Could it possibly be?

I seem to have turned some sort of metaphysical corner.
Having gained and lost a job, lost and gained a degree and spending months loafing around, I now seem to be on the cusp of reaping the rewards promised when I put myself through the challenges of University.
In a little over a weeks' time I have an interview for a construction graduate position at Birmingham City Council. If I get the job and I have every intention of going all-out to do so), then everything I've been through, suffered and enjoyed, will have been worthwhile. If not, I have an invitation to speak to someone concerning a small temporary job. So either way, a few weeks time and I'll probably be in work of some sort or another.
The prospect of which fills me with absolute joy.

Things to look forward to this Christmas

Or,

Chalfont's review of the Year 2008.

2008 has seen quite a lot of change for me, both for good and bad.
Lets start with the good, shall we?
Firstly, I've made many many new friends and met many many very interesting people. Without them, I doubt I'd have had half as much fun as I have, so thank you everyone, you're the greatest bunch of mates a fellow could ask for.
Secondly, I've done things I've never done before. I wouldn't say I'll do them again, some of them certainly not, but just having the opportunity to experience them was superb and sublime in its own right.
Thirdly, I've achieved my degree. So now I have letters after my name and, if you're the sort of person who still divides society into class, I guess you could say I'm now high-prole, or low middle, class. Moe importantly I'm the first member of my family to go into higher education and see it through to the end. The feeling of achievement is immense.

And so onto the low points.
Having my degree deferred must rank as one of the lowest points of the year, after the tutors had had innumerable opportunities to voice concerns they obviously had.
Losing my job because of the recession a week later at the time made no difference to me but as months have worn on and I find myself becoming increasingly desperate for employment, so this point has sunk lower and lower.

Hopes for 2009?
Firstly, to find suitable employment (which may happen very soon, if an interview at Birmingham City Council in the New Year goes well).
Secondly, to start clearing my student debt.
Thirdly, to just plain have a good time and live my life!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!

The Savage Garden

I'd never really understood quite what Anne Rice was describing when she attributed the phrase 'the savage garden' to one of her characters, but know I think I'm beginning to understand. It is in essence the idea that nature has no sense of justice or fair play, no ethics or moral code, but rather adheres merely to aesthetic principles and rules.

And I must admit that, thinking about it, it is starting to make sense.

Why else, for instance, could someone like I, who worked his fingers to the bone, who has had career goals for ten to fifteen years and went all out to achieve them, who has sacrificed so much and who is a genuinely sincere and pleasant person, be so unfairly brought screeching to a halt and made to feel so worthless and dejected when other happy-go-lucky scamps who don't deserve even the air they breathe get all the lucky breaks?

That is pretty savage, I suppose. And as for the garden aspect? Simply look around you. All nature has a beauty about it that is sadly lost on us, preoccupied as we are on lust, wealth and materialism.

Of all the stupid things I've seen...

The absolute worst, the reason arguably why Great Britain isn't really that great any more, took place this morning.

I was standing on one of the platforms at Birmingham New Street Station and someone spilt their coffee. No problem, you might think. But remember, this is Britain in 2008. Within about 15 seconds, four operatives in bright orange flak jackets had turned up and there was absolute pandemonium.

"Don't use this door!" "Keep clear, for the love of God! You could get burnt!" "This door is out of use!" et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. All there was, you understand, was a little bit of warm brown liquid on the floor and suddenly the platform is drawn to a standstill. The black and yellow elfen safety tape was brought out of course and half the platform sealed off until one of the staff had the bravery (even now I don't know how they prepared themselves mentally for the challenge)to go out with a mop and clean it up. They weren't even wearing a Bio/chemical/nuclear hazard suit. Mon dieu.

Now in the good old days of course, ordinary people had the common sense to see the stuff on the floor, keep clear of it and then someone would come along and clean it up, and that would be that. Not now. Ohhhhhh no, not on your nelly.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Britain is now a hopeless case. Everything it seems is dangerous or risky or illegal. And that, my friends, is a crying shame.

Interview With The Vampire

Now I know I haven't written here in quite a while but there really is a good reason for that, in that I was recently given the first three books of Anne Rice's 'The Vampire Chronicles'. Ergo I have spent my days and evenings reading those rather than filling the aethernet with the contrite rubbish I usually pour forth.

The one book I have completed so far, Interview With The Vampire, is absolutely exquisite. Considering it was published in about 1977, however, this is unlikely to be front-page news. Bearing that in mind, it is probably pointless to review it because those who care already know what it is about.

So in lieu of that I think I'll just describe the ethemeral experience of reading it. In my experience, I can only assume that Ms Rice wrote the book by candlelight whilst locked in a garret with a Rachmaninov concerto playing at a high volume from her stereo. Why, you ask? Because when I read it I was also listening to the aforementioned Rachmaninov and some Mozart too, and it seemed to me that the music complemented the book perfectly. Barber's Adagio, on the other hand, does not quite go so well.

And it gets better, because yesterday I procured the 1994 film of the same name. Which was worth its asking price just to see Tom Cruise alternately dance with a corpse, bleed to death and have the bejesus scared out of him by a police helicopter.

Woe is me oh unhappy day.

Oh dear. I've done it again. Once more unto the breach I guess.

Well, I didn't get the job I was interviewed for. And it appears that such opportunities are going to increasingly become few and far between.

The AJ this morning predicted that the construction industry really won't pick up before 2011, and that 2009 is going to be a really, really, bad year to be in the architectural profession. Which doesn't bode well for any of us really.

I've now officially had to put my studies on hold, as I've missed the deadline for getting a year-out placement this year. Apparently that has befallen most of my classmates too.

So now I have a (pretty much) useless degree that qualifies me to do one, und precisely von, form of work, which has gone down the tube. Blast. Worse than that, it appears any form of job I could potentially do either (a) calls for experience I don't have, (b) a drivers licence I don't have or (c) is so far away as to make just getting there an occupation in its own right.

So now I'm stuck. I can't find a job that suits my talents, I have my parents starting to push me to go on the dole (something that my sense of pride and dignity precludes on pain of death and, worse, humiliation), and I'm starting to feel increasingly depressed and despondent.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the whining has returned.

Right, the Interview...

Well, I had my interview yesterday and now I'm just waiting for a response.

The office itself seemed rather nice- it is in a sprawling old country house right next to a canal and there are only about five or six people working for the company.

The problem is that it is a little fraught to get to- either two bus journeys or a train journey followed by a bus. Coupled with the fact that I'd only rarely visited Rugeley this meant I got lost. First I left the wrong exit at the station, meaning I was going completely the wrong way to the bus stop, then I waited on the wrong side of the road. Then of course I nearly went past my stop and when I did finally get there I had to walk up a rather long trackway to actually get to the office.

