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.

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.