One foot on the Gas, one foot in the Grave

So I definitely haven't written for a long time... whoops!

Actually I have been very very busy, all of which I will discuss herein.  I haven't even tried to write, so unlike 6 months ago my entry list isn't littered with half-hearted aborted attempts.  I have simply been too busy!  There are three main articles of business, of interest, of discussion that I will illuminate in the next several hundred words, and they are thus: my new job, my place at the stall, and my wonderful girl.  There's more along the way too...

Basically, I have a full time job now.  I say basically, because I'm technically an hour and a quarter short of FT, but there we go.  As you will see, it doesn't make that much difference in fact, as I'm still killing myself at the end of the day in time for choir.  I am now, and have been since the 5th of January, employed by Truro School, a large private school, as the Administrator of the Music Department.  What this basically means is that I deal with all the queries, all the parents ringing up, all the kids with their questions, sorting out letters, co-ordinating choir and orchestra registers... You guys know the score.  I'm the person who helps make things happen behind the scenes.  The local stable of peripatetic teachers who work with us are a good bunch, most of whom seem to like me a lot (which is always a help!), and if anything the biggest problem I have is the School database, which handles like a sick cow at the best of times.  Trying to mailmerge a set of letters has sent me greyer than... well, greyer than three years in Norwich that's for sure!

It's a good job though, and importantly I am actually enjoying it really through all the griping and early starts and an almost crippling walk up a massive hill to work and back down every day...it's good.  Importantly, the pay is very nice as well, which, with my remuneration from the Cathedral amounts to getting on for nine hundred pounds a month.  My current contract finishes on the 30th of March, and the head of department has asked me to seriously consider whether I want to stay on next term.  The money is very good, and will get me out of that pesky overdraft sooner rather than later...but the issue I have is that of timing.  I get up at 7, or a little later, and usually check in at my office desk after half eight and stay in school til four in the afternoon, at which point I have to charge down to the Cathedral for the rehearsal for evensong.

Now the whole reason I'm down here in the far-off south west is my Scholarship, the business of singing the services, and basically being a worthwhile part of Truro Cathedral Choir.  At the end of the day, I;m absolutely wiped.  What do I get to do?  Go to rehearsal.  I'm basically pulling in a 50 hour week, all told, with very little time off inbetween things, which having gone from last term doing hardly anything has proven tricky, if problematic.   I'm getting used to it, which is fine now, but obviously really knocked me over when I first started, and things still aren't perfect, which to be perfectly honest I feel ashamed about!  There's a point in the service, usually at the end of the Nunc Gloria and the start of the responses that I dip, and basically that's not good enough!  

OH WELL PEB GET USED TO IT AND KEEP YER CHIN UP EH BOY

As far as the stall is concerned, short of unforseen disaster, I'm staying for a second year!  At the Master's invitation!  How thrilling, and if anything else, sheer confirmation that I'm doing the right things in the right place at the right time.  No more Mancroft-style depression and disheartening.  Countertenoring may still not be the most fashionable thing to do in the world, but I might as well play to my strengths as far as singing's concerned.  While I do still every now anad again miss my treble days, at no point do I ever wish that I was anything else.  I usually describe myself as "the loud one on the end" whenever anyone asks me about my part to play.  I do enjoy flying off the handle every now and again as the situation calls for it (midnight mass descants, for example), but only as and when and Chris knows whats going on.  The next big item on the plate is Sunday morning's anthem, some modern horror.  Did I say that?  Yes, I did.  I hate it for the one reason that it's almost as if I'm blind.  I have no fixed idea of the tonality or form, and it drives me mental.  Having to pull augmented fouths out of the bag is simply monstrous, I don't like it.  Rant over really, as it'll happen, and I'll be spending all my free time tomorrow learning it...and then battle can commence on Sunday morning.  Keep your fingers crossed for me, eh?  

