July 2004 Archives

I managed to upset some shoppers outside a supermarket today. 'Tweren't intentional by any means, but I'll admit I should have been paying more attention. The entrance to the supermarket seems geared for cars and the like rather than for pedestrians such as myself. Approach it from a particular direction and you have to cross a small stream of traffic, as well as navigating the automatic barriers whose sole purpose (to me in my capacity as hapless pedestrian) seem to cause a snarl up of motor vehicles. Navigating between the cars whilst trying to get into the supermarket, I was somewhat startled to feel something thud down upon my shoulder. The bright yellow and black stripes immediately identified it as one of the barriers (either my thoughts were elsewhere, or it wasn't painted a bright enough shade of yellow to catch my attention. I'll let you decide which). Naturally the the two attendants manning the barriers immediately rushed to the aid... of the barrier, which now seemed stuck at my shoulder height (which isn't really all that high). The shoppers waiting in their cars to exit the car park glared menacingly at me as the attendants tried to get the barrier operational again. The attendants also threw me a sidelong glance of discontent.

I snuck off into the supermarket nursing a bruised shoulder and bought myself lots of milk to cheer myself up.

I'm a born procrastinator in that I have immense difficulties when it comes to starting new projects. Once begun, I have no trouble throwing myself into the task at hand, often to the point that I'll look up from what I'm doing and realise that hours have passed without my noticing. But getting over that initial hurdle is a serious problem for me.

It must come down to motivation in the end. I was about to state that I'm not terribly self-motivated, but I don't think that's true. I'm perfectly capable of achieving the things I want to, it's just I suffer from an absence of things I really want to achieve (for myself). No vision - that's my problem :) However, I as I've made clear in recent days, I've rather jarringly found myself with a very distinct goal in mind, and much to my surprise, I've discovered a new found relish for self-improvement.

I used to love learning at school. I was one of those annoying children who just absorbed knowledge without having to put much effort into it (I know I'm not the only one - hands up all of you out there). I did well in nearly all of my exams (I still don't like to talk about French though) with minimal amounts of revision, and I think I expected to fare just as well at university. I'll spare my dignity and cut a long story short by saying that I didn't do as well as I once thought I might. My performance was marginal at best, and disastrous at worse. I scraped away with a degree, but I left without much respect for it or myself - particularly my academic abilities.

Looking back at the whole affair now, my explanation is that I simply talked myself into failing, but that's little more than a comfortable excuse. Ultimately the end result is that I've had a fairly low opinion of my ability to learn since then. I do learn, of course (at least I hope so!), but I have avoided challenging myself. My current appetite for information may not last long, but I hope I can spin it out for a while yet (before creeping procrastination takes it's toll).

I've a lot to learn, after all...

I'm exhausted. Probably more emotionally than physically, but the effects feel the same. My c.v. is finished. My application is finished. I've not submitted either of them, but this is good thing, since I've only just laid down the final drafts of each and it will do me some good to take a break before I double check them and the finally send them off into the ether.

The whole experience has only lasted a week, but it feels like an eternity. Too many tumultuous peaks and troughs along the way for my liking. My confidence in particular has soared to the highest mountain tops and then plummeted back down to the bleakest depths. Several times. It's now hovering in some inbetween limbo state, which is probably a good place for it - for now. A little stability will do me good.

I appreciate now that I'm far more confident about myself and my abilities than I was during the last period of job hunting I underwent. That I'm still a trembling, neurotic bag of nerves now should give you a clue as to just what I was like back then (how on earth did I ever manage to convince anyone to employ me back then?). Anyway, enough moping about for one evening (and hopefully for a while after this). It's nearly over and done with. Thank goodness!

Odd things seem to be happening tonight.

For instance, it seems to be unfathomably warm and humid tonight, but just in my room - the temperatures seem far more reasonable outside.

On top of that, I'm sure I've caught something skittering about the floor from the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look there was nothing there.

I also seem to have misplaced my teddy bear. His name is Abel, and he's lived at the bottom of my bed, since he was gifted to me by some friends at University some dozen years ago. He's a good natured lump, and it's exceedingly rare that he goes wandering on his own.

And lastly I could have sworn some kids outside were playing with a laser pointer or something. I'm certain I spotted that tell tale red red dot on my wall. Except, rather strangely, my blinds were down.

