A Museum That Isn't Open To The Public

I mean, even if every single CIA agent "and guests" that visits leaves, say, thirty dollars for this place, they'll still never be able to afford a new roof.

A New Year Approaches

But enough about that. I just thought I'd point out that there's a new snippet on Not All Of What Follows Is True, which, by it's non-fictional nature removes any nagging doubts we may have had that the title meant that everything that followed was false.

The New Sparkling Issue of APAGear is up, featuring Tabula Rasa, by me, which is really not entirely terrible. But then it was written under unusual circumstances.

And finally, SYNCHRONICITY ALERT.

I was reading Pattern Recognition by William Gibson yesterday (indeed, I'm still reading it now). In the book, Cayce Pollard -- yep, another Gibson protagonist whose name is pronounced "Case" -- wears a jacket from 'Buzz Rickson's', a fanatical Japanese reproduction and in some aspects caricature of a WW2 US flying jacket. In a moment of on the Tube satori I realised where the name came from.

Buzz Rickson is the name of Steve McQueen's character in THE WAR LOVER, a film about a daredevil bomber pilot that was on BBC2 earlier yesterday afternoon.

World of Fascination

Don't look now, but it's another narrow-band microwave transmission from Planet Me.

In an utterly unexpected reversal of fortune of the kind usually known only to WWE wrestlers apparently about to suffer a humiliating defeat at the hands of a lycra-clad steroid abuser with a single-syllable name, I've got a job for the new year. From the 5th of January, assuming nothing goes wrong at the last minute with my references (and I see no reason why it should*), I'll be working as a press officer type person in Bloomsbury. Which is nice, as it will have proper money and free evenings and all that kind of thing that real boys are allowed to have.

My Need For Speed: Underground campaign continues. Fear my iridescent, pulsing-blue-neoned Mazda of Speed, puny street racers!

Christmas could be nice after all. Now there's just the pressing business of sorting out the Secret Santa thing at work. And everyone else's presents, for that matter.





* See the silly man tempt fate.

Free Trip!

Well, from Brixton to Warren Street, anyway. They've closed the ticket office at Brixton tube station, and the attendant at the other end just let me through. Which was nice.

Last night dragged on and on -- we didn't finish until half past midnight, due to a dinner for someone or other, one of whose guests was a Rothschild (Leopold, I think). The timing wasn't helped by the fact that between the main course (food, not sail) and dessert, they had five million* speeches.

On the plus side, I burnt an SVCD of the two NACHTMUSIK episodes this morning. Now I just need to figure how to get DVD-compatible stuff. I might just bite the bullet and put one episode per CD.





* divide by one million for realistic number.

Autograph Signing

Just a quick heads-up for all my fans out there. I'm going to be at Dragonmeet this coming Saturday, and will be happy to sign any beermats, items of clothing or pets you might want to bring with you.

I'll be one of the guys helping to run the show -- see if you can guess which one I am!

Most Had No Real Opinion

NACHTMUSIK episode 2 was shot last night. I'll most likely start editing today.
There's some classic material in there, with some nice improvised bits during Ciaron's scene.

Should be good.

There'll Be A Real Post One Day

In the meantime, I pause only to note that:

1) NACTHMUSIK 2 is a lot more written, and we should get it shot and edited in a couple of weeks.

2) The current Penny Arcade is rather amusing.

And Now We Go Over To Our Norwegian Correspondent, Erik Joenssensensen-Sensensensenssen

"Thank you, Gordon. What the latest reports are telling us from the bureau in Kristiansand, is that police have issued a drunken moose alert in southern Norway.

Elsewhere, shock as a terrier called Conan robs a petrol station.

And finally, while the nation pauses to ponder the significance of Norwegian youths being in dangerous proximity to Michael Jackson, Oslo is planning a sewer safari park.

I've been Erik Joenssensensen-Sensensensenssen. Back to the studio."

Bandage

By which I mean the state of being in a band. With the Homewreckers due to play a gig under an assumed name (they're barred from the venue), but sanity not really reigning within, I haven't been back to any rehearsals for a while.

However, the planned London-based three-piece is getting more likely. We are (at least at the moment) called Five Chord Trick, and the first song is called Competence Is For Losers -- an in-joke so obscure I think there are only three other people who will get it, none of whom are in the band. Okay, I know only three other people will get it.

And Up Again.... Maybe

Well, I just had a very promising-seeming job interview. It seems my only rival for this full-time job is one of my former classmates.

"I've just got one girl I've yet to see," said the interviewing woman as I left, "She's in Switzerland at the moment."

"Her name's not Nicole, is it?" I said.

She couldn't remember. But she did remember something about a university ladies' football team. So it is, indeed, herself.

As for James' birthday -- I'm a good brother again! I didn't get him a rubbish present. No! In desperation, I was on the net at looked at the Big Howard-Little Howard Show website. Howard Read is a comic I saw at last year's Edinburgh Fringe, and just happens to be from my hometown of Hitchin. Little Howard is the world's only 6-year-old animated interactive stand-up comedian. The whole thing was just as funny - if not more so - than last time. The amount of rehearsal Big Howard must do to be so in synch with his animated characters is mind-boggling. Good stuff - try and see it.

Anyway, then James and I met Henry and Paul, who were very drunk (Paul was in the "no, no, seriously, listen" stage of inebriation; Henry was hiding it a bit better). Then we got drunk.

Happy Birthday, James!

I was working on Sunday. Quite slow. The only thing of note was when I had to lead a Russian concert pianist and a gaggle of Canadians (they take the same group noun as geese, right?) on a hunt for the green room, where the pianist had left his stuff. This was difficult, as I'd never been upstairs in the concert hall before.

Then I came home and played yet even more FIFA 2004. Obviously.

I've Swallowed The Little Book of Calm.

The Shanghai book will take years to get published. My vague contract-based job offer seems bound to go nowhere. I still haven't got James a birthday present. I'm ill, but I can't afford not to work. I hate my job. (Actually, that's not true, I just hate all the customers.) I'm not in China. The electricity bill is due. At this rate, Nacthmusik 2, Terrorism and Ex Libris are never going to get made. I barely spend any time at home.

Bloody hell.

Who in God's name would bring a half-eaten eight pound jar of Hellman's mayonnaise to a public meeting?

Or in other words, I'm reading Bonfire of the Vanities. It's pretty good so far.

The weekend was a thing of beauty -- and, as such, a joy forever. On Saturday afternoon, I met Lydia at the Odeon Covent Garden. We'd planned to see SPELLBOUND (the spelling-bee thing, not the Hitch classic), but it turned out to be on an hour later than we thought, thus rendering it incompatible with my oh-so-hectic schedule.

Dismissing the other offerings with summary execution -- "That's about a middle-aged woman, not interested; that looks like a French film about nothing in particular; that's totally boring; that's about a horse." -- we ended up seeing BLIND SHAFT at The Other Cinema.

BLIND SHAFT tells the heartwarming story of two guys with a scam. They find a naive out-of-work miner and sign on at a new mine pretending he's the relative of one of them. Then they kill him, make it look like an accident and collect the family compensation from the mine boss as a pay-off for them not telling the authorities.

This sort of goes wrong when they next mark is a schoolkid without enough money for study fees, whom one fo the men is reluctant to kill. It's good, though the lack of music makes it a bit soporific (it could do with being about twenty minutes shorter). For those of us who speak Chinese, the accents are alarming more than anything else, but I'd say on the whole it's worth watching.

After that, I went to Ascot for Tom Jeatte's birthday party. The house was vast, I didn't go to sleep, I have no idea what I was doing for about five hours of my life. These things happen.
The next day, the best film ever made was on TV.

So, what do you do? I think.

Had my interview/meeting thing at the think-tank just now. I seem to be on the company books, so to speak, the whole thing being very vague. Well, it is consultancy, after all. Vague is its whole thing.

I have finally bought a duvet cover.

I have received more emails about the Immortal Piano.

We had a bomb alert at the restaurant, and basically got paid to go to the pub for two hours. Which was good. I then went out with some people after work, returning home at 4 a.m., which was also good. What was bad was managing to lose a 7-day travelcard on the first day of having it.

True Crime: Streets of L.A. is really a rather fun game.

I am not going to see MATRIX REVOLUTIONS. I think I'll see THE FIVE OBSTRUCTIONS instead.

[Expletive deleted], why the [expletive deleted] do I have no [expletive deleted] money? [Expletive deleted] it.

So, anyway, my job-hunting is leaving my feeling rather... dejected, I guess. It's probably time to throw all my efforts into the Shanghai and China books, plus think about making that film about terrorism.

I really, really hate this whole situation.

In other news, Nachtmusik 2 now contains vaguely more jokes. And yet, still no plot! Who'd have thought it?

I ended up calling the new character Crazy Dave. How utterly inspired, eh?

"Debussy... crazy name, crazy guy."

The writing of Nachtmusik episode 2 rumbles steadily on, now introducing new characters to hide the plot vacuity at its core. We now have the feeding scene with all-new Dracula joke, an anecdote about Lenin and a scene involving a packet of biscuits. Plus, the exciting new character Mad Dave or Crazy Wayne or whatever the hell I'm going to call him.

Incidentally, one of the librarians here at SOAS bears a striking resemblance to David Cronenberg.


Librarian or Canadian body-horror director?


Aaanyway, despite having work at a restaurant, I'm still looking for a job, because I'd need forty hours a week to be comfortable and there's no way I'm going to get that many shifts.

