Industrial Action

So, in a week of rioting and economic uncertainty, I instead choose to write about my failing technology. Mainly.

I managed to keep out of the riots, neither participating nor being attacked. Looks like I missed out on a new pair of trainers, or a new telly, or anything else that has been lifted by the pillaging hordes. The closest I got was a phonecall off my brother on Tuesday saying there was "a massive police presence in Derby", and that "there are a load of idiots coming from Nottingham on the buses, on the trains, the police are getting ready for trouble"... And then there wasn't. The copycat riots in derby consisted of two lads running into Argos, committing theft, and then running back out again. This caused the staff of Argos to panic, and close the shop early, which had a knock-on effect of the surrounding shops. And...that was it. Then in the early hours of Wednesday morning, there was a gang roaming around Alvaston smashing cars up, which is pretty usual for Alvaston anyway. And then that was really it. Thankfully there was no wholescale looting, no firebombing of police stations, no mugging...Well, no more than usual. Town's been quiet for the whole week, which isn't especially bad for Derby. A few peaceful nights have probably helped the general atmosphere. Now, I'm not getting involved with the politics of this situation. Not here, anyway. Having friends who have memberships to both the Labour and the Conservative parties, I have heard quite enough from both sides to convince me that we're all doomed, doomed I say, to die screaming as the future ceaselessly arrives constantly in our faces.

Anyway. I finally bit the bullet and backed up my personal files and had my computer hard drive formatted. That's right. I've finally got rid of that awful plague that is Windows Vista Business edition. Turns out that there was a little bit more than just Vista wrong with my system, as well. Something about viruses or some such, I don't know. Instead of just reinstalling Vista again, my dear and most helpful mother has instead introduced Windows XP to The Boiler, and I can say that it's been like this for not eve 24 hours and I'm very pleased with how it ticks now. I was initially worried that the new (old ?) OS wouldn't recognise the touchscreen, but actually there is an edition of XP for tablets and that's what I've got. Nice. I can flip the screen around without the machine screaming "NO NO PLEASE I CAN'T COPE" and instead just rearranging the icons nice and quickly. The keyboard dock is activated from the task bar, and switches on and off without shouting at me, and the handwriting recognition is pretty good for saying mine is barely legible. It is running rather a little hot at the moment though. I wonder.

What I would really like to get installed in this though, is of course Windows 7. I can't afford a new computer with it pre-installed, but hopefully it can cope. If not, I should think that XP can perform all the vital functions that I employ, such as surfing the internet (already using Opera 11.50, a little sluggish but a billion updates are streaming in as I type), word processing, keeping up my library of ripped CDs/downloads etc. Hopefully with some stable processing, I might be able to do some more, such as musical composition, editing tracks, and keep my blood pressure lower than the steam pressure requirements. HAR HAR.

Actually, if I can sort out this computer, I might be able to sort out my phone. Ah yes, my next essay in my love of clapped out technology. I have the poor luck to be in possession of a defective handset, a Sony W995 to be exact. Poor show old chap. Other than that, I'm pretty happy with what I have, because I like having an old Sony Ericsson phone, thanks, and I don't care how much you may or may not like that. Anyway, I wanted to sort out a new theme with a lovely flash menu...but couldn't, due to one or another thing. It's a bit boring, I won't go into it. However, to correctly implement the theme, I would need to get into the phone firmware. When I'm in the firmware, I can do almost anything I like. Update the software version, change the camera and speaker drivers...and if I mis-step, I could ruin the phone. If I sink about three days into the forums, I can learn how to do it properly, so I will. I might wait a while before doing so, because if I can get the Windows 7 upgrade, I'll do it after I reinstate my data, but at this rate, I'll be filling my HDD on the XP Tablet OS.

Vignette XXIII

Times are hard and times are poor and time is ever so slowly carrying on and one day the time will come where I'll run out of time but knowing me I won't have time for it and have a quick time out before realising that time's up!

You can have the time of your life without realising the time before time catches up with you and then you have no time at all and its time to go back but you want to spend more time but there isn't any time left so its time to go home really now even though you want more time but there isn't any time left but you promise there'll be another time even though you won't have much time but you'll be able to make the time and time and again you can spend your time there.

Or maybe you can spend your time waiting to know when's the best time because you agree to have some time but because you've waited so long there is no time left because it's almost time for the times to change so you have to tell them the time because the time's been and gone and then the time has gone away. If I had timed the amount of times this time had happened I'd have time to take the time.

Tick.

Tock.

Clock watching?

What a waste of time. It's time to say that it's not time well spent time instead to step back and think whether it's the right time?

Time to think again. Time to turn back the clock? There's never any time for that. Time to go. Time to call time.

GOGLEDD

Just call me...Mister Hawk.

So, the weekend before last was Grad, and all the grand adventures that were contained therein. Next weekend will be the Doctor's return to our sceptered isle's shores, along with Tommy from Bristol town. This weekend, however, is what can only be described as the most successful family holiday ever. Absolutely splendid...

Now, the last time I went to Wales, it was South Pembrokeshire to Tyddewi, or St. David's. I was meant to go again recently for an audition for a Choral Scholarship at the Cathedral, but I accepted the job at Truro a week before anyway, so that one got knocked on the head. In fact, had we had gone to St. David's we were scheduled to go up and see the rellies, but because I took the Truro job blah blah...

Anyway. Mother decided that it was time to go to Wales, and more specifically, Porthmadog. No, don't pronounce it as a 'g' at the end. Cue my useless protestation. I mean, seriously, I've never met anyone who's there before, I don't know them, I don't know the kids, I don't know if they'll like me, let alone whether I'll like them...