I wonder what it all means. Perhaps it could be related to the shredded empty cardboard box I found outside my door this morning. I'll need to investigate further methinks...

Ever been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things you don't know?

I had an appraisal at work recently, the first for my present company in the nearly four years I've been there. In theory they should have happened in the past on a semi-regular basis, but by the time my turn came around fortune usually intervened (often in the form of a round of redundancies) and I was left to my own devices, unappraised. One of the comments made by my manager, Howard, during my long delayed appraisal, was that I was "highly strung". This goes to illustrate that my mental image of myself and those others have of me are probably significantly different - after all, for the most part I consider myself an easy going soul, content to serenely bob up and down atop the turbulence of life, unaffected by it's tides.

However stopping to think about it, I could understand why he made that assessment. The key phrase in my description of myself above is: "for the most part". I'll admit I am capable of working myself into a tizzy (a lather even), especially about things I care about. This applies not just to work but to my life in general. And it seems I care about rather a lot.

I'm quite adamant that I'm going to do everything possible to get my job. My initial approach to this was to consider ever possible thing I could be asked in an interview, to see where the gaps in my knowledge lie and then to fill those gaps. It turned out to be a lengthy list. A sensible person might have broken it down, and made some sort of plan as to how best to approach things. A less sensible person might have simply panicked at the scale of what's involved, try to do too much at once and practically drive themselves to a nervous breakdown. Guess what I did?

I've calmed down now, but I consequently spent a few hours earlier feeling extremely unhappy with myself and generally being rather depressed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. My goal now is to take things one step at a time. I can't do everything at once (duh), and I just need to make certain I remember that in future and don't try to take on too much at once. It's obvious advice really, but then isn't most good advice?

Harking back to the appraisal process before I go (and because it will cheer me up a little), perhaps the nicest comment made by Howard was his least managerial. He was commenting on the particular approach I take to the functional specifications I'm given when starting new projects. This approach, in case you are wondering, is to completely ignore them and go off and do something else entirely. I wasn't aware I did this until he compared some of the specs with what I delivered. Suffice it to say they... differed. He wasn't complaining though - he said he was quite happy to sit back and let me get on with it, since he was always curious to see what I'd come back with. It made me smile. He also asked me not to leave, which saddened me.

I still haven't applied for what I'm going to pre-emptively label my job. Don't worry, I'm not giving up on it, I've just been doing some research and preparation beforehand - forearmed is forewarned, to trot out a comforting cliche. I've learned for example, that the particular branch that's being set up will open with a staff of 10, with larger numbers coming on board the following year. It's a comfortingly small number, despite the fact that this can only result in increased competition for the available posts - competition which I'll hazard will be quite fierce. But I'm relatively sanguine about it : nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nothing to lose.

The process of applying for the job involves filling out an application form online. I haven't completed it, but I've stared at it and thought about it a lot. Several open ended questions and one important true/false checkbox that I'll come back to in a moment. I spent some time writing answers to the first few questions, in my usual reticent, unflattering and brutally honest manner, and surprisingly, having read over what I've written so far, even I'd have to admit that I sound like an capable candidate, perhaps even an impressive one - on paper at least.

But there remains one outstanding question, that all important checkbox which troubles me so. It simply asks if I have experience of a number of technologies. And the majority I do, at what I consider to be an extremely high level - and certainly those what I consider the significant skills. But there are two outstanding skills that I must confess I'm far from expert at. Hence my quandary: do I check the box, perhaps falsely giving the impression that I'm more capable than I actually am, or leave it unchecked, but risk forfeiting my chances at an early stage.

I discussed the situation with a friend at work, and, having read the question, he pointed it out that I wasn't being asked to rate my skills, rather it merely enquired as to whether I had experience of these technologies. From that viewpoint, I may yet be able to answer yes with a clear conscience, since it is true... from a certain point of view. I feel as though I've veered into morally grey territory, but I feel I owe it to myself to give myself every available opportunity.

Decisions, decisions...

I don't know much about the behavioural patterns of fish. Some of them are very pretty. Some of them are very tasty. But other than to eat or admire, the paths of fish and I cross but rarely (as though we live in two different worlds). I passed by the pond I'm given to pass now and then and noticed a large number of fish lined over the pebbled shallows at the edge of the pond. I was curious as to what they were doing there (sunbathing?) so I tried to get a little closer to observe their behaviour

Without meaning to, I startled the fish, and immediately they all turned tail and fled. The curious thing was that they didn't form a shoal, but instead swam in a near perfect semicircle away from each other and from me, as though I'd accidentally caused a ripple in the water, but of fish instead of water.