The work itself entails drawing large scale detailed drawings of facade panels and the like from architects' concept drawings. In effect, working out how to make the architects facade design reality. It is work I can do and the office uses computer programmes I'm rather good at.

So, do I want the job or not? Well, yes, in that it is related to what I've been studying. But at the same time it is a bit out of the way and I can't shrug off the feeling that if I'm offered it and accept that it means that my ambition to become an architect is, to all intents and purposes, dead. It isn't, of course, but that's just the feeling I get. Probably because it means I can't do my year out.

But if I am offered it- at least I'm doing something design and architecture-related, rather than just working in a shop somewhere.

And the good times continue to roll...

Since I passed last week I've been looking pretty much non-stop for employment, because savings and the goodwill of the family won't last forever.

So I've sent over twenty letters off to architects, applied for an architectural technologist position in my home town and another only a few miles away.

And in that time I've had ten or so rejections and, this morning, an invitation to attend an interview. Another job or two I'm waiting for employment agencies to get back in touch.

So hopefully my career is back in the ascendent...

And now for something completely different...

Looking back over the past few weeks of posts here, it occurs to me that I am guilty somewhat of the heinous crime of whinging.

But now I have something to cheer myself up with because I've finally passed the Third Year of my Architecture degree and gradute in January! Quite an achievement I am sure you will agree.

So for once, shock horror, I'm in a good mood.

Boredom is killing me.

I don't really think I need to expand upon that more than I already have in the title.

I hate being bored, I hate being stuck in the house and I hate having absolutely nothing to do. Which unfortunately is what I now am stuck doing until at least September 9th.

The reason, you see, is because of the University making me wait that long to get my results. Until then I'm pretty much in limbo- I can't get a full time job because I don't have my degree and don't really entertain the notion of having to resign after a week if I've failed again and have to resit the year.

So instead I end up just moping around and writing random effluence like this...

The Difference Engine

My review of the second Steampunk novel I bought a few weeks ago. Enjoy!

The Difference Engine. Widely regarded as being the novel any self-respecting Steampunk must own, or, at the very least, read. So where to start?

The synopsis, I suppose. Imagine for a moment the Industrial Revolution. And now imagine that Charles Babbage, the father of the computer, succeeded in getting funding for his Analytical Engine in the 1840s. Had it not been for his death, it would have happened.

In the book he lives, and his Analytical Engine is an unbridled success. And with that, the Industrial Revolution goes into overdrive. It is now 1855, a year in our own timeline which saw the Great Stink, the completion of the bones of the British railway network, the Crimean war and not much else. In the book, the computer has made possible great technological advances years before they actually happened.

In the book, 1855 sees a fully functioning underground railway system, 8 years before our own was even begun. Tarmac is widely used for road surfaces, 70 years before it was even invented in reality. Horse drawn carriages have been completely replaced by steam-driven conveyances. Credit cards are widely used, and great skyscrapers grace the skyline of London.

But this progress has its enemies, the Luddites. In the 1830s, political turmoil saw the engineers and the proponents of mechanisation come out on top. The Ludds ere ruthlessly put down, but now they are returning.

The book follows the struggle between the Luddites and the Industrial Radicals, under the leadership of Lords Byron, Brunel and Babbage.

And it is truly epic.

The book is absolutely packed with period details, which creates a world that strikes the reader as being eminantly plausible. The characters can easily be identified with and actually feel human, rather than being the product of Gibson and Stephenson's imaginations.

There are a few imperfections- the endpiece of the chapters I felt had little to add to the plot and rarely actually made sense. The end itself is ambiguous to say the best. But, and this is the thing, these really don't matter. The greatest imperfection I can find is that this is a stand alone work. It needs a sequel, or, even better, an entire series.

Egads!

From my previous entries I now return to normal service- going on about my work.

Now I finished all of the work on Sunday and sent it over to my tutor on Monday. Who replied that she couldn't look at it and that I should now follow submission guidelines on the University website.

Needless to say, these guidelines either don't exist or are so thoroughly hidden that I couldn't find them. Another email off to my tutor asking whether I had to email the work somewhere else. No reply, so I sent another. Still no reply.

Eventually I rang the University, to be told that I had to print all of my work off and then post it in.

So yesterday we had a merry mad dash to find a printers, print it, stuff it in an envelope and mail it for next day delivery.

Why does the University have to be so cantankerous? Surely it is unethical to refuse to acknowledge the existence of somebody's work simply because it hasn't been submitted in a recognised form?

My Final Steampunk Post Today (I Promise)

A few weeks ago you may recall I mentioned buying 'The Peshawar Lancers' and 'The Difference Engine' and then promising reviews of both once I'd read them.

Well, a few days ago I finished 'The Peshawar Lancers' so here's the review.

The tale takes place in 2025, though not in a world we'd recognise. In 1878, so the story goes, Europe and North America were devastated by a meteorite impact that plunged the northern hemisphere into a four-year nuclear winter. Those who could, escaped. In Britain, Disraeli organised an exodus to South Africa, India and Australia, and approximately 3.5 million people were ferried to those colonies over four years. That still left over 16 million people in Britain, starving and riotting. Those people turned to cannibalism, Disraeli himself being killed by a mob in 1882.

The British Government and Monarchy set up in Delhi, continuing the British Empire as the 'Angrezi-raj'. In India there is a new social class, the 'sahib-log', of upper-and-middle class families of British descent. This class in effect is the government of the Empire.

The Empire itself covers 40% of the landmass of the globe- claiming a recolonised Britain and ALL of North America, from Panama to the Pole.

Abroad, the Russians have become cannibalistic satan-worshippers, ruled still by the Tsar. The French have fled to their North African colonies, but by 2025 have recolonised Metroplitan France and seized Sicily from a powerful Middle-Eastern caliphate. China and Japan have merfged to form the Dai-Nipponese empire.

Technology has stagnated somewhat- in this world steam rules supreme. There are steam trains, there are ironclads, there are maxim machone guns. There are airships and motorcars, but the internal combustion engine does not exist. Where steam is unsuitable motive power, Stirling heat engines are employed.

This, then, is the world the book portrays.

The plot- well, basically, is a little hard to understand. The basic gist of it is that the Russians have infiltrated the Empire's political service and are plotting uprisings so as to weaken it, then propose to wage war to destroy it completely, leaving them the dominant world power.

