The night I watched hard men and popped bubbles

Last night I went to a club night at the Hatchet Inn called "Pop Bubble Rock", which was alright... the music tended to be either cheesy/rock like Busted or the Glee version of Don't Stop Believing or Blink 182, which was fun, or went a bit hardcore/American emo punk, which was a bit shit. The room was full of people with lots of hair product (be it dye or gel), plaid shirts, tunnel piercings and tattoos. I'm fine with people like that on a small scale, but a room full made me feel a bit claustrophobic. I stole the bubble mix they gave out free though, so that's good. This is a picture from their facebook page, I just like it because it has Leila from SB6 in it, and she's awesome...



I wish I had the dedication to be that ska punx all the time, but you can only really get away with it if you're in a band, and I don't fit that criteria anymore.

On Friday I went over t'boys' house (that is Jim, Jack, Ben, Dave and Mike's house), got Dominos and watched some amazing TV like Snog Marry Avoid, Hotter than my Daughter, and a new show we discovered called Britain's Hardest Man. This was hosted by that guy who played Ross Kemp's brother in Eastenders, set in a warehouse, and featured 3 men battling it out to see who would be the "hardest". There are so so many things wrong (and yet so right) about this show, not least the crazy amount of innuendos in it (eg. "Tim may be small, but makes up for it by being incredibly hard" or something along those lines). I would advise anyone to watch at least one episode, possibly combined with a drinking game.

The weekend I broke out of jail

Thought it might be time to get out the ol' blog again and write some stuff!

This weekend just gone I took part in a charity event called "Jailbreak", in which me, Ben and Jack tried to get as far away from Bristol as possible in 36 hours without spending money on transport. This was my main motivation for writing this post - I want to write down the details of this little adventure before I forget... Our journey took us from Bristol to Portsmouth, where we tried to get on a ferry to France and failed, then to Folkestone via Brighton, Hastings and Ashford. This was all on the train - we discovered that train conductors are in general really nice people, and were more than willing to let us ride for free. In Folkestone we walked to the channel tunnel, which turned out to be about an hours walk away from the town down a small, poorly lit road. We then stood for about an hour at the side of the road, in the cold, at about 9.30pm, trying to hitch a lift on to the tunnel. By 10.30 we'd had enough of that though, and decided to walk back into town to try and find a place to stay. Luckily there was a Holiday Inn about 45 mins walk from where we had been hitching, so we stayed the night there, after the nice woman at the desk let us off paying the 3rd person supplement.

The next day we got breakfast in the hotel, then got a free ride on a bus to Folkestone town centre, and from there a bus to Dover (which we had to pay for as the bus driver was a bit mean). Once in Dover we walked down to the main road heading to the docks and tried to hitch again. We spent about 2-3 hours in Dover trying to hitch before eventually heading to the docks themselves to ask at the desk, just in case they might let us on without paying. But no, so at about 4pm we decided that our chances of getting out of England by 9pm that evening (when the Jailbreak ended) were slim to none, and would only leave us with the problem of getting back again, and so began our journey home. We then spent about 7 hours on various different trains, trying to get back to Bristol: we went from Dover to Ashford, to Redhill, to Tonbridge, to Brighton, to Portsmouth and finally to Westbury, where our lovely friend Dave drove to pick us up at midnight.

I now feel pretty ill, and exhausted, but also like I have successfully challenged myself. We might not have managed to fulfil our aim of getting to Europe, but at least we now know that we are able to sweet-talk people, get across the country, navigate trains and buses, stand in the cold for ages, feel absolutely exhausted and still walk for an hour in the cold and dark, etc etc. One of the most memorable things about the experience as well were the people that we met: after the first day we decided that people could essentially be divided into three categories - Nice, Nasty and Moderate. The Nice people (who were overwhelmingly in the majority) were the ones who helped us out, let us on trains, and generally supported what we were doing. The Moderate people were the ones who either wanted to help but couldn't for a valid reason, such as the train conductor who had been told off for letting other Jailbreakers on recently, or the Eurostar worker who thought it was a good cause but just wasnt able to print us off £179 tickets. We did, however, run into about 4 Nasty people (3 of whom worked at ferry companies) who just didnt care at all, and showed no inclination that they even wanted to help. The epitome of these people was the woman at Portsmouth working for Brittany Ferries, who said that they couldn't let us on "because it just didnt make commercial sense". We pointed out that if the ferry isnt full then the company isnt actually losing anything, but she said that "they're not really gaining anything either", apparently not caring that the charity we were trying to help might gain something... There was also the conductor on the train to Hastings, who was going to throw us off a stop before our destination if we didnt pay; luckily we were saved from this by a Nice Man who was sat in front of us, and paid for our ticket for the extra stop and took down the conductors name to complain.