And what about this girl then?  She's just everything.  I know I know, you all probably think I'm just some hopeless romantic...which is absolutely true.  There are times when I stop myself to make sure I am certain about what I say, and I can honestly say there's no one I've felt so sure about.  There's nobody I've ever felt so comfortable with.  Of course it's early days and all, but it certainly feels...natural and relaxed and all sorts of good things!  This past weekend we went for a little break, just the two of us to a hotel on the coast which was absolutely splendid in every way possible, I absolutely treated her (being the weekend inbetween her birthday and valentines), and in fact on Valentines day itself, I trained up to pick her up from University, and generally treat her lots again!  I know this all looks a bit one sided, but it is me writing, and the way she treats me is absolutley brilliant, make no mistake.  I am planning the next holiday, a little further afield of course, and also trips upcountry to Norwich and Derby. 

I suppose one price that I have paid for all this success is the ultimate price of having moved away, and I am basically the worst person at keeping in touch once I've moved out.  I'm sure my friends from Norwich must feel left behind, basically, as I haven't written in an age, and certainly haven't made the trip up there.  It was always my intention to go up in the February half term, which has now been and gone.  Obviously my get-out clause is that I promised to be back this year...not this term.  I'm still coming back, I will keep my promise.  Actually, it now gives me a little in the way of wiggle room as far as saving is concerned; I have a lot of plans outside a return tour to N-Town, I want to be able to afford and manage to do them all.  Some things I need, and some things I want...and some things I think I need but only want!  Such is the material urge.  I'm still on Skype, and Lord knows enough people stalk my Twitter feed these days.  I can be found quite easily these days, which is possibly the biggest change from my youth, once prefering to remain quite hidden when I was younger.  

Hiatus

So I never quite finished this on Saturday night after all.  Welcome to Sunday night paragraphing and posting, but don't worry; the most I've done is tighten up a few corners and add some more.  As ever, I have two feet, and their location is perfectly described by the title of this post.  Some things will always be the same though.  Always.

TRU

Well.  two weeks in and I'm still alive.

Lapsed Songman and Organ Scholar Emeritus, now Choral Scholar of Truro Cathedral.  Looks good, doesn't it?  Feels pretty good too.  It's nice to be working hard again.  I say working hard, it's still just under 16 hours a week, and I haven't managed to become employed.  Harsh. It's not that I'm not applying, it's just that I'm not being employed!  This is the real world though, so it is folly to expect anything else...

I haven't written for a long time.  Once again, I've been getting used to this new and distinct reality, where rehearsal is brief and drink is expensive.  My bank account reads like it's almost a quarter past three in the afternoon, but minus.  I'm not stopping this, no way, but I have been somewhat distracted by the business of living, which as we all know is very annoying.

My abode is known colloquially as "The Squalory".  Looking at the Kitchen in its current state it's not hard to guess why.  Once again my masterful pot washing and cleaning skills are being exercised daily, also in as much as thanks to my dear mother, the spirit of a clean kitchen has been instilled into me from a young age.  My room however, is the usual incarnation of chaos.  I have a floor and hoover once a week, so it's better than last year!  See that it is messy but not dirty, cant stand it if it's dirty.  I'm sat here dying inside thinking about the kitchen.  GOD DAMN IT THE KITCHEN NEEDS MY HELP.

However, the singing is good.  I haven't had any lessons (no monies), but it feels good.  I need to find my edge again, but there's no use ruining things.  Below me lives a graduate of the Royal Northern, behond me lives an old boy from St. Paul's, and next door lives an ex-private boarder, with whom I seem to have formed some sort of subversive double act.  It appears I am become quite the stooge in my cynicism.

So.  Same Peb, different county.  Or country, if you are so inclined.  It's early days, but it's all looking up!  Watch this space. 

Past The Post

So. I graduated.

Let it sink in. Roll it around, become familiar with this statement. I managed to cross the post, limping across in a blaze of deadline pushing insanity and first class performing. It happened, it's there, boom. I also happened to graduate at the bottom of the class. Ouch. I'm going to let that one sit for a little bit, even though it's stinking the place out. Obviously I should stop being upset about that and no longer care. I can, and always have been able to sing, an ability which is not for parading around and point scoring, but rather for the job of getting on with it and making music. I might be an unemployed waster as far as society is concerned right now, but I'll always be a self-employed musician. I'll always be my own boss at the end of the day, and how liberating that feels.