The book really follows the efforts of a few soldiers and politicians, and the Royal Family, to stop them. There are some scenes of action- for instance, the storming of a disloyal politician's home, a fight in the desert, a fight on the Royal airship. Interwoven are a few love intrigues- the Princess Royal being married off to the Heir of France-Outre-Mer, between Captain King and a defecting Russian seeress, and between his sister Professor King and the Heir to the Lion Throne. (The Lion Throne being King-Emperor of the Angrezi-raj.)

This book is absolutely brilliant, a literary hammer-blow. There are not enough superlatives in the English language that can adequately describe just how good it is.

If you like adventure and intrigue, then you really need to read this book.

And therein I am afraid lies the nub of the problem. The book is not for general sale in the UK unfortunately. It is written for an American audience, and it shows in the choice of baddies- the Russians and Muslims- and in the language used- 'railroad' instead of 'railway' for instance. However, if like me you are lucky enough to be near a branch of Waterstones that stocks American imports it can be yours for the princely sum of £6.50. An absolute bargain.

Some more Steampunk...

The previous post, for all you know, may have been something I merely made up, a figment of my imagination.

So I present to you the link so you too can take the test and see how you'd turn out in an alternate mechanical-marvel history:

http://www.helloquizzy.com/tests/the-steampunk-style-test

It's only a short 8-question quiz and takes no more than one or two minutes.

Now anyone who has ever met me would attest that I perceive myself as some sort of neo-aristocratic figure, so I'd say it's pretty accurate...

The Steampunk Style Test

The Aristocrat

82% Elegant, 48% Technological, 50% Historical, 28% Adventurous and 6% Playful!

You are the Aristocrat, the embodiment of steampunk elegance and poise. For you, dressing steampunk is first and foremost about simply looking good, with accessories and details to follow. However, this does not mean that you ignore the demands of creating a “steampunk look.” Your outfits weave together a balance between technology and style, and between period accuracy and beautiful anachronism. While your fashion inspiration may come from anywhere across the Victorian social spectrum, you always find a way to make your outfit beautiful. You will probably be found in the clothes of the steam age elite simply because of the greater elegance available to them. Chances are you dress this way because you like it, and you would still dress in this manner even if steampunk was not a popular interest.

I just do not get it one iota...

Understanding that we haven't been living under a rock for the past, I don't know, four years, we all know that the Olympics opens up this Friday. In a country that shows it's proud to be backward in both its politics and its human rights, and, if you'll permit just a little decidedly un-PC racism here, also proves that neanderthals still walk the Earth and that apes are just a little closer to being human than we're ready to admit.

So you can see I despise China. For reasons even I do not fully understand. Perhaps it has something to do with having to live with a pair of Chinese people for a year and we didn't exactly get on too well.

But onto the main show. The Olympics. Big whoop they open. But all they are is one giant overgrown track-and-field event where the Americans either boycott it or else put in about 95% of the competitors, flood every event and then predictably win everything. Paula Radcliffe will run about 200 yards of a 26-mile marathon and then collapse in floods of tears and the only sports we'll do well in (well, ish) are the ones absolutely nobody in the country follows or understands. Like dressage, rowing and sailing. Think about it. When is the last time you sat down and watched and understood either a steeplechase, Henley Regatta or the Americas Cup?

Never, that's when.

So, I don't like the Chinese and I don't care much for the Olympics either. But then the BBC start harping on about it... and go on and on and on until pretty much everyone is considerably past caring. Why? Why does Huh Edwards have to be in Beijing for a week before the bloody thing even kicks off? Why do we need to know that it is two days, seven hours, fourteen minutes and fifty-eight seconds until the opening ceremony? Personally I'm more interested in the closing one... much less Communist monkey nationalist anti-democratic jingoism for a start, you see.

So for the next fortnight or so if you don't mind particularly I'm going to haul down the television aerials, cut off my internet access, not read a newspaper and generally live under a rock, until these cretins-in-leotard type tossers we call 'atheletes' fuck back off again to whichever hovel they besmirch for the next four years again.

And as a final two-finger salute to the whole thing... Free Tibet.

What time hath wrought...

I note with trepidation that it has been a fortnight since I last posted a non-progress report here, and probably bored every single reader into a stupor. A Whole Fortnight!

I can only apologise, and furthermore ledge that I shall attempt not to leave you dangling thus in future.

And with that... onto more relevant affairs.

For a start... my concert hall lives! It breathes! It works! Huzzah and hurrah! Can you tell I'm just a little pleased about that?

Also... elevations are completed. Now I just have to do my internal view (from the top row down onto the stage) and then can get on with all my technical work too. The trouble is that 3D work is not exactly my speciality.

Aside from that, I went to Birmingham on Monday and am now a member of the Central Library there. Which is huge. As in, I don't know, eight-storeys-tall-and-covers-an-area-the-size-of-Wales huge. You can guess the rest. We got lost in there.

And when we did finally blunder our way out back into the open air, we ended up in Waterstones. Where I procured neo-Victorian science fiction novels The Peshawar Lancers and The Difference Engine. Both of which are utterly wonderful. Expect full reviews in due course.

First, kill your rabbit...

It just feels right now that I am going in one slow, sad, pointless circle.

Each time I email stuff to my tutor she finds something wrong with it. Not with things I have done, but with things she originally said were okay. This time it was the seating arrangement and the journey from box office to seat. Bah. I can only get 40% now anyway, so what is the point of creating a First Class piece of work? If it works, and should pass, why change it?

So now I regard the plan and section as being substantially 'complete'. If she wants other things changing, I'm sorry but unless it is something absolutely major then it won't happen. She's just picking fault and making more work and worry for me and frankly I'm near the end of my tether.

At one point I have taken my work to my old boss for his opinion, because I am convinced that my tutors are once again witholding information critical to the success of my work. Like months ago, when I was told my section 'needed a vapour check' but wasn't told that it didn't work acoustically. Which in the grand scheme of things is more important.

It's probably the case I'm getting worn out. I've been at it without a rest since Christmas. And because of what I see as being a grave injustice I have been failed for more than I should have been and now have still more work to do. One of these days, I'll just snap.

In soviet Hednesford...

Yes, I'm back home in Shitfordshire, sorry, Staffordshire. I think really the only reason I came to hate this place is because I associate it with my parents, whom are quite possibly the most boring entities on the planet.

So, yes, it is not quite that bad.

Except for my father. Who has the personality of Joseph Stalin and now the moustache to match. In one breath telling me to concentrate on passing my degree and in the next telling me to find a job. At the same time. As though he thinks I myself am incapable of making decisions and formulating a plan of action to undertake. (I do have one. It's called simply 'do the work, then find a job.') I honestly would not be surprised if he said do this, or this will happen.

Anyway.