The last shift there demonstrated that our teachers were right in at least one thing, though. Andrea and I were sent off to Tescos to buy Coke and milk. Five one-litre bottles each of Coke and Diet Coke were required. They were only available in 1.25 litre bottles, but demonstrating the mustard-keen intellect that netted me enough A-levels to scrape into university, I suggested we get four of each.

As for the milk, the manager had written only "6" and circled it. Did he want six pints? Six four-pint bottles? We tried to phone to check, but there was no answer. I mumbled something about using our initiative. Yet more agonising indecision followed.

"I'm all for this initiative thing," said Andrea, "But maybe another time." She tried phoning, again unsuccessfully. Eventually we decided that seeing as he's a Canadian, he must be thinking in metric. (It made sense at the time.)

We were wrong, but the point is that, as GCSE Maths repeatedly drummed into our heads, it's vital to always write down what units you're using. Otherwise, something as trivial as a Coke-and-milk run to the supermarket can turn into a debacle, even if you send a Serb and a Chinese-speaking ex-pirate.

Italiano

Hmm... I'd forgotten about this. There's an Italian version of some of the APAGear stories, including Brutta faccenda a Rocca Bianca, which I originally wrote in English as Bad Day at White Rock (non-speakers of Italian can just click on the 'testo originale' link at the top there).

In the index, the translator describes it as 'ermetico', which is very nice of him (her?), as I believe it means 'watertight'. At least, I think that's a compliment.


In fact, while I'm blowing my own trumpet in Italian, there's also....Esperance

Semi-Employment Occurs

Well, that was quick. I've got a couple (three, whatever) shifts a week at a restaurant. It isn't great. I should have an interview with that think-tank some time this week, which might be better, but it's contract work so it's not exactly steady. Hey ho.

Leo is back from Shanghai for a bit. He's a corporate shill now, or such is my understanding. Go him. I wish I were a corporate shill, or possibly a government yes-man. I bet that would cover the rent. Better than "Writer, Film-maker, Adventurer", which is what it says on my business cards.

There's a machine that prints them at Stockwell tube station. What can I say?

Incidentally, have you ever noticed how similar the instrumental bits of Rock DJ by Robbie Williams* are to Stop The Cavalry by Jonah Lewie? Some might say that I have too much time on my hands, but I am looking for work, honestly. It's just all a bit demoralising -- once you've been a professional pirate, no other job application is ever going to be quite as much fun, is it? Maybe I should go travelling after all, have some adventures, Hemingway-style.


*You know, Mork from Ork.

Unemployment Looms Again

Well, what's been happening?
Last weekend (I think, or possibly the one before), I went to Hitchin for Ciaron's birthday. He was celebrating with a pub crawl based on, of all things, the GW board game Talisman. My team (me, Kirsty and Sean) won by a scarily large margin, based mostly on Sean's unexpectedly prodigious facility for rum-drinking (he was playing the pirate) and my own surprising victory over a red-headed Scotsman in a Guinness speed-drinking contest.

The re-rig of the ship is finished, and therefore so is work, mostly. There's still some cleaning up to do, and we have to get rid of the temporary wall and the hired dock pump, but that's about it. Hmm...

I'll get going on those gamebook outlines, to give myself something useful to do. Speaking of which, I just bought the Spaceship Zero RPG. I'm not sure why, I think I just like the idea of a licensed game based on a TV series that doesn't exist.

The Homewreckers' Club have an upcoming gig, and though I'll only be able to make it to a couple of rehearsals beforehand, I hope to be able to join in for a song or two, in my position as "Consultant Guitarist".

The Post Southampton Boat Show Post

So, my alleged intent to write a proper post upon my return to London was revealed as nothing more than a fraud. Things have been too busy on the ship of late, and I don't have very regular net access, so sorry about that.

At any rate, the show was very good - loverly weather and all that, and I met lots of great people, whom I naturally have utterly failed to stay in contact with. So, on the off-chance any of you are reading, and in the tradition of the great Internet long shots, here's a hello to (in no particular order)....

The guys on the Sunsail stand, especially Sophie, Mark, Kate, Laurence, Helen and Graham; Emily and the other security guards whose on-board tea break was so rudely interrupted; our volunteers - Rebecca, Dan, Terry, Roger, Norberto and Maria; and anyone else I've neglected to mention.

Those who want to get in touch, just drop me a line here.

And no, Terry, we didn't find your glasses.

Back in the Big Smoke

I have returned to London, and moved my stuff into the house. The Hind remains in Southampton, ready to be towed as soon as the winds drop to Force 4 or lower. I'm looking for work again, for when the boat thing is finished.

So, I'm writing this in the SOAS computer room. Here at the college, an AUT/Unison strike has thrown much confusion into the start of year registration process. In happier news, SOAS now has an impressive revolving door in the lobby.

Carole has put me onto an interesting possibility for a job, so I'll stroll up and see them later. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get a sandwich.

Dialogue From France 3

(to a surprisingly small charter group)
"What, don't you have any friends?"

"Let's go and spill some of the gin on that palace."

"While this boat is racing, there's one guy who stays below deck and moves all the sails around and sorts them out. He's called the sewer rat, and you can spot him in the team photo because he's the one without a tan."
"He usuall has big pink eyes, as well."
"And webbed feet."
"Really?"
"Yeah, it gets pretty damp down there."
"He doesn't have any friends."
"I wonder if he's at the show."
"He's skippering the other boat."

"I can hardly get her number if you don't go closer."
"I'm trying to go past on a more impressive point of sail."

Proper post once I get back to London. Promise.

Fear & Loathing at the Southampton Boat Show

Well, here we are. After a tow from London that took 24 hours more than was expected. In order to avoid a force 6 southwesterly that was coming up round Beachy Head, our tug driver, Graham, took us round in circles in Pevensey Bay for about four hours. He had to do this because his capstan was broken, so he couldn't just shorten the tow line and drop anchor. We hit the weather anyway when we headed west. Things fell over, and Paul Hadfield began raving about "inadequate bloody lashings", which was fair enough.

We discovered the thing about the capstan when we got to Cowes, as me and Stitch had to go over to the tug in the dinghy to help haul in the towline. At this point, the MCA and the cops turned up and crawled all over Graham's tug for a good amount of time. Word to the wise - when going under tow to Southampton, don't hire a tug driver who has an ongoing feud with the Southampton Port Authority.

Another word to the wise - there are lots of powerboats crewed by spoon-faced morons in the Solent. If they refuse to slow down as they pass while your wooden ship is on the hip of a tug, this may cause the tow line to rip straight through the port bulwark and one of your stanchions. Needless to say, we're sitting starboard side to on the pontoon at the show.

On the morning when we sailed (ooh!) for about five minutes (oooooh!) into the show, we were joined for some PR stunt by Ellen MacArthur, who was forced to mess around for publicity photos on the ship, which by now was strewn with the sponsor's banners. I strung up a flag above the main course yard that the photographer wanted in shot, but then he was too scared to climb into the fighting top. C'est la vie, je suppose.

The day before, I'd made the mistake of wandering into Dennis' eyeline without carrying anything.

"Tom," he said, "Are you looking for a little job?"
"Go on then," I said.
"Just pop up and unwrap the flag from the pole, will you? It's all tangled up there."

It was as I was standing seventy-odd feet up, on the main crosstree, that I decided I need a pay rise. Luckily (or maybe not), this could be on the cards. With Patrick's departure, I have magically turned into him, being given the food money and getting moaned at by the other crew and so on. But Roddy might give me more money. I don't know. I want to take a week off after the show and see what I can find. If I still need a job, I might go back. But I don't really want to be around while the ship's being re-crewed.

Anyway, Ellen MacArthur was fairly personable. "How's your morning been?" I asked in an idle moment. She seemed slightly taken aback that anybody was actually talking to her, instead of barking photography-related instructions at her. By all accounts, her day was going to be a long one.

She asked how long our tow had had taken. "Forty-eight bloody hours," I said.
She was suitably taken aback, which on reflection seems rather odd. You wouldn't have thought that Ellen MacArthur, round-the-world yachting superperson, would be terribly impressed by a 48-hour journey. But then, it was a pretty bad journey. And we ate all the food.

Last night, we attempted to go down the pub, but ended up in McDonalds, having lost Bob, Ryan and Jamouli. One of the girls on security almost put them on our trail, though. She recognised them from our description as we passed by before - "Have you seen a guy dressed as a pirate come through here? With a builder?"

Still, here we are at the show. I've got a day off today (yes!) as Mum and James are coming down. Now we've settled into not having tours, but letting people wander round the boat and ask questions, I think things will be okay. Stitch, Jamouli and I have plenty of time to watch the girls go by, and of course to engage in lame banter with the girls on the RNLI and America's Cup stands.

It is awfully yachty, though. Some of these people have so much money, I don't think they even realise it.

There's more to write, but I'm pretty tired. Thursday was a 16-hour working day. Yesterday was 13 hours. And I don't really want to become the manager. But I do need a job. Advice, condolences, etc. on the back of a postcard.

Not An Hour Ago, I Was Covered In Tar

Masts are up. Except the mizzen. But we'll do that tomorrow, along with the yards.
The rig is dangerously loose, but as long as no one goes nuts during the rigging fit, we should make it through okay. Too many chiefs, not enough Indians. I am definitely an Indian, though, so I don't have to duke it out Dune style with little kris knives to defend my territory. Dave's had his pay halved due to not actually being whathe claimed, it seems. Yet more new people (Jeff, Hamilton) have joined the circus. Dennis' waxed moustache and overbearing beard continue to be the centre ring attraction. Not that we can get any instructions out of him.

