A Hectic Few Weeks

The past few weeks I've actually been working in London. What's happened basically is this: my boss is having his house in Paddington refurbished and needed somebody to look after it whilst the builders are in. That person just so happens to be me, so every Monday I travel to Snow Hill in Birmingham and then take a Chiltern Line train down (or 'up' as the railway enthusiast I am keeps insisting)to Marylebone, before descending into the underground across to Paddington. Every Friday of course I repeat the journey in reverse.

But anyway- onward. What I do down there is to keep a site diary, telling my boss what the builders do each day, any issues arising, any visitors to the house and so on and so forth. The evenings are mine to do with as I please.

But the thing is that London is immense and labyrinthine, so if I go out there's a good chance I'll get lost or run afoul of a miscreant having inadvertantly wandered into a rougher part of town. Thus it follows I don't go out often, and when I do I keep to the Paddington area.

Apart from Tuesday evening, when I went to The Green Carnation in Soho to see a band called Sunday Driver. And I'm gad I went. It was a great gig, intimate little venue, cosy atmosphere and an enthusiastic crowd. I recommend them to anyone who's in the market to listen to Indian-influenced Steampunk music. They can be found at www.sundaydriver.co.uk

London, and the curious tale of a Mr. Dorian Gray

A fortnight ago I had the great privilege to go to London for the 'Open House' event, when 700 or so usually private buildings are thrown open to the public for one weekend only.
And I had a great time. We went to the Tate Modern on Friday evening to have a look at the Futurist exhibition, where I bought a copy of a folio of Futurist manifestos. I always think one appreciates art more when one knows the rationale behind it.
On Saturday we necessarily had a hectic afternon, going both to Richard Rogers' Lloyd's Building and Norman Foster's City Hall. Then onward to the New London Theatre for a performance of Warhorse.
Sunday was a little more relaxed. We had a pleasant stroll through the parks (Hyde Park, St James' Park and Green Park) to Whitehall and the Foreign Office.
And then last week I and some absolutely wonderful friends went to see Dorian Gray, for which I shall simply say this: it is an epic piece of art.

In which prospects finally improve for our protagonist.

My dear readers! Behold, for after a long recess I return and beg leave to inform you of events.

I believe the last missive I posted for your perusal involved my being turned down for a postgraduate course. I cn now tell you that I applied to three more universities, attended three interviews and succeeded in getting nowhere. So, for a year at least, I shall be becalmed still. Or at least, my studies shall. More disquieting for me is the notioon of spending another year sharing a bedroom with a brother- who mistakes hospitality for subjugation and thinks it entirely appropriate to allow his girlfriend into the room for hours upon hours at a time, thus keeping me out of my own room...

I also believe I brought tidings of a temporary position at an architect's practice and that they had kindly allowed me to work on my portfolio at that time. They've now offered me a full-time position as an architectural assistant. So I can now accumulate the prerequisite experience needed for a successful postgraduate application next year, which is absolutely outstanding news.

Next week I've been invited to spend the weekend at my boss' London house, which is going to be an interesting experience, as I've only been to London once before and that was... quite some time ago. Nearly, or actually, rather over, ten years ago, now that I think about it.

But that is a tale for a future date...

So unspeakably outraged

Well, I heard back from the University soem two weeks ago. And the prognosis is... not good. After five months of dilly-dallying and four months after telling me I was guaranteed a place as I had graduated from the same institution, they turned around and told me 'no'.

So the past fortnight has been spent in a whirlwind of applying to other universities. Two applications have gone in, but they had to wait for the blaggards of Lincoln to return my references. Which, to be fair, they did with a surprising alacrity (the last time they moved so fast was when they thought I owed them money).

The past fortnight I have also spent working on my portfolio, my employers having been kind enough to allow me time to work on that at the expense of work I'm supposed to be doing for them. My portfolio now is looking really slick and far beyond anything I had credited myself as being capable of.