Two floor plans and a section were sent over to my tutor this morning. If they are okayed, I can then get on with the elevations, the 1:50 detailed sections et al. But the scheme as it is now looks a lot more complex and 'with it' than was my old one. I'm much, much happier with it. The front of house and auditorium have stayed much the same, but beyond that it is all change. The WCs and atrium have been placed above the performance rooms. The green room has been placed a floor higher. There's a glass box above the 19th Century office. The old turbine hall has gone. The whole scheme is just far more balsy now.

The last day. This glorious day of days.

Yes. This is it. The last day I'll be spending in Lincoln. Well, the last full day at any rate. This time tomorrow I'll be home. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, which is just as well because it is cold and raining here right now.

Yesterday my parents came over to take home the very vast majority of my stuff, so my flat feels a little empty. At least I'm not tripping over books, bags and random pieces of foam-core board anymore though.

I don't know what it is about going home, but suddenly I'm rather optimistic with no reason to be. No degree, no job now, still no girlfriend, but there is something in the back of my mind, or intuition, which is adamant that as soon as I get home things are going to be all right. I don't know. Perhaps there will be some party.

And as for going home, I'm rather confused about whether it is the notion of going home that excites me, or more the notion of going on a long (well, ish) train journey to get there.

So yeah, really that is all I have to say. Apart from 'sorry' about misspelling 'Espresso' last time.

Tidying up.

Well, it seems like ages since I last wrote here so I suppose an update is in order.

I really haven't done that much. No, really,I haven't. I just haven't had the heart, the drive or the inspiration. I suppose that the whole 'University screwed me over' thing is still giving me grief. I mean, come on, wouldn't you want to be told you were failing at least once before results day? Even more so if you saw your tutors every week, and if you went through four or five different assessments?

Anyway, enough.

So. I have a half-drawn section of my revamped concert hall. Which needed revamping firstly because the accoustics didn't work, and secondly because the tutors don't like the 'pedestrian' aesthetic. Excuse me? Since when has aesthetics been a source for failing someone? The technology, fair enough, fail me for that, but surely my response to the brief in terms of the aesthetic is just as valid as anyone elses?

Anyway, as I said, moving on.

This weekend is going to be quite busy. I would say 'quite sad' too, but it won't. Tomorrow my parents take all of my belongings home. I follow Monday morning. I can't wait. There will be many (well, several) people I will be sorry to leave... but right now I feel the vast majority of people, especially those I studied with, are absolute showers out only to rub my nose in the fact that I failed whilst they passed. Probably not the case, but still that is how it feels.

This means of course I'm having to pack. I've cleaned up my apartment, and put a lot of stuff in boxes. My lava lamp has its own box. My DVDs have fitted in a shoe box. Most of my books and half of my CDs fit inside the box that the box containing my top hat arrived in. A hat within a box within a box...

My lava lamp is proudly proclaimed on the box to be a 'Lava Grande'. Now it may just be me being cynical, but... does 'Lava Grande' sound like a lamp, or some sort of drink containing a double shot of expresso, steamed milk, whipped cream, chocolate moccha sauce and caramel sauce?

Damn.

And blast. And much other, stronger, profanity.

They have failed me! WHY was I not told earlier my work was not complex enough!?! WHY, considering the number of crits and assessments my work went through, was I not told then that one of my buildings was not complex enough!?! They had months, MONTHS, to tell me, but oh no, they wanted to trip me well past the final hurdle. Well past the finishing line, for that matter.

The fact that I got a First for my dissertation is little recompense right now. Right now I'm seriously contemplating taking a dip in the river outside. A permanent dip. The annoying thing is that overall I got 42% for the year, which is a pass. With my 2nd year added I get 52%. The only reason I'm failing, the only reason right now I can't graduate is because in one part I got 35% and in another 28%. Ergo, there are others running lower overall grades than me who can graduate simply because they got higher marks in two little units! Gah! The shame, the anger, boils within me!

So, what now? Other than suicide I mean. The only other way out is to swallow my pride, do an arty-farty god-awful building for my concert hall (as it is only this one building which has dragged my mark down), thereby kissing up to the tutors, get baseline passes (40%) in my technical and final design units as a result and hope and pray this is enough to get me a *decent* 2:2 grade.

My tutors tell me a 2:2 is a very good mark for architecture. Well it ain't damn well good enough for me.

Nail bitingly tense.

Today we enter the endgame. Today I discover whether or not I have passed the third year, in which case I graduate in September, or else I have failed, in which case all of my carefully laid plans are thrown to the four winds.

I should hope that, considering the number of assessments taken out on my work, were I failing I would have been told long ago. That I haven't looks promising.

I am entering that mental phase I was in this time last year- swinging wildly between between optimism and pessimism, a state that alcohol couldn't blunt. One hour, twenty-four minutes seperate me from the knowledge of what the coming year has in store for me, be it work experience or University.

I should have passed. The previous two years I have a run a 2:2 (last year very nearly a 2:1). If I can get a 2:1 this year I may be able to go to Oxford. If I get a 2:2, yes I'll be pleased I've passed, but within days a feeling of abject failure will come over me.

Pray God, I get a 2:1?

Tally-ho!

I see I left all of my readers on something of a cliff-hanger on my last post. My apologies.

The meeting with the external examiner went about as well as I thought it would. Conferring with others who underwent the same process, it appears we all had the same treatment of the examner choosing one aspect of our schemes they didn't like and then clinging to it tenaciously.

But on the whole it was good and I am confident and all is well with the world.

Except now the boredom is starting to creep in, with another week to wait for the exhibition to open and then another week after that before I can go home...

They say the devil makes work for idle thumbs, which must be why I have started to 'steampunk' my laptop. Nothing too fancy, I've merely thus far painted the keys gold and the keyboard in a teak effect, but I intend to take the gold around the screen and the teak effect all over the top. Watch this space.

Oh, good heavens.

I have to see the external examiners tomorrow.

My work has survived trial by tutor, trial by crit, trial by internal assessment and now this final trial. I will admit this is the only thing that has really given me 'the willies'.

The sooner this is over, the better. After tomorrow, I have nothing between then and a fortnight last Friday, when my exhibition opens.

If I can get a 2:1, which I am confident I can, there is a chance I could be accepted by Oxford Brookes for my post graduate studies. I note it is now twenty past twelve; therefore too late to do any more to my work. It all comes down now to my gift for the gab tomorrow, my external examiner, and the outcome of the examination board on June 18th.

So such a thing does exist.

You, dear reader, may remember many moons ago how I described myself as being Gothic in the Romantic mould and also a Steampunk. For some time I have been wrestling about which I am~ needlessly it now seems.