Many on the verge of breakdown. Specifically, Stitch and Roddy. If one (or, Lord help us, both) loses it, we could be in trouble. If Pat 1 is injured in such a way as to be unable to continue on the boat, we're definitely going to crash and burn. Pat 2 is less essential, since she refuses to climb the rigging. This leaves her doing sod all.

Sent my CV to the lady at the Taipei Representative Office today. This in response to signing the contracton the house in Tulse Hill with Adam, his brother Nathan (and soon Paul and Henry) on Saturday. I require money to paythe rent.
I need to stop spending so much of my pay. I do not have time to spellcheck this post. Apologies for any errors you find -- try not to take them personally.

I think I need a cup of tea.

Let's see now. I've got a reply from Chaosium, who are interested in my book proposal and want me to send an outline. However, this will have to wait till we get back from Southampton.

As for the boat... we were supposed to leave at 4:30 am yesterday, but we were unablke to get the mini-gate for the keel out in time before the tide rose. At around eight we started again, having cut through the supporting pipes, and chiseled away the remaining cement and concrete. Then we just tipped the thing over with a couple of jacks and hauled it out of the way.

A pretty big crowd turend up to watch as the tugs pulled us out of the dock. We made a few sedate turns on the Thames, as there was some trouble attaching the line to the forward tug. And then we had to sit around for a while for the water level to drop, so we could get under London Bridge.

Then away we went, with a good four feet of clearance for the bowsprit. People took photos of us taking photos of them (or was it the other way round?) as we passed under Tower Bridge. The wind picked up a little, yet we enjoyed a stately transit of an hour or so down to the Docklands, passing moored Thames barges, the Cutty Sark and the Thames Barrier. Because we set off too late to get into the King George V dock, we're now moored up at a pier a little way downriver from the Woolwich ferry crossing, and right next to the Royal Artillery Museum. We're off the edge of the A-Z map area.

We've got the weekend free, so I'm off to do some shopping. I kind of want to see a film. Henane (or however you spell it) said she wanted to see Goodbye Lenin - I probably should have suggested we go together, but I didn't think of it at the time.

...

SteveCon 3 was yesterday. Great fun.
It's still far too hot. Work on the ship is going well.

Life on the Ocean Wave

I shall be living aboard the Golden Hinde from tomorrow. This will doubtless restrict my Internet access, so anyone who wants to get in touch should use my Hotmail address (tmcgrenery AT hotmail).

My first day was today, and involved lots of sanding of deadeyes, which are the wooden thingies that hold the ropes. I think they're called deadeyes because their three holes make them resemble skulls. I have no evidence for this. It's just conjecture based on me thinking they look a bit like skulls.

The rigger from the Cutty Sark is coming tomorrow to help us out. Should be fun. Going to be ropes everywhere.

NACHTMUSIK

For those of you who are interested, I've put the first part of the comedy documentary I worked on -- NACHTMUSIK -- up on the web (though I'm thinking of uploading it to TriggerStreet.com - I'll let you know).

I'm afraid due to file size constraints, it is only the first (less funny) bit available right now, but I should get the rest uploaded some time soonish.

The movie is available here. Sorry about the pop-ups, it's Angelfire again.

In Your Face, Space Coyote!

I am gainfully employed. Not for the job I went to an interview this morning for, though. As I was on my way home, someone phoned me up about a job I'd almost forgotten. I said I was in London. He invited me down for a chat. I went and met them. I start on Monday.

I'm working as a deckhand on the Golden Hinde.

Yay!!

Decisions, Decisions

A couple of days ago, I turned down a job in Gibraltar. That's right -- I didn't just not apply, I turned it down. I had the job, but I didn't take it. Some people may question the wisdom of turning down a £12K-ish per year job in sunny, sunny Gib. I had my reasons, though I can't quite elucidate all of them. For one thing, if I was going, I had to be there yesterday -- missing graduation, not finishing the music videos in time... also, the company seemed a bit dodgy. I see on the news today that there's been a money-laundering scandal involving the police, in Gibraltar. Hmm....

So, on Thursday I went to London Bridge and had an interview for a job teaching English in Korea. That went well. I've more or less got the job. I finally managed to get on to Hotmail today, and there's the email saying "I have recommended you for a position... phone this woman in Korea, &c. &c."

All well and good, except the next email was from a post-production company in Covent Garden, for a job I'd forgotten I'd applied for, working in their subtitling department. Hardly glamorous, but it is a job in film, and they do editing too. Plus, I'd get to stay here with all my film gear, my guitar (and my band), with the TV pitches I'm working on with Marcus....

So now I don't think I'm going to Korea, at least not if this London interview goes well. It's all very stressful, as picking one path means abandoning the others (all turn to your Collected Works of Robert Frost now...). Still, it's a step up from not being able to get any work at all.

Graduation tomorrow. Should be toe-curlingly embarrassing.

Musical Youthfulness

Friday was the Skag Bunny gig at the football club. I recorded a bunch of live footage there for the video. It's pretty blah by itself, but combined with the staged running-around sequences, it should come out pretty well. I'll get going on the Gilla Bruja stuff soon.

Tonight's the second Homewreckers' Club practice. I'm going to push for a Bluesbreakers cover -- either All Your Love or Looking Back. However, I think Amphetamine Annie, by Canned Heat, might be a good thing to do too. Well, whatever.

More Work For Me....

The lead singer of local, actually-signed band Gilla Bruja phoned today. He'd like me to make a video for one of their songs. Apparently, the band has a sort of Southern Gothic vibe going on, so I'm working up a storyboard now with lots of dusty roads and sunglasses and stuff like that. Could be good.

Tranquility

Remember A Clockwork Orange?
This is utterly appalling. Yet non-fiction.

Gissa Job

Well, thanks to my inheritance from my grandparents, I'm not eligible for Jobseeker's Allowance. So, I'll have to get a job sharpish.
I've got an interview at Bedford School tomorrow to teach Mandarin there a few evenings a week. I don't know that the money's going to be enough to live on -- or that I'll get the job -- but it's certainly worth trying for.

In more exciting news, I've been hired to make a music video for a local band. They're a pretty nutso metal band, called Skagbunny, who dress up as Donnie Darko-style rabbits in concert. That should give me some nice visuals to work with, I reckon.

One Lump Or Two?

It would seem that V's site is now located at www.dashofmilk.co.uk, all done up in Movable Type and with a particularly bitching minimalist layout and so forth.

Hmm..... is it just me, or do I look kind of funny in that photo at the top?

Tycho Rocks

Now, I may not be a big fan of the Harry Potter series. The books strike me as the lumpen one-word-after-another of a sub-Lee Child hack with no real imagination, while the escalation in size of each book seems to confirm what the godawful prose style suggests -- namely, that Rowling is paid by the word. Nonetheless, Tycho (from Penny Arcade) is a very amusing fellow:

"I read the new Harry Potter book, all nine hundred or so pages of it, before I went to bed that day. I got it early, passing the mailman wearing the wizards hat, pushing down a little girl. I drove home with the book in my lap, singing a song which could not be transcribed, because it was the audible form of joy.

I have seen it discussed - is it good? Who cares. It's not like you get a new Harry Potter book every day, you have to treasure this shit. I don't slink home from the solar eclipse and be like, well, I've seen more invigorating natural phenomena. I know now the dark depths and dizzying highs of true fandom, and don't fuck with me about this because I've got a nine hundred page hardcover in my grip. I'll bat your head clean off and start running for first. First what, God only knows. I guess it all depends on where I kill you. "

ULCS Graduate Recruitment Fair

Woah. That's a goddamn lot of people. A lot of them wearing suits, too. Who the hell wears a suit to a careers fair? Oh, yeah. Economics students.
Outside the main door to the hall, they're trying to flog programmes for £1.50 each. I sidestepped them with a 'maybe later' and now I'm through the door I can see why they're selling them at the front. The main thing in the programme -- the list of exhibitors and a map of stalls -- is available for free posted on several noticeboards. Canny like foxes, those ULCS guys.

GCHQ haven't shown up. Great. What scares me is the easel-on-an-easel madness of recruitment firms coming to a recruitment fair in order to recruit graduate recruits who will go on to a career in recruitment. There's something sick and wrong about that, somehow.

Sauntering down the aisles, one hand on the flick-knife in my pocket, I find myself surrounded by colour-coded backdrops and pearly-toothed frontmen for organisations with three-letter acronyms (TLAs, to those in the know), whose posters sprout verbiage like "consultancy", "finance" and "consultant financiery". It's all I can do to stop from breaking down and yelling "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO?!!" The only reason I don't is because they'd answer. "We provide networked solutions to a broad-ranged client base in the IT and PR sectors." Or something.
Instead, I bide my time, smiling benignly at the buzzword-crazed leafleteers like a medical orderly in the violent ward. Some guy from the Chartered Institute of Marketing starts looking a little too closely at me and I fend him off with my best and most trustworthy weapon -- looking the other way.

Sod This For A Game Of Soldiers

I've had enough, I'm out of here. Going to go back home tonight, taking my stuff with me.
There's no point paying for the privilege of being in London when I only live a stone's throw away anyway. I'll probably apply for the Kazakhstan expedition too.

I've got "Seventeen" by Ladytron stuck in my head. It's kind of appropriate.

The Chinese finalists' dinner last night was well worth going to, with absolutely no unofficial nudge-nudge information about results at all. After the meal we younger, hipper students went to the Goose for beers with Fuehrer and Hockx. Which was pretty cool.

Gah. Blogger is getting all screwed up.

Dammit.

Scientology Rides Again!

Good grief. Look at this.

No, really. Look at it.

Search Terms

Apparently, someone got to this site a day or two ago via Google, using the search term "better looking and cleverer than you".