For the most part, I shall still be working for someone else. I haven't been able to find anything in Derby. I'm not surprised. I mean, if you look for a part-time job in the middle of June and can't find one then why are you even surprised? There's nothing til September. I even went in the Disney Store. The Disney Store! They get 10-15 people in every day in the summer looking for work. Imagine that! They don't hire until *drum roll* SEPTEMBER! And even then it's for christmas temp work. This is what will happen to me in Truro. I will apply for a job in September, and hopefully will have hit it at just the right time. Fit that in with my choral scholarship and boom! I'll be fine, for once. I'll be able to afford things like travel and books and music and CDs and drinks and driving lessons. I can feel like a worthwhile part of society!* But until then...the grind. Looking at my emails, every day. Looking at websites, looking at the job section of the paper, asking everyone I can, and handing CVs out everywhere. And all the same result. We'll put it on file. We've just taken on. We'll let you know. I guess it didn;t help that I was going around in a t-shirt, lumber shirt, sandals and cargo shorts with the pockets. Not exactly 'high-flying choral scholar postgraduate professional', eh? But anyway. I like that outfir. I have a lot of pockets, I can carry everything I need secreted about my person and not have to worry, because I know exactly where things are all the time. Yeah!

Anyway. Graduation. What the hell? I look like a right oaf. Not a bad term, but an Organists' term. I look brilliant, with my three piece suit and paisley bow tie. The hood is coral, thankfully an in-season colour...this season. God help me when it goes out of season. In fact, God help me when I hook it to my cassock, as Lord knows it'll clash dreadfully. Dear dear. Anyway. The ceremony was over in a flash. Spoiler alert for all those who are yet to do so, but it's really easy and you too will graduate smoothly if you just walk across the platform and shake the Vice Chancellor's hand. Done and dusted. Right. On to the festivities!

Only the human race could be so ridiculous as to celebrate a joyous occasion by ingesting large amounts of poison. Am I right? Alcohol, cigarettes, no to mention those who decide to partake in the use of recreational drugs (which may or may not be more harmful than the aforementioned alcohol and nicotine) all in the name of celebration. I personally managed to spend upwards of forty pounds sterling on alcohol alone, and that's just the Friday night, not to mention the curry as well. I also went out the night before (oh its not going to be a heavy one...), spending lord knows how much on Jagerbombs, Double Vodkas and bottles of...Carlsberg, yes, that was it. There is one photograph from that night, where I'm wearing a traffic cone on my head. On the other side of the road, two more of our party are on the way to liberating a sign advertising salsa dancing lessons. Out of shot, obviously, so there's no proof. Both of these items managed to find their way to that most infamous innercity Parish Church, that of St. Peter Mancroft. We managed to wind up getting ushered of of Havana at 4am due to the establishment closing, I mean honestly.

This was the end of the end. A non-valedictory event all the same, but still, the absolute finish to my undergraduate career. I'll never be an undergrad ever again, just to flash the blindingly obvious at you. All further study, even if I enroll on another bachelor's degree, will never have that profound sense of wonder mixed with seat-of-the-pants terror that accompanies the first steps in Halls. As a third year, I felt like king of the hill. As a second year, I was on the back foot. As a first year, I had no idea what I was getting into. I'll be back. Promises made to be kept, and I'll write.

Speaking of writing, updates continue to be sporadic. I apologise (of course), but things are always up in the air, and I am somewhat adrift of late. I spend my nights moping (natch), playing Killer7 (I haven't got a problem at all...), and watching videos of Alternate Reality Games. And then I don't sleep. These last two points may be connected. And this weekend we're going to Wales. It's all go, eh?






*This is rare.

Moto Perpetuo

I'm good at moaning. You know, it's a major strength, being able to poke and pick at my current situation and only see the worst. Like right now. In truth, I'm pretty comfortable, full of food that tasted delicious and 'relaxing' in front of the television. Although I never relax, it's endemic to...well, me. There's no such thing as casual Peb really, he's just a fabrication. Anyway. Moaning.