Perhaps it's common behaviour, and perhaps it's a common sight, but It was something I'd never seen before, and thus special to me.

I took a tour around the Royal Opera House today, a beautiful building in Covent Garden into which I'd never ventured past the foyer before. It was refurbished several years back and the interior is really quite spectacular - every bit as rich and opulent as you might expect. Our guide, who appeared to enjoy having an audience tremendously, took great pains to point out details such as the 24 carat gold leaf that covers a vast portion of the interior and the Royal Box with a private entrance used by Prince Charles (and from which the view of the stage is apparently dreadful - the Queen prefers to sit in the circle).

It was slightly disconcerting to venture backstage, into the labyrinthine corridors of the theatre. The auditorium appeared large enough to me, but it's truly dwarfed by the rest of the building - the whole structure consists of 10 floors with some 800 people working there. A framed cross section on a wall showed how tiny the auditorium is in comparison with the rest of the building. To the side of the stage, for example, is an aircraft hanger sized area used to house sets for the various performances. The logistics here are fascinating, since it might be used to house sets for up to productions and a complex series of sliding platforms and lifts ensure that any of these can be readied on the stage in under four minutes.

As you might imagine, the lavishness of the surrounds fades the further backstage you journey, but it's strange to see how workman-like everything becomes. The corridors and offices you encounter appear like those in any office building in the country, filled with mundane features such a staff noticeboards and a canteen (though enlivened by the addition of numerous paper signs in Russian blue-tacked around to help guide the visiting Bolshoi company around).

Before the tour ended we were fortunate enough to be able to watch a rehearsal in progress. Two young Russians were enacting Mercutio's death from Romeo and Juliet, as an older man stood by, occasionally barking orders in a thick Russian accent. I thought for a moment that we were standing on the other side of a one way mirror, until I looked across at a mirrored surface opposite and realised we were wholly visible to the dancers. I supposed they must used to people starting at them, but rehearsing seems like such a private, almost intimate, act that I felt quite voyeuristic to be watching them there. They seemed terribly young to mine eyes, and, though I doubt I could easily distinguish excellence from mediocrity, they seemed quite distinquished to me.

It was a good afternoon.

Leaving work today I felt extremely down in the dumps. Largely it was related to my current project which just seems to be getting worse and worse (for reasons entirely out of my control, so I shan't be too self critical about it, and it's nearing completion - thank Deity) but it felt like a dull grey pall was being cast over every facet of my life.

I'd already arranged previously to go to a concert this evening at the Barbican (conveniently located in the middle of nowhere, which given that it's the center of London is quite a feat), but I was giving serious consideration to pulling out so I could just get away and go home and curl up and mope. I didn't, largely because it would have been terribly unfair of me not to turn up, but also because I thought a change of scenery might cheer me up. And it did.

Not, in the end, because of the music (which I much enjoyed - one of the pieces was specially arranged for a harp, an instrument I've long been fond of), but because of a t-shirt worn by the gentleman sitting in front of me. I didn't see the front, but on the back was a small picture of three faces, drawn in the manner of a child, rough circles with points for eyes and a slight curve of a line for a mouth. And underneath that was written these words: "Be as you are."

It may be a trite little aphorism, but it cheered me up immensely. I've never been very good at being other than I am, and I often forget that being me is one of my chief virtues (I'm sure the same applies to everyone). Now I just need to hold onto that thought long enough to get a job application written.

I accidentally discovered my dream job (or a very close approximation) being advertised on the web this morning. I didn't go looking for it, it just happened to be... there, sitting right in front of me. Looking at me. Tempting me. Whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Waving at me every once in a while whenever I tried to ignore it. And it just refuses to go away. I've tried pushing it away, but it does no good. I threw it out the window, but I turned around and it was back again (looking a little bedraggled but no less enthusiastic). Dropping a safe on it didn't help. Nor did the piano (and to be honest, I suspect it was a waste of a very nice grand piano). Now I'm just going to have to resort to extreme measures.