Heh.

The End of an Era

Four years all done with. Not a particularly spectacular era, but an era's an era and I suppose you take what you can get.
The room's very empty right now. Neil's gone (off to Thailand on Friday) and Kirsty's taking her stuff down to her uncle's before going to the airport tomorrow.

It's a bright sunny day outside. I think I might get going to Hitchin early and hang around in town before the play starts. Of course, I'll be lugging the video camera around, but that's a price I'm willing to pay for Windmill Hill in the summer. If I move home, I'll be seeing a lot more of the hill, of course. Time will tell, as my plunge into the working day gathers speed. Terminal velocity might find me in Shanghai, or London. There's a Chinese-teaching position at Bedford School open at the moment, too. There's no sense in being fussy right now, though -- beggars can't be choosers.

I suppose you take what you can get, eh?

Wedding Stuff Later

But first... this bit of animation puts a rather new spin on Never Mind The Buzzcocks.

Back From CU

Okay, so I did know who Emma was, in the end. One of those things where you say 'hello' to someone all the time and chat occasionally, but just flat-out forget what they're called. A few interesting ideas and things were thrown around for next year. All I'll say is this: look out for the Christian Union bouncy castle at the fresher's fair.

This afternoon I typed my proposal to Chaosium for a Shanghai Guidebook, though I've yet to print it. I may send it off tomorrow. That'd be a nice gig to have. Pay wouldn't be that bad, either, as I'd have sole authorship. If I were to get the job, that is.

My birthday books arrived, too! Man, PATTERN RECOGNITION is a pretty, pretty book. Mmmmm.......

This is not what my copy looks like:

My copy looks like this:
What you can't see is the map of London in the background, in off-white on white.

Communicado!

Well, I just got a text message from Kirsty asking me to water her goddamn plant.

She and B have, apparently hitch-hiked (sans towel -- those crazy kids) down to Boulogne from Calais. Right now I imagine they're sitting on a park bench surrounded by empty wine bottles, flicking the corks at small children as they pass by while singing rugby songs. You wouldn't think someone like B would know all the words to Eskimo Nell, but there you have it. Periodically they break off from alcoholic minstrelism to hurl abuse in German at the elderly.

In other news, I've received an email from some girl called Emma, informing me about a prayer meeting thingy the Christian Union is holding tomorrow afternoon. I have absolutely no recollection of who she is. She, on the other hand, seems to know exactly who I am. Curse my poor memory for names and, for that matter, people. I'd like to say I'm sure I'll know her when I see her, but I'm not entirely sure that's the case.

Check This The Hell Out.

One of my wild-eyed informants just passed me this info on the QT, slipping out of the crowd-noise in a crowded public thoroughfare. A slip of paper was dropped into my rolled-up Telegraph before the man known to me only as "White Drake" slipped away down a flight of steps and vanished into the side streets of an un-named city.

"I just found an archive of all the issues of Cheap Truth, the original cyberpunk magazine which Bruce Sterling among others contributed to," he whispered, shortly before his departure, "Nice spoof on Lovecraft in issue 3, issue 1 has what may well be a sideswipe at roleplaying (the SCA anyway) and is a powerful crie de cour even now. Good to know they succceeded.
The last issue has some pithy comments on the term cyberpunk and what it means as well."

So here it is, on the QT and strictly hush-hush.

Look at the silly American spelling. Aaaaahhhh....
I wrote less than 1000 words for the "Armoury" sourcebook for CORE Command but, hey, it's still work.

Revisey Sunday

Had a nice evening last night, mooching out in the courtyard with most of the population of Dinwiddy House. This morning, Tim de Laughter of the Polyphonic Spree was on the box, being interviewed by some Channel 4 yoof presenter. For some reason, the venue for this interview was the Starburger place on Chapel Market.

After church today, I did some more work for Readings in Modern Chinese, then bought some books -- picked up The Man In The Iron Mask and a collection of M.R. James' ghost stories for £1.25 each. Good old Penguin Classics, eh? Of course, one might reasonably wonder why I'm buying more books when I have a whole load I've yet to read, which I've had for several months now, and All Tomorrow's Parties and Pattern Recognition should be here tomorrow, courtesy of the Amazon voucher I got for my birthday. I just seem to have some kind of book-buying compulsion. It's like an illness, really.

Belated Friday Five

1. What do you most want to be remembered for?

My contributions to the world of dessert cookery. Also my one-man ascent of Olympus Mons.

2. What quotation best fits your outlook on life?

"Just as believers in a beneficent deity should be haunted by the problem of natural evil, so agnostics, atheists, pessimists and nihilists should be haunted by the problem of friendship, love, beauty, truth, humour, compassion, fun. Never forget the problem of fun." - John Horgan

or, possibly:

"Taxi into town, load up on gin and tonic until everything is slightly slow motion and smile at the prettiest girl you can see." -- Alex James

3. What single achievement are you most proud of in the past year?

This.

4. What about the past ten years?

See above.

5. If you were asked to give a child a single piece of advice to guide them through life, what would you say?

"Never try to eat anything that's bigger than your head."

It's Getting A Bit "Falling Down"

Ye gods, it's hot. Especially in my room. I was revising for Modern Readings in the kitchen where it's cooler, but there's been another Thai invasion. I'm currently debating whether or not to get an ice cream. Or, indeed, when I should go to the cinema to see Ripley's Game -- probably tomorrow for that, I think, and quite possibly by myself, since I can't imagine anyone I know but me will want to see it.

"But it's got John Malkovich as an evil manipulative con artist who destroys the life of an innocent man over a perceived insult!"

Hmm... maybe I'm not selling it well. Maybe I should get on with my work.

Monkey Express

Qing Lit. went fantastically well yesterday, but wasn't as good as the totally kickass game of Starchildren we played in the evening. I refer the interested to the forum thread on RPGnet.

Music & Religion is tomorrow - I spent a load of time skimming books from the reading list in the library today. I was going to take them out, but I remembered I was using a borrowed library card, and until I changed my appearance to that of a blonde girl from Luxembourg, that picture wasn't going to fool anybody. Anyway, it's a lovely sunny day, so I'm going to go shopping and then maybe think about revising in the courtyard. Or the pub. You can tell I'm not overly concerned about this exam, can't you?

Talentless Moron Wins Prize

No, not me. I haven't won any prizes lately. Rather, Gus Van Sant has won the Palme d'Or at Cannes.

Yes, Gus "Psycho Re-make" Van Sant. I can only assume that someone has adulterated the Cannes municipal water supply with some highly psychoactive substances.

Wogan hits Riga

Dear God, it's Eurovision time again.

The German entry is mental. The Russians are being represented by t.A.t.U. (or however the hell you're meant to capitalise that).
Gah. It's no wonder I forget about this event's existence unless forcibly reminded of it.

Another Exam

Classical Prose - Well, bugger. Should have managed a pass, hopefully a 2:2. Possibly a fail. Bugger.

Exams Summary

Music, Shamanism & Healing - talked about Korea, Tarantism and the kecak, desperately trying to shoehorn references to Antonin Artaud in to the last one.

Modern Chinese Literature: Analysis and Interpretation - dropped one question on the factual knowledge, evaluated the macho poetry of Guo Moruo, overused the word "everyman" while talking about The True Story of Ah Q.

Stream o' Consciousness

All things are possible. Except, I am given to understand, being all things to all men.
Though maybe if you were St. Thomas More like in that Robert Bolt play, A Man For All Season...

Do you remember that song, "Girl For All Seasons", that was in Grease 2? No, neither do I. Grease 2 wasn't much cop, was it?

Speaking of cops, I saw something on TV today called Streets of San Francisco, a police drama featuring a youthful but still lizard-like Michael Douglas.

Did you know that Michael Keaton's real name is Michael Douglas? But obviously he had to have a stage name, because Michael Douglas was already around. Michael douglas is very old - it seems like he's been around for ever, though he hasn't, of course. He's only walked the earth for three thousand years.

His Screen Actors' Guild membership card is filled out in a little-known dialect of ancient Egyptian, spoken only in the Kushite kingdoms.

Kush was a desert kingdom to the south-west of Egypt, if I recall correctly. The Sahara might be my favourite desert, though I'm not sure I really have a favourite desert. I don't even have a favourite dessert, though I am partial to apple pie with custard.

Roobarb and Custard, eh? now that was a good cartoon. At least, I remember enjoying it at the time - I have very little recollection of the cartoon itself.
Roobarb and Custard must have been made a good fifteen years ago by now. Being a cat and a dog, Roobarb and Custard would probably be dead by now, if they were real. Thenkfully, they're crudely felt-tipped characters who live on in our memories and "Top 1000000 Children's TV Shows Of ALL TIME" programmes, which will then fill the top ten with programmes that aren't for children. Like the Muppets, or the Simpsons.

Muppets, eh? ..... no, that's enough. I've got work to do.

I Should Be In Bed

Just a few more...


Battleship Potemkin - men in woolly hats revolt after a tragic pram accident on the Odessa Steps.

The Odyssey - primitive Greek package holiday goes awry, with hilarious results!

The Aeneid - Trojan hooligans go on road trip to Italy, pick fight with host nation supporters. Some guy's horse bursts into tears.

Angel Heart - Mickey Rourke goes to New Orleans, where he is insulted in French by Charlotte Rampling. Robert de Niro eats an egg.

Inadequate, Yet Accurate, Summaries

If On A Winter's Night A Traveller - Italo Calvino tells you what you're doing, as it happens. You read a whole bunch of books.

Barry Lyndon - Ryan O'Neal goes on a tour of Europe, comes home only to get shot in the leg by his chubby stepson.