You'll notice that I spend almost all my time here moaning. I do it consistently, because I do it so well. Practise makes perfect, natch. What am I going to moan about today? Graduation? That'll do.

What is there to be unhappy about with Grad? First things first, it's the end of an era. This is the last time that almost all of us from the School of Music at the University of East Anglia who started in the September of 2008 will be together again. We had one who quit in the first week, one who had time out to have her baby and will subsequently return on the part-time course, and one who didn't qualify. But the rest? 2:30pm at Congregation Hall, 22nd of July 2011, together for the last time. It's the end of an era, the last time I'm guarenteed to be in Norwich. I've made my promises to who I hope turn out to be the right people, that I'll be back, but when that'll be is anyone's guess! Fare's expensive from the deep south, and I'll have to seriously book ahead, even with a railcard. Maybe I'm here to moan about the train fare. Not today, friend. Maybe another time. No, the distance is manageable and the fare is...well, it'll get me where I want to go, but other than that it isn't worth it, obviously. I rather like the train, actually. It isn't really that problematic, nice and quiet, nobody really bothers you, but it's the cost really.

Anyway. Grad. I have made plans. These plans are different to the plans laid on by the union. OH GOD I'M BOYCOTTING THE UNION. No I'm not, get over yourself. I said a very involved and emotional goodbye to the LCR on the last Tuesday of last Term. It ended at 5am, when I was driven back home by Kamei-san, after stopping off to fetch his camera. There is accordingly one picture from that night, on that very camera, funnily enough, where I look appropriately drunk, sporting my experimental chin warmer. I'm pretty attached to my beard, but not more so that it's attached to me. I need to give it a trim in time for the festivities to tidy up, but in light of my recent shearing it might be starting to suit me.

And pray, what are my plans? What do you think? Take a guess. Table for 8 at 9pm, The Spice Lounge, Norwich. Meeting at the Playhouse Bar at 7pm, and then onwards into the night afterwards. I think Vodka Revolutions, for copious amounts of shots, then a spell at Knowhere, and then to the inevitable location of damnation, Havan Bar and Lounge. Yes, the motto of my University is "Do Different", for all it's worth, and I'm doing everything the same as I ever have. I'm nothing if not consisetent, and therefore without it I am nothing. While I may claim from time to time to be a nobody, I am not a nothing. Sorry, got more self-esteem than that, but only just.

I am a little worried about the evening's entertainment. At the moment it feels like a bit of a knife edge, but that be exacerbated by my existing stress. I don't want any trouble, but I can't go anywhere without inviting it upon myself. There are 8 of us for the meal, and then who knows what'll quite happen afterwards. We'll see. But I will say this: I don't burn bridges.

And domestics? Still no job. No money. Not very much to go on. But...you know the drill. Keep going. There is no other option.

It's not your time

Once again, I'm concious of falling behind. It's been tough finding the time and the inspiration to write, and as my excellent friend, Mr. William Fergusson once said, "If you're trying too hard it isn't working." I had a half finished post...but it seems to have since disappeard off the face of the internet. Ponderous.

The biggest bug bear of late, just like this time last year, is trying to find a job. Now, I have a job for September. Yes, that's fine. That'll be my Choral Scholarship in Truro. But that is September. This is the middle of July. You will notice that there are at least six weeks between then and now. That's quite a while. In fact, that's a very long time when you're as deep into your overdraft as I am. I'm not in a position to disclose the numbers, but if you'd like to ask me in person I can certainly tell you that way.

Now. I'm one of the last people to say that money is the key to happiness. Far from it in fact. However, money is the key to...kind of everything else. Transport, food, drink...you know the drill. There's no such thing as a free lunch. Walking's free, but so's pain. See, this is getting pretty tenuous, because I'm pretty fucking fed up of being completely skint. Yesterday I did a CV run through Derby, just like last time, with my new and improved Curriculum Vitae, to much the same result. I don't want you to put my CV on file if you're not going to employ me! Why can't things be this simple? Either employ or not. Right? No. Sorry. Far too simple. And possibly fair?