Of course, this set back means now that the Lincoln steampunk weekend in September is out of the question, which is a great shame. But conversely if I get in Birmingham City University I actually see myself going to more steampunk meets- many of us live around there!

Tally-ho!

I think that the downturn in my fortunes is now on the wane. Yesterday I had to make a sojourn into Lincoln for an interview concerning my postgraduate studies, the outcome of which was that the tutors would be more than happy for me to attend the course but that as they don't know how many students they can accommodate they can't tell me if I have a place or not until the end of the month.

This morning I had an aethermail from my old boss saying that his workload had picked up and that he was a little short-staffed and would I be interested in some temporary work? Naturally I jumped at the chance and start on Monday.

Something Completely Unexpected...

Yesterday I had a welcome little surprise. Well, I say welcome, it could prove something of a double-edged sword. I was invited to an interview for my post graduate application early next month.

Considering that I did my undergraduate at the same university I think I have a fairly good chance of getting in, but as we all know we've been here (or somewhere very like it) last summer, and we all know exactly how that turned out.

As it stands right now though, I'm just pleased to see that my application has progressed to this stage. I have a good track record of university interviews at any rate- I've done two or three and was offered a place at each. Admittedly that was nearly four years ago though.

So given a little over a fortnight and I'll either be high as a kite or else thoroughly dejected. I'm hoping for the former rather than the latter.

Quiet times and a delightful picnic

Salutations, dear reader.

Once again I note with dismay my less-than-regular writings here, for which I can only give the reason that my life is quite akin to war on board a submarine- times of frenetic action interspersed by long periods of boredom and inactivity.

Hence for the past month I have only one event really worth recording, and that took place only last weekend.

I am referring of course to the Steampunk picnic at the Birmingham Botanical Gardens, which was a wonderful affair and thoroughly enjoyed by the 15 or so members of Brass Goggles who attended.

We had an entirely enjoyable time sitting on the green listening to the band play, and later perambulating through the grounds before repairing to a pub in the city centre.

So that was one Sunday well spent in delightful company with good weather and a happy atmosphere.

The thing now of course is that with last weekend gone, the only newsworthy event in my life in the near future will be my trip to Royal Ascot. Which doesn't take place until mid-June. I hope I have some excitement and activity in my life long before then.

Until next time, dear reader, I bid you adieu.

Going up a gear

Right-o, it's been almost a month without any noise from my general direction, though that was unintended, and for once I have news.

Namely that I now have a Saturday job that gets at least a little cash in for me. Pretty much all of which will be going straight into my bank account to build up a good head of finanical steam for University, if and when I ever get in.

I do have a list of things to buy- a new coat, which is now paid for, White Tie evening wear, or about 5 weeks wages (!), a ticket for a Steampunk event which I can't go to unless I get into University and another model railway locomotive all figure pretty highly on it. Oh, and money for accommodation and living expenses at Uni also rank on it. Somewhere. Probably near the bottom. Anyway, I digress.

So that pretty much is all I had it in mind to tell you- that I have a job and some income at long last and that my weekly income has therefore increased five-fold, which is not even 1% as impressive as it sounds. It's not like I'm a banker or something. Or that I've ripped the country off to the tune of millions.

A Surpising Turn of Events, Indeed

Whisper it, but there looms a growing possibility that I may be returning to university in September.
I had thought that it was necessary to undertake a year's work experience before continuing to post graduate level, but apparently as a beneficial result of the economic collapse this requirement has been rescinded.
The week before last I made a discreet enquiry to one of my old tutors about what to do if I couldn't find employment this year- and got an application form for my postgrad by way of reply. Things now are moving a little quickly, unprecedented in my life for oh, at least a year or so. The application form is here, the loans forms are here (both downloaded), one of my character references is ready and the other promised next week and I'm expecting a postgraduate prospectus any day now.
The only major hurdle is getting actually onto the course, and considering I did my undergraduate degree at the same university I should imagine I have a fairly good chance at that.

