Reviews</span>,</a> which catalogues some of the most thick-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">skulled</span> reviews that have been published on Amazon (I recommend a look, but you might put your fist through your screen..)<br /><br />Of course, there's nothing wrong with people being allowed to voice their opinion over things - in that way, the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Internet</span> is strangely much, much more democratic than in real life. Let's face it, one of the reasons why people like to sit down and write that they "know it will be shit" about a comedian's performance is in the vain, fantastical hope that the comedian in question will find this video, and be offended by it. If, in real life, the same individual was to go up to the same comedian and say "I know you'll be shit tonight", he may well be met with hostility - and why? Because it's a hostile action. To just flippantly review or criticise something or someone as <span style="font-style: italic;">shit</span> is not a review, it's an inarticulate attack. But to cower behind the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Internet</span> and just spout abuse like some snotty little conjecture-sniper is pathetic, and has brought out the absolute worst in too many people.<br /><br />You could say it was childish for me to even reply to this person's comment, let alone lampoon it. But, something in me couldn't bare the fact that I'd been hoping to find some Stephen Carlin material on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Internet</span> for ages, and the first time I find some, it's already been <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">publicly</span> dismissed by some flippant, frustrated idiot. Also, the categorical, faceted statement of their <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">disdain</span> for his comedy (I actually like the way this person's opinion is been broken down into declarative statement, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">sub clause</span> with retrospective examples, and ending with a conclusion dependent on former appraisal) felt ripe for lampooning, and I'm just the right kind of pedant to do it. As it happens, I'd seen <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Stephen</span> Carlin twice also, and my experiences happened to be the exact opposite of the first <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">reviewer's</span>. I had somehow concluded in my head that my review was not only a decent piss-take of the other, but that it also brought some balance to what was being said about this video.<br /><br />Then the reviewer posted this response to my review: YOUR <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">WRONGGGG</span><br /><br />Where to begin with this?<br /><br />Firstly, I know what you're thinking; I shouldn't be <span style="font-style: italic;">beginning</span> at all. I should just be leaving it alone, and not heed to the desperate attention-seeking devices of the lonely and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">YouTube</span>-browsing. But this is my blog, and if you don't like it, you can go away and gloss over your life a bit more on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Facebook</span>.<br /><br />Now, what's interesting about this person's reaction is that it's clearly initially a response to my, let's say, attack of their first review - therefore, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing to do</span> with Stephen Carlin anymore. This is where anybody being allowed to have their opinion on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Internet</span> gets a bit dicey. There is obviously venom behind their reaction (everyone knows that excessive capital letter <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">usage</span> means the author wants to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">convey</span> themselves as heated, or just simply shouting) and they've stopped using the basic grammatical principles by which the initial review was written (i.e, there is no full stop, let alone multiple exclamation marks - a missed opportunity for extra melodramatic pique, if ever I saw it) and instead, for some strange reason, they have gone for multiple 'G's as emphasis of just how wrong I am.<br /><br />Take a moment here; if there's no one in your immediate vicinity who may be potentially alarmed by what you are about to do, just try shouting <span style="font-style: italic;">YOUR WRONG-G-G-G</span> aloud. It is.. well.. it <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> a bit scary, granted. But the repetition of 'G' sounds very odd, and soon diminishes the threat. If, instead, the author had written <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">WROOOONG</span></span>, that might have been closer to phonetic pronunciation of an extended and dramatic <span style="font-style: italic;">wrong</span> (however, they possibly considered <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">WROOONG</span></span> as looking too silly on the page - which it does - and instead opted for a word which still contains an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">unaltered</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">wrong</span>, at least up until the first and only required 'G').<br /><br />Another, and some might argue, churlish, point to be made is the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">reviewer's</span> use of possessive <span style="font-style: italic;">'Your'</span> - but this doesn't require anymore attention being brought to it than is already rigidly obvious, and any further attention may simply emphasise my aforementioned pedantry to the point of making you, dear reader, begin to soon lose not only interest, but faith in direction and objective pursuit, in this latest post.<br /><br />I mean, to make a point about the slow, catastrophic,deterioration of the English <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">language</span> due to the widespread and continual abbreviation, bastardisation and unfounded, throwaway, even <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">bizarre</span> etymology by uncaring, and downright lazy (there is no proof these people are uneducated) individuals on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Internet</span>, as well as mobile phones, internal business emails, and quite frighteningly in exam halls across the land, would be redundant and perhaps betray a certain propriety I clearly stand by. And if, for further example, I were to perpetuate this laboured (and no-longer entertaining) point further, by asking what's wrong with expecting <span style="font-style: italic;">standards</span>, or even a level of <span style="font-style: italic;">excellence</span> from individuals - people lucky enough to be bestowed with the gift of reading, writing and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">confidently</span> and articulately conversing with others around them - and why should it be accepted that text-speak and frugal, unintelligent statement be the language of the net-browsing world?<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">LOL</span> I CAN C YOUR BORED <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">OV</span> ME! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">LMAO</span> ;)<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">SOZ</span> :(<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzuArZRlF8XXplcVNb5VN2tv9z1AdXOF-nhndDOAeBGFL-9bP7l_yjhrAsKmu7yhTXenj7qA4H7VV5vEmzuayo6OKNDq1NlkS-JtXcZjRCEV3b_iCpZSfF-6seNF1jt7IKOu1OP6b35DY/s1600-h/rich+and+ted+and+ben.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzuArZRlF8XXplcVNb5VN2tv9z1AdXOF-nhndDOAeBGFL-9bP7l_yjhrAsKmu7yhTXenj7qA4H7VV5vEmzuayo6OKNDq1NlkS-JtXcZjRCEV3b_iCpZSfF-6seNF1jt7IKOu1OP6b35DY/s320/rich+and+ted+and+ben.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373282449221747058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Accidentally pushed my car into a stream the other day. Not drove, pushed. Four other men, plus me, <span style="font-style: italic;">accidentally </span>pushed my car into a stream.<br /><br />So, Ted, Ben and I went camping on Wednesday to Asher's Hollow, just outside of Church <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Stretton</span>. After we'd pitched the tents and all that, we took a bit of a trek along the stream (quite <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">exciting</span> and tricky at times. Ted slipped and cut his hand at one point), then we climbed up to the top of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Longmynd</span>, and then we headed back down the valley around the other side. Good, getting back to nature kind of thing.<br /><br />When we got back to the camp, we just <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">decided</span> to sit round the tents drinking coffee until we fell asleep. I had the genius idea of using my car as a stereo. Hour and a half later, the battery died. Ben, being the bottomless source of common sense which he is, said not to worry, and that we'd push-start it in the morning.