Did I also mention that I went and signed on last week? Possibly the worst moment of my entire life. You know I've been rejected, insulted, dumped, drugged up bummed out ain't no one coming back for me, depressed, drunk, lost...ok, enough. But seriously, if you're a graduate, don't go to the job centre and sign on. Please, I implore you, this must be a last ditch option. There is no part of this...system...that inspires you to seek out decent work. In fact, it's pretty grim for staying on the dole. If I am to be met with the same patronising attitude that I was in applying for this 'benefit', I shall be throwing in the towel and hiding in a hole in the ground for the duration of the summer! Might be cheaper anyway.

I still haven't got in touch with the Organist at my local Parish. I'm not trying to, but effortlessly succeeding at putting this off. I know the guy, he's an old friend, I know the church, I know the instrument. No problem? In fact, the particularly acidic tone of the Gt. Trompette would be very helpful in this new French music J of N has st me. Not quite the Collins, but with plenty of body. In fact, speaking of J of N...

That man. That man and his politics. I don't know. I mean, I'm no 'treat-'em-mean-keep-'em-keen-Haggett' so I shall never truly understand, and I believe that his Modus Operandi is hidden even from himself, and certainly from that Contralto. Unfortunately, if I get asked a straight question I tend to give a straight answer. Whatever. He's still a good friend, even after his difficult if not impossible to consture blip at the end of term. He's putting us up at Grad weekend, and he's my co-architect of currying. I doubt there'll be another like him, especially down in the deep south. Also, curry in Truro is rather expensive. I'll be...oooo forced to flex my curry muscles and hone my skills. WHAT A SHAME.

I might yet still lose my temper. I haven't decided. I might try and stir up as much trouble as I can at Grad, I mean, it'll be my last chance for a while. Or maybe that wouldn't be cricket. Ho ho.

Anyway. Family Reunion is in the works. That'll be my tour for the summer, and a hard earned return it will be as well.

So. We'll see how this Vac goes. Just take it as it comes, eh?

Vale, Campus

So here it is, the inevitable end-of-the-year-teary-eyed-remembrance. What? I cried? Haha, you bet I did. There'll be more tears as well, when I find the time to actually be upset. See, the worst thing isn't everyone else going, which is really very bad indeed, I mean what the hell, but instead the knowledge that you are the one who isn't coming back. Payback's a bitch.

The point is, I have managed to successfully complete a Bachelor of Arts Degree in the study of Music at the University of East Anglia, Norwich. Read it again, I mean, I had to several times in order to understand that I did it for myself all by myself...or did I? It hasn't always been a singular effort, and it's been squarely down to the involvement of individuals rather than organisations that have made the difference. Individuals represented by the choral scholars and the Organist of St. Peter Mancroft. Individuals represented by my immediate neighbours for this year in Nelson Court, various members of Colman House, and almost everyone I met in the last two weeks of term. What? Stick with me. I've met a range of people, a veritable cast of characters. I too have taken my place on the stage, calling roles from the Elder Statesman to Wicked Drunk and everything inbetween.

I look back on what I wrote when the year started, and see a man who feels unable to fit in with the depth of the responsibility when surrounded by the first flush of innocent Freshman youth. We all know the deal, right? A number of young persons seeking to quench their thirst for education are all bunged in together without having ever met in person before, and are expected to deal with it. And then sometimes there are old fogeys like me. I look now and am more pleased with my, er, general pattern. Aside from the usual gripes, I've been a lot happier on the whole. My direction is more positive, and I'm rather proud of myself thank you very much.

I do, however, still have a problem with living away from home, in as much as I bring too much with me. How much is too much? Right now, I genuinely fear that we won't be able to fit it all in the car. I brought four suits, including a hand made tuxedo, enough shirts to sink a dinner party, Jackets, Waistcoats, bows, ties and now also cravats. I effectively had enough to never ever wear the same thing twice. I brought seven musical instruments with me, notwithstanding my dulcet tones, and have more music now than I even realised I could amass.