User interface design. Based in Edinburgh. For a company I'd believe I'd like to work for (rather a lot). Asking for something extremely close to my current levels of experience. I flatter myself that I could do it and that I'd be good at it. Or to phrase it somewhat more positively, I know I have the talent and passion to do the job and do it well (which is as much confidence as I've ever been able to muster about something like this - the effort was exhausting). I showed the job advert to someone I work with, without saying anything about it. They waved goodbye to me. I take that to be a good sign.

Time to make me a C.V. It's been a while...

Last year I had a conversation with a Buddhist, during which he remarked that he once tried to spend a day (or an hour or a week - some non-trivial period of time) without using the word "I". Rather like like writing a novel excluding the letter "e", this struck me as an inordinately difficult, yet ultimately pointless task. However, I'll admit my judgement at the time was coloured darkly by the fact I'd taken an intense dislike to the gentleman with whom I was conversing, and since starting writing here, I've become acutely aware of just how "I" oriented my writing is.

Strangely, though, I don't consider that to be a bad thing, since I've gotten used to using my blog as a means of communicating with my friends and family about what's going on in my life. It's all about me after all.

However, since it's worth looking outside of myself every once in a while, I feel it's probably worth directing you to a few other blogs that have caught my attention recently. The first belongs to Jim, another American braving the wilds of Minnesota. Jim's path and mine have intersected on a handful of occasions over the last few years and his company has always proved a pleasure. His blog is only in it's infancy just now, but his first couple of entries are enough to make me look forward to see how it develops .

Nextly, whilst scanning the logs of my site, I've discovered that a couple of other blogs (or at least their owners) have kindly to linked to me (or at least my blog). These are Watski's World, and The Painted Turtle. Surprised and honoured as I am, I feel it's only fair to reciprocate such favours and have thusly added links to each of these blogs in my side bar (my way of waving and yelling hello to those figures in the distance) .

Hello, by the way. Whoever you may be.

Yes, I know I said I'd review Spider-man 2 today, but I returned home to discover I have broadband again (cue hallelujah chorus, dancing cherubim, and other assorted scenes of joy. It doesn't take much to make me happy). Much tinkering with my shiny new wireless router thusly ensued (in lieu of review). Whilst it's good to have it back again, and I finally feel that something approaching normality has been restored, it is one heck of a distraction, especially when you've been as bandwidth impaired as I have recently. I'm sure the novelty will wear off by tomorrow, but for the moment I'm as giddy as maiden aunt on a merry-go-round.

To add to my air of settlement today, the broadband installation also coincided with the handing in of my keys to my last abode and the collection of my deposit. The last few ties I had there are gradually being snipped away. Despite the fact it's been less than a month since I moved it already seems like a lifetime ago since I lived there - it's not a place I belong anymore, and seeing it again it was hard to believe I ever belonged there.

But now, (on that curiously melancholy note) I'll need to beg you to excuse me. It's getting late again, and I've still got a couple of phone calls to make before I can retire to bed.

As well as some belated birthday celebrations, the weekend past also featured, as I mentioned before, a family trip to the cinema to see Spider-man 2. Needless to say I don't think I've looked forward to a film more in quite some time, and consequently I spent the whole day hopping around with excitement, working myself into something of a fervour. Picture Calvin after spending a day feasting on chocolate frosted sugar bombs (and considering the amount of birthday chocolate I'd scoffed that day, it's a terrifyingly accurate portrait). I tried to convince my brother Nicky to sneak off in the middle of the day to catch an earlier showing, but he refused to humour me. Bah, foiled again!

One of the big surprises of the day turned out be the fact that my Mum decided to accompany us in the end. This was nearly unheard of occurrence, although there was a rational explanation for it: too many tickets had been booked, and my mother simply cannot abide waste (my childhood passed by with many references to "starving children in Africa" when I refused to finish my plate). The other big surprise was that she actually enjoyed it! I truly thought she'd doze off halfway through the film, but no, she was thoroughly entertained by the whole affair, and even quizzed us afterwards on some of the plot points that were unclear to her as she'd not seen the first film (the dvd will soon be on loan to her, and she's rather looking forward to watching it). It even turned out that she'd been something of a superhero fan in her teens, when a Superman serial featured every Thursday at the local cinema and she'd attend religiously every week. See, I knew it got it from somewhere! I'll hold off on my views of the film for the moment, since I'll be seeing it again tomorrow, after which I'll write up a review. I don't think I'll be giving anything much away if I say I really rather liked it. A lot.