<br /><br />So, the morning came, and we packed the tents and got ready to push the car. As we began pushing, two other guys came along to help us; the four guys were now at the back, but I was stood outside the driver's door, also pushing, and not in the car anywhere near enough to leap in and apply the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">hand break</span> when, after we'd pushed it over a small incline at the entrance to the campsite, the car started rolling towards the stream. Ben was shouting <span style="font-style: italic;">"Rich! Handbrake!", </span>but a combination of fear (of having my legs pulled from under me if I changed position), panic and just general uselessness instead made me turn all my energies towards shouting <span style="font-style: italic;">"Fuck" </span>really loud and for an inordinate amount of time, with children and families all around, and watch my car helplessly crash into the stream and its bumper hit the farmer's fence over the other side.<br /><br />The camp site owner and wife came out and were very understanding. They towed the car out, and jumped it for us, and we were away, with just a bit of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">damage</span> to the driver's side grill. It wasn't that bad an experience, really, but judging from my reaction at the time, you would have thought that I'd sent it into a full-flowing river, after first ripping down a few tents and slaughtering a handful of disabled orphans. And scratching the body work to shit.<br /><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzEHhGMECjiS1Ita5ZvDyUfDqTukVvsNZbNbCIb4eRsDG6goYLsrM2uXTXVxBBJfsPjd1yzC_oqX2OwD5L-wD5l6dxfmOs16NMBkGQrj6xZ-E2jSJ9WUU_7lhk9zTbJVRYFgRWppKHeM/s1600-h/ben+doing+a+walking.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzEHhGMECjiS1Ita5ZvDyUfDqTukVvsNZbNbCIb4eRsDG6goYLsrM2uXTXVxBBJfsPjd1yzC_oqX2OwD5L-wD5l6dxfmOs16NMBkGQrj6xZ-E2jSJ9WUU_7lhk9zTbJVRYFgRWppKHeM/s320/ben+doing+a+walking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373285784686717954" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-81797518777515434692009-08-05T15:46:00.000-07:002009-08-05T17:04:36.551-07:00There was a lurking devil in his deep blue eye<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AEqNIKBwvv_u1GZBc9m8bI2ykTwPjgyxugxi9qoM1rmCDZg6kxgreS5V9tQf_FBHLignmTLsg487gFuOGxPTu2UD0JqgM49y_bMavCZWWzfqalauaMXST6VQjWyj-XKjVcGG_x8ek3o/s1600-h/nothing+short+of+dastardly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AEqNIKBwvv_u1GZBc9m8bI2ykTwPjgyxugxi9qoM1rmCDZg6kxgreS5V9tQf_FBHLignmTLsg487gFuOGxPTu2UD0JqgM49y_bMavCZWWzfqalauaMXST6VQjWyj-XKjVcGG_x8ek3o/s320/nothing+short+of+dastardly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366618665032494194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If I was the sort of person who took advantage of their spare time wisely, utilising every microbe as if it were the very last drop of their own precious life, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">uncontrollably</span> and invisibly dripping away, never to be retrieved, regained or properly appreciated, I probably would have taken some time in the last twenty-seven days to have discussed, at varying degrees of length, embellishment, emotional intensity, sarcasm, cryptic intonation, with a southern Irish slant, whilst sat on the toilet, confidentially, with mine own unfathomable propensity that:<br /><br />1. I was thinking at one point of actually calling the blog either <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Feargal</span>, You Prick!</span>, or <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">This Palpably Gay Internet</span>, or even <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">What's Not To Love?<br /><br /></span>2. I'm left feeling somewhat sad that the passing of a family member seems to take up less space in one of these here posts than Flossy did (and she was just an old cat). Suffice to say, Rodney was a popular and loved man, and people from all over the globe came to pay their respects, including his son and daughter (who were in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Burkina</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Faso</span>, Africa and New York respectively), several European countries and Japan; yes, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Sonoko</span> came all the way from Kyoto to say goodbye to the man.<br /><br />She stayed with us for the time she was here, so it was great that we got to see each other again even if the circumstances were so sad.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGKu1WN4uUJHjunxyB4o5xG3QJSwqUa5hc6dTPTOVGYfzoxHZDHyE36ZP-9a0s7uOPt88-iNz4WTvEC9lAPGw-KSCbpYT5k98gUtv_BBCPYCUyEVX6-d7OxaReeMf0H1G8AYbUeBpdO0/s1600-h/sonoko+july+2009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGKu1WN4uUJHjunxyB4o5xG3QJSwqUa5hc6dTPTOVGYfzoxHZDHyE36ZP-9a0s7uOPt88-iNz4WTvEC9lAPGw-KSCbpYT5k98gUtv_BBCPYCUyEVX6-d7OxaReeMf0H1G8AYbUeBpdO0/s320/sonoko+july+2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366632538533685538" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />3. I got pig flu for a bit (as in forty-eight hours to be exact) and it went like this:<br /><br />sore throat...<br /><br />bad night's sleep full of trepidation regarding the impending illness (and continuing sore throat)...<br /><br />day of wanting to die due to feeling like limbs were full of mashed-up cake, near throw-up-in-my-own-car experience on the way to the shops, back to bed until 8pm...<br /><br />drag myself into the spare room to hopefully have a sound night's sleep (sore throat persists, the bastard)...<br /><br />following day slightly better, enhanced by notion of buying a new double bed (sore throat makes way for annoying cold)...<br /><br />first night in new bed spoilt by cold and slowly dwindling illness affecting my dreams, making me first believe that a friend and I are solely responsible for the traffic flow up and down the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Longmynd</span>, even though the traffic consists of mental pensioners driving 4x4s at 80mph, which are the size of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">shoe boxes</span>, then making me believe that I was in a haunted house...<br /><br />4. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">sa</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">w </span></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Brüno</span></span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > twice, because it was very good. <a href="http://www.s1play.com/venue/falkirk/cineworld-4/">Here's the times to watch it in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Falkirk</span> this week</a>.<br /><br />5. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Ayumi</span> and I went to the Lake District, and camped for three nights at <a href="http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-global/w-localtoyou/w-northwest/w-lakedistrict-feature/w-northwest-lakedistrict_camping/w-northwest-lakedistrict_camping-langdale.htm"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Great <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Langdale</span></span></a>. Below are some pictures of the event.<br /><br />Special mention must go the woman in the local shop/cafe in Chapel Stile (where I stopped and asked for directions) for bringing me down a peg or two by countering my point about not finding our way to the camp site because the roads tend to "Meander a bit" by unstintingly pointing out that "You're in the countryside now, not in the town anymore" (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">ie</span>, piss off back to your murder and All Bran and rape).<br /><br />And rightly so, as I was wearing sunglasses indoors (although in my defence they were prescription).<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dFU9tRRR5JX-DteIUE_bmOTJj5ySP0eTUyTv_B-ijKIBdLqtHUHi9xHVUr4RH7ZdK7-c9EjW8kYeerb8W8JcrTCjKNgqX5vg2iWcJQ4JHmrc-jDt1eXNqQbSNrKipTymjHZ7-T9W88Y/s1600-h/ld01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dFU9tRRR5JX-DteIUE_bmOTJj5ySP0eTUyTv_B-ijKIBdLqtHUHi9xHVUr4RH7ZdK7-c9EjW8kYeerb8W8JcrTCjKNgqX5vg2iWcJQ4JHmrc-jDt1eXNqQbSNrKipTymjHZ7-T9W88Y/s320/ld01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366629390865760690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetOWY-lwLfUMOzPPV5uKUWrWocwhixgvkg0UiZhj_6o1AOLKKdj0h9va0UTW2Dhgn82hVC6jVUrggH8BbZzftt__xJ1X9Z9ME-1anIfTvFKdlffU4UMnFzAvBUM5XiNfdfOI4xmFZIr0/s1600-h/ld03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetOWY-lwLfUMOzPPV5uKUWrWocwhixgvkg0UiZhj_6o1AOLKKdj0h9va0UTW2Dhgn82hVC6jVUrggH8BbZzftt__xJ1X9Z9ME-1anIfTvFKdlffU4UMnFzAvBUM5XiNfdfOI4xmFZIr0/s320/ld03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366629397041298786" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r7WqoTIFO0hW4vI8W-x0FbSFwpnXan1JmxbJeIoNJrM5cHztV4m8xJPhFsC16T6XkwGHIaGmQkVt-puppWoLyTz9qv6yz3gdX1L7iK8F7cPdVhUGJWYEQf44HyTuWSZYVSrPZNe9H9s/s1600-h/ld05.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6r7WqoTIFO0hW4vI8W-x0FbSFwpnXan1JmxbJeIoNJrM5cHztV4m8xJPhFsC16T6XkwGHIaGmQkVt-puppWoLyTz9qv6yz3gdX1L7iK8F7cPdVhUGJWYEQf44HyTuWSZYVSrPZNe9H9s/s320/ld05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366629405469056290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbfQBWDlbp0a_jTh3dt40m32JLdvjtrkPsG4R1TWH-1zrw8Mz1blLECLATrzasiOInh_ilggUfWhdfWGFmYaUCUgPOima8o8BIHZ5JNPEhd0QGGfA2HYoD78jvi9CSKGnH9C4HdGV_Fs/s1600-h/ld11.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbfQBWDlbp0a_jTh3dt40m32JLdvjtrkPsG4R1TWH-1zrw8Mz1blLECLATrzasiOInh_ilggUfWhdfWGFmYaUCUgPOima8o8BIHZ5JNPEhd0QGGfA2HYoD78jvi9CSKGnH9C4HdGV_Fs/s320/ld11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366629409654948530" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYuUw8t1V4V4MVSCUrsNg2-5R22ehLvF4-JVLim1Rnl7YnyWK-CG8wMHemJd3ZIXx9ObrVbO_-cDt_G-ORNvuTAu1tmv3tU4HukfrcCa7oEYkpZ5iyIjo39RtW9npIFdengC3Bqy9PGXQ/s1600-h/ld17.