It would appear that there is a thing called 'Steamgoth' ~ that is, Gothic tinged with steampunk. Hmmm. Which makes it quite alright for me to sit here in my Victorian regalia whilst listening to the likes of My Dying Bride.

Huzzah!

Blast.

Much earlier in this academic year I promised myself to go all-out for a First in order to get into Oxford, Cambridge or the Architectural Association for my Bachelor of Architecture, or post-graduate course of study.

This took a blow when I discovered that none of the three actually offer that course in their Schools of Architecture.

However; now it is obvious (to me at least) that I shall not get a First, what do I discover? That Cambridge now offers a Part 2 course of study, and that Oxford Brookes does the same. Reassuringly Oxford calls for a 'good' degree... a 2:1 I feel confident of achieving will fill this I would assume. On balance I prefer the Oxford course to the Cambridge.

But. If I get a 2:2 AGAIN (oh please God no) I shall, it seems, be flummoxed.

Agitation

This afternoon finds me in a state of irritation/agitation that little or nothing can shift.

Principally becuase I am concerned about meeting my tutor tomorrow with nothing or little done in the five days since the final crit.

Although it is more likely that the mere act of having to see my tutor is resonsible. At the crit: Would Mr Harrison and the rest of the Studio pray meet her at nine am tomorrow? We were there, bleary eyed and worse for wear, at eight thirty. She arrived at twenty past nine, and wasted our time reiterating what we already knew. Then finished with the threat of wanting to meet us further.

Friday: electronic mail summoning Mr Harrison to see her at his earliest possible convienience on Monday. Why? Mr Harrison knows full well what needs rectifying with his work. This meeting will only waste time. Hopefully it shall be the last such before the examiners come in a week tomorrow.

And I wonder why I have recurring migraines? What should one expect after three months relentless hard graft?

Signs.

It has only been the last two days since my 'crit' really that the signs of the exhaustion and anguish I put myself through to get the work done have really begun to show. Whilst I was actually getting the work done I perpetually was bright eyed and bushy tailed, and now it seems as though I have aged ten years almost overnight. My skin has gone greasy, my hair has gone greasy, my eyes and cheeks have sunk. I just look absolutely gaunt. To tell the truth, I feel the eys and cheeks actually look better now than they did weeks ago, but then again I like the gaunt look.

Despite the fact that I am coming apart at the seams I find myself once again having to work. This time, to reconsider my site plan, to get more of the outcome of my site analysis into the final scheme. Which I have been doing today. Nice. Except I now have to alter a section and three elevations, and draw one section and four elevations. In the next week. Plus redraw an external rendering due to the changes in the landscape and the new building. Oh, and change a detail, and redo as much of my technical as time allows, although considering this accounts for a mere 10% of my grade, and that what I already have gets the required information across, this may quietly be dropped.

So, before my tutor sees me on Monday I want to get this little lot advanced to the point of no return. The site plan I have been dealing with, taking the plan of the third building with it. So sections and elevations are called for.

Anyone contemplating architecture as a career path should take note- run hard, run fast and never look back. If, however, you are still boneheaded enough to take it up... good luck (you WILL need it) and you'll have the time of your life with sarky critics, tutors who don't tell you critical information until it is nearly too late and the sheer beaurocracy inherent in Universities. Wonder why all architects have grey hair and thick glasses? You won't by the third year of your degree.

Outcomes.

I can honestly say that I have never in my life been quite so relieved as I am now.

My assessment began at about a quarter past three this afternoon. It should have started at two thirty.

What can I say about it?

My critics were my tutor (head of third year), the head of Interior Design and the head of the School. Tough crowd, I am sure you will readily agree.

As with all these things, there were bits they hated and bits they loved. In my case they loved my site analysis, and my concert hall, but felt that the landscaping was hit and miss and that the music school was treated as an 'object' rather than an acoustic experience intimately connected to the site. They also felt that the accommodation needs to be moved.

So, what now? First thing- to pdf my site plan into my site analysis on photoshop to get a better idea for landscape. Second- to move the accommodation to a more residential area. Third- to convey the idea of the two sides of the music school having very different characters.

Oh, and to meet my tutor at nine tomorrow morning. But for tonight- I'm going to take it easy.

In the grey light of a new day.

I can not truly bring myself to believe that it is now all over. I finished my work at 1 PM yesterday, and as the deadline passed at 8PM there is no going back.

Tomorrow I have my internal assessment. Although the presentation of the sheets is not as polished as I would like, I bear in mind that what the examiners look for is not 'pretty pictures' but a thought and design process and a coherent final scheme. All of which my work shows.

So, today I am presented with a poser. For the first time in maybe ten or twelve weeks I have a day where I am obliged to do no work whatsoever. Lucky me. But I've gotten used to working! What shall I do? I'll be lost all day!

Just a little more, just a little more...

In twenty-two hours all of this stress and insane rush shall be over.

Yes, for that is the time the whistle blows and our work officially stops for marking.

I can not quite bring myself to believe that.

Over the weekend I have mounted perhaps 90% of my boards. What this leaves is one sheet to priduce tomorrow morning (artificial lighting) and then to produce a pair of book-type things f about 20 sheets each, one for my technical work, the other for my development work for which there simply isn't room on my boards. Oh, and I have to take my models back in as well.

So, after this, then what? My internal examination is Wednesday, so I have a whole day to relax before what is, in effect, judgement. Because Wednesday is internal marking day. Then there are a few weeks of alterations I can make before the external examiners arrive and moderate the marks the tutors give. By June 20th I shall have a letter informing me that either I have passed the year, or else shall have to resit. I'm confident I'll pass. Both previous crits have gone well.

On June 20th my exhibition opens, on June 29th it closes, on June 30th I have to take my work down and on the same day, or the day after, my lease on my rooms expires.

So that's the upcoming month sorted out. It is ironic really that this Easter I was looking for a job, whilst next Easter I shall be looking for a post-Graduate course.

At the moment however I am almost totally spent, exhausted. This time tomorrow evening I shall have collapsed into a coma or something no doubt.

By jove!

I say, I note I have been somewhat tardy in keeping this thing up to date. Considering that I have two blogs, one here, one on Myspace, and a private journal, I can't really say that I'm surprised. Nor, when my workload is taken into account, should you be surprised.

This week I have been working twelve hours every day without fail, well, except today when I it all just got to me and I stopped after six.

What this means is that all of my major work is now complete and it is merely a case of printing it off (mostly done now) and mounting it (a devil of a job I have barely begun).

We got our exhibition boards on Wednesday evening... I started first thing Thursday morning pinning up. What I didn't anticipate was that my tutor wants to see our work mounted on foamboard... quite some expenditure has ensued.