Hiatus

So, that was 10 days ago. Since then, I've been to Truro and back to Norwich, drank copiously, pushed the strength of my digestion and other characteristic behaviours. I've been redrafting this as and when I had the chance, but writing in the Forum Library wasn't really my cup of tea, and I certainly didn't have the world's greatest amount of Internet access where I was staying. I wept for hours when they all went. I made my promises to come back, that I can and will keep. I gave my heart away, and to the right person; someone I can trust. I was going to give it to that Contralto, but the Waltzer cares for it instead. I have enough people who want to see me that when I go for a week I won't have to stay in the same place twice, in fact almost a fortnight's worth! I am very lucky.

Turns out that there really wasn't room for me to fit in the car, such was the grand collection. Everything came back with us except for a small chair on wheels, that has served me well over the past three years. There was simply no room for it! All the rest went home with mother dear while I tarried at Park Lane, NR2 for a little while, in which time I successfully auditioned for the position of Counter-tenor Choral Scholar ar the Cathedral Church of St. Mary, Truro despite suffering from Hayfever, Cat allergies and an horrific cold. Not a bad job eh? All in a day's work.

My tenure at Mancroft ended similarly to how it began, with a less than humane treatment from Madam Director. Oh well! I suppose it was always going to be that way. It appears that our professional differences will always remain, and hopefully I shan't suffer the like in my new Cornish appointment. Everything wrapped up at Spamcroft, really. Inevitable answers became apparent, and all's well that ends well...or something.

This is tough. I'm typing without a direction because I'm just so bloody upset about leaving Norwich. I'm tired of saying "I'm upset" and people replying 'Oh but think about that you're going up in the world and moving on!' Just shut up. I'd like to be sad for a while before realising the truth that yes, I am moving up and moving on. It's fine, I understand. I'll be back in a month for the graduation, and then I'll be back...well, whenever! I'd like to say that I'll always be back, but I might not be able to. I will return though, because I bloody well say so. Capisce?

So much more Drama

I've been trying to write a proper post for about a fortnight now. It's been surprisingly difficult, what with glorious victory on one side and abject failure on the other; pretty much like every day, right? Hah. It's getting tough now, as people are leaving the flat and I, of course, make my preparations to leave Norwich for pastures new. I can't even begin to articulate just how upset I am! Syllables cannot express my deep and powerful sorrow. I'm welling up even thinking about it.

This has been spurred on by my brother's latest effort. You too can find him, writing semiregularly by following the Fit To Practice link on the left hand side of my page. To be completely fair, this is going to be a lot more melodramatic than his, but whatever. That's the way it is.

This is going to be a rant about life, love, and the poor end of the stall.

My life continues! I have not died. Good show, old chap. I'm slowly but surely beginning to tell people about last year's suicidal tendencies, and not just as a shock tactic either. People don't know for a reason, but you know especially if some wag decides to mention killing themselves for the attention, it's nice to get a little context in. Not to mention the fact that a friend decided to take his own life not long ago. Committing Suicide is a very brave decision, actually, just like committing to anything else life changing. But it's just a brave to turn it down. Perhaps it was my mistake with the way everything went last year to have kept so quiet, but I did what I did because that is what I do. I don't bother you with my problems, instead I took to writing them up and posting them on the Internet which is what I'm doing right now. Writing about writing HOW META.

The last two weeks haven't been great though. One of my admittedly self-proclaimed best friends has taken to treating me like a poor acquaintance. Seriously, it's like I hardly know the man! There's been nothing particularly drastic, but put it this way, I haven't been out for curry since I got back from Exeter, he doesn't look me in the eye, and the handshake is now wetter than a piss sandwich. Allegedly, he is very upset because I'm going. Funny, but don't I get to be upset as well? Yes, I'm going for auditions and moving up in the world, but seriously come on! As if my departure to another city is going to effectively end a close friendship? Ridiculous. Friends come and go though, as I know as much as anyone, so perhaps things would have broken down, but there's no need to pre-empt, right? When a man goes from being your best friend, having been a tower of support in days past, with a solid track record of priceless banter to someone who doesn't even recognise you in the street? Fuck off.