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYuUw8t1V4V4MVSCUrsNg2-5R22ehLvF4-JVLim1Rnl7YnyWK-CG8wMHemJd3ZIXx9ObrVbO_-cDt_G-ORNvuTAu1tmv3tU4HukfrcCa7oEYkpZ5iyIjo39RtW9npIFdengC3Bqy9PGXQ/s320/ld17.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366629414932193666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span><br /></div></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">These pictures were taken around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Blea</span> Tarn, which was a good couple of hours <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">trekking</span> or more from the campsite and back down again. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Ayumi</span> took the pictures with me in, I took the ones with her in. She took the one with sheep.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Ayumi</span> also showed me how to make a proper campfire from scratch. The townie I am, the expert on impromptu barbecues I am not.<br /></span></span>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-36222220777736208172009-07-10T16:46:00.000-07:002009-07-10T17:50:58.309-07:00A perfect metaphor for anything you want it to be for<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, so, yeah.</span> </span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />So, yeah.</span></span> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So..</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Shropshire's a nice place, can't deny that. Fantastic place for walking, and checking out all things 'quaint'. Probably the kind of place that people say <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, yes, I could raise a family here</span>, or <span style="font-style: italic;">Very good for children, excellent schools</span>, or, <span style="font-style: italic;">I think I'd like to grow old here</span>. But I know a large number of people my age who had previously moved away from Shropshire like they couldn't get out of the place fast enough - and where are they now? They're all back here, licking their London wounds and playing with their big city scabs.<br /><br />I'm one to talk, obviously. It's taken my probably about eight years too long to make the leap and move away, and I've only done it for a certain number of years anyway by going to university; there's no <span style="font-style: italic;">proof</span> <span>yet</span> that I'll not come back to The Shire after university. In fact, unless I land some great job pretty soon after my education ends, I most definitely <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> have to come back home. And that will feel rubbish, I know it will. It currently has its moments of not being very good anyway; I'm jobless with very little chance of anything turning up any time soon, and this leaves me with too much time to dwell on what I'm doing with myself, my future and my money.<br /><br />I know that the harshest judge how I conduct myself during this unbelievably precious and rare period of absolute free time is me. I often fear that it could be my parents, or the more judgemental of my piercingly non-judgemental friends, but no - it's me. So, in order to keep myself occupied, I've been trying to be creative, and stop my brain cells turning to shitty blancmange.<br /><br />Below are some picture I took at Mitchell's Fold, a stone circle where last year some friends and I burned the wicker man we built the summer before. This place is a good indication of the sort of magic Shropshire often surprises me with:<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuwgROAcPmMtONNa1JoNcXorWyjtFT5X3ws1VYSsFbm2Ew0WWSkXvRSBxBi_zhRnF74ZBang07_SwWEyyCkOM8c9DSIVDFE5EOMQ-B-nVIMXFlkl3AEIgjiYiqvko4BLxHRhqccQNnOf0/s1600-h/mitchells+fold+300609+01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuwgROAcPmMtONNa1JoNcXorWyjtFT5X3ws1VYSsFbm2Ew0WWSkXvRSBxBi_zhRnF74ZBang07_SwWEyyCkOM8c9DSIVDFE5EOMQ-B-nVIMXFlkl3AEIgjiYiqvko4BLxHRhqccQNnOf0/s320/mitchells+fold+300609+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356986037835423042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXr9m_pLG2B2ittCwFhsh4RBYkufUQwMIOMXc_pCrEYYEpXkOhTI1vEgUGnvE0NiajmjETVkUbZRZio2cmDANcT6ARfdcIPxDcAVf5IEk3V-FlTEiH5lpmB794vlAtbkPkeafXOyaaQw/s1600-h/mitchells+fold+300609+02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXr9m_pLG2B2ittCwFhsh4RBYkufUQwMIOMXc_pCrEYYEpXkOhTI1vEgUGnvE0NiajmjETVkUbZRZio2cmDANcT6ARfdcIPxDcAVf5IEk3V-FlTEiH5lpmB794vlAtbkPkeafXOyaaQw/s320/mitchells+fold+300609+02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356986268762380722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxKuJ1vIFyLHBC6odNtIxzuAlIp-um9WxaUIDKTQLGy2d6_37Y5jf3DyGQZcnaTI5_WpRoIeeoMS37rloVxA8zUKCoLHyrmn34_vaUSGj_env0pnOQBshmCSJtNZWxHu5a61q-LJb40I/s1600-h/mitchells+fold+300609+03.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxKuJ1vIFyLHBC6odNtIxzuAlIp-um9WxaUIDKTQLGy2d6_37Y5jf3DyGQZcnaTI5_WpRoIeeoMS37rloVxA8zUKCoLHyrmn34_vaUSGj_env0pnOQBshmCSJtNZWxHu5a61q-LJb40I/s320/mitchells+fold+300609+03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356986465183159794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMonmnOZTbO03e6i0bRvfqIa-OsFMe2UMQRDtsI5Boy7XtvwN5sxbCOykborK_YVBz-OojjSyPp14eEvq-VoPDL-lBwUrEJlSAY-4Vst6xIDyHJzUhF1TLQqUWvUBporpPNfMQKwGn0o/s1600-h/mitchells+fold+300609+04.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMonmnOZTbO03e6i0bRvfqIa-OsFMe2UMQRDtsI5Boy7XtvwN5sxbCOykborK_YVBz-OojjSyPp14eEvq-VoPDL-lBwUrEJlSAY-4Vst6xIDyHJzUhF1TLQqUWvUBporpPNfMQKwGn0o/s320/mitchells+fold+300609+04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356986630365156578" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div></div><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I like how in the final picture, the larger stone to the left almost looks like a figure creeping towards the camera. Or maybe that's just me..<br /><br />What I have also found myself doing to make the days pass in a worthwhile manner is make sure that each day there's something to look forward to. I'm pretty sure that for a long time before I came to Canterbury, my days were not filled with at least one pleasurable event. Work had fiercely dried up and was dull, and everything else was profoundly repetitive. I am in fear that, if I don't stay positive here, the same will happen again.. and yet, it couldn't really, because even if I do absolutely nothing with my summer here, at least I have Canterbury to look forward to going back to. Ah, Canterbury, thou golden chalice of learning and student discount.<br /><br />Here's some stuff happening soon to stop me from banging on like this: Ayumi is coming tomorrow, and next week we're going <a href="http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-global/w-localtoyou/w-northwest/w-lakedistrict-feature/w-northwest-lakedistrict_camping/w-northwest-lakedistrict_camping-langdale.htm">camping in the Lake District</a>. I've never been there, but it all looks very nice and well lakey. Ayumi wants to check out the Beatrix Potter attractions whilst we're there, so we'll do that also. I also joined the National Trust (showing my age) so I intend to take day excursions out to different places with that, especially the supposedly haunted ones. Or the ones with the best cafes.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6L_PgKt-78reBNqv1FgQ6VJZ1nTRggepM4V49U5D-CAsijXw27fcsVzmZyofVFpUDfRem_qvU495pgOdRhqIxuTp2mTtMGXIla5dyFPiTYNFhsm6d4etJ_Tlort8aZjRH1LRTyvWWaLw/s1600-h/bathers+-+horst+p.+horst,+1930.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 236px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6L_PgKt-78reBNqv1FgQ6VJZ1nTRggepM4V49U5D-CAsijXw27fcsVzmZyofVFpUDfRem_qvU495pgOdRhqIxuTp2mTtMGXIla5dyFPiTYNFhsm6d4etJ_Tlort8aZjRH1LRTyvWWaLw/s320/bathers+-+horst+p.+horst,+1930.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356989267557864898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Been doing a fair bit of running recently. I am continuing to use the track around, then up, Earls Hill, but I've also made evening use of the running field next to Mary Webb school over the road. Using a track is functional and not particularly scenic, but that's fine sometimes. As long as I have music, it's alright.<br /><br />I've also been attempting to read regularly. Re-read <a href="http://www.geocities.com/andrew_dilling/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Great Gatsby</span></a> (1925) the other day. Such a completely perfect and incredibly book. I think because of my first year at Kent, I've also gained a hunger for finding out more about the back stories behind novels, so I greatly enjoyed reading the somewhat lengthy introduction to the edition I have as well.