A Bout De Souffle - Jean-Paul Belmondo steals a car. Then he kills a cop and bickers with Jean Seberg for the rest of the movie, trying to persuade her to go to Italy. Every ten minutes, he impersonates Humphrey Bogart.

Top Gun - Kelly McGillis seduces Tom Cruise by dressing like a man.

Star Wars - a farm boy and an old tramp vandalise a space station.

Casablanca - charming slice-of-life drama about the day to day running of a wartime bar in north Africa.

For A Few Dollars More - Clint Eastwood pretends to be a bank robber. Lee van Cleef eats soup using a surprisingly flat spoon. Both turn out to be on the trail of a man with a fetish for clockwork musical accompaniment.

Moby Dick - after sharing a bed with a harpooneer, Ishmael signs on board the whaler Pequod, which later capsizes.

Kinema!

Guy Ritchie's on the TV, talking about Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. "You can't really summarise Lock, Stock," he says.

I'll give it a shot, Guy. Lock, Stock is a hamfisted, gimmicky ersatz mob yarn that contains nothing original or worthwhile, produced by a spoilt rich kid who wouldn't know how to string a cohesive story together if he had a manual with really easy-to-understand diagrams.

This Is The Most Important Coffee Of My Life

Modern Chinese Lit. revision begins in earnest today. I'm reading up on my literary theory.

Today's celebrity sighting: surrealist comic Noel Fielding, walking down Chapel Market on the phone, with his crazy Noel Fielding hair and voice.

Met up with Marcus and Tom Jett last night. Becky and Matt were around too, but did their usual schtick of leaving early to get a train. Me and Marcus decided to make it a joint birthday drinks thing, hitting the Elbow Room on Old Street for one. We then headed out, and eventually ended up in Plastic People. In between, however, we needed to procure some cash, only to discover that there are NO GODDAMNED CASH MACHINES in Old Street. A couple of cops directed us to a Texaco garage, where we got our money and beat a hasty retreat. Some woman was fighting a tramp on the forecourt, a fact we reported to the next rozzers who happened by.

Plastic People was retro, cool and (on the dance floor) almost pitch black. Very nice. On the way home, Marcus struck up conversation with a couple of passing meatheads, whom we then had to evade through trickery and an excuse from Eike's brother, in order to avoid inciting their primitive rage. We also failed to get sandwiches before going to sleep, but never mind.

Rock Abbot

So, there's this rock group from Germany called Feedback.
Nothing unusual there, you think. Except that their guitarist is the head Abbot of the Benedictine order.

Happy Birthday Me

Hooray for Zoidberg!

It's Just Gone Midnight

...and Blue Velvet is coming on on the TV.
I'm stuck in the bored doldrums of someone who needs to study. I'm drinking black coffee.
I'm experiencing the usual clutch of anxieties that come with another impending birthday, where I've achieved nothing and I'm still alone.
Last year, I celebrated my birthday by having an exam. Not even that to come this year.

Black coffee and Blue Velvet. It's come to this.

Stupid Moves Redux

Today's lesson: given the opportunity to walk home with a pretty Chinese girl, do not go "Um, well, I'm kinda going into town to buy a book...."

Great thinking, genius. I can see why they made you a detective.

Book'em, Dano

Wooo, look at me. I'm beta-testing Blogger's new "Dano" interface. Aren't I a bleeding-edge cyberpunk?
Not using it here, by the way, but elsewhere. This elsewhere will be revealed once there's more stuff on it.

Sometimes, at times like this, I can't help but gaze around me and think: where the hell are my shoes?

Straight From The DPRK

It's Kim Jong-il's Livejournal!

"Today I was so depressed I wrote an opera. I want it to come out in the summer which means we have to start casting in the spring, which means I have to order the kidnappings like next week."

My Name's Dante, And I'm The Biggest Idiot Ever


My name is not really Dante, but this is the only untrue part in the line above.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That is all. Thank you for your attention.

H.P. Lovecraft Adventures

This is pretty cool.

Shall I Call You 'Weapon X', Logan?

Ambled over to the Islington Warner last night to see X-men 2 (interestingly, its actual title is just "X2"). It's a better film than the first one by an order of magnitude. The plot's actually worth following, though a little tricky if you're not familiar with the X-men in general. Plenty of action, lots of Wolverine generally being a badass and some super-cool funky powers.

Even Iceman is good. Anna Paquin plays Rogue, whose mutant power appears to be making men go weak at the knees simply by curling her lip, alleged ability to drain people's life-force notwithstanding. Ian McKellen remains a grandstanding super-villain. Storm and Mystique actually, y'know, do stuff, which was pretty unexpected.

Did I mention that Alan Cumming plays Nightcrawler? Not only does he steal every scene he's in, he has the best SFX with his teleporting power. Kelly Hu does well as Deathstryke, though she's under-used. Nice to see her getting work outside of Nash Bridges.

I was going to do a kind of satire thing about the Americans getting all hissy about the fact that large numbers of Iraqi voters would elect an Islamic party, which isn't the kind of government the U.S. wants. This would have involved a make-over of Monty Python's cheese shop sketch but, you know, it would have taken ages and not really been all that funny.

Those of you familiar with the sketch can probably guess how it would have gone, and those of you not familiar with it wouldn't have got the joke anyway. So, ah, let's just kind of take it as read that the Iraqi Democracy Shop Sketch exists in the same mental realm as my yet-to-be-started Great American Novel, the end of Dombey And Son and a decent Highlander sequel.

"You know, the jack goes in the head and then you're in thermal freefall."

A good article on William Gibson here. It's something of a primer, but there are some interesting comments from other authors too. One of them is Jon Courtenay Grimwood, whose novel Pashazade I found an exercise in irritation. He knows how to work cyberpunk, but he hasn't quite managed to engage fully with the genre.

Remember, kids - cyberpunk is a mindset, not a genre. It's easy to get caught up in the trappings, but if you do you're missing the point. Far too many people, both readers and authors, did latch onto smartguns and mirrorshades back in the day. I think that's what killed cyberpunk. Idoru marked a comeback, thankfully (though I prefer Virtual Light).

Poddities

Soooo, Marc-Alex over at Dream Pod 9 has rejected Hispaniola, at least in its present form. Frankly, I think he's right. Not only did we not really convey just how great it was going to be in the proposal, but our plot hook wasn't too amazing in the first place. Jon's come up with a kick-arse reversal of the original concept, though. In this iteration, we keep the setting as is, but the protagonists are the raiders now, not the cops. So, we get our Miami vice car chases, Mad-Max-at-sea pirates, our already way cool Matrix-style action and so forth. Storming.

Also, I mentioned the title of "Dinosaurs + Dirigibles" in an email to Marc, and he sounded interested just by that. D+D is an over-the-top hoot all the way, and it could be fun to develop, so we'll have to start thinking about that. It's a setting Jon and I talked about at length in the first year, and we'd always thought Silhouette would be the system to use, so if the Pod were interested in publishing it, that would be great.

Against my better judgement, went to the Walkabout tonight on Upper Street, with Kirsty, Carole, Kunal and Jaye. Pretty good night, though people had a tendency to apppear and disappear at a moment's notice. I seemed to spend most of my time keep Carole company on the dance floor. There are worse ways to spend an evening, I dare say.

When we got back, the subject of films - and inevitably, "raison d'etre" - came up. I just watched Raison again, and I have to say, I'd forgotten just how good Ciaron's delivery is on the voice-over, especially during the flashback.

"The Agency has rules about these things". Really understated, yet so full of the character. That he could convey the character so well in such an isolated environment (the film has only one close-up) really speaks volumes of his acting ability.

What Is It Good For?

I don't, as a rule, do political schtick here (because Lord knows no one wants to hear my opinion on these things) but I've been thinking a bit about this whole war thingy.

Before the kick-off George and Tony assured us they had super-whizzo irrefutable proof that Iraq's Ba'ath regime was maintaing weapons of mass destruction. Now they tell us they'll find the WMDs as soon as they can get captured Iraqis to talk.

Hmm....

Posterific

New splash page over at the raison d'etre website.
Much more appealing than the old one. I also made a version with credits text on it. Might put that up instead, later.

The Game Is Afoot

Just printed out my essay on Chinese detective fiction in the post-Mao period (no, really).
Three and a half thousand words of Commie whodunit fun.

So now I just need to do all that revision business.

Went to the Fridge in Brixton last night. Contrary to what you'd expect, it's actually pretty hot in there. Rather mental - dayglo all over the shop, outre clothing all round. I was rather underdressed, as I came along on the spur of the moment. So I was still wearing my 'lying on the bed watching Midsomer Murders' clothes.

No Time, No Time, No Time

I don't foresee much updating here over the next few weeks - exams loom and so do essay deadlines.
Just photocopied some past papers - Modern Chinese Literature: Analysis & Interpretation looks overwhelmingly daunting. Going to have to devote a lot of time to it, I think.

Wales was nice. Very sunny. Learned from graffiti by one"J.P." on some steps in Harlech that "Emma is a slag", "Emma is a bitch" and finally, the rather lame "I hate Emma". Emma should think about getting an agent - her graffiti press coverage is all negative at the moment.

And who would have thought that slate steps would take green felt tip so well?

Friday Five Again

Back from Wales. Kind of bored. On with the questions.

1. Who is your favourite celebrity?

Dunno.... Barry Norman?

2. Who is your least favourite?

Could be Lowry Turner, for her generic uselessness. Or maybe it's Jack Nicholson.
No, wait. Anne bloody Robinson. Self-righteous bint.