Never mind! I freely admit the work looks better for it. It's just that mounting it is d--n near impossible to do without rucking or creasing the work in some way, leaving air bubbles that although don't stand up to close scrutiny do at least appear discreet at a distance of a metre or so. But my critics won't be looking from a distance of a metre!

And with every exhibition or crit, it is always the same. Everybody, everybody, looks at each others work and declares their own to be rubbish in comparison. We are our own worst critics I guess.

I have until Monday to pin up. My plan is this: to pin up tomorrow and give myself Sunday and Minday to identify gaos in my work and rectify them. I have already beaten the printer rush by plotting my bigger sheets yesterday and today. Lets hope I have the same presence of mind over the weekend.

Strain.

This, I fear, may prove to be a shorter blog than I am accustomed to writing.

There are, as we speak, nine days until my final pin-up of my years' work. Practically everyone is pulling all-nighters. For some reason, I am not. I can only assume it is because I started upping the ante immediately after Christmas, negating the need for them.

Nevertheless, the strain is starting to show. I've been working six-and-a-half hours flat out today, firstly on a 3D CAD model, now completed, secondly on starting a replacement for a piece of work the School lost, thirdly on trying to get 3D renderings. The last has eluded me, and reduced me to printing off wire-frame drawings, outlining the parts I want, hand-rendering with felt tip pens to get rid of lines I don't, and then scanning back in with a view to importing them into Photoshop as a JPEG to render them properly. A 'round the Wrekin' approach, as they say back home, but there simly isn't time to experiment and blunder on another way.

So one is now done, leaving another four to do.

Guess I had better get on with it.

All the time in the world.

On Saturday you will no doubt recall that I was a little, ahem, irate at how I had experienced nothing but bad luck with my computer.

But now that I think about it, it seems a bit of a blessing. For one thing, now that once again I find myself traipsing around University to work I can ask neutral opinions of friends and tutors as to the progression of the design.

For another it is a d--n sight more sociable, and far better than being stuck in my flat day in day out.

So long as I have a list, or know what I am doing, I can quietly put a CD on the computer and get on with what needs doing. Today, for instance, I sorted out finally my landscaping, completed two of my sections and progressed with the first floor site plan. I also, at home, managed to start a replacement hand drawing for one the School lost.

Now that I think about it, I have, if I keep this work level up of around 8 hours a day, plenty of time to get my work done.

I have all the time in the world; I am at a loss to explain quite why my friends seem to think we must rush.

Visitations.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. What they neglect to mention is that absence also makes the heart grow stronger, and that presence makes the nerves go weary.

Permit me to explain.

Having been away from my parents for some weeks, I was, naturally enough, looking forward to their visit today.

So when they arrived I was understandably in high spirits. I then experienced what I have described above. For the first hour we were catching up. By the second hour I was checking my watch. The third hour saw me grinning and bearing it, and the fourth hour saw me downright impatient for them to leave and let me be, especially as I was basically put in charge of my brother and dragged around computer game shops.

This sounds cruel I know, but as Bill Bryson observed, there are three things you just can't do in life. You can't make a waiter see you until he is ready to see you, you can't beat the telephone company, and once you have left you can never return home again.

So perhaps you can understand why, with my freedom of independence now three years old, I take immediate offence when I am called into question by them. Last year I fumed when they spent an hour turning my room upide down merely because it didn't meet their standards. This year I am left fuming that they had the tenacity to declare that my room smelt. Oh, I could stand that; just not their telling me in front of all and sundry. Now that is out of order in my book.

Mechanical malaise.

The healthy scepticism I have always harboured towards the wisdom of drawing on computer has, today, been given a second shot in the arm and is stronger now than ever.

You will recall, Monday last, how my external hard drive had an episode, the net result being that for ten hours it looked as though I had lost all of my work.

Now, today, my computer, upon being started up, displayed repeatedly an error message concerning my instant messenger, which I rectified by removing my IM as I scarcely used it anyway.

Once this was achieved my computer overheated, and upon being restarted came up with another error message, this time going through my files and then shutting down to restart itself. This done, my 'AcDb resources file' is no longer on my computer, the net result being that my AutoCAD programmes won't run and hence I can no longer do my work on my laptop.

This being the case I have now had to transfer my work onto my data stick and contrive to copy that onto my University network space. Needless to say that meant I had to delete other work from there to actually get it on.

Sometimes I wish that we were still using drawing boards and technical pencils. That way at least, a drawing can not be 'lost in the system', 'deleted by mistake', 'corrupted' or any other mishap.

These things are sent to try us, I suppose.

The future.

Now that my crit is over and gone, I am considering what my future holds.

In the immediate future; there is still work to do naturally, but after that....

I do have a job lined up to start in July, and it was the email I recieved last night from my boss confirming my start date that has got me thinking.

You see, the plan was for me to commute to work every morning. However, the company is moving in September to premises elsewhere in Birmingham, and as anyone familiar with that city will attest, Birmingham is a really, really big place.

Now, the company being the size it is and with the work they undertake I can not imagine it moving out into the outskirts from the city centre where it currently is. No, I imagine it will remain in the Broad Street/ New Street area within walking distance of New Street Station. Which, if my logic is right, suits me fine.

If, however, they do move further out, making it impossible to get there by train each morning, I have only one recourse of action to take. There is absolutely no way I am going to let this job go, so it must remain for me to find rooms closer to my work.

I reckon I could do it. I've survived three years on only £4,000 per annum, my job will be giving me £14,000, which should be plenty enough for rent and services. Obviously things like a land-line telephone and internet may have to go, and it is an absolute certainty that I won't have a television, through choice rather than anything else, and if I can cut back on my other spendthriftery (DVDs, CDs and smart suits being the main offenders), I could not only do that but also perhaps save enough to be able to put myself through my BArch without having to wait two or three years to build up funds.

The crit.

The crit yesterday went superbly well. There are, admittedly, one or two issues to resolve, but the fact is I've got a very strong project which the tutors rather like.

So now I have two and a half weeks to sort it all out, not only this project but an assignment I have yet to begin, a model and a drawing to replace that the school lost or destroyed, and some drawings to complete a project I failed just before Christmas.

I'm confident I can do it all. Just don't expect to see me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed anytime soon.

So close, yet so far.

I can't quite believe that tomorrow is my final crit.

It seems like only a few weeks since we started the project; in fact it has been four months.

The time has gone so quickly. It is almost surreal to even contemplate that three weeks hence my work shall be complete for the year; that three weeks hence my fate shall be decided as to whether I graduate, or whether I suffer the ignominy of having to resit the year.