<br /><br />I think one of the reasons the book is still so good is the way that it analyses America still resonates strongly. In recent times, I have noticed an obsession with America (equally from both Americans and non-Americans) that is cosmetic and absolute. I don't just mean obvious things like fashion or music or cinema, but just an air of <span style="font-style: italic;">how cool is America? </span>and an endless stream of people doing American accents or immitating Americans (as if there is just <span style="font-style: italic;">one </span>American way of speaking). To me, the USA seems to be the epitome of <span style="font-style: italic;">the grass is greener</span> to a lot of people. People are placing a lot of desire and admiration on a place that is just a place, and not even basing that admiration on any kind of truth; <span style="font-style: italic;">Yeah, but America's got better weather/cars/houses/laws/taxes/schools</span> and all those tired excuses for people not actually focusing on what they really need in life, or what can be found around them wherever they happen to live. There is a sheen to America that catches many a foreign eye. America, the <span style="font-style: italic;">product,</span> is incredibly well designed and knows how to speak to the customer. Don't get me wrong, I'm no patriot - I'm not pro-any specific country - but I'm also not dazzled by one place just because it's <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>where I was born or where I live.<br /><br />A few too many dreary summers, or bad relationships, or school yard-induced bitterness, or job dissatisfaction, or alienation from family and friends has made many a person mindlessly idealistic when it comes to America. The place we see utterly dominating the airwaves, and the magazines, and the cinema and the coffee table talk. And now, this completely empty symbol of.. of.. whatever it is (MTV cool? Hollywood socialising? Great sex? Acceptance no matter what you look like (yeah, <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span>)) has made people forget how to make themselves happy.<br /><br />But as the owl-eyed man in the library challenges Nick Carraway, when he discovers that Gatsby's socialite facade goes as far as stocking his library with hundreds of <span style="font-style: italic;">real, actual</span> books..<br /><br />What do you want?<br /><br />What do you expect?<br /></span></span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-74841357557868222822009-06-15T13:05:00.000-07:002009-06-16T02:17:27.123-07:00I press out days in perfect carbon copy<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OqVT9ZTTiuYfh32nY4vCRYRNc8UMRpbr_Qph023yogh9NxEo8bbDeAK3p8zsBNsSLcBeWUwljKXAaWOYjjDKG4k013zR3Ijz0usSLotTUfTLM-uItknUhzOKXgTOTjYGXmqrLn4JOJs/s1600-h/haruki+murakami+-+what+i+talk+about+when+i+talk+about+running.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OqVT9ZTTiuYfh32nY4vCRYRNc8UMRpbr_Qph023yogh9NxEo8bbDeAK3p8zsBNsSLcBeWUwljKXAaWOYjjDKG4k013zR3Ijz0usSLotTUfTLM-uItknUhzOKXgTOTjYGXmqrLn4JOJs/s320/haruki+murakami+-+what+i+talk+about+when+i+talk+about+running.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347652292198131426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's either because I've come back early (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">comparatively</span> speaking) or because I've come back early and I am jobless, but I feel somewhat inactive. I have stuff to do, mind - I have money to make; for example I intend to begin selling all of my CD collection. I have had some attempts to dissuade me from this; </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >but that's a lifetime's worth of music there! Having lots of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">CDs</span> is brilliant and makes you look cool and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">knowledgeable</span> when it come to music! I never thought I'd see the day when</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> you</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >, Rich Fox, would sell-</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> and all that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">nonsense</span>. I came back from university with no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">CDs</span> and a handful of DVDs that I'd taken with me, and that's how I like it now. My room in my dad's place feels claustrophobic; racks of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">CDs</span> collecting dust, let along books and DVDs (although I currently have no intention of selling either of the last two collections, essentially because they have not yet become available in any <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">satisfactory</span> digital version).</span> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />Yes, one of the reasons I have completely succumbed to the Great Digital Revolution is because of the convenience of it all. Many <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Luddites</span> out there claim that you don't get the sound quality of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">CDs</span> with mp3/mp4, but that's simply not true; if your songs are 256<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">kbit</span> or above, that is standard CD quality (and in fact Digital Audio Broadcasts around the 128<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">kbit</span> region). I download at 320<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">kbit</span> if that's an option. Another argument against a digital music collection is the risk of losing it all one go - to which I reply <span style="font-style: italic;">are <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">CDs</span> not flammable? Are they <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">impermiable</span> to flood or sewerage? Where, pray tell, do you keep your </span>back-up <span style="font-style: italic;">CD collection? </span>It's not hard to make multiple copies of MP3s, in fact for this very reason it's better than CD.<br /><br />I've sold may, many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">CDs</span> over the years, yet always kept certain ones behind for mainly sentimental reasons - but not now. It'll probably take ages to sell them (no doubt some will never sell) but they're the kind of thing that I don't think I'll enjoy lugging to my next home after university, wherever that may be. I'm also going to sell my vinyl as well. I don't have many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">LPs</span> and 7"s, but again, they just collect dust..<br /><br />My plan of action (at least whilst I'm jobless) is to keep active mentally, physically and financially, in any order. Physically, I'm finding then <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">absence</span> of a swimming pool in walking distance from my house hard to deal with. I really got into the swing of swimming back in Canterbury, which included the 60 minute total walking time to and from. I also miss the ability to find someone to play <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Aerobie</span> with at the drop of a hat. As a result, I do go swimming here at home, but my physical <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">exertion</span> is greatly reduced. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Pontesbury</span> is not the kind of village one can jog/run around, and the best option is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Pontesfor</span>d Hill; a fair rocky clamber which takes around one hour to transcend then decline and be home in time for sherry. I'm going to try to climb it several times a week (I said to myself I'd climb it daily, but that isn't going to happen. I'm not disciplined enough). Mentally, I've been reading the books on my bedroom shelves. I'm currently completing <a href="http://www.jgballard.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Empire of the Sun </span></a>(1984). <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">J G Ballard</span> died in April, so I've been meaning to have a Ballard renaissance ever since. It's hard to believe that this is the same author who wrote <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">dystopian</span> nightmarish satires like <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Atrocity Exhibition</span> (1970) and <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Super Cannes </span>(2000). Such a vast change in style. There is rumoured to be a book published soon of conversations between Ballard and his oncologist during his cancer treatment, which will no doubt be a deep philosophical tract.<br /><br />I'm also going to take up drawing as well. Recently I discovered some old pen drawings I did when I was 16. Very fine, dot-shaded drawings of Kurt Cobain, Henry Rollins, </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Björk</span>, and other musicians. The one of </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Björk</span> I gave to my friend Jo, who turned 30 the other day. The drawing was in perfect condition, and I knew she's a fan. Below is the original Kurt Cobain drawing I did which I think started my interest in technique at the time:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewHvt4vo648oS-F2gpY0qkACz263zPnmNJ56UZqoXjsNtiQ5cmiElUK30gNMzfNm4EsFWGddTYngniphSNVxR71ygJ1aWiirWm49rmGw-U-P1tfadLST-aSSsfk_4jxyxdru-QtqVUbM/s1600-h/kurt+cobain+pen+drawing+-+august+1994.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewHvt4vo648oS-F2gpY0qkACz263zPnmNJ56UZqoXjsNtiQ5cmiElUK30gNMzfNm4EsFWGddTYngniphSNVxR71ygJ1aWiirWm49rmGw-U-P1tfadLST-aSSsfk_4jxyxdru-QtqVUbM/s320/kurt+cobain+pen+drawing+-+august+1994.