Das Gedächtnis der Maschine ist nicht besonders gut

Yes, from the title you can just tell this blog will be somehow related to the misapplience of science and technology.
Namely, in that my laptop has been misappropriated into some sort of ad-hoc stereo system involving my iTunes player, the inbuilt DVD player and the screen. Which is absolutely grand, don't get me wrong, but now I think I've found the limitation of the system.
The memory is slightly less than rubbish. I put <14Gb on it, which is frankly a poor effort considering iPods can hold up to 60Gb, and then got a warning message in essence saying 'woah! I can't hold much more old boy!'. I did have an external hardrive, which seemed to do a grand job of taking on all my work and music and so forth, and then inexplicably dying at a critical juncture (the day before a crit when I had to try to get my work off of it and onto paper.) So I'm not too struck on those now. Which brings me onto the second point- the internal memory. Apparently it can be boosted with another hardrive plugged into the other port inside the machine. What, there's a spare port?!?
Shouldn't it have come with an absolutely full-capacity memory, rather than just half?

February 2009- Steampunk month of the year?

Throughout January, February has held a certain promise for me as so much Steampunk-flavoured media seems to have been announced or promised to me then. Now I know that it is only the 18th of the month, but already Gold Silver and Bronze have been awarded in the self-styled 'Steampunk All-Media Race'.

So here are the awards.

Gold (1st) place goes to Jeff & Ann VanderMeer's Steampunk anthology, which I procured from Waterstones on the 10th. It had been promised unto me as a Christmas present, but for some reason the shop cancelled the order so I had to wait until I could afford it myself. In any case the order wouldn't have arrived until some point in this month.

Silver (2nd) place goes to Vernian Process' Behold the Machine EP, released on Monsieur Verne's birthday, 8th February. Due to random erratic aether problems however I couldn't secure a copy of this wonderful album until the 11th.

Bronze (3rd) place goes to a surprise entry that hadn't been forseen, that being a Steampunk-and-science themed issue of The Chap magazine. It was released on the 14th of the month, but I didn't manage to get my copy until yesterday (February 17th).

So those are the awards already conferred. Still to come (hopefully) are:

-Steampunk Magazine issue 5 (expected around February 25th)
-Gatehouse Gazette (expected towards the very end of the month)
-Steampunk Spectacular episode VII (but that's just a flight of fancy considering episode VI was released in October and there's been nothing since to sugggest it's still operational).

Possibly the funniest complaint letter

And now for something completely different, or so sayeth the cast of Monty Python. I found this just last week and although I know it has been going the rounds for some time now I see no harm in posting it here too. I nothing else it gives us all a laugh, something we need more of in the world today.

Dear Mr Branson

REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008

Ilove the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.

Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at the hands of your corporation.

Look at this Richard. Just look at it:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint1.jpg

I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?

You don’t get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it’s next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That’s got to be the clue hasn’t it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint2.jpg

I know it looks like a baaji but it’s in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you’ll be fascinated to hear that it wasn't custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It’s only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.

Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what’s on offer.

I’ll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it’s Christmas morning and you’re sat their with your final present to open. It’s a big one, and you know what it is. It’s that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.

Only you open the present and it’s not in there. It’s your hamster Richard. It’s your hamster in the box and it’s not breathing. That’s how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint3.jpg

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it’s more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It’s mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.

Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.

By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it’s baffling presentation:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint4.jpg

It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn’t want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.

I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.

Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint5.jpg

Iapologise for the quality of the photo, it’s just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson’s face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint6.jpg

Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I’d had enough. I was the hungriest I’d been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.

My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations:
http://i149.photobucket.com/albums/s53/masgtai/Virgin%20complaint%20letter/complaint7.jpg

Yes! It’s another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.

Richard…. What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I’d done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.

So that was that Richard. I didn’t eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can’t imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.

As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It’s just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it’s knees and begging for sustenance.