Talk of a family holiday was triggered when I started telling my kith and kin of my long delayed plan to traverse the globe. I mentioned that one of the possible itineraries I'd looked at began in South Africa. Johannesburg to be specific. It was at this point Pauline, my elder sister, interjected that I wasn't allowed to go without them. "Them" being the rest of my siblings at the very least, and quite possibly a few more relatives besides. If this enthusiasm for South Africa seems inexplicable, rest assured there are good reasons for it. My surname, in case you've ever wondered, is of Dutch derivation (and means stone), and comes to courtesy of my father, who hailed from South Africa. I suppose the biggest tragedy of my family is that he died. I realise that's a rather blunt way of putting things, but I never knew him as a person (his death came when I was very young), and he was never really talked about. I don't know why, and it is something I regret now. I know so very little about him - a postcard could easily fit all I know. Please understand this was just the normal state of affairs as I was growing up and I never realised it should be questioned, until too late, when it just seemed too sad and awkward to contest. So I can't help but view a trip to South Africa as a chance to put right some past wrongs, and I suspect Pauline and my other siblings have similar thoughts (although we've never really broached it with each other. Sigh). The opportunity to connect with a father none of us ever knew.

Alternatively, we could end up in Disney World. I kid you not - it's just the way things happen in my family. From the sublime to the ridiculous in scarcely a heartbeat. It could go either way.

But I'll be pushing for Johannesburg.

I love my family, I really do. They're completely mad for the most part, and you can pretty much guarantee there'll be raised voices within five minutes of us congregating, but it's all part of a wonderfully familiar routine that I do miss. There are rumblings of a family holiday next year, the first in over a dozen years. It could turn out to be something special, if it happens, and if we survive the experience without turning on each other too badly. I want it to happen. I'll tell you why tomorrow...

I'm heading back to Edinburgh again tomorrow evening. Not as a reaction to how I've been feeling recently, just in case you were wondering. Rather I'd planned it all a while back, to celebrate the happy intersection between my birthday and the release of Spider-man 2 (my anticipation of which bears strong resemblance to that of Bart and Lisa upon the release of the Itchy and Scratchy movie - except I'm possibly a little more excited). The troops will be duly be rounded up on Saturday, and a goodly swath of my clan will be heading along to see the film after my belated birthday dinner. My Mum has exempted herself from the latter part of the proceedings - we tried to persuade her to come along, but she's not terribly keen on visiting the cinema - for reasons I've never entirely understood - preferring as she does a nice cup of tea and the latest episode of Coronation Street.

Of course, I very nearly screwed things up rather badly indeed when I booked my train tickets online. I was slightly worried when yesterday passed and the tickets had yet failed to materialise, so I called up GNER to investigate what was going on. They were quite adamant that the tickets had been dispatched in good time, so I asked them to check my details, and discovered I'd inadvertently transposed two digits of my address. A quick search on the internet and I leaned that I'd mistakenly given the address of a homoeopathic pharmacy a few doors down the road from me. I called them up to ask if they'd received any letters in my name, and a rather harried woman suggested I should call back when things were a little quieter. Having felt that I'd gotten off to a bad start, I called back and apologised only to find myself launching into an unexpectedly tense negotiation, forced to bargain for the return of my tickets. After the woman calmed down a little, we managed to conclude on a price and in return for my tickets she extracted the princely sum of: one sincere apology, one promise to be more careful in the future, and one box of chocolates (brand unspecified), to be delivered upon my return.

I rather suspect I've been taken advantage of.

I've been feeling particularly homesick of late. Largely related to my birthday I suspect. Birthdays in my family were treated rather like your own personal Christmas, with all the rampant commercialism that implies (i.e. presents!). You'd wake on on the morn of your birthday and excitedly walk (ok, run) through to the living room where you'd find the couch adorned with gifts in all shapes and sizes - and all for you. I sure I was an extremely selfish child, something I think I've spent a long time in the days since then trying to make up for.