3. Have you ever met or seen any celebrities in real life?

Yep. Barry Norman for one (yay Baz!). Jimmy Hill, Audrey Tautou. People like that.

4. Would you want to be famous? Why or why not?

Maybe. There are certain nice jobs - music, acting, writing, that sort of thing - that make you famous when they're well-paid.
Getting my face in the papers, however, isn't that attractive.

5. If you had to trade places with a celebrity for a day, who would you choose and why?

If skills were no object, Fernando Alonso (to pick a driver out of the air).
If I don't magically get the required abilities, Mr. Benn style, then Steven Soderbergh.

Updated the backgrounds. The colours are more cheerful, I think.

Right, I'm going home today, so I'm going to get on with packing.

Two Items

First thing first - go and see Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind. I just did and, man, I have a lot of time for that film. I'm going to go and see it again, probably next week.

Secondly, the film brought to mind a spooky dream thing that happened to me recently. Some months ago, I had a dream where I killed somebody - strangled them, I think, though I'm not sure. Anyway, the thing is this dream lurked somewhere in the back of my mind. A few days ago, for some reason (maybe I was reading something that asked "what crimes have you committed?", I don't know) I started thinking about whether or not I'd committed any crimes.

And for a good ten or so minutes, I actually thought I had killed someone in the past. Obviously, logic overcame the false memory - who did I kill, when did I do it, that kind of thing. But I really thought I'd killed somebody. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

And don't even get me started on the dream I had last week involving (of all people) Zoe, a garden party at my house, and me bleeding from the mouth. Dreams are weird. Mine are, at any rate.

Interview

I was awake at half six this morning. That's misleading, because I was never really asleep. I was lying in bed with my eyes shut, but I wasn't asleep.
Mum called at quarter to seven, just in case, but I was well ahead of her.

I put on the kettle, went about my ablutions and put on my suit. I drank my coffee.
I'd been slightly concerned about the tie for some time - it's purple and shiny, and I was afraid it might be a bit over the top.
However, it seems all my other ties are at home in East Anglia, so there was nothing to be done about it.
I hauled on my overcoat, which made me look sort of like a Mafia lawyer, and off I went down to the Tube station in my slightly iridescent tie.

High Street Kensington is on the District and Circle lines. Both of these lines suck. I took the Circle down to Edgware Road and hung about in the cold for a District down to High Street Ken. I read my copy of the Metro - it was shallow and boring. I had expected nothing better.

Got down to Kensington Square with no trouble, but time to spare. I remembered the location from previous visit to Heythrop (which, against all the odds, turns out to be pronounced "Hee-thropp"), so I didn't have to do the usual thing everyone does where you walk right past the college door the first time and do a circuit of the square.

I spent that time getting nervous and reading Mum's good luck text message over and over again. With six minutes to go, I threw caution to the wind (at this point, I was still nervous about my gleaming tie) and went in.

Inside I met some of the organiser people, including Peter Smith the Archbishop of Cardiff. The guy is, frankly, a legend in his own lifetime. Seriously, he rocks.
Anyway, one of my fellow contestants... I mean candidates, had come in at the same time as me. Her name was Helen, an English student at Swansea.

Further inside the maze that is Heythrop (remember: "HEE-thropp"), we met more of the gang. Quite a mixed bunch, though I talked to some more than others and so confuse a few names. Joe was the only other male applicant who'd been called for interview, and was a Cambridge law graduate. He too was wearing a suit and tie. His tie didn't gleam quite as much as mine, but I was suitably reassured.

Also on the staff side was Kitty, a current intern on the CARE programme, which is vaguely similar to the CPI, though this is the CPI's first year. Anyway, I was sitting opposite her at lunch, next to Archbishop Smith and Phil (female), one of the Secreteriat workers. Kitty, it turned out, was working with Alistair Burt, MP for North-East Bedfordshire, so we had a good old chat about Bedfordshire, Jonathan Sayeed, the fact that crazy old Frank Branston is now the mayor of Bedford, that kind of thing.
I'm pretty sure she was, y'know.... hitting on me. Over the course of the day, that is.

[Reader's Voice] : Dude! You should totally have got her number!

I agree, Reader's Voice, but I was kind of locked in conversation with the Archbishop of Cardiff. Still, if I get the place I'll most likely see her again. If not, well, maybe it's time to start attending Jonathan Sayeed's constituency days. He is my MP, after all... *waggles eyebrows*


Anyway, on with the prologue (don't worry, foreign readers - this is merely a turn of phrase). The exercises weren't too bad - the first was a series of short debating bits. Each of us in a group of three would take it in turns to propose a motion, oppose it or act as chairman. The topics were "The War in Iraq is a Just War" (I was opposing - luckily); "Top-Up Fees Are the Only Way Forward for Higher Education" (I was chairing - luckily) and "Faith Schools in England cause Divisiveness" (I was proposing - gah!).
It was an interesting exercise. I wasn't too great as a chairman, but the Iraq thing allowed me to make backhanded digs at the Halliburton corporation.

My interview was just before lunch. It was with the Archbishop, Phil and Charles Wookey of the Secreteriat. It was fine really. I only really buggered up on the "So what are your plans for the future?" question. Curiously enough, that was the very kind of question I had expected I would mess up on. I had tried to remember some good answers, but it came so late in the interview that I'd forgotten what I'd prepared. C'est la vie.

The written exercise was this - you're an intern, and the MP you work for has been asked by the local paper to write an article explaining why he supports lowering the voting age to 16. Unfortunately, he's stuck in a Select Committee meeting, so he asks you to write it on his behalf, in the next 45 minutes - he says whatever you write will be fine.
So.... no pressure. We got given this briefing along with a whole bunch of stuff from lobby groups, Hansard transcripts, all that stuff. About fifty pages, I'd say - judicious skimming was required. Interesting, though - I've never read transcripts from the House of Lords before. Anyway, we were given an hour to read this stuff and write a 500-750 word article on the subject. Wheee.

At this point, my snuffly nose kicked back in and I sniffed my way through the last of my Lockets. My article was a bit on the short side, but I'm hoping my deathless prose stylings will score points. Hell, if you're still reading the blog post, I may be in with a chance.

So, off I went after that. Fact is, this whole experience has been pretty good for me. I met some very nice people and got quite a morale boost. I was one of the last nine applicants. when I first arrived I was all "I don't know how well I'll do", but I was repeatedly assured that if I had made it this far, I was 'severely qualified'. They received 42 (*bling*! Douglas Adams coincidence!) applications that - and I quote - 'met the application requirements'. So, you know, I actually got selected for something! Huzzah!
And to think I was happy when they let me study music at SOAS. I've actually got something to offer an employer! I'm not entirely sure what that might be, but let's not mess with a winning formula.

In other news, James is going to Boston on Thursday. I know he's able to vote and all that, but I still think of him as my baby brother. It'll be strange to see him heading off to another continent by himself. Of course, when I was only slightly older than he is now, I went to China. I've wondered from time to time what they were doing the other side of the barrier, when they saw me off. I'm about to find out.

Here Goes

I'm going to bed. First thing tomorrow is the selection process. I'm laying everything out in a neurotically neat way - suit.... papers.... pens....winning smile...

I am so gut-wrenchingly nervous it isn't even funny.

Spies From The Future

Some of you may think it strange that I routinely read Pravda online, but I'd like you to banish those thoughts to the back of your minds for the time being. Instead, read this article about UFOs. Would the Guardian print something like this? They probably would, actually.

What has Bond been up to?

Ian Cooper lays it down....

"As a British taxpayer I have paid good taxes to HM Government MI6 to fund James Bond's casino expense account, Saville Row suits, and gadgets from Q division. So I have one question: Osama Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein. How could Bond have let it get to this state? Time was you could rely on the 00 branch to nip any mad dictator's evil schemes for mass murder and world domination in the bud. Removing WMD from insane leaders was a particular speciality of his IIRC.

"Now sure Osama does not spend a lot of time in the world's top casinos or have any beautiful womenfolk who Bond could seduce (or even a cat) but surely there was an in somewhere. And Saddam'sevil sons certainly seem to enjoy the international playboy lifestyle. Surely there was an opening there for Bond to win his way past the evil henchman such as Chemical Ali and take the big guy out (preferably in his private jet).

"Of course I fully expected members of the SAS to have to abseil into Saddam's WMD facility or Osama's mountaintop fortress, but the full-scale deployment of troops can only suggest one thing: Bond has let us down.

"I knew things were off to a shaky start when the put Dame Judi Dench in charge of the SIS. She is an actress for crying out loud. What was the PM thinking?

"Perhaps we need to consider pensioning the old fella off and getting some new blood into the 00 branch."


Also, A Colder War is a damn fine novelette, available online in its entirety.

Have You Ever Been To Imperial College?

The place resembles a mental hospital. And wandering around it at night, lost... well, it's like being lost in a mental hospital. Filled with scary-ass psychos who, like, study engineering and stuff.

It's My Life

The above is the title of a late-night debate show hosted by... Terry Christian.
Today they're debating whether or not drugs are a good idea.

Brilliantly, they got Bez out of the Happy Mondays in as a pundit. Nice.

TV Review

The Martin Freeman (of The Office) vehicle, Hardware, just came on.
It's rare that I look at a programme and think "Hey, Waterworld's on the other channel!", but this is one of those instances.

Do DIY shop employees even still wear those fecking brown coats? It's like we're back in the Sixties.

Update: a few minutes have passed. Hardware is better than Last Of The Summer Wine, but its genuinely funny jokes are shackled by the horrible format.