Essentially it was a weekend of highs and lows, both in terms of the people who helped us, and also just our mood in general. In Portsmouth, having been turned away at the port and at a train station, we almost crumbled, our irritation and disappointment starting to affect our group spirit. We cheered up again once we managed to get on a train to Brighton, on which we heard a conversation about a teenage girl taking style advice from a 6 year old boy. Trying to hitch on to the channel tunnel at Folkestone at 9.30 at night was probably the worst point - it was cold, dark, we were really tired and hungry, and just didnt seem to be getting anywhere. Once we got to the Holiday Inn though we cheered up again, partly due to a film on TV involving midgets playing american football (a new American Pie maybe?) and a duvet that smelled of coleslaw. There were lots of other funny moments on the trip, like getting hyper on red bull, laughing at Jack, writing on the whiteboard and arguing about the ending to 1984 (Does he die?), as well as a magazine that featured a picture of a woman with a really big block of cheese.

In conclusion: Jack and Ben are fun guys to be with, most people are nice, ferry companies are wankers, and travelling is a lot easier when you can spend money.

The Day I Failed at Revision (again)

3.30am last night found me sat on my own on the Downs, staring up at the moon and feeling sorry for myself. Luckily Jack came to rescue me, and then had to put up with my emo whinging, for which I can only apologise. The basic jist of this whinging, for anyone out there who is in the least bit interested, was that I worry that I'm never going to be content with anything, because for some stupid reason I never appreciate the good things I have, and find myself seeking out things that are a bit more risky, rather than what I know will make me happy. It's as if my mind works out the course of action that will logically result in the greatest happiness, mulls it over for a while, then thinks "nahhh, that's way too easy". I also seem incapable of learning from past mistakes. But enough of that.

I woke up today feeling sick and hungover, and it has pretty much only just worn off. Alcohol is the work of the devil, I tell you. It also led to me asking a barmaid if she would sleep with the guy standing next to me, because he told me that he was hoping if he waited around long enough then she would. Oh dear. Plus I'm a bit worried about my heart, it keeps beating really quickly for no reason, and both last night and when we were at Ramshackle last week I had to go sit down for a while because I felt like I was having palpitations.

I feel like I should put something happy and cheerful now to make up for all the moaning. I made spaghetti bolognaise, and it was tasty... Also Laura Marling is well good.

The Day Jim Went Home

So yesterday was the supposed day of my 19th boat party - but it decided to piss it down with rain, so instead I just went to the Treaty with Dan and Jim to watch Colour Me Wednesday play a gig. They're so much tighter as a band now than when I was with them. I'd like to think that isn't purely due to me leaving the band, but that could be the truth. I really need to start playing guitar/bass again, it's such a good skill to have, and fun of course. There's so many things I need to start doing really, like exercise and eating well and revision and just being more productive and purposeful. I spend 50% of my time in bed, which isn't conducive to me achieving anything with my life. Dan was saying yesterday that he feels like life is passing him by and he's not doing anything with it - I'm feeling rather similar, although perhaps not so much that I'm not doing anything, just that I should really change the things I'm doing. Next term I'm going to try and streamline my life. Feel free to place bets on how soon I fail.

Oh dear, too many things have happened since I last wrote a blog that I can't decide which are interesting enough for me to write about. I went to stay at Jim's for 5 days last week, which was rather lovely - we went hill walking and cycling and things (which is probably what has motivated me to do more exercise, I almost died walking up the hill); and his mum is very nice and cooked tasty vegetarian meals! Then it was my birthday on the Wednesday, and I went to Camden with Rachel, Louiza and Sara, which was pretty cool, havent been there for a while, and it's always good to spend time with them peepz. Then went for a meal with my mum and Tyson, before heading to see Paul Chowdry and the comedy place in Ruislip. He was reasonably good, although a lot of his material seemed to be based on improv-ing from the audience participation, and nobody wanted to participate much...

So yeah, that's pretty much it. Jim came down here yesterday and got to see me in full water pikey mode, moving my boat and emptying the toilet. FUN. Especially in the rain... But luckily I didnt bang into anything whilst moving the boat, which would have been embarrassing.

The Day I Thought About Graffiti

I'm not 100% sure which motorway it's on, or whereabouts... but there used to be this graffiti on a fence in a field on the side of - I think - the M40 coming into London that said "Why do I do this every day?" in big letters. This graffiti has now been painted over with more graffiti that says, among other things "sweaty bollox". I'm not particularly impressed by this; I liked the old graffiti - it was in really simple letters, the only thing on this fence, facing all the commuting traffic, and I liked to imagine that it was painted by, perhaps, a banker who drove into London every day to work 9-5 in a big office, then back out again to his comfortable home in Buckinghamshire, until one night he just couldnt take his mundane, anonymous life anymore, so crept out into the field one night, tie blowing loose in the wind, to paint his angst for everyone to see. Then perhaps he would have run away to an Indonesian island, to sit in a hammock sipping a cocktail, thinking of all the commuters left behind to look at his reminder of their monotonous lives. OR I thought it was painted by a young graffiti artist who wanted to impress on the commuters that there are other, more anarchic, ways of living, but that they too will result in the same monotony. It could go either way.