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347681632993838354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This was done the summer before I went to college. All through school, and up until I was at college, I always wanted to do something to do with art. By the time college was over and I had started my first semester at Wolverhampton University, I really was not into studying art any longer and had no idea what I wanted to do.. except perhaps make it in a band. But in the summer of 1994, I really enjoyed drawing, and I never really kept it up. I think that this piece in particular is something I still get great pleasure from looking at, mainly because of the simplicity of it - I find it hard to believe I stopped where I did with it, and I know it's finished because I'd signed it. I don't believe it looks <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly </span>like Cobain, but I think it conveys his iconic haircut and slouch, which is enough. At the time, through sheer will power, I finished it with it looking like this. No need to add extra to the left-hand black sleeve, no need for any more guitar neck. Done. This is a restraint I think I show very little of in many ways (creatively or otherwise) and it has inspired me to get drawing again this summer. </span></span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoEGprpQf69Mgi2vuiyohuatOhFVwuHc0SQoMvUS9O_W15aoj4mKlvhyphenhyphenEfRjQ0fM71n3Sfvddu2vo9kbs7s0jsEtMk6Iz5cYP0A6ku0x3Q4l4GhlK0r30YAs0PHKr9pzWIHlYOVBWFzM/s1600-h/bluetip-+join+us.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoEGprpQf69Mgi2vuiyohuatOhFVwuHc0SQoMvUS9O_W15aoj4mKlvhyphenhyphenEfRjQ0fM71n3Sfvddu2vo9kbs7s0jsEtMk6Iz5cYP0A6ku0x3Q4l4GhlK0r30YAs0PHKr9pzWIHlYOVBWFzM/s320/bluetip-+join+us.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347683885627526642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A combination of </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">mental and physical activity has also become manifest after I took up more physical <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">exercise</span> from reading <a href="http://www.murakami.ch/main_7.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">What I Talk About When I Talk About Running</span></a> (2008) by <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Haruki</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Murakami</span></span>. This is a memoir of sorts on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Murakami</span> literally explaining why he started running thirty years ago and why he still continues to do it to this day, along with being a novelist. It's short and reads almost like one of his novels (I'm guessing this is his <span style="font-style: italic;">style</span>) and although I wouldn't say I've specifically come away from the book feeling totally inspired to take up running, it has made me want to take up some form of regular <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">exercise</span>, for the discipline and for the positive results. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Murakami</span>, in the book, discusses the kind of music he likes to listen to whilst running; something that really keeps him motivated. This has inspired me to choose some music to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">exercise</span> to (maybe not swimming, though).<br /><br />Today I hastily clambered up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Pontesford</span> Hill to <a href="http://www.dischord.com/band/bluetip"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Join Us</span></a> (1998)by <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Bluetip</span></span>. Because of this choice of music, I can say that what with my first year at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">UKC</span> ending, my return home, and my original intentions for this blog, everything has come full circle. I'm sure that I've bored half my music-appreciating friends to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">death</span> with this, but once more, for the cheap seats, <span style="font-style: italic;">this is the greatest album I have ever heard in my life</span>.<br /><br />I first got the CD around 2000/2001, when I was very much into <a href="http://www.dischord.com/band/fugazi"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Fugazi</span></span></a> and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">the</span> whole Washington DC/post-rock scene. After years of straight-up hardcore, post-rock seemed like the natural progression (it is for many a generic rock fan such as yours truly). Once I discovered the cheap-priced records from the <a href="http://www.dischord.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Dischord</span> Records</span></a> website (owing to Ian <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">MacKaye</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">et</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">al's</span> decent business ethics) I bought a load of albums by bands either through recommendation or just because they had a cool name. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">Bluetip</span></span> came from neither, but I bought it anyway. I won't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">deny</span> that after the first few spins, <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span> hadn't cut it. In fact, for a while I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">preferred</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Polymer</span> (2000), and it wasn't until I began to listen to the lyrics of <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span> that I slowly began to become aware of its brilliance; first the lyrics, then the music followed.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">Front man</span>/guitarist Jason Farrell is a man not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">afraid</span> to bare his soul, but in more than just a godawful, mawkish, syrupy manner - <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span> is harsh, cynical, poetic and continuously funny. The album <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">haemorrages</span> great lines like <span style="font-style: italic;">"Stamps make shitty Band Aids / Letters come back stamped with Fuck The Sender"</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Cheap Rip; </span>about the ordeal of writing a love letter), <span style="font-style: italic;">"Mean, sweet and empty, my teeth are singing 'Sugar, come back to the cavity'"</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Bad Flat</span>; the woes of being on the road), <span style="font-style: italic;">"The word 'bitch' makes its appearance / You can hear <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">men's</span> thoughts click to fighting / So they take to kissing each other with their fists"</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Jersey Blessed</span>; no doubt Farrell's heartfelt interpretation of the place), "<span style="font-style: italic;">I want to piss on every continent / Treat my body like a suitcase, pack the scars / In case I catch myself forgetting"</span> (<span style="font-style: italic;">Slovakian</span>; final track, and a heartfelt cry to the pleasures of being on tour, regardless of the hell also). As a matter of fact, the title of this post, and also the <span style="font-style: italic;">Soft Reminder</span> quote at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">top of</span> this blog, are also lifted from the lyrics on this album. To say <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span> has been an influence on me would be an understatement.<br /><br />Aside from the lyrics, the music here is also the best guitar-driven rock I've ever heard. The production is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">phenomenal</span> (<a href="http://www.jrobbins.net/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">J Robbins</span></a>, of course) and I realised after this became more in my favour than <span style="font-style: italic;">Polymer</span> that Dave Stern may have been the musical driving force behind the band here, with Farrell being the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">front man</span>. There are some timeless riffs on this album, and a sound I have heard few <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">replicate</span> well (if at all, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">nobody's</span> heard the damn thing!) The final riff of <span style="font-style: italic;">I Even Drive Like A Jerk</span> is something I savour repeat after repeat (is that a xylophone..?)<br /><br /><a href="http://absurdistmedia.blogspot.com/2007/02/join-us.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">Absurdist</span> Media</span></a> gave a fine and comprehensive estimation of <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span> back in early 2007. I just came upon this by chance after a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">particularly</span> feverish attempt to find guitar tabs. The post comments on how the lyrics can be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">relatable</span> to a certain kind of guy in a particular period of his life, which I found an intelligent and interesting observation. There is undoubtedly a specific <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56">belligerence</span> and ability to self-deprecate here that a lot of people (guys?) seem to drop in later years for wont of seeming to become more settled and mature. However, regardless of whether I still relate immediately with <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span>, it still stirs me like nothing else I've ever heard.