Anyway, with the benefit of hindsight, brought about by my advancing years, I can look back and see that it wasn't just the sheer materialism of the day that made it special, rather it was an occasion for the whole family to get together and celebrate. Brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, my grandmother, and somewhere in the midst of it, trying to hold everything together was my Mum, whirling about in a furious burst of energy that was simultaneously awesome and utterly terrifying to behold, trying to make sure that everyone had fun - or else! The family getting together wasn't a rare event. For the most part everyone lived within 1km radius (and even now, I'm the only one who's strayed any great distance), so it was rare for much time to pass before we'd all catch up with one another. But still, birthdays were special somehow, a particular ritual to be shared, with all the old familiar tics and foibles brought to bear once more.

It still feels strange, to wake up on my birthday and find no presents waiting, no family congregating. I don't find myself sad, per se, thinking about it, more wistful and reflective.

Things change after all.

'Twas Shakespeare at Hampton Court Palace tonight. Marvellous play (Much Ado About Nothing, featuring a finely judged performance by the wonderful Josie Lawrence, of Whose Line Is It Anyway fame), beautiful venue. Seriously awful journey back home. An hour and forty minutes tribulation featuring three buses (one of which I discovered that I really didn't want to be on), a walk, a jog and a sprint (for one of the afore-mentioned buses) and a magical mystery tour (big on the mystery, short on the magic) through large tracts of West London that I can live without ever visiting again.

The title of this entry, in case you're curious (and you must be - with a phrase like that, how could you not?), was derogatory term coined by a poet to describe the overly adorned courtiers who orbited around the palace court in times long past. It's now officially one of my favourite phrases in the whole wide world ever.

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear Mark...
Happy birthday to me.

After spending a weekend worrying about what the consequences of my recent screw up at work might be, I discovered today what was going to happen. And that's... nothing.

It came as an anticlimax to me too.

I'm sure it hearkens back to my Catholic upbring that I find it disappointing when my errors have no repercussions. That I should suffer no admonishment for my mistakes doesn't feel right to me. It's not what's supposed to happen. It's not in the script. I know it's a peculiar thing to compain about, but for me the matter reaches beyond mere punishment. It makes me wonder again, for example, about the worth of what I'm doing, what I've been doing for the past few years. If something goes wrong and causes an uproar, for instance, then at least it shows it's of some import. If something goes wrong, on the other hand, and it's deemed barely worthy of a shrug, then what use can it be?

I want my consequences, darnit!

I screwed up at work recently. I didn't actually realise this until late on Friday afternoon. I was asked to look over a project specification a few weeks ago, to ensure that everything that was being asked for could be provided. I gave it a cursory once over, and it all looked mostly fine. I had to check a few points, which I did, although not as thoroughly as I should have done. I discovered on Friday, when I began to delve into the project in a little more depth, that I few of the things I'd promised simply aren't possible - I'd checked documentation belonging an older version of some software and drawn certain - and invalid - conclusions from it. This wouldn't ordinarily be a problem, but in this case the project is something that's been subcontracted to us, and is hence of somewhat great importance than normal.

I didn't tell anyone what I'd discovered. I put it down to raw cowardice and the fact it was too late in the afternoon to do much about it then. I didn't see the point in ruining anyone else's weekend. I've spent pretty much the whole time since then in silent dread of returning to work on Monday. If I ever threw sick days, I wouldn't turn up tomorrow. But, unfortunately, such deceit just isn't in my nature, so tomorrow I'll have to head in and 'fess up to what I've done. I doubt I'll suffer any dire consequences, other than making myself look rather foolish, but beyond that I've let several people down - something I hate to do - and I'll fall on my sword if need be.

Insert expletive of your choice here.

Having spend so much time - and so many emotions - ridding myself of so many of my worldly goods I now find myself in the strange position of having to gather unto myself various new possessions. Silly things really. After sharing my living space for all my life, I've come to take certain items for granted - like tin openers for example. Or cutlery and crockery. Or a drying rack for clothes (are these really called clothes horses? I fail to see the resemblance). How these things entered my life before, I'm not entirely certain. They could have been left after a visit by benevolent elves in the dead of night, or perhaps more prosaically by equally benevolent mothers and flatmates. Probably not in the dead of night, though. Alas, currently shorn as I am of both flatmates and mothers (and seemingly shunned by the fair folk as well), I'm now left to fend for myself when it comes to such matters.