You know what, I had some bloody stupid worries before, but this one takes the biscuit. I've had probably the best weekend of my whole life. Seriously. Aside from the nigh-on five hour journey there, through the windy mountain roads to get there (where surprisingly the only radio station available is BBC Radio 2...?), it was absolutely bloody brilliant! It feels like I actually have a big family, and more importantly, a family who wants to know me. They're all mad (Anty Lou is certifiably insane for starters (but like that's a bad thing)), but they are ours, as much as they're like us, we're like them (more on that at the end). I spent the entire journey back thanking my dearest mother for taking me, and asking her if she was sure we couldn't stay for longer. If we hadn't have run out of clean clothes we wouldn't have come back, and I'm not even joking. Pub be damned, I'd have stayed there for ages.

Anyway. I've managed to be dragged away from Port (and indeed Penryhndeudreath, where I was staying with my COUSIN Lisa), but have managed to import a smattering of the accent. Just a little. Not to mention the speed! You see, I've been at University for three years in Norfolk, (and indeed, surrounded by southeners) and haven't come home with an accent...ever. However, two days in Wales, and I sound like a right Gog! I actually relaxed for a bout the first time ever, basically. THERE WE GO. For saying I met a bunch of people I've never even seen before, and their children (oh, the children...), in a strange place, I actually relaxed, that I could stop being so bloody uptight for a while! Hah! Although mother dear did make an interesting point about cadencing, and me being one of those musician types, that the melodious nature of the Welsh accent and inflections appeals to my nature as a musician (and more properly as a singer, I suppose). I can't stand southern accents, really. I don't care if you have one, in the nicest fashion, but it's not for me.

As ever, I have taken few pictures. It's quite a ball ache trying to get my phone and its associated software to work, especially when I'm very busy having a wonderful time. I can't actually stress how much I enjoyed myself, alright?! There's sufficient record of me being there though, and there is another place that I have promised to return to. I am in some danger of being spread far too thinly, what with my swanky scholarship and promising to be back in Norwich and now Port and Penryhn and I've got to come back home at some point and auditioning for the next place... But a promise made is a promise kept. This is a promise I can make that only relies on myself rather than anything else. Now, here's a little real-time development, for those of you who do not believe that I do these things without drafting, I've just looked up trains from TRU to PTM and PRH (look them up). The quickest is 9 hours, and the rest are about 12. I'll probably try PRH though, as there's only one change, and that's at BHM, so that won't be much of a problem. But seriously, NINE HOURS. Jesus Harry Bicycling Christ. Looks like I need to get in training for that one then!

Anyway, time to wrap this up. I'm still recovering from the last weeked, in fact the one before that was never recovered from properly either, and this one coming will be just as busy, so I'm very tired. Before I go though, allow me to explain to you uninitiates about the title. Welsh is a funny language. It's not like English at all, in fact I rather think it's a surprise that they even share the same alphabet. It is a modern type of celtic language, distantly related to the original language spoken by the inhabitants of the British isles before the dominance of the English language with its Saxon and Roman influences. It is very odd. There are many vowels which English speakers do not recognise and the most stereotypically 'Welsh' sounds, the ll (comparable to the hebraisch "ch" sound) and the dd (compare to the old english letter that looks like a d, the 'eth' (look it up)). I mean...You there! Englishman! Pronounce 'Dolgellau'! W stands for U as much as U stands for I.

As a parting conversation took place, the term 'gog' was introduced. It's a contraction of 'Gogledd', which means 'North' in thw Welsh language, as both a geographical term and a self-recognition of denizens of North Wales and the speakers of the North Welsh dialect and accent. I was told "We are gogs." by one of my cousins. Not "The people round here are gogs." Not "Us lot who live here are gogs." But "We are gogs." Not just those of us who live there, but them who returned to the Midlands on Monday. I am not a Welshman. This much is true. But to have been accepted and welcomed by not only my blood relatives, but their significant others and children as one of them makes me proud and happy and glad and all other sorts of wonderful emotion. I have a family there who want me, and may they also know that I want them as well. I find it massively amusing that I, a northern-sounding speaker of English (even though I come from the midlands yes whatever) have also picked up a northern Welsh accent and inflection.

Anyway, there's an old Chapel going in Penryhndeudreath, and only for 60 Grand. It's there now, so it's bloody tempting, buy a chapel, do it up, install an east end gallery and get a fine Organ on it (III/P, English classical style with chair case but full compass swell with a balanced pedal, great chorus sat on fine open and stopt diapasons with seperate mutations available alongside tierce-mixture and a mounted cornet BUT with a German-inspired separate chorus pedal but voiced together in an Old English style), and stay there. That's nice. I think I might retire in this fashion. It'll give me long enough to have a massively successful career, of course (har har keep trying Peb and you'll be king of the world at this rate) and complete all my studies and earn oodles of monies...so, yes! Not a bad master plan as things go I think.

Splendid.

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?

Vignette XXII

Things are funny at the moment. Life's...well, life. It's tough. Trying to look for a job. Trying to stop spending money. You know? I've heard of no reat for the wicked, but this just ridiculous.

I think I've managed to sign myself up to a dating site. It works on your music preferences. So I was obviously a sucker for it.

Turns out there are no users in Derby. Or Truro. Or anywhere near Truro, for that matter. I never thought about signing up for an internet dating service. Well, I did. But I thought about not signing up. So. Looks like I'm still going to have to do things the old fashioned way.

Some things never change.