<br /><br />It doesn't matter what has come since, even from Jason Farrell or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57">Dischord</span> Records. It doesn't matter what bands influenced <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58">Bluetip</span></span> at the time (which are hard to spot <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_59">anyway</span> given how original and fresh this album is). This is it, the best record ever recorded. One of the best pieces of art ever produced, full stop.<br /><br />Another reason I say things have come full circle now is because I am here, with too much free time, too much thinking time, and I can feel <span style="font-style: italic;">Old Rich</span> sneaking back in; the Rich I seemed to put partially on hold whilst at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_60">UKC</span>. The Rich who gets depressed for no good reason and thinks everything is worthless. The Rich who is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61">paranoid</span> when his friends don't return calls right away, the Rich who thinks his university friends will have ditched him by next September, and that everything is awful and we're all going to die. Well, <span style="font-style: italic;">Join Us</span> helps tame <span style="font-style: italic;">Old Rich</span>, and it also does nothing but encourage <span style="font-style: italic;">New Rich</span> (if there is such a thing beyond the degree) -the more nocturnally social, reasonable, and 'slightly' less stressed-out Rich.<br /><br />A lot of people are not frank on their blogs about their mental <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_62">deficiencies</span>, their concerns or weaknesses. They tend to write about how awesome their day has been and how worldly they are at times; this goes back to my original <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_63">disdain</span> towards <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_64">Facebook</span> and Twitter and all that diabolical <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_65">nonsense</span>, how easy it is to edit or gloss-over frightening facts about ones existence. But I've always planned to keeping it real with my blog, even if means banging on like this, but stick to it I shall. <br /></span></span></div><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > </span></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-50834303781236059742009-06-13T08:43:00.000-07:002009-06-13T10:35:13.412-07:00What sadness occurs when two men Mega Drive<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='329' height='272' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyeJRmlUmKFZWqy7ir7MVJ7hvuQYYAt4zq0yjOttjAX0AQf5QWY9iVxKA3QrzlguxeKh_AmF0V84xcZfjxAvA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-62770988697874802072009-06-05T14:01:00.000-07:002009-06-06T03:59:59.587-07:00Take veil for sex noises<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"What you need to do is carefully remove the turf, and put it to one side. Then you dig the hole", my dad instructed me before he went to Mallorca. "Get someone to help you, if you need. But bury her just here.. this corner of the garden."</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Floss is most definitely on her way out. After twenty-three years on this earth (yes, twenty-three years) the old white, fluffy mog is on her last legs and the end is nigh.<br /><br />Floss has been with us for two years. Before that, she was with my auntie Charlotte, and before that she was with nan. She has survived several of her litter, and if it wasn't for her obviously now very weak condition, she'd probably have outlived Earl just by default. But she won't. She's eating very little, her internal organs are one at a time saying <span style="font-style: italic;">right, that's enough. I've been in this game too long</span>, and she only gets any kind of pleasure when she's out in the sunshine. In fact, today she was out in the sun for half an hour, looking very peaceful. I stood at the backdoor just watching her, wondering if this would be the moment went she finally gave in. But she didn't. She came back in, looked at her food like it was complicated and disturbing, and tried to lie comfortably in her basket. I rang dad, left a message saying I think it's time, and am just waiting for the go. I've never dug a grave before. I'll light a candle afterwards.<br /><br />So, I'm back home now anyway. Year one completed. I absolutely cannot believe that I'm one third of the way through my degree. The last few weeks have flown by and have been busy (hence my lack of posts) but I'll try to put in this post as much as I can about how it's all gone down. Please feel free to take a toilet/tea/coffee/cigarette/sex break anytime you need to:<br /><br />I got 80% in my final essay for the Tacking Text: Explaining Style module - this is my best essay result of the year. Funnily enough, I didn't think I'd do <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> well. See, I started the essay at 10:30pm (not the night before the deadline, though. Just late at night) and attempted to replicate the conditions by which I did an essay the month before and got 75% for; I closed my door and curtains, dimmed the lights (i.e. pushed my lamp against the wall to create a dark, lava-like glow in the room), stuck on some classical music (<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">James Newton Howard</span> that night) and gave myself til 01:30am to do as much as I could. After the three hours I'd written it, and was happy with it, but felt like it was a bit too easy - a bit too <span style="font-style: italic;">pleasurable</span>. I left it til the morning, re-read it, but found that I really couldn't say anything more, so I just handed it in and hoped for the best. Then I got the 80% mark. I did genuinely love writing the essay though (my notes took much longer than the type-up) and found the book to be incredible.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZAUDWih9lPUnqMMwdridAnu_3d7_ZSpwWzkgMv3FulioZKGL0ay68tnmrttCAeLweW_NmJAVhTp05sUyI0srYrM73REHTNAQo4helF8GfM_7EKfFqPG3UDELgnARA378qZWS7Qo_BDs/s1600-h/kazuo+ishiguro+-+the+remains+of+the+day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZAUDWih9lPUnqMMwdridAnu_3d7_ZSpwWzkgMv3FulioZKGL0ay68tnmrttCAeLweW_NmJAVhTp05sUyI0srYrM73REHTNAQo4helF8GfM_7EKfFqPG3UDELgnARA378qZWS7Qo_BDs/s320/kazuo+ishiguro+-+the+remains+of+the+day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343957851445795250" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The text was <a href="http://www.contemporarywriters.com/authors/?p=auth52"><span style="font-style: italic;">Kazuo Ishiguro's</span></a> <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Remains of the Day </span>(1989) which was the novel we read for the module (we also studied one play and one poem). Everyone's probably familiar with the film adaptation with Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson (not a bad version I suppose) but the book was just staggering. It's all told through the narrative of Stevens - head butler at Darlington Hall - who is attempting to win back a previous housekeeper he is obviously in love with, but who is also living vividly in the past. His narration is unreliable, and his solid professionalism is heartbreaking as it reveals his missed opportunities. Partially set against the backdrop of WWII, it feels highly authentic. It is also very funny at times. I recommend it highly.<br /><br />My other essays marks were also not bad, but I think I'll need to do extremely well in The Tale exam to get a first this year. Oh well. I've enjoyed it all anyway, and next year I'll know what to expect a bit more. After The Tale exam on Tuesday, my dad and uncle John (from Canada) were waiting at the house to load up the car to bring me home - firstly, though, I showed them both round the campus and gave John a guided of Canterbury (but let him make his own pilgrimage round the cathedral). Ayumi came along and met my dad. Dad was his old self, inadvertently utilising cultural <span style="font-style: italic;">hypercorrection</span> when confronted with a foreign person; firstly he bowed to Ayumi when he met her (much to his own horror after he did it) and then went on to imitate a couple of her utterances in a distinctly exaggerated Japanese accent. I wanted the ground to swallow me up, and I fear for when she comes over in July.<br /><br />On the final Saturday before I left, I organised a <a href="http://www.ancient-raj.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">curry</span></a> for a few of us, and Dan Parker managed to come down for the night. Dan was his usual, interrogative self towards new people - particularly those of my friends who are not British - by asking them what their national flower, animal or dish were. Sophie (Luxembourg), Fran and Chiara (Italy) and obviously Ayumi (Japan) all acted with an initial air of affrontedness when Dan first got going, but soon realised that this is just Dan, and I think the night went well. The food was amazing, and really good service considering there was quite a few of us there (Blaine, Emily, Charlotte, Nick and Julia also attended). I really felt like it had been a good year, having so many good people there that night. Others couldn't make it, but there's always next year. Here is a particularly good picture with Sophie, Fran and Chiara heading home:<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUAD7xo3fkHuYf9FtUoKcqGkq_VxFwAkPtdsqMbzEpmovlaY0vEmFUy0rQibfLmKc_LVtsrm4yXPJnoqKO1Yr0eUudZwFBM-TfMjdA5KfssZx4HIkZbFaY_Y8A5P_A1k5OleZNKZ5qr4/s1600-h/sophie,+rich,+franci+and+chiara.