Naturally, the sensible thing to do would be to sit down and carefully consider what necessities I'm currently lacking in order to produce a list that I might then take an afternoon in which to hunt then all down at once. Of course, I've done exactly the opposite - namely I continually wait until I realise I need something, at which point it's usually to late in the evening to do anything about it. I'll then make a mental note to rectify the situation at the next available opportunity and promptly forget to do so. This is why I ended up slurping breakfast of out a perspex cooking dish for a few days before I finally remembered to buy a spoon and a bowl. It's also why I've continued to struggle to pierce the hide of lone tin of tomatoes which sits sadly on a shelf. To be fair to myself, I did remember to go a purchase a tin opener (eventually), but, for reasons which remain inexplicable to me, I returned with a bottle opener instead. Whilst they're both devices intended to open sealed containers, I've discovered, to my cost, that the mechanisms behind each are suitably different that they cannot easily be substituted for one another.

My tin of tomatoes lives to see another day...

For the most part I believe I've managed to avoid the majority of the classic male obsessions (such as sport and beer, for example, and, well, women), but I can't help but share that peculiar male fetish for destruction on a grand scale.

A typical working day will see me making my towards Feltham, a town just outside of London, nestling between the busting city and Heathrow airport. Before the company I work for moved there, it was briefly located in temporary offices in the heart of London, just around the corner from Trafalgar Square, in what used to be the Libyan embassy. I worked in the basement, in a room adjacent to an enormous underground safe replete with a two feet thick steel door Those on the upper floors were rather more fortunate - they were blessed with rich carpeting, vast chandeliers and, perhaps most importantly of all, windows and daylight. Suffice it to say, that in terms of grandeur, Feltham can't quite begin to compete with our previous location, it's primary highlight being that it's home to the largest young offenders institute in all of Europe.

Lest I seem to be digressing too far, let's get back to the subject of wanton destruction. Feltham is currently in the initial stages of what looks to be a rather impressive urban regeneration programme. It's become something of a cliche to say that towns and cities are blighted by innumerable problem, from crime, to unemployment, to litter, and more, but in Feltham's case, all these apply and more. It's simply not a pleasant town, nor I imagine a pleasant place to live. My fellow co-workers and I conspire to do our very best to spend as little time there as possible (occasionally to the consternation of certain members of management). If you were to see the place you'd understand why. The center of town is both dominated and ruined by some of the most horrendous sixties and seventies concrete architecture you're likely to encounter. It's notable features include a pedestrian precinct that features regularly on The Bill (when they require an area to film in that has a particular air of destitution), and an adjectiveless tower block. I describe the tower block as adjectiveless, because words simply fail me. How anyone could ever have thought building this thing would benefit anyone escapes me.

Fortunately, everything must go, and the center of the town is now being torn apart, to later rise from the rubble in a form that, judging from an intricate cardboard model on display, looks carefully conceived to appeal to those members middle classes in need of affordable housing within reasonable commuting distance of the center of London (with the added benefit of close proximity to Heathrow). And when I say torn apart, I do mean it. I was initially curious as to how the tower block would be taken down - perhaps I secretly hoped it would be blasted out of existence (a fitting end for the monstrosity), but it's nearness to several key pieces of infrastructure (roads and rail tracks and such like) made that rather unlikely. Instead, over the past several weeks, it's been pecked away at by an enormous mechanical arm, resembling an giant jcb, but with a large claw in place of a scoop. It's an impressive device, and quite hypnotic to watch in action - walking down the high street I regularly have to weave my way through the small crowds that form to stand and stare at it. I've even found myself participating in this staring ritual myself once or twice.

I'm not sure why this carnage should hold such fascination. I suppose anything on any kind of grand scale is always grounds for gawping, be it art or music, nature or architecture. And there's a curious aesthetic at work, watching this great engine of entropy (I couldn't resist the phrase, I'm sorry) tearing into it's hapless prey, a slow primitive ballet of sorts. Perhaps it doesn't really matter in the end. Somewhere ravelled in my genetic structure are a few strands of dna that force me to accept that big machines making bigger buildings go boom is just plain kewl :)

I feel terribly masculine now.

I'm back, by golly, I'm back.