I suppose that tomorrow shall be a barometer of what is to come. There is absolutely no reason to suppose it shall go badly; I have just as much work to show as any other, and my response to the brief is just as valid as any other.

At the end of the day, a crit boils down to two things. Firstly how pretty your drawings look (despite my belief that content should take precedence over appearance), secondly the ability of your 'gift of the gab' to sell your proposal to the tutors. If you go in and say 'um, errr, well, I did this...' , they won't be impressed. If, on the other hand, you walk in and say 'I did this because I feel very strongly that...' they start to feel confident that you know what you are talking about.

Which in my case will be an assertion that a music school should not be too institutional (hence my accommodation layout), that a music school should have flow and rhythm (hence the layout of rooms, rooflights and windows) and that a concert hall should have character (hence my re-use of the electricity works).

This time tomorrow we shall know if all this hard work has been in vain.

The current state of play.

I left you, this morning, with news that my external hard drive had failed me, and you will recall that I was almost blase about the whole thing.

I left it for an hour; then tried it again. Still no joy. I have taken it to PC World, and the best tey could do was to firstly agree that it had broken, and offer me the option of having the data retrieved, with no guarantee of success, for the cost of £100 and the time of a week to ten days. This is time I don't have and money I am loath to spend.

So I have the taken the only recourse of action left open to me. I have copied all of my pre-Easter work to my data stick, and I am to start re-drawing all of my work and saving it to my computer hard drive.

I anticipate starting just as soon as I finish this; I have my printed drawings, a scale rule, a calculator and tea bags by my side.

And so, onward ho.

Murphy's Law.

With two days to go before my crit (ie- Today, Monday 5th May, and tomorrow, Tuesday 6th), my external hard drive has chosen this moment to die- taking all of my work with it.

Very fortunately, whilst it was still working this morning I extracted most of what I needed, bar the floor plans. I'm going to try a little later on to get it working, and if it doesn't then I suppose it's off to PC World or some other place to sort out the mess.

Not that I am worried. This crit, after all, is not the be-all and end-all. No, after the crit we have two full weeks to make changes and amendments to our work. So all is not lost if this little hiccup upsets all of my plans.

Now then, I am considering the following. I want to change the roof structure of my details, but because they are on the external hard drive I can't. So I guess the steel roof shall suffice for the crit, to be replaced as soon as is humanly possible afterwards. So long as I have details, which I do, it matters not if the roof is steel or concrete.

Precedent is done, just leaving my client analysis which I shall produce presently and print off in the library.

If all else fails I suppose I can still use the old floor plans I have just for this crit.

So what appears on the surface to be a catastrophe is in fact not nearly so bad as it could have been. If I hadn't printed off my elevations, sections and details when I did I would now be up a certain creek without a certain instrument.

C'est l vie, I suppose.

Concerns.

Looking back over my entries for the past month or so, I have become concerned that I have a one-track mind. I'm talking, of course, about my work. How it rules my life and how it is assimilating my musings on the aethernet here, on myspace and on facebook.

But bear with me! This shall last for but a few weeks more! This coming Wednesday is my final crit, three weeks hence is my final portfolio submission and following that is my exhibition.

So, just to bring all up to speed; I now have all plans, sections, elevations complete and details are progessing well. The only concern I have is that some friends appear to be working far, far harder than me; at the same time however for some bizarre reason they do not have as progressed a final proposal as my own.

Are they dawdling? Or am I missing something here? I know not, and it worries me.

But enough of work.

And so onto other things.

My collection of Classical music continues to grow. I now possess:

-Bach's Adagios, Brandenburg Concertos 1-6, Orchestral Suites 2 &3.
-Barber's Adagio.
-Beethoven's Piano Sonatas 8, 13, 14 and 23, Egmont, The Ruins of Athens overture, Leonore overture, Symphony #3.
-Brahm's Symphonies 3 &4, Piano Concerto #2, Violin Concerto, Double Concerto, Ein Deutsches Requiem, Clarinet trio, Clarinet Quintet and Hungarian Dances 1-21.
-Chopin's Piano Favourites.
-Holst's The Planets Suite.
-'The Magic of Mozart' 3CD collection, and Mozart's Requiem.
-Rachmaninov's Piano Concertos 1 &2, and Symphony #3.

And there may be one or two other little pieces here or there hiding in the woodwork.

This has come at the expense of cultivating my library of 19th/20th Century Gothic/ Scientific Romance literature, but one can't have everything I'm sure you shall agree. It has also come at the expense of alcohol, but as I'm a pretty poor drunk I honestly can't say I miss the experience.

Oh no...

Despite my preoccupation with my studies, I do allow myself to consider finding my mon amour, admittedly not to the degree I would like, but still... better than most of my frineds can manage.

This I discover has lead to nothing but nothing but heartache.


First there was Rosie- she had a boyfriend. Then there was Natalie- I waited too long. Fast forward a few years and there was Victoria, who spurned my approaches. Then, Samantha- again, I waited too long.

And now? Now, Emily- again, I waited too long.

My heart now is broken completely.

Some people I guess are destiend to walk the world alone. And it would appear I am one of them.

University league tables.

Reading The Independent today, noticed that they had published a series of University league tables. Well, it is that time of year when 17-and-18 year olds start to think about their futures.

The good news is that 56% of architecture graduates get a job in architecture. Assuming I graduate this year, and there is no reason to doubt that I shall, I shall be one of them. I have a job lined up for my year out.

The bad news is as follows. Lincoln places seventh out of eight universities in the East Midlands.
Also, despite having a cracking RIBA validation recently, and despite all the talk of being a 'rising' school of architecture, for some reason it didn't place anywhere in the top 20 schools listed in the tables, below even schools which have lost their validation.

Which has led me to think that maybe these tables are nothing but a contrite waste of paper. Are they official? Who decides which university goes top, and which bottom? Will The Times have a completely different listing?

Tell the truth, I'm not in the slightest concerned. a) because at least Lincoln is better than the erstwhile UCE, b) because in a few months I graduate, c) because unlike no doubt many in 'better' schools, I have a job lined up. What does that tell you? It tells you that I must have some talent, which is at the end of the day what matters.

Frustration.

If there is one thing that I can say irks me, it is the fact that despite how hard I and indeed my fellow students work, the University just doesn't seem to care.

Allow me to explain.

Studying architecture, obviously we have to produce drawings that are then printed on large sheets of paper.

I went in today to print my work off ready for a tutorial tomorrow, only to discover that the printer had run out of paper, and furthermore that there were no more rolls of paper in the building!

Now, fair enough, there are occasions when this will happen, but this must be about the third time in a month it has happened, and it just isn;t good enough. I don't know who is responsible for organising paper orders and deliveries, but I'd bet they couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery.