Feeling Much Better

I can actually, y'know, walk around and talk now, which is handy as all that time I was spending lying in bed watching Columbo was time I wasn't spending in a flustered panic about my interview on Tuesday.

For the concerned relatives, here's a rundown of the nightmare scenario I face. I have to be at Heythrop College for 9 o'clock (that's one way to thin out the ranks of undergraduate applicants). I'll be there till about five in the afternoon. After the introduction bit, there's a group exercise, a written exercise and an interview with a panel. Doesn't sound pretty.

On the other hand, I sorted out my suit for the day and I look pretty damn good. Now I only need to get over the hurdle that I'm woefully underqualified for the job.

Oxford won the Boat Race by about a foot. Before that I watched a rather good film of The Scarlet Pimpernel starring Jane Seymour, and now it's time for the Brazilian Grand Prix. Not a bad afternoon, TV-wise.

Soooo, I'm watching the BBC's "Big Read" launch programme, and every book but a few seems to be one with a film adaptation they can show clips of.
They even played "The End" while Martin Bell was talking about Heart of Darkness, for crying out loud.

There are, by the way, a couple of new photos of me and my brother in the China photos section of the webpage.

Urgh

Gradually recovering from awful cold. Got it off James, I think.
Doing belated Friday Five in effort to stay sane.

1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life?

Um... one house - moved there when I was one, from the flat in Tottenham.
Lived in three different flats in London, two different flats in Beijing.


2. Which was your favorite and why?

Well, the house. It's my home.

3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why?

Exciting. But I've never really "moved house" in the sense of totally uprooting (that I can remember), since there's always been my room at home to go back to for the last twenty years.

When I do move into a new flat, I'm not taking all my possessions with me - I generally just bring a suitcase or two and kick off from there.

4. What's more important, location or price?

Location, up until the point where I can't afford it.
Then price, up until the point it's a freezing garrett.

5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)?

An impluvium in the front hall. Yes, I do want to live in a Roman villa, so there.

Heh Heh

My brother has a friend (well, an acquaintance) whose nickname is "Crack-rabbit".
He acquired this moniker due to the fact he resembles a rabbit on crack.

The evening did improve from the last post.

That is all.

So, It's Come To This

Drowning my sorrows in Minervois red wine, listening to Black Box Recorder.

Bloody hell.

At least the wine's decent.

Dammit

Looks like I'm not going out to James' do down in Mayfair.
Bianca can't make it, and I'm not going on my own.
So, forget it.

I kinda wish I hadn't said "No, I don't mind". Because, really, I do.

Dammit.

I Am The Black Pharoah

I know some people hate the inclusion of "Which X Are You?" results on weblogs with the burning fiery passion of a thousand suns, but this one is good.

I amNyarlathotep! The 999 forms of Nyarlathotep are a point of meditation for the true initiate. It is through these manifold faces that the secrets of the universe are made known. Called "The Crawling Chaos", Nyarlathotep is the disembodied ego of Azathoth and thus the universal "I" of known reality. Some of the many documented forms are; Father of Knives, Nephren-Ka, the Black Man, the Beast of the Lashing Tongue to name a few.

Which Great Old One are you?

Well, I'm Back

Popped up home on Mothers' Day. On Monday was James' concert. He was really good - his group did Cocaine, All Your Love and Mustang Sally. James nailed All Your Love in particular. The rest of the performers.... eh. About half of them were good. The other half just held them back. But I guess you can't have everything.

As I walked up here from the station, I saw a cherry-picker lorry parked across the way. It looked like they were taking the lights down from the trees on Pentonville Road.

No Title

Link.

Other link.

My Life As A Website

I think this may be the best lifestyle site ever created.

Also, have at look at this utterly mad-as-a-sack-of-badgers tribute to Ray Harryhausen.

End of an Era

Last day of term yesterday - so Modern Chinese Literature: Analysis and Interpretation was my last ever BA Chinese lesson. There are revision sessions to come, but that's not quite the same thing.

In the evening I met up with Paul, and we went down to ULU where we found Leo, Christoph, Meli and some random Germans. After Leo discovered that one of the ULU barmen was a guy he used to go to school with, it was off to Old Street. En route, we attempted to pry information from Leo about his new lady-friend, but with little success. We ended up in the Pool Bar, where we spent a good amount of time elegantly wasted.

Okay, not elegantly.

I accompanied Eike to 333 so that he wouldn't be stuck by himself with the random Germans (who were pleasant enough, even if we weren't sure who they were - I think one of them knew Meli in Beijing), and got back to Dinwiddy House in time (about 4 a.m.) to find Freddie and James shouting out of their kitchen window. V was up there, too, so I popped up for a chat and a sit-down in the nice comfy stolen chair.

Back up to Stondon tomorrow for Mothers' Day, I think. On Monday, James has his gig at the college. He says they're playing "All Your Love", by the Bluesbreakers, which should be pretty cool.

And on the 8th of April, I have an interview for that parliamentary internship place. I really hope I don't blow it.

HEARD ON SKY NEWS
(via William Gibson's weblog)


"Umm Qasr is a town similar to Southampton", UK Defence Minister Geoff Hoon told the House of Commons yesterday. "He's either never been to Southampton, or he's never been to Umm Qasr", said one British soldier, informed of this while on patrol in Umm Qasr. Another added: "There's no beer, no prostitutes, and people are shooting at us. It's more like Portsmouth."


And in a similar vein - yet even further more livejournal linkage. Everyone's got one these days, even Saddam Hussein.

TV Go Home Returns

Here we go.

"The Third World War in Sepia - Startling footage of current events digitally degraded to look as though they're occuring in 1908, thereby lending the proceedings a much-needed sense of historical distance."

Interesting Blog

A weblog from Iraq.

Which would appear to be genuine.

Now We Go Over To Brian O'Hanraha-Hanrahanrahanrahan

I just saw BBC News' new War In Iraq logo/jingle thingy, and all I could think of was The Day Today with its comedy WAR studio backdrop.

In discussing the war with the guys in my gaming group, it was interesting that the archaeologists amongst us were mainly concerned about possible war damage to Mesopotamian relics. ^_^

I'll Drink To That

In these times of trouble, thank the Lord for the Gulf War Drinking Game.

I've decided to stop getting annoyed at my slow progress with Le Citta Invisibili. This comes after the realisation that the last time I spoke Italian to anyone must be about nine years ago by now, and my most recent lesson was two years before that. These things considered, I'm doing okay.

Oneiromancy For Fun And Profit

Sleep patterns out of whack. This is not good.
On Monday night, I was up till 4am working, but still made it to Qing Lit. at 9 o'clock (in Vernon Square, though, so not hard to get to).
Tuesday night (that's last night, for those keeping score at home) I was up till 2am, but still made it to Classical Prose (at Russell Square).

I'm vaguely happy with that, but very tired. The above paragraph uses far too many parentheses.

We finished Escape From Innsmouth this evening, which was nice. The Unknown Armies game is taking shape, and should begin after the holidays.

And so to bed.

Sasquatch Cop

I found a link to an old DFILM animation I made for some friends. DFILM is a site where you can make these short animations with speech-bubble dialogue, then you can send them kind of like an e-card.

Anyway, Sasquatch Cop was something I made a while ago. It's got a topical gag in the second scene that wasn't funny even when I wrote it, but I like the DFILM site and feel the need to share.

There was a better one I did, with crazy German dialogue and all that jazz, but I can't seem to find it.

Is she not talking to me, or what?
A call back, or a text or something would be nice.

You know, for a guy who once wrote a film about the importance of telling people how you feel, I don't take my own advice very well.

Damn it.

Ceci N'est Pas Un Blog-post

Okay, big-style update to come (tomorrow, probably) but not right now. I'm too tired.
However, this action-packed infolump will include:

- Roy Ayers at Ronnie Scott's
- B's party
- Gig at SOAS
- Party time at Dinwiddy House
- Jon Shenoy's 22nd birthday (with a gambling theme)
- The ULU Dramasoc's production of "The Browning Version"

Tomorrow is Rory's birthday as well. Way too much expenditure at the moment.
Time, money. Money, time. Just like that - it's gone!

Readers' Mail

No really. I do get the occasional email.

Someone wanted to know which HTML editor I use for the main site - it's Notepad. Simple as that.
I don't have much truck with this not-coding-it-yourself malarkey. But then I have been programming for the last fourteen or so years.

The other question that bears addressing on the weblog was about what game book projects I have coming up. the answer to that one is "none at the moment". But I do have possibilities. There should be some freelance work for Dream Pod 9 soon, probably for CORE Command.
As I've mentioned before, I'm also working up a proposal for a Call of Cthulhu Shanghai Guidebook (for the 1920s). I went to the SOAS library today for some books. I've found some very cool stuff, including a tourist guide (with a Pidgin English phrasebook!) first published in 1920, and a book on secret societies in 20s Shanghai. Exactly the kind of stuff I need.

I should also be meeting John Nephew of Atlas Games at GenCon UK soon, so I may be able to swing some work there if I'm lucky. It's all about the networking.

By Popular Demand...

... Friday Five. Since I'm being slandered elsewhere.


1. Do you like talking on the phone? Why or why not?

Depends on who I'm talking to, really.

2. Who is the last person you talked to on the phone?

Marcus, about Jon's birthday party. Which is tomorrow.

3. About how many telephones do you have at home?

Two. Including mobiles, five.

4. Have you encountered anyone who has really bad phone manners? What happened?

Yeah, telemarketers. The bastards. I usually either tease them or just slap the phone down.
Last time I hung up abruptly, though, they phoned back. Damn it.

It's not a case of bad phone manners, but Jonny Nexus of Critical Miss hates talking on the phone.

