On the 11th of April, 2010, the first entry of this new blog was published. Several hiatuses (hiati?) and breaks down the line, sure, but I've been writing and publishing basically at least once a month for three years. Three years! I've got friends who are leaving for degree courses that last as long. I've already done mine!
When you think about it, like I'm doing now sat in one of the coldest parts of the Scholary (my room, duh), this is pretty amazing. Usually each post is at least a thousand words, (last week's was two thousand), done in a whole continual draft and re-edit process. I've only ever redrafted one piece from scratch, and I don't delete my abandoned posts...merely leave them as they are. Maybe, one day when I'm rich and famous I'll get the whole thing printed in volumes, bound in real leather and lined with gold leaf, printed and bound in it's completeness...ahhh. Yeah right. Since that first post, I've moved house no less than three times,had three short term relationships, three part time jobs, almost £2000 worth of private instrumental and vocal teaching under four different teachers, two different laptops and an almost infinite number of other arbitrary statistics. As I log in to my blogger homepage, I've had 7,700 pageviews, which is no small potatoes for a slice-of-life blog, which mainly focuses on how miserable I am and how difficult everything can be! I know I have a core audience of supporters who fall upon each and every post that gets linked, several of whom let me know how much they enjoy reading my work. To you, thanks and praise. I know it can't be easy sometimes when it's not all sweetness and light...but my intention is to present a true account of how I feel and what's happening. I know that what I've written sometimes has been... interpreted differently though, a dangerous journey into the limited power of authorial intent versus what people actually read into. I try not to use people's real names as well, which sometimes works out well, but I'm sure it isn't too difficult to work out who I'm talking about all the time. I remember coming up with all sorts of nicknames for people in Norwich, like The Chief, Sensei, The Philanderer, The Maestro, and of course The Loser... The Loser like no other.
This will be my 109th published post by the time I get round to finishing it. It doesn't take me especially long to write either, so in retrospect the fact that I managed to hash out a 12,021 word dissertation (with full colour pictures) in 8 days is actually less surprising the more I think about it. I usually make this stuff up off the top of my head, no research material or drafting, rather than having stacks of prepared sources. I still write my blog for the same reasons that I started it: I enjoy writing and it makes getting things off my chest a lot easier, like some sort of spleen vent valve. Delving through the beginning of the archive, it's interesting to see how much my writing has changed. It's quite like a number of other first-time writers without formal training. Of course, all this practice later and well... I dunno. At least I've learned to be less grandstanding. It's still the same ponderous dross, from the same ponderous old git, but I'd like to think it's become more readable since I began.
At this point in my life, things are less than exciting. I'm still unemployed, still with no immediate place to go once I leave the Scholary. Arrangements in Truro aren't especially geared towards those without disposable income. I've been living off the least amount possible, which has been a surprising journey into boring meal solutions, not even going into shops for fear of spending money, and drying my liver out. My dear mother, the greatest Jewess on the soil, sent my Nintendo Gamecube down via courier, which has been installed next to the television in the living room, co-existing peacefully with the resident Xbox 360, jacked in to the scart on the side leaving the usual HDMI well alone. This is shades of Bury street all over again, because everything really does just roll around and it's all exactly the same. The only thing left is for a stray cat to enter the house and we're almost done. It's business as usual as far as my gaming habits are concerned as well, as one of my most important pieces of software is here too: KILLER7. Anybody who follows me on Twitter will know that I am ever so slightly obsessed with this insane thing, which I usually describe as a work of art before I say it's a videogame. I've started all over again on not only that, but Metroid Prime (what the hell is with that control system anyway), Super Smash Brothers Melee and Soul Calibur II. I've also got Metal Gear Solid, Fire Emblem and The Legend of Zelda; The Wind Waker too, but I haven't deleted my precious saves for them. I'm unemployed, single and have little funds: I'm very interested in staying in at the moment, so I'm going to do it properly. I might just get hold of a cheap telly with a scart port in the back after I get paid so I can take the 'Cube up to my room so there's definitely no chance of conflicting with my fellow Housemates' desires for on demand television services or FIFA/Burnout party &c &c. This isn't about having arguments with people, this is just about making everything as easy as possible for all parties. Sometimes it's possible to please most of the people most of the time.