Today I talked to middle-aged people about my life at uni. It wasn't particularly interesting. I have an intense dislike of talking to people that I feel I can't relate to; annoyingly this seems to happen quite a lot.

The Day I Got Called Fundamentally Lonely (Just Like Everyone Else)

So today there have been two things of note. Well, not exactly of note, but two things that I fancy talking about. (Lots of other things have occurred in my life since my last blog post, but maybe I'll save them for later).

Firstly, tonight I went to see a comedy show in Ruislip - that famous centre of comedy - with Paul Foot. I'd never heard of him before, by my hopes rose when I saw a slideshow of "Unknown Paul Foot Facts" on a projector before he came on; for example, my favourite was "Paul Foot is capable of love. Tragically, though, he is one day fated to die." I also liked the fact that his first piece involved questionnaires and venn diagrams, and the second revolved around complaining that Jesus wasnt a very good carpenter, and that, being the son of God who had spent most of his life as a carpenter, he should really have contributed more to the field of carpentry, such as the "Jesus Join".

However, he then went on to talk about how we are all fundamentally lonely and that relationships are nothing more than two lonely people deciding to stay with each other in order to briefly (but, in the case of relationships, consistently) quell their loneliness. He also then picked on me, as an example of how (his words) a "very attractive lady with lovely hair will go home later and sit in front of the mirror and realise how lonely they are." This was followed by an amusing joke about texting, but whatever. In short, he was a good comedian, if you like a certain type of humour, but he also made me feel a little bit... uncomfortable? I'm not sure that's the right word, but it was a bittersweet experience. Personally I go to comedy shows to try and forget about bad things in life, not to be reminded how we are, naturally, lonely.

Anyway, the second thing of note that I saw today was a card in Clintons that said "Sympathy on the loss of your mum". This card made me feel a little bit angry. I just can't see how sending that card could ever be a good thing... I found out a little while ago that one of my close friends' mum is dead, and the thought of giving them that card is a little bit sickening. Firstly because if your mum has just died, receiving that is not going to make the blindest bit of difference - that is one of the worst things I can imagine happening, and getting something as twee and commercial as that would just seem to be almost an insult. But as well as the fact that this pale blue card with it's italicised writing could never improve the life of the person that you might send it to, how could it ever sum up how you feel about their loss? Without wanting to sound overly dramatic, the wave of compassion and heartache that I felt when I found out about my friend could never be expressed simply with the words "sympathy" on a mass-produced card. Arhhh... I'm not sure why it made me so angry, but I really hate that card, and anything like it.

PS. Apologies for the fact this is quite badly written, I don't seem to have my head in the right place for writing tonight.

The Day I Got Up At 4.30pm

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this blog, seeing as nothing in particular has happened recently. As you can see, today I didnt get up until the slightly ridiculous time of 4.30 in the afternoon; I'm not sure why, as I wasnt exactly tired, I just didnt have any energy to get up. Maybe I had an anaemia attack... Jim and Louiza have been pestering me to get tested for anaemia, as it is highly likely that I have it. When I visit Jim in easter his mum may be giving me a test, as she's a nurse, which could be a little odd - "Hi Mrs Jim's mum, nice to meet you, would you like to steal my blood now or later?"

Mmm so today I have done very little apart from watch some Gossip Girl with Lela, which is a terrible, yet terribly addictive programme about the "lives of Manhattan's elite". Then I read an article about Marxism, which was dull to read yet interesting as a whole I suppose. I often find that with my degree readings - I'm really interested by the topics as a whole, but the articles or books or whatever themselves are always a struggle to get through. Need it be like this?! I think I might start a revolution of writing in a format that is actually readable and exciting. How Marxist of me. It followed on quite well actually, as I watched The Motorcyle Diaries with Jim last night, which is one of my favourite films, and is about a roadtrip that Che Guevara took before he was famous. Basically follows their journey across South America, subtly showing the different things he saw on the way that influenced his later life. There's one scene in particular, when him and his friend are sat in Macchu Pichu, and his friend is talking about his plan to democratise the country and lead a revolution via voting, and Che says something like "dont be silly, as if you could start a revolution without gunshots". Mmm, great film.

Makes me think about all these idealistic aspirations I used to have, imagining that in the future I'd be able to change the world. I think a part of me still wants to do that, but perhaps now in a different way. When I was younger I only had things like that film to inspire me, but I've been reading so much more now, and learning more, and I know now that revolution just isnt really possible anymore, or worthwhile. It'd be nice to make the world a better place, but you have to be pragmatic. If every country in the world was communist, and we had ways to protect against corruption, then maybe it would work and we could have a wonderful egalitarian society. But thats just not possible; to make something happen you have to work within institutions and structures. Anyway, basically now I'm considering working for the UN or something when I finish university. I dont think I'd be satisfied with my life unless I knew that I'd at least attempted to make a difference in some way... even if it's eventually futile.

Mmmkay, bye.