Yours Sincererly

XXXX

Waxing lyrical in an ebullient mood

I note with dismay that it has been the better part of a whole month since I updated this journal of my comings and goings, my ups and downs. So I suppose it may be of interest that I bring it up to date, for there is much to discuss and get off of my chest.

In my last post, or one of them, I enthusiastically stated that 'either way, in a few weeks I'll be working', or at least, words to that effect. I am very sorry to report that this is not the case. The Birmingham Council job I heard within a week that I had been unsuccessful, in all likelihood meaning that someone more suited to their tastes and requirements had been interviewed. That, or the post was filled internally. The market research job, it appears, will now not be going ahead.

So there, my friends, is the despondant and despairing constituent of this communiqué. And now we have dealt with it, I say, onward, to pastures new.

You may be wondering why on earth I titled this essay (and mark, it shall be an essay), 'Waxing lyrical in an ebullient mood'. Certainly thus far has been little more than heartache and misery, and that is hardly material for ebullience. But, now I must describe for you, reader, the principal determinent of why this text is titled so.

I am referring, of course, to my Graduation.

Yes, finally I have graduated with an honours degree in architecture from the University of Lincoln. The first member of my family to go to University, the first member to gain a degree, the first member to have letters after his name. These actualities offset somewhat the bitterness I feel that I achieved only a 2:2 rather than the 2:1 I was hoping for.

I shall not bore you with the more mundane matters of the affair, but suffice is to say that I and my family had an abhorrent and atrocious journey into Lincoln by virtue of Newark being congested almost to the point of a complete and irrevocable impasse.

I shall also submit that a Graduation ceremony is by far the most insipid undertaking that a student ever undergoes, whilst at the same time being a most worthy cause of celebration. This may seem a contradiction I know, but let me just clarify by saying that the point at which one goes before the Academics and noted dignitaries, has ones name and chosen subject read out before the crowd and bows to the Pro Chancellor of the University is the most exhilerating experience. It is having to sit through the rest of the ceremony for anything up to an hour and a half whilst everybody else has their 15 seconds of relative fame that gets tedious after a very short while. Even more so if, like myself, you are seated front row centre and under the continuous and unrelenting, unremitting gaze of the greater part of the Academic staff of the University, the Mayor of the City, highly placed members of the military and the few whom have been singled out for honourary degrees, doctorates and fellowships of the University.

Allow me now to conclude this disquisition by alluring, once more, to the very vaugest hint of a job in the architectural field for which I have applied this morning. It may well prove to be the article that defintively swings me around and out of this most woebegone of situations in which I currently find myself mired.

The Interview

Yesterday I had my long-awaited interview at Birmingham City Council.
Things didn't really get off to a particularly good start when both trains I could have caught were cancelled because a body was found on the railway line.
So instead I had to catch a bus to Walsall and then a train into Birmingham, costing my the best part of two hours and £10.
Fortunately I'd had the foresight to keep the Council informed as to what was happening, so when I arrived I was told that my late arrival would not unduly affect the panel's opinion of me. Because I'd missed my appointment I had to wait until a quarter to two before I was actually interviewed.
The interview itself was actually rather informal. At no point was I made to feel as though I was fighting to procure employment, it felt rather more like a discussion between myself and a few professionals about which architects I admire, what I like and dislike about modern architecture, which buildings I really like and those I passionately dislike.
As it happens, we found out we shared a regard for Le Corbusier and 1930s Modernist architecture and loath developer-led works.
So then we went on to review my portfolio. It transpires that the packages I'd used to produce my work were the same the office use anyway, and they were rather impressed I thought with the point that I'm not above using pencils and pens as well as computers. There were, of course, questions asked about my work along the lines of why I'd done things one way instead of another, but I think I did a fairly good job of explaining my thought processes and what i'd had in mind whilst designing my final project.
Overall I think I did fairly well yesterday. I just have to wait until next week to find out if I did well enough to secure a position.