Staying in because I'm poor has actually been an enjoyable experience. Brain-bending odysseys and arcade fighting games make a wonderful panacea when coupled with an almost constant intake of tea, a worthy distraction from NOT going out and NOT drinking. The past couple of times I've been out have actually been hilariously enjoyable experiences - a week ago I managed to reach my physical limit for beer and survived and at the weekend saw Chippie, a really good and honest friend I met at that home from home from home, The City Inn, Truro. The Playhouse Bar it certainly ain't, but a real pub that's far enough away from the Cathedral to matter makes all the difference. The 'clientele', (or patrons as they're usually known) are pretty nice guys, and coming from hard-drinking stock, I find being in a pub a familiar and relaxing experience. The fact that they serve alcohol in large and satisfying doses is... well, just an added bonus! (haha yeah right). The weekend also brought its share of awkward social politics and answers to a lot of unspoken questions about the social state of play. It's all good fun after all.
So, what next for the Songman's Rest? I don't really know, to be quite honest! I'm at an intermediary point in my life still, what with all this employment and accommodation still in the air. I'm still really quite scared about basically not being able to afford to live in Cornwall: being brutally honest, I could be unemployed, unsure of the future and playing videogames and obsessing about washing up literally anywhere else in the country. I do not need to be here, worrying about the ridiculous cost of housing, when I could be somewhere else. I could be back in Norwich for God's sake. But... I don't want to be anywhere else. I want to be a Lay Vicar of Truro Cathedral Choir. I am proud that I have been asked to join the full time team, and I will make a difference and I will succeed here...somehow. I'm not going to let anybody down, especially not myself, or indeed the Big Man. You'll be pleased to hear that I still haven't had a date since... Oh like, the summer now, or indeed that I even have the courage or confidence in order to ask. Of course there is somebody I kind of like, have a crush on I guess, but we'll see how that goes. Maybe I will ask. But probably I won't.
The tagline still stands. This is a tale of love, of life, and the end of the stall (being Decani Alto 1 puts you at the end anyway) which is poor only in a financial sense now. Gone are the days where I am bullied by the senior, or at odds with the director. I am joining a respectable team of good-humoured and skilled semi-professional singers. It's only semi (careful) because the pay is... vocational more than a wage. The attitude brought and the skill and musicality of these people is maybe not quite as high as say, Westminster Cathedral, but is without question the best musical environment I have been in so far. I am fortunate and incredibly grateful to be a part of it not only last year, or this year, but for years to come.
I think I'll be keeping to the almost-weekly schedule. I wouldn't keep writing if I didn't enjoy it, and the weeks where I haven't written anything have been those weeks where I've either been too down to consider it, or very busy; times where writing just hasn't fit into the schedule of either my life or my mood. I will continue to write exactly what I want to, and boo hoo if you don't like it. I've made and lost friends over what's been published before, and I would hate for that to change either. Maybe one day I'll be fortunate enough to take some writing classes, and really improve my form, but until then, I'll keep blithering on, and I'll see you on the other side.
Monday 15 April 2013
Sunday 7 April 2013
Tidal Change
So, three months on the 'new' weekly schedule...almost. A week dropped here and there due to being busy, or just down to good, old-fashioned depression - I am as tired of writing about feeling emotionally disappointed as you must be reading about it.
Now is of course a spring time of discontent. Due to my own budgetary incompetence I am reduced to living on the sum total of twenty pounds sterling a week; if it isn't food, I can't have it. I haven't even written to anybody this week! Sure, I'm still waiting for the airmail to come through, but I owe a return to my local friend and right trusty cynical companion, Mr. Godolphin. I traded in a copy of Soul Calibur V (an ultimately disappointing purchase in itself, actually) for the princely sum of a fiver at the start of this week, yet a further disappointment in itself. The pricing of videogames is something that will always confuse and infuriate me. Anyway! This 'free' five pounds, independent of my bank account (a mere eighth of the original price) has been the only other money I have had, and predictably it has gone already (I cheated and spent part of it on milk and cereals). Other than that I've only spent £7.38 out of my £20 this week though, and it's looking promising. I have eight portions of £2.50 to spend, that's almost enough for a day's food, especially as most of my meals are based around large portions of rice or pasta. Thankfully, both of these commodities are cheap to the point of being easily affordable, I just have to make sure meat stays in the menu...