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUAD7xo3fkHuYf9FtUoKcqGkq_VxFwAkPtdsqMbzEpmovlaY0vEmFUy0rQibfLmKc_LVtsrm4yXPJnoqKO1Yr0eUudZwFBM-TfMjdA5KfssZx4HIkZbFaY_Y8A5P_A1k5OleZNKZ5qr4/s320/sophie,+rich,+franci+and+chiara.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343963574224302146" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Dan seemed very happy with fatherhood. This was the first time I'd seen him since the arrival of baby Mary. It was genuinely great to have at least one friend from back home down to see my first year living arrangements, even if it was the last forty-eight hours of it.<br /><br />Started a couple of Salsa teaching training classes - this was always going to be daunting. There were very few of us available to start the training, seeing as how everyone has exams. On Sunday, it was just Yiota, Lefki, Ben, Toby and I, but we did go over one simple move again and again to potentially show beginners. What is also intimidating is that for the first few weeks, we're going to have 200+ beginners, all wanting to learn Salsa. We've also lost Rutherford dining hall next year, so we've got to cram people into Missing Link hall (less than half the size). It's going to be interesting, but I think we're up for it. Well, we <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to be now.<br /><br />Things I will miss about living in Parkwood:<br /><br />The air at 6:45am as I left the house to go swimming (never has getting up <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> early on a regular basis been so appealing). The campus is so peaceful and quiet at that time of day, full of more potential than I could ever imagine.<br /><br />The 9 minute 35 second walk from my front door to the library cafe. The faces on the way, and the green along the path.<br /><br />Chris and Maureen, obviously (although there is also a couple of ducks near me here now, so that should help).<br /><br />Having the friends close by that I had, and also the playing field so close. I only utilised this in the last few weeks, but it was perfect.<br /><br />It has come and gone, I have had something taken away from me just as I was feeling completely at ease with it all, but that's okay. That's how all things should be. We should never get used to something for too long, never take the sheen off anything. Get rid of it before you get complacent, or let something else take it away for you (like time). <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2000/oct/19/firstchapters.guardianfirstbookaward20001">We lose weeks like buttons, like pencils</a>. Everything ought to feel like first kiss electricity, even a year in a town that isn't home. Roll on the homework.<br /><br />I have been listening to a great deal of music whilst revising and preparing to return home. </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQ0vfF7obS5lHWLVomHkJ-vaZK2JPvLBZp3qwRS-UMVMlEduf0-d2YYF15Hq98a-vTeJjvG2F3tA5GgQMYLUp67hUtBBNTjSadCG2SaRfl6rYH2kWcTF8m67T2X5xXIMf4AM-_u74hLo/s1600-h/neurosis+-+souls+at+zero.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQ0vfF7obS5lHWLVomHkJ-vaZK2JPvLBZp3qwRS-UMVMlEduf0-d2YYF15Hq98a-vTeJjvG2F3tA5GgQMYLUp67hUtBBNTjSadCG2SaRfl6rYH2kWcTF8m67T2X5xXIMf4AM-_u74hLo/s320/neurosis+-+souls+at+zero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343999754105917106" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The first album that I wish</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> to talk about is <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Souls At Zero</span> (1992) by <a href="http://www.neurosis.com/index.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Neurosis</span></a>. This was one of those albums that lays the cards on the table for the fans, separating the dedicated from the transient. Many were quite happy with the whiplash hardcore of their debut, and were more than a little taken aback by <span style="font-style: italic;">SAZ</span>, with its sonic landscapes, its dark folk influence and its genuine epic menace. But for others, this is where Neurosis really began to make their mark, something they continued through with such acclaimed releases as <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Enemey Of The Sun</span> (1993), <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Eye of Every Storm</span> (2004), and of course, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Through Silver In Blood</span> (1996). But for me, <span style="font-style: italic;">SAZ</span> is where its at, and I don't just mean Neurosis - I mean extreme music full stop. Never before or since has such genius been extracted from blackness. This has got to be in the top three albums I have <span style="font-style: italic;">ever heard</span> in my sorry life. It is just pure pleasure and fear as one - good production, unintrusive, poignant samples, and <a href="http://www.vontill.org/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Steve Von Till</span></a>'s (et al) vocals are just mind blowing. Von Till has developed a voice now which has to be the best in alternative music, but here it is just harrowing and poetic at the same time. As a listener for 10+ years now of this band, I still have difficulty explaining what they address - but I guess the cover to <span style="font-style: italic;">SAZ</span> sums it up quite well. A homemade wicker man (built by the band themselves) emphasises the pagan, sun-worshiping content of their philosophical lyrics. The universe and the world are things that can take as they will, hammering home the futility of everything, especially our own genius for self-destruction. Beyond brilliant.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICUtlO7CkeTKcg4v3B5DNEgYQnVgKGkzt0vvHhjA22q149M_YnbrJR13uMYu4x8vZEee43uT1naZNN78YQQWQRCPKGCql2MNKGp_53Pe3lw7BfOieghV7BUkA1N95DISEUMNvrMlt_uQ/s1600-h/undertones+-+true+confessions.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICUtlO7CkeTKcg4v3B5DNEgYQnVgKGkzt0vvHhjA22q149M_YnbrJR13uMYu4x8vZEee43uT1naZNN78YQQWQRCPKGCql2MNKGp_53Pe3lw7BfOieghV7BUkA1N95DISEUMNvrMlt_uQ/s320/undertones+-+true+confessions.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344007962930699410" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I first took an interest in <a href="http://www.theundertones.com/__/Home.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Undertones</span></a> after I heard <span style="font-style: italic;">My Perfect Cousin</span> in an episode of <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Our Friends in the North</span>, back in 1996. I remember thinking then that they were a solid punk band. But hearing a really good collection such as <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">True Confessions (Singles = A's & B's)</span> (2008) its easy to see that they are much more than just another punk product of the seventies. Undertones are a great and diverse band</span></span> -<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> you have the</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> loud and angsty post-crooners of <span style="font-style: italic;">Teenage Kicks</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">True Confessions</span> or <span style="font-style: italic;">Get Over You</span> (all dealing with the paralysing frustration of being a teenager brilliantly), but then you also have a band that lend their edgy playing to more humorous levels with tracks such as <span style="font-style: italic;">Mars Bar</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Jimmy Jimmy</span>. Feargal Sharkey never dropped his Derry accent, and this places the band firmly on the ground. No rock and roll idiocy here. If only boiling diarrhea acts like U2 could have stuck closer to reality. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPpfFYGMgsIPR70TzbWp3U4l63mOgAGAE6L_xzDr51HmY39NfGJWuEAlD0ePDjoVnDSLYSD6fJYctxcwG1-K9s4ImoWpwy13kxXVyg-3lcurJWjyAAWsZO9K8WFmJqtYbQ2PheG7diKc/s1600-h/syzygys+-+eyes+on+green+%28live%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOPpfFYGMgsIPR70TzbWp3U4l63mOgAGAE6L_xzDr51HmY39NfGJWuEAlD0ePDjoVnDSLYSD6fJYctxcwG1-K9s4ImoWpwy13kxXVyg-3lcurJWjyAAWsZO9K8WFmJqtYbQ2PheG7diKc/s320/syzygys+-+eyes+on+green+%28live%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344010309000238146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A very distracting album to listen to after you've just been swimming for an hour is <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Eyes On Green: Live at Tokyo </span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Inkstick 1988</span> by <a href="http://www.ne.jp/asahi/syzygys/official/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Syzygys</span></a>. This sounds so contemporary, and because I only heard them within the last twelve months, I just assumed this was a recent recording - but no, it's 21 years old. Remarkable. But this stuff really is timeless; you have your spiralling, crazy accordion-based instrumentals, racing along like warped computer game music, and then you have the singing, which is instantly recognisable as being Japanese but feels dated compared to the music. A brilliant combination. The complete studio efforts are out there to get also, but this is the best thing they ever released, I reckon.