The end of an era

Have you ever thought about a job you really hate. I mean really hate. Take, for instance, a job where you stand doing next to nothing all day, whilst being forced to be silent by other other people in the same place. Not being allowed to talk to anyone, to look like you're doing nothing, even when you have nothing to do. Then have you ever left that job, and realized suddenly that there are certain things you miss about it?

I feel like that about my job. I hate it. I do, however, have one thing that does make me think I'll miss working there when I leave a week today. Elizabeth is one of those things. She's just fabulous, and I really will miss her. I've only worked with good ol' Betty for a short while, a mere few months, but in that time I have developed a real bond with her, and have enjoyed her company such a lot. Today was my last day with her, and it's struck me how sad that is.

There are so many little things that you don't consider to be that important, but then suddenly these are things that are in the past. They'll never be brought up again in the same context, nor will the ever be as funny. This entry is the first in a while, but the end of the professional side of my relationship with Betty inspired me to log some of the funnier things which have happened with her.

You'll remember the good old "That's a haggis sir" joke, which has been one of the original and best. Poor foreign customer asked me, while I was in a rush, "What is this?" indicating the haggis in his hand. Well... what else could I say?! "That's a haggis sir, you should try it, it's very nice" seemed to be the only appropriate thing to say in my moment of hurry. I can understand how hilarious it must have been at the time. I only wish I was able to see it from a third person perspective.

"...because she's looking after AAAR AAAAUSE!" Was another classic. Lovely lady's house was being looked after by a friend, and she simply had to get her a little thank you gift. The sudden change of tone was hilarious, and brought lots and lots of happiness to our days on the floor.

Sexual jokes have also been a big hit with us, eh Betty? To be honest, I tend to veer towards the gutter jokes and comments all the time anyway, but you seem to bring out the best/worst in me!

Anyway, my love, you're always saying how we need to cut back on the 'shop talk'. Well there isn't much better a way than for me to leave! There'll be no shop talk at all, other than you filling me in on all the shenanigans currently happening on the floor!

I understand that this has turned into a bit of a letter to dear Betty. It also sounds like she's dead, but she's not. In fact I'm sure I'll see her fairly soon! Also, this isn't to say that Betty is the only one to bring happiness to the floor, but like I said this was my last day with her, and a sad moment it was!

"About time too..."

I can't even begin to imagine what life has been like for the past few weeks for all of you. I know you have all been going insane with worry, and after finally accepting the loss of this blog, spent hours and hours (in vein, might I add) finding something that comes close to being as gripping, exciting and interesting as my once-regular updates. I'm certain you all missed how I manage to talk for hours on end about life, the universe and not-very-much-in-particular.

Well... I have some exceptionally good news for you all. I'm back. I'm moved (by about a mile north) but I'm back, and have regained my position in front of the keyboard, and have a backlog of thrilling topics to write about. First, though, let me tell you all about my move.

It's actually quite sad when you go to bed for that last night in the room that was your first away from home. Having flown the next I was, like most, apprehensive about the people I might meet in University accommodation, but in fact I was lucky. Lucky because everyone I lived with (both those in 7/1 and 7/9 I refer to) were simply adorable. I had many a good night. I've laughed and cried with everyone and shared some rather wonderful stories, some probably not quite suitable for the caliber of this weblog. Naturally, leaving was always going to be an emotional experience, seeing as my life in and around that room was changed whilst living there. I have to admit that until the night before I left, I didn't think I would be affected in any way leaving Robertson's Close, but I was. Seeing all of those boxes packed up and ready to go is hard. Seeing those bare walls acts almost as a reminder to keep your friends close. As life can be so entirely bare without them.

So now I'm in my wonderful new flat with some dear friends who just 9 months ago were mere strangers. It's wonderful how such an intense atmosphere can bring people together, and form relationships of the quality and strength that are seen more regularly with friends of years. Nonetheless, my new flat at 30A Montgomery Street couldn't be any more perfect*. Already friendships have strengthened and in some cases been created from scratch, much like those of nine months ago (of course I refer here to the new addition to out flat). Despite all of the fun and games, last night we (or rather Lottie) had one slightly frightening experience. Her window was broken.

Now, we are not entirely sure what happened here. Lottie claims that she cannot remember exactly what happened either, but thinks there is a