5. Would you rather pick up the phone and call someone or write them an e-mail or a letter? Why or why not?

Phone, probably. It's nice to actually hear people's voices. Vani is misinformed.
I just don't chatter. There's a difference.

Damn You, Judd Two Books!

Curse these infernal second-hand bookshops. I said I wasn't going to buy more books that I didn't really need.
And yet...

I've got Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World by (who else?) Haruki Murakami, The Film Sense by Sergei Eisenstein and Cyberpunk and Cyberculture by Dani Cavallaro. I p[icked up that last one because, well, it's about cyberpunk. No idea what it's going to be like.

Dave Sim's Guide To Dating

Oh, yes. Here we go.

Sue Grafton Hits X, Brain Explodes

[courtesy of Steve D]

Miss Grafton was found dead in her London apartment earlier this evening. She committed suicide at approximately 5.55pm by shooting herself. Next to her body was a simple note that read:

"I AM NOT WRITING A FUCKING NOVEL ABOUT A XYLOPHONE YOU COCKSUCKERS"

In lieu of flowers, please send dictionaries to the Sue Grafton Foundation, building a world where people can write books about Xerox machines in peace"

Sorry, this has just been in my head for years. But she pulled off Q, I'm sure she can do X.

But what happens when she reaches Z? Rho is for Rhombus? Ka is for Kawaii?

Steve

A Canadian Apology To The U.S.A.

[Courtesy of Rick Mercer from This Hour Has 22 Minutes, CBC Television]

"On behalf of Canadians everywhere, I'd like to offer an apology to the United States of America. We haven't been getting along very well recently and for that, I am truly sorry.

I'm sorry we called George Bush a moron. He is a moron but, it wasn't nice of us to point it out. If it's any consolation, the fact that he's a moron shouldn't reflect poorly on the people of America. After all it's not like you actually elected him.

I'm sorry about our softwood lumber. Just because we have more trees than you doesn't give us the right to sell you lumber that's cheaper and better than your own.

I'm sorry we beat you in Olympic hockey. In our defense I guess our excuse would be that our team was much, much, much, much better than yours.

I'm sorry we burnt down your White House during the war of 1812. I notice you've rebuilt it! It's Very Nice.

I'm sorry about your beer. I know we had nothing to do with your beer but, we feel your pain.

I'm sorry about our waffling on Iraq. I mean, when you're going up against a crazed dictator, you want to have your friends by your side. I realize it took more than two years before you guys pitched in against Hitler, but that was different. Everyone knew he had weapons.

And finally on behalf of all Canadians, I'm sorry that we're constantly apologizing for things in a passive-aggressive way which is really a thinly veiled criticism. I sincerely hope that you're not upset over this. We've seen what you do to countries you get upset with".

'Oh, Bother!" said Thomas

Heh.

So, I've looked at the PDF of the new London Student. My name is in embarassingly large type at the top of the article. Ho hum.

I don't know who reviewed Solaris - it was an okay review, but I'll say this: he didn't do much research. Stanislaw Lem is Polish, not Russian. Big difference, at least if you're Russian or Polish. Oh, and the space programme wasn't "ailing" in 1961, was it? Look up 'Yuri Gagarin' in, well, any book.

Maybe I'm being overly picky. No, wait, I'm not. You can't make an informed review of Solaris in any form without either a) ignoring the historical background (a reasonable approach) or b) knowing something about the historical background. Talking about the novel and films' context without checking up first is just a bad idea.

Solaris was published in Russian, but only some 12 years after its initial publication. Interestingly, Philip K. Dick believed Stanislaw Lem to be a Communist Party committee, rather than an actual individual. Wacky old Philip K. Dick, eh?


Listening to: The Pogues, If I Should Fall From Grace With God
What This Means: I Should Go To Bed Now

I seem to be getting featured on the front page of Blogger quite a lot. Which is cool, I suppose.

After more buggering around, I've sorted out the slideshow thing. V may have a better layout than I do, but I have crazy-ass changing picture things in the top right-hand corner....

So, it's gone two in the morning. I'm back from Ronnie Scott's and clearly not going to make it to Wang laoshi's lesson at nine in the morning.
Is this my worst attendance for a course ever?
Given that there are certain lessons in Beijing I don't even remember attending more than, say, twice - no.
Is it going to hurt the possibility of references from Professor Wang? Dear Lord, yes.

I hate to say it, though, but I'll probably learn more by just going through the text at home than I can by sitting in class for two hours, listening to Lucy and French Girl wittering on.

Oh, I'll get the notes off Akane. Hopefully.

Excellent! The internship application is done!

Now, I shall have a shower, make myself some noodles, do my Classical Prose preparation, get dressed up all spiffy-like, and join Leo, David et al to go to Ronnie Scott's, posting the form on the way!

Huzzah!

There's an RPGnet discussion on faith that I'm probably not going to get involved with. It sparked some thoughts, but they're not directly relevant to that question (which is about the difference between 'supernatural' and 'spiritual').

However, there's an interesting thing about the nature of faith. Someone said she thought "The whole point of faith is believing in something when there is absolutely no evidence to support it."

Hmm.... not really. I, for one (and I believe Thomas Aquinas is with me on this one, which is good company), do not go in for the whole "leap of faith" thing. I believe in God for much the same reason I believe in gravity. Even though the existence of neither has been conclusively proven, I believe that the weight of evidence is enough to go on.

Of course, the existence of gravity is largely based on one, repeatedly observed phenomenon (apple--->tree---->ground---->Newton), while I find the evidence for God comes in various parts. One piece of evidence is not enough, but together they make a compelling argument.

To go off on an utter tangent, one of the classic arguments is the "look at how complex and perfectly-formed the world is" versus "it's all just luck".

Well, if you look at a novel, you could choose to assume it was created by thousands of monkeys smashing typewriters at random. I, on the other hand, tend to infer an author.

Next week: Tom tackles the Question of Evil!

No, not really

Filling in internship application form. Guys on the Tangency board over RPGnet surprisingly helpful.
Cool.

This isn't actually as bad as I'd feared.
Hopefully I'll get it done, photocopied (for personal records) and posted off today.

Random thought processes follow. Sorry about that.

I can't wait till this fecking degree is over. I've had it up to here, I really have. Someone pour me a drink. Why the hell am I writing an essay on mass literature in 1980s China? Or, for that matter, an essay on Zimbabwean spirit medium practices? What happened to my education after 1999? Did I just flip out and go nuts?

Oh, wait, yes. That would indeed appear to be what I did. The best of it is, despite being so close to the end, I still have plenty of time to blow it and fail the whole course. Whoop-de-do.
Time to get back to China - they have longer opening hours.

It Keeps The Wolf From The Door

I got an interesting email out of the blue yesterday, talking about the Siena Piano (look it up), an instrument reputedly made in the 1800s out of wood from King Solomon's Temple. This guy, who's tracking the piano down for a music publisher, tells me that it was actually built in the 1950s some time, sort of as a publicity stunt.

Yeah, that's right. He emailed me to tell me this. No provocation whatsoever. It's cool, but a little odd.

I've stumbled into a musical version of The Ninth Gate - but I don't appear to be in the Johnny Depp role, so I should be okay. That said, if I start hanging around Portugal in the company of a mysterious blonde girl, try to get me to snap out of it, right?

Australian Grand Prix

Wow. Best GP I've seen in a long time. Nasty for BAR, though. In 9th and 10th they're in the only non-point scoring place ahead of Minardi. Ouch.
but the whole thing was unpredictable and actually involved (wait for it) close racing. Amazing. Cool. These changes could make F1 great again.

15 laps to go and 2nd 3rd and 4th are all in the same camera shot. What a fanfeckingtastic Grand Prix.

I seriously wanted to take up racing. But I wouldn't have been able to afford to maintain the licence.
It's a shame.

Neil came back from the pub with a bunch of his mates. Many of them were quite charming. One of them I came this close to smacking in the face.
If the nineteenth century gave us nothing else, it gave us the sense of the decorum that stops dinner from turning into a brawl.

Not A Great Day

You know, I missed Shrove Tuesday this year, but remembered Ash Wednesday. Typical.
I never seem to mentally connect the two. And just now I've been reminded that Shrove Tuesday is a.k.a. Mardi Gras, and suddenly I'm back in Beijing on a boring week-night.

Henry and I were out drinking - not on Jiuba Jie, I don't think, but perhaps Vic's (it has a free pool table) or just outside Beishida. Anyway, it was a Tuesday night, no one was around and we were pretty bored. At our wits' end, about ten o'clock, we decided to head for Chaoyang Park, and a last ditch attempt at either Schiller's 3 (or was it Schiller's 2 at Chaoyang? I never could remember at the time) or The Big Easy. Yeah, the Big Easy, Beijing's torn-from-Bourbon-Street New Orleans theme bar.

There was barely a sign of life as we got out of the taxi and crunched over the cinder drive towards the French-style building of the bar. When we opened the door, though, different story. The place is packed - feathered masks are pressed into our hands and a bunch of Chinese girls shout "It's Mardi Gras!" at us.

"Is it?" we go, as the crush of the crowd pulls us into the bar via osmosis. And a damn fine night out ensues.




Today hasn't been anywhere near as much fun. Once again I've been alone and thinking too much, which is no state for anyone to be in.
A whole load of my friends are going out, but I can't afford to join them. This, too, is depressing.
I'm getting tired of being by myself, but I don't really know what to do about it.
Well, these things will pass. I'll finish up my translation work, maybe go for a drink with Leo.
The Australian Grand Prix is on tonight.

What an utterly exciting life I lead.