<br /><br />Finally, I found this taped to the wall in Missing Link before we had Salsa on Sunday. I wondered what the hell it meant until I found out it was a cue used by my housemate Max during the play he was in (I still don't feel any the wiser for knowing this, though):<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWTP8xg97gSWYXdt6qkafM2v-ciLn1JY2E2GK1GAEGozhyphenhyphenvqIRG9q3o2Qjv6TiPvIXF4mNXMyh0IppNq75sXO_ABkB7vftlFfTyMwg_WE9_FXlL6ePFmwr0FMG1JtfBLdWbTegw8OWi4/s1600-h/DSC01829.JPG"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWTP8xg97gSWYXdt6qkafM2v-ciLn1JY2E2GK1GAEGozhyphenhyphenvqIRG9q3o2Qjv6TiPvIXF4mNXMyh0IppNq75sXO_ABkB7vftlFfTyMwg_WE9_FXlL6ePFmwr0FMG1JtfBLdWbTegw8OWi4/s320/DSC01829.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344010582806201362" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3934677474725846309.post-14349417059318891962009-05-23T02:59:00.000-07:002009-05-24T16:44:04.249-07:00The Middle Parts of Fortune<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwRhGypBIEYSy0neRzaz1JZLmYcTZM5uI7watsPy2Pv7NZrQhBNZzfUbURL1EEJj-t9kFdEzHyGKuJnHLp0AkvVT-7VgfA3ifQA5JgTG7S9k0UJAhyphenhyphendN5TBQOB-_vnRxxwHuvnk0_2Mg/s1600-h/frederic+manning+-+the+middle+parts+of+fortune.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwRhGypBIEYSy0neRzaz1JZLmYcTZM5uI7watsPy2Pv7NZrQhBNZzfUbURL1EEJj-t9kFdEzHyGKuJnHLp0AkvVT-7VgfA3ifQA5JgTG7S9k0UJAhyphenhyphendN5TBQOB-_vnRxxwHuvnk0_2Mg/s320/frederic+manning+-+the+middle+parts+of+fortune.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338970094469252018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">If there's one part of the library I find most interesting, it's the Recently Returned shelves. It's all just a random collection of homeless books. This I consider the best circumstances to come across an unexpected nonpareil. So, the other day I discovered <span style="font-weight: bold;">Frederic Manning</span>'s</span></span><a href="http://setis.library.usyd.edu.au/ozlit/pdf/manmidd.pdf"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The Middle Parts of Fortune</span></span></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> (1929). </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bourne</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> is a private serving in the trenches, and is in many ways emotionally </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">detached</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> from both his superiors and the men around him. The book begins with </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bourne</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> clambering through the remains of a recent shelling, and the writing instantly begins with the gruesome, frank style of </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">portrayal</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> of war that made it initially shocking and successful; </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >"Death, of course, like chastity, admits no degree: a man is dead or not dead, and a man is just as dead by one means as by another; but it is infinitely more horrible and revolting to see a man shattered and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">eviscerated</span>, than to see him shot." </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">(p.11)</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Bourne</span> is known as being a loner within the troops. Each man claims to have woken in the middle of the night to find him already awake, silently smoking a cigarette. But <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bourne</span> commands respect also from his superiors and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">fellows</span>; he can always <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">mysteriously</span> rustle-up extra food rations, or a bottle of whiskey. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Bourne</span> is also a genuine gentleman, and although he doesn't wish to, accepts a commission. The tragedy of the book's nightmarish finale are always waiting to be read, with the spectre of death ever present in both the narrator's splenetic <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">portrayal</span> of warfare, but also in the somewhat still shocking to this day use of bad, cynical language between the soldiers. In several scenes of emotional intimacy, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Bourne</span> finds himself tenderly conversing with French <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">mademoiselles</span> (details of which are never translated or summed-up, meaning that unless you speak French, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Bourne</span> is granted some moments of privacy - a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">rarity</span> in trench-life) but his fellows coarsely claim he is <span style="font-style: italic;">"cunt-struck"</span> rather than in love.<br /><br />Manning was encouraged to write the book (based very closely on his own wartime experiences) at a time when few fictional novels on The Great War had been published. The book was initially published anonymously, and also under the original title of <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Her Privates We</span>; both titles allude to a scene in Hamlet where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Guildenstern</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Rozencrantz</span> and Hamlet contemplate on which part of Fortune's physique man lays. <span style="font-style: italic;">Her Privates We</span> was also an obvious double-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">entendre</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Middle Parts of Fortune</span> has been considered by many other authors to be the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">definitive</span> portrayal of man and war.<br /><br />I was drawn to the book initially due to the harrowing Frank Hurley photograph on the front cover. Several of his pictures from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">World</span> War I can be found below, including the original used for the book;<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIxK1ZC0MqnAa4Uac4o5EH_B7OeLSoB57OaD-AQR3MKS3pHdvsXSIfjB1aGoN2V_u6ngas2Y4LluXvPCHpY5inNlyPakydU_tUX53PFiWAaLx-1lBeKOT23FlccZyNFud5uRudbHIeM0/s1600-h/frank+hurley+05.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtIxK1ZC0MqnAa4Uac4o5EH_B7OeLSoB57OaD-AQR3MKS3pHdvsXSIfjB1aGoN2V_u6ngas2Y4LluXvPCHpY5inNlyPakydU_tUX53PFiWAaLx-1lBeKOT23FlccZyNFud5uRudbHIeM0/s320/frank+hurley+05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339537685444608386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImRGuGXVM9Py-Qhzopyh1m96bkauRLMDGgfF8rdmMtBsftH9c8Zby3WUlgZUrGFY1uNkdDOKeRy_YJxulrdvEB8H9Xzu8sNSD1cDXc9exJ2-6v5mOSzCdtf-WOSYA6h1ObYZepaUK4OA/s1600-h/frank+hurley+04.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhImRGuGXVM9Py-Qhzopyh1m96bkauRLMDGgfF8rdmMtBsftH9c8Zby3WUlgZUrGFY1uNkdDOKeRy_YJxulrdvEB8H9Xzu8sNSD1cDXc9exJ2-6v5mOSzCdtf-WOSYA6h1ObYZepaUK4OA/s320/frank+hurley+04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339537681001928226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXQkMLx1j6TqCnScmNx9YyryE3PIlPaXyv5mq-vCxTjRwPIODTMqXacRJ_Gbk2eiX9FK_Ijl-4MKL_lB5_HYoCWNdjDkU-AKOQHusbWVNKYLKOzfR5CDDAc6c4fWP57Z1UfQD08l5K_E/s1600-h/frank+hurley+03.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXQkMLx1j6TqCnScmNx9YyryE3PIlPaXyv5mq-vCxTjRwPIODTMqXacRJ_Gbk2eiX9FK_Ijl-4MKL_lB5_HYoCWNdjDkU-AKOQHusbWVNKYLKOzfR5CDDAc6c4fWP57Z1UfQD08l5K_E/s320/frank+hurley+03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339537682555556962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbvVRe3LE66RSyvExrmBDl9abcIkEK_ImI-Z8nJttXMggy0X7QQWhZbLqBaiI6z4xeLyWiF0rhMBVIKnoePIb8XWLXQ5oE3HdltvWzCbgIvxaMrfqkcKT1n9P-UQKiJ7EIY88sXl2Jbw/s1600-h/frank+hurley+02.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbvVRe3LE66RSyvExrmBDl9abcIkEK_ImI-Z8nJttXMggy0X7QQWhZbLqBaiI6z4xeLyWiF0rhMBVIKnoePIb8XWLXQ5oE3HdltvWzCbgIvxaMrfqkcKT1n9P-UQKiJ7EIY88sXl2Jbw/s320/frank+hurley+02.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339537676633283362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdmOQGrM9UlpI927aPN6m2YKecIPJzHglZ0_bkz5NouMLUJVIZ1ohimm-Hq0iSKxm3cADRrGRCsNBjPUgcgnv_3Qf7eej4J7iwmerX34lisPvGEtGjUxSG3QYcyseaxPtTRYljG5C5CA/s1600-h/frank+hurley+01.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdmOQGrM9UlpI927aPN6m2YKecIPJzHglZ0_bkz5NouMLUJVIZ1ohimm-Hq0iSKxm3cADRrGRCsNBjPUgcgnv_3Qf7eej4J7iwmerX34lisPvGEtGjUxSG3QYcyseaxPtTRYljG5C5CA/s320/frank+hurley+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339537678563511906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This was the first chance I'd had in ages to read a novel. Aside from ones for the course, I haven't really sat down and read a book for some time.There's just something energetically great about reading a good book. I also think that I've developed an interest in World War I now (which possibly stemmed back some time ago from watching <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Blackadder Goes Forth</span>, now I come to think about it..)</span></span><br /></div></div></div>Rich Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16803057579177791637noreply@blogger.com0