Sigh. My end of the stall continues to be poor though, so don't worry! Everything is as consistent as ever. Basically, it's not a sunday service unless I get 'the hand' at least once. This hand is attached to and operated by the Music Director of the Church of St. Peter Mancroft, Norwich, where I have been for the past two very long years. There's nothing less gratifying than being told to pipe down week in week out, which is where half o the trouble last year came from anyway. But, I'm not overly bothered anymore. I haven't been for a while, because it's bordering on hilarious, having passed funny several weeks ago. We on the line, especially if I'm in a mood to cause some damage, can absolutely bank on me getting the hand. Not only are my top notes as strong as ever, they're getting stronger and I'm learning to carry this down into my full range. Even now when I decide to let rip, there's nothing anyone can really do about it. If I carry on to the stage, where I really want to be, there'll be no stopping me. Ho ho.

So. We've had my life. We've had the poor end of the stall. What's coming up next? You can have a prize if you guess. The prize is you get more to read, and even if you don't guess or guess wrong, I'll keep on writing anyway so you're not left out.

Things have been...how do I say...odd. I went all out and asked some ladies out that I had wanted to all year, when it boiled down to it...and they both cancelled on me. Haha no jokes, actual true story bro. So I asked one girl out a week ahead of time, and then she cancelled two days before we were supposed to go out, gave a tentative reschedule, and then cancelled that too. That was the start of the week. At the end of the week I was meant to be taking a girl down to the Playhouse Bar...eh, cancellation on the night. The actual situation is hella complicated, but involves me not being the right guy. As someone who finds it difficult to socialise and go out, even I was shocked. However, this is the way that you normal people get by, isn't it? Sometimes you just ask the wrong people and it ends this way. However. I am leaving my regrets well behind me now. I am no longer upset about it, because damn it I tipped the scales and asked, and I made my intentions clear enough, at least I would have hoped so? Here is a tip though, if I ask you to come to the Playhouse with me, ladies, it's because I really fancy you, and possibly even wouldn't mind taking you home with me. Basically. If I wasn't attracted to you, I wouldn't bother asking you out in the first place, let alone taking you to basically my favourite bar in the City. Right? Anyway.

Last night I went to the AMS Summer Swing Ball. Let's get this straight guys, I had the best time. I made some new friends, drank a hell of a lot, and danced with some of the most beautiful girls I have ever laid my eyes on. It may please you to know that I behaved myself, and was involved in no fights at all. I did dance with some people I would have loved to have been involved with though. The moment worth holding on to, for me, came at about one o'clock in the morning, as I took to the floor with the actual dictionary definition of beauty. Being the end of the night, and the end of the band's session, it was a swanky slow number. We danced hand in hand, leg in leg and cheek to cheek. I don't really know how to proceed with this bit, because it was all a bit ineffable really. For me, it was one of 'those' moments. She squared the circle: my whole world stopped and didn't start again until we let go, by which point I had discovered that my braces had come loose (you know you've had a good time) and I was shaking when I went to reassume my place at the table. She touched me in a way I can't begin to comprehend.
I lost her at the end of the night, basically. Not even a goodnight kiss for our eponymous hero, unfortunately. Tcham! Tush and tcham. I'm not actually that bothered though? I didn't get her number, or end up going home with her, and I'm not bothered. I have accepted that I'm pretty much a romantic failure. Basically! See, I had a wonderful time dancing with all the girls I did so with last night, and what need do I have to ruin it by clumsily propositioning them? That's right friend, I have no need.

Look at that. I managed to avoid getting too upset. Not for long though, as now it's only a matter of days until the end of this year. Joanna will leave on Thursday, and Georgia on Sunday. To put it bluntly, I have no idea how I'm going to deal with not having my flat living with me next year. I'll cope, because that is my business, but how I will go about it is another matter entirely. Adam's already gone! People are leaving for their summer, and then it'll just be my fellow spam scholars left. And then I'll go. And that'll be it for a long time. And that makes me so painfully sad.