It's really tough though. I'm being so hard on myself making sure I don't go out. For the price of a pint of Guinness, I can make two meals, basically. When your financial constraint comes down to that simple dilemma... Well, I've made my decision. I can live without a pint but I can't bear to go hungry. I've got a couple of bottles knocking about should I really want a drink... But to be perfectly honest I've been fine without. I can't actually go into a pub and not have a drink though. The last time I managed it, I was at the City (a spiritual home from home in Truro if ever there was one) drinking pints of water approximately every 10 minutes. The act of going to a pub or a bar is so inextricably linked with the act of drinking that I cannot do one without doing the other. Funnily enough I hardly ever drink at home unless it's predrinking!
I'm doing okay though. I haven't gone mental just yet, and to be perfectly honest my social life is no less for saying I'm not going out. It's bizarre if you look at it that way, but in review a lot of my social life comes from me actually getting out there and running into people. I can sit here all day and the only person who'll telephone me is my own mother. Just her! I don't think that's massively problematic really, because my mother is a witty old battleaxe who will do anything she can to make sure I'm alright, you know: happy, healthy, got enough to eat, getting enough sleep... She is the very image of a Jewish mother and let me tell you here and now that every stereotype is true, especially the stereotype about the stereotypes being true; it is a self-fulfilling stereotype. I'm getting off the point though, because I was talking about my broken social scene. With the sudden total lack of cash, I'm even more reticent to call people and go out because, hey, I get a bit embarrassed when I can't afford to!
Things are possibly the quietest they have been on all fronts, and you know I'm really not surprised. There are two words that come out of my mouth that don't seem to register with a lot of people, and usually (how long did you think you had to wait until I got to this point seriously) women I'm even remotely interested in just don't seem to get it, and these two words are "CALL ME". There is an unspoken meaning behind these seemingly insignificant words and I am putting it on the internet so if you forget it is always here. If I say this to you, doesn't matter who you are as long as you have my number, and I'm serious now so pay attention it means: I am interested in seeing you (socially or romantically OR MAYBE BOTH IF YOU'RE LUCKY) and I am unsure as to when you are free or best available to talk to but I am free a lot of the time so just drop me a line. That's it guys. I am an unemployed, unattached man. I have a lot of spare time on my hands and I usually end up spending it on cleaning which is pretty miserable for saying I'm supposed to be young and enjoying my life (newsflash most of the time I'm not). If we boil it down further, it basically translates as "I am interested in you, are you interested in me?" Black and white sensibilities as standard. When I was younger I was always surprised when people just rang up to talk to me, because it didn't happen often. I was called upon if someone wanted something I had or could do for them... And we're almost back to that.
Maybe this is something that 'normal' people don't have a problem with. People don't call you... and that's fine. Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all to anybody, and I'm just taking this all way too seriously. Maybe! This is one of those social boundary things I have immense difficulty with, especially taking into account all the times I have been told off, reprimanded, bitch slapped and basically rejected for being "too intense", which is something I can barely tell (but definitely not because I'm not intense woah no)... I worry about it. Am I bothering people too much? I remember once calling someone twenty times in a row when I was younger, so that's probably the definition of being too intense so at least I don't do that sort of thing these days. It all comes from a root problem I have with communicating with other people, namely "is what I have to say of any interest to anybody else?" I will often stop talking for hours in end entirely due to this principle, usually erroneously. It is the source of having a block on when I try to write my blog as well: I'm not exactly viral material, and I don't imagine for a second that I'll get picked up for a publishing contract because of my quirky, slice-of-life blog is so popular oh no (That'll be Berkeley Girl anyway). My inability to successfully interpret a group conversation in order for the best time to join doesn't just go away because I'm sat at my keyboard.
Another part of my wasted spring is still waiting on any announcement from my full time job application. As it stands it's now been three weeks since I put my application in... I guess that's no time at all but let's remember some facts here: 1) This is my first full time application. 2) I really, really want this job. 3) I have no money at the moment so a wage could really help out here. 4) I will need a full time job in order to fund my Lay-Vicarship. 5) I have no idea what else I'm going to apply for if I don't get it.