Having spent nigh on two weeks pondering life without a telephone line, and, by inference, an internet connection, I think I can state with a degree of authority that I'm highly reliant (dependant?) on the internet. Knowing myself as I do, this scarcely qualifies as a revelation. That I coped well enough without it, on the other hand, came as more of a surprise. I've been using the internet for over a third of my life now, certainly near all my adult existence, and using it as a source of reference and entertainment is entirely second nature to me. I turn to my laptop almost by instinct whenever I find myself with an inquiry on virtually any topic, and without an internet connection I found myself regarding it as little more than a dull grey slab (I can't help by wonder what people did with computers before the internet edged into public acceptance)

So what did these netless days bring me, that I didn't start climbing walls?

Time.

Time to rest. Time breathe. To think. Time to spend with myself without distraction (I'm extremely skilled at distracting myself, for which purpose the internet is a marvellous tool). Time to stop and smell the thistles (I realise roses are more traditional in such a role, but I pass I patch of thistles each morning on the way to work. They cast a rich and wonderful scent).

Of course, too much of any good thing will be wearing eventually, and I'm quite glad that my BT enforced exile from the internet is at an end. I initially considered writing something each day, to post en bulk when I finally got back online, but, truth be told, I welcomed the rest from blogging as much as the rest from the net. I shroud myself in routine too easily, as I've remarked before, and it's always good to escape once in a while, if only as proof you can.

Normally service, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof, is hereby resumed. It's good to be back.

It's good to be back in Edinburgh, however briefly. I've already been fitted for a kilt for my brother's forthcoming wedding (September doesn't really seem far off now. I'd better get a move on writing my speech!), hunted down a birthday present for my sister (a plastic see through umbrella at her behest - my brother and I hunted around half of the city without chancing upon one, before we accosted a poor woman in the street, demanding to know from where she had purchased hers), and taken my brother and his fiance out to dinner at a restaurant with interminably slow service (Zizzi's in Ocean Terminal. I'd eaten in a London branch before which was quite pleasant, but I now give a strong recommendation to avoid them). This last was particularly irksome. The meal took around two hours, most time of which we spent being ignored by the waiting staff. The quality of the food was also rather mediocre. This would always have annoyed me, but as age seems bring with it increasing crotchetiness, I seem now to have finally reached the point where I'm prepared to do something about it, even if only to write a strongly worded letter of complaint. I don't do this out of malice (or at least I don't want to believe so), but simply because of the realisation that change requires impetus. And it may as well come from me.

Today a restaurant. Tomorrow the world!

It's also been a little strange seeing the state of the house up here. As the family grew an extension was added (a long time ago - I can't ever remember the house without it), bringing with it a much needed set of extra bedrooms (I have many siblings). This extension is now in the process of being converted into a self contained flat for Nicky and Kerry (the aforementioned brother and fiance). At the moment all the furniture has been removed and the wallpaper has been stripped, leaving only empty rooms and bare plaster walls which bear the remnants of past childish graffitis. The remains feel barren and skeletal and so very, very small (the smallness seemingly a quality possessed my nearly all empty rooms, regardless of their size). Standing in there alone, looking around, it's easy to understand how people can believe in ghosts and unexplained presences haunting old houses and rooms. It's impossible to move through such a space without disturbing the thousands of memories floating like motes of dust in the air. They trail around you, following in your wake, whispering gentle reminders of times past. It's a seductive and melancholy experience.

But my own recent experiences have taught me the dangers of such unwarranted sentimentality. Old memories have their place, true, but not at the expense of the new.

Apologies to you all for my extended absence. Despite my various (and increasingly aggravating) wrangles with the fine institution that is British (razzin' frazzin') Telecom I find myself still muddling onwards without a telephone, let alone the adsl connection to which I aspire. Consequently I've been left feeling a little disconnected of late. It's not been quite as bad as I initially feared it might be, since I've at least had the distractions of unpacking and arranging my various belongings to keep me busy, but given what I've recently discarded, the remainder can only occupy me for so long and I'll admit I'm near the end of my tether. I want my internet connection darnit! Of course, I do have access from work, but it's not quite the same, and I feel ever so slightly guilty writing this when I should be working.

Still I'm heading home to Edinburgh this weekend, so at least I can look forward to some other diversions to keep me busy. With luck and the grace of fortune I should have a phone line again this coming Thursday, at which point I'll resume my regular posting schedule (and no doubt I'll have to bear the critism of poor blog for my truancy).

In the meantime feel free to amuse yourselves. Or better yet, amuse me. It'll help keep my mind off my plight.