They must know when the paper is running out; they must know from experience how quickly it gets used. So why on earth do they not think to either a) order more when they place an order, so it lasts longer, or b) place an order a few days before they know they'll run out.

This ineptitiude does two things: firstly it gets me so annoyed that I am in no mood to actually do any work, secondly to even consider that such an august organisation as a university could foul up in this manner gives me a migraine.

Now if this paper isn't here tomorrow I will give my tutors a piece of my mind...

The Muse.

My word, a week has passed already my friends.

The rather good news is that my week-long bout of lethargy seems to have passed. Also, that my tutors actually like the proposal, with some caveats that I have sorted out but yet to actually draw out. For the first time in weeks, I'm starting to feel confident that I shall pass the Third Year and graduate in September.

Work actually now seems to be going somewhere. One of the reasons I started to doubt myself in the first place was because I'd spend hours on it and see no difference; another was panicking about my detail work. However, two things: firstly, who is going to see fine detail at a scale of 1:200; secondly, I have details in books I can simply copy. All is well therefore.

And on the social front?

There has been a rather... embarressing little mishap. Some time ago I helped a friend of mine run for SU presidency. In the course of that I met and fell for a girl. I haven't told her, indeed I daren't tell her (I don;t have much luck.). I have, however, told friends who naturally enough want to meet her. I've told them however that she doesn't drink or smoke and doesn't go in pubs or bars.

At the same time however, I have other female friends, one of whom lives with another friend of mine who is a mutual friend of those I mentioned above. (This is starting to get complicated.) Long story short- I had a drink with this female friend, when my other friend who lives with her saw us together. The fact that we were at the time in her apartment is neither here nor there. He probably now thinks that she is the girl I fell for (which is not the case), and will no doubt tell my other friends. It doesn't help that she likes to drink... it makes me appear to be lying. Which is not true.

We will, I suppose, have to see where this goes...

C'est la vie!

Lethargy.

With a mere thwo-and-a-half weeks to go until my final crit, I find my work currently stands thus:

-The sum total of that I produced for a crit prior to Easter.
-Two completed floor plans.
-Three completed sections.
-One completed model building.

This leaves:

-One section.
-One building model.
-Eight elevations.
-An undetermined number of details.

Quite a lot of work to produce I am sure you shall agree. The problem with the foregoing is that I ahve suddenly lost my drive and will. This is something I experience in cycles... I have weeks where I work work work and weeks where just nothing happens.

The problem is I strive for perfection at all times. Ergo this lethargy is unacceptable to me. There are friends of mine who just live for architecture. Now that is not how I want to live, life is living not working you understand, but whenever I stop work I feel guilty as others continue to work. It makes me feel lazy, which I cannot abide.

I am apprehensive and doubly nervous to pass the year. This makes me even more so lethargic, as I 'freeze' due to the pressure. A self fulfilling prophecy beckons unless I can get myself out of this lethargy soon.

Banality

If there is one thing in this world I hate above all others it is banality.

It is quite incredible to me that most people are perfectly happy living mundane little lives, living in mundane little box-houses up and down the country, driving mundane little box-cars and working in mundane jobs in mundane offices. What am I saying, of course they probably are not happy at all!

But it cannot be denied that this lifestyle is, if not wholly, then partially, chosen by people. Why?
There are many, many people proving that the mainstream way of life is not the only way.

I think privately it stems from adolescence. Trying to 'fit in' with friends, leading slowly but surely to such banality as they try more and more to 'fit in' with their neighbours, colleagues, bosses...

Now perhaps this is because I study an art form, but I find the prospect of living in such a manner fills me with dread. So what can I do about it?

Well, my interests are quite varied~ steampunk, Gothic, neo-Victorianism all come to mind~ so I guess I'm trying to forge a lifestyle for myself from elements of each. The love of scientific romance and fantastical machines from steampunk. The love for darker and macabre horror, humour and outlook from Gothic. The mannerisms and dress of neo-Victorianism. The problem with this is it leads to a 'Mr Ben' syndrome~ today I shall be a Goth, tomorrow I shall be a Punk and on Tuesday I shall be Victorian. Which is a bit childish really, and besides to merely use the dress of a bygone era simply as a costume or uniform is abhorent.

Well I say abhorent... it really is because in my present situation (university student, no disposable income, rented accommodation) there is really very little bar the way I dress, the way I carry myself and the literature I read and music I listen to to set myself apart from the awful banality of mainstream modern 'culture' and 'lifestyle'. Of course, in say ten years time when my situation will be no doubt completely different I can fully live the alternative lifestyle that I yearn for and yet at present can live only in my head.

Rhapsody on a music school

Yesterday, as you will recall, I introduced myself, and proceeded to describe architecture as being a passion of mine.

So pray forgive me as I turn this entry over to describing my current University project.

The brief is to take a large urban site on the urban/suburban boundary of Lincoln and design a music school to be built there. There are to be 14 practice and percussion rooms, accommodation for 20 students, a library, 4 listening rooms and a concert hall to seat 150.

The site itself is on Brayford Waterfront, and consists of two startlingly inhumane 1970s office blocks, a pub, some rather pleasant Victorian offcies and an abandoned Victorian power station.

So, what do we do? Utilising the precedent in Lincoln to re-use old derelict buildings, I propose to utilise the turbine hall of the power station, and it's attendent offices, as my concert hall.

The 1970s structures I shall tear down and replace with a more humane structure in keeping with its surroundings. This shall be of similar overall dimensions of the power station, however the form itself shall reflect the attributes of music- harony, pitch, et al. The falling height of this building is also musically inspired. Between the two I intend to place a large open public space as a throughfare and also as an open air performance space.

The adventure begins...

It is customary for first meetings to warrant introductions.

Accepting the likely risk that I shall ramble, here goes.

The name on this blog is a nom-de-plume. I most emphatically am not a member of the British aristocracy, nor shall I ever be, no matter how much I wish to do so.

I am 21 years of age, and I study architecture. Architecture for me is not a profession, but a passion.

I consider myself a gentleman. Not for me are the more vulgar excesses of modern society. The fact that I particularly enjoy older films, Victorian Gothis literature and have a penchant for dressing in suits has led my peers to conclude that I was born a century out of date. This is something I am comfortable with.

The form of neo-Victorianism I choose to follow is that of steampunk, that is, neo-Victorian settings and mannerisms, but with science fiction elements and machinery. Anachronistic yes, but it means I don't have rivet counters chasing me down the street for historical inaccuracy!

That, my aetheric friends, is a very short description of yours truly. Until next time then, adieu.