Fund my Lay-Vicarship? Isn't that a self-funding enterprise? Well, no. Not really. Part of why the honorarium is so modest at Truro as a Choral Scholar is the living allowance that goes unspecified - basically they pay for everything in the Scholary. We aren't subject to rent, taxation or utility bills (within reason I should think on that last one but this has been an especially chilly and long lasting winter so I hope chapter has mercy on the fact that the heating has been left on for about 4 months solid now basically (although please note, that is neither my idea or preference having footed a share in a winter heating bill over £500 in the past)) Now I'm sure I'm about to get fired for giving away a huge trade secret (jokes on you though because EVERYBODY KNOWS), but the point is free house with pocket money on top is more than adequate pay for a couple of hours for services a day. This does not continue once you are a Lay Vicar. No no. Unfortunately, the wage paid to Lay Vicars, even full time ones here (there are one or two who do not attend every single weekday service) will not even cover the cost of a single flat. I'm not even talking about anything exciting, you know like the Boss' apartment that was built on the same blueprint as Britten House (which at £98 p/w I could almost afford (I mean the halls not the apartment)), I'm talking about any normal, run of the mill flat for one person in Truro. I sometimes get angry about this before I remember that it really is not and cannot be the Cathedral's fault: unlike the choral scholarship they are not responsible for my living arrangements any longer (although I am 100% sure that quite a lot of them do care), and also it really definitely isn't their fault if accommodation is so bloody expensive down here. If a single flat is at least £500, usually a two bedroom flat is only about £100 more expensive, which is almost completely ridiculous. Obviously I need to find somebody to live with here, but who and how I will find them is another matter entirely, especially seeing as I really want to live on my own: after years of living at home and then in shared accommodation, it is time I struck out...well, I feel that I want to strike out!
But the real problem I have is that of when I get a full time job and balance my living arrangements... will I even feel like a musician any more? I want a job in a music shop, sure that's cool, but what if I don't get it? What if... I end up working in an office full time? Finish at 5pm, get to rehearsal maybe 10 minutes late at most, then go home and cook, clean up and go to bed ready for the next day... Make sure I pay my bills and my rent and my taxes and don't get drunk on a Saturday night so I can get up on a Sunday... Where will my time go? I don't have the experience and reputation that some of the other scholars have as performing musicians, I'm not here as a gap year before joining a Oxford or Cambridge Collegiate Choir, and I don't have the sheer raw talent that some others do either. I can't even play hymns on the Organ for God's sake. I spent three years at University, being the lowest graduating mark in my class in Music that year. I've spent two years here, which maybe I should have used as preparation for further study, but haven't basically due to being so conscious of how bad my degree is. People tell me that I should just go for it anyway, what with that first class dissertation I have and such, but often if you don't have it on paper it isn't worth it - Bath Spa University had the good manners to write to me upon my application for their music degree, informing me that because I didn't have Grade VIII from the Associated Board of the Royal School of Music in ANYTHING that I was immediately ineligible for study. But hey! Years of Cathedral service, self taught Upright bassist and great all-round knowledge of music. But not on paper.
As always, I stand at a crossroads. I'm sure perhaps I make mountains out of molehills almost every other day, but I'm worried about my future. I said before that I don't want to get stuck in Cornwall, I wouldn't mind staying but I want it to be on my terms, staying because I choose to and not because I can't afford to go anywhere else. Travel in and out of Cornwall is prohibitively expensive to the point of being completely farcical. I have a huge overdraft to work my way out of still, and at least because of having to live on fresh air until payday I seem to be becoming a tad more responsible about where my money's going and how quickly it goes. I'm programming a recital to sing in the Cathedral before the summer's gone, instead of the usual Banjo playing... nice to have a change, huh!
Now is of course a spring time of discontent. Due to my own budgetary incompetence I am reduced to living on the sum total of twenty pounds sterling a week; if it isn't food, I can't have it. I haven't even written to anybody this week! Sure, I'm still waiting for the airmail to come through, but I owe a return to my local friend and right trusty cynical companion, Mr. Godolphin. I traded in a copy of Soul Calibur V (an ultimately disappointing purchase in itself, actually) for the princely sum of a fiver at the start of this week, yet a further disappointment in itself. The pricing of videogames is something that will always confuse and infuriate me. Anyway! This 'free' five pounds, independent of my bank account (a mere eighth of the original price) has been the only other money I have had, and predictably it has gone already (I cheated and spent part of it on milk and cereals). Other than that I've only spent £7.38 out of my £20 this week though, and it's looking promising. I have eight portions of £2.50 to spend, that's almost enough for a day's food, especially as most of my meals are based around large portions of rice or pasta. Thankfully, both of these commodities are cheap to the point of being easily affordable, I just have to make sure meat stays in the menu...
It's really tough though. I'm being so hard on myself making sure I don't go out. For the price of a pint of Guinness, I can make two meals, basically. When your financial constraint comes down to that simple dilemma... Well, I've made my decision. I can live without a pint but I can't bear to go hungry. I've got a couple of bottles knocking about should I really want a drink... But to be perfectly honest I've been fine without. I can't actually go into a pub and not have a drink though. The last time I managed it, I was at the City (a spiritual home from home in Truro if ever there was one) drinking pints of water approximately every 10 minutes. The act of going to a pub or a bar is so inextricably linked with the act of drinking that I cannot do one without doing the other. Funnily enough I hardly ever drink at home unless it's predrinking!
I'm doing okay though. I haven't gone mental just yet, and to be perfectly honest my social life is no less for saying I'm not going out. It's bizarre if you look at it that way, but in review a lot of my social life comes from me actually getting out there and running into people. I can sit here all day and the only person who'll telephone me is my own mother. Just her! I don't think that's massively problematic really, because my mother is a witty old battleaxe who will do anything she can to make sure I'm alright, you know: happy, healthy, got enough to eat, getting enough sleep... She is the very image of a Jewish mother and let me tell you here and now that every stereotype is true, especially the stereotype about the stereotypes being true; it is a self-fulfilling stereotype. I'm getting off the point though, because I was talking about my broken social scene. With the sudden total lack of cash, I'm even more reticent to call people and go out because, hey, I get a bit embarrassed when I can't afford to!
Things are possibly the quietest they have been on all fronts, and you know I'm really not surprised. There are two words that come out of my mouth that don't seem to register with a lot of people, and usually (how long did you think you had to wait until I got to this point seriously) women I'm even remotely interested in just don't seem to get it, and these two words are "CALL ME". There is an unspoken meaning behind these seemingly insignificant words and I am putting it on the internet so if you forget it is always here. If I say this to you, doesn't matter who you are as long as you have my number, and I'm serious now so pay attention it means: I am interested in seeing you (socially or romantically OR MAYBE BOTH IF YOU'RE LUCKY) and I am unsure as to when you are free or best available to talk to but I am free a lot of the time so just drop me a line. That's it guys. I am an unemployed, unattached man. I have a lot of spare time on my hands and I usually end up spending it on cleaning which is pretty miserable for saying I'm supposed to be young and enjoying my life (newsflash most of the time I'm not). If we boil it down further, it basically translates as "I am interested in you, are you interested in me?" Black and white sensibilities as standard. When I was younger I was always surprised when people just rang up to talk to me, because it didn't happen often. I was called upon if someone wanted something I had or could do for them... And we're almost back to that.
Maybe this is something that 'normal' people don't have a problem with. People don't call you... and that's fine. Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all to anybody, and I'm just taking this all way too seriously. Maybe! This is one of those social boundary things I have immense difficulty with, especially taking into account all the times I have been told off, reprimanded, bitch slapped and basically rejected for being "too intense", which is something I can barely tell (but definitely not because I'm not intense woah no)... I worry about it. Am I bothering people too much? I remember once calling someone twenty times in a row when I was younger, so that's probably the definition of being too intense so at least I don't do that sort of thing these days. It all comes from a root problem I have with communicating with other people, namely "is what I have to say of any interest to anybody else?" I will often stop talking for hours in end entirely due to this principle, usually erroneously. It is the source of having a block on when I try to write my blog as well: I'm not exactly viral material, and I don't imagine for a second that I'll get picked up for a publishing contract because of my quirky, slice-of-life blog is so popular oh no (That'll be Berkeley Girl anyway). My inability to successfully interpret a group conversation in order for the best time to join doesn't just go away because I'm sat at my keyboard.
Another part of my wasted spring is still waiting on any announcement from my full time job application. As it stands it's now been three weeks since I put my application in... I guess that's no time at all but let's remember some facts here: 1) This is my first full time application. 2) I really, really want this job. 3) I have no money at the moment so a wage could really help out here. 4) I will need a full time job in order to fund my Lay-Vicarship. 5) I have no idea what else I'm going to apply for if I don't get it.
Fund my Lay-Vicarship? Isn't that a self-funding enterprise? Well, no. Not really. Part of why the honorarium is so modest at Truro as a Choral Scholar is the living allowance that goes unspecified - basically they pay for everything in the Scholary. We aren't subject to rent, taxation or utility bills (within reason I should think on that last one but this has been an especially chilly and long lasting winter so I hope chapter has mercy on the fact that the heating has been left on for about 4 months solid now basically (although please note, that is neither my idea or preference having footed a share in a winter heating bill over £500 in the past)) Now I'm sure I'm about to get fired for giving away a huge trade secret (jokes on you though because EVERYBODY KNOWS), but the point is free house with pocket money on top is more than adequate pay for a couple of hours for services a day. This does not continue once you are a Lay Vicar. No no. Unfortunately, the wage paid to Lay Vicars, even full time ones here (there are one or two who do not attend every single weekday service) will not even cover the cost of a single flat. I'm not even talking about anything exciting, you know like the Boss' apartment that was built on the same blueprint as Britten House (which at £98 p/w I could almost afford (I mean the halls not the apartment)), I'm talking about any normal, run of the mill flat for one person in Truro. I sometimes get angry about this before I remember that it really is not and cannot be the Cathedral's fault: unlike the choral scholarship they are not responsible for my living arrangements any longer (although I am 100% sure that quite a lot of them do care), and also it really definitely isn't their fault if accommodation is so bloody expensive down here. If a single flat is at least £500, usually a two bedroom flat is only about £100 more expensive, which is almost completely ridiculous. Obviously I need to find somebody to live with here, but who and how I will find them is another matter entirely, especially seeing as I really want to live on my own: after years of living at home and then in shared accommodation, it is time I struck out...well, I feel that I want to strike out!
But the real problem I have is that of when I get a full time job and balance my living arrangements... will I even feel like a musician any more? I want a job in a music shop, sure that's cool, but what if I don't get it? What if... I end up working in an office full time? Finish at 5pm, get to rehearsal maybe 10 minutes late at most, then go home and cook, clean up and go to bed ready for the next day... Make sure I pay my bills and my rent and my taxes and don't get drunk on a Saturday night so I can get up on a Sunday... Where will my time go? I don't have the experience and reputation that some of the other scholars have as performing musicians, I'm not here as a gap year before joining a Oxford or Cambridge Collegiate Choir, and I don't have the sheer raw talent that some others do either. I can't even play hymns on the Organ for God's sake. I spent three years at University, being the lowest graduating mark in my class in Music that year. I've spent two years here, which maybe I should have used as preparation for further study, but haven't basically due to being so conscious of how bad my degree is. People tell me that I should just go for it anyway, what with that first class dissertation I have and such, but often if you don't have it on paper it isn't worth it - Bath Spa University had the good manners to write to me upon my application for their music degree, informing me that because I didn't have Grade VIII from the Associated Board of the Royal School of Music in ANYTHING that I was immediately ineligible for study. But hey! Years of Cathedral service, self taught Upright bassist and great all-round knowledge of music. But not on paper.
As always, I stand at a crossroads. I'm sure perhaps I make mountains out of molehills almost every other day, but I'm worried about my future. I said before that I don't want to get stuck in Cornwall, I wouldn't mind staying but I want it to be on my terms, staying because I choose to and not because I can't afford to go anywhere else. Travel in and out of Cornwall is prohibitively expensive to the point of being completely farcical. I have a huge overdraft to work my way out of still, and at least because of having to live on fresh air until payday I seem to be becoming a tad more responsible about where my money's going and how quickly it goes. I'm programming a recital to sing in the Cathedral before the summer's gone, instead of the usual Banjo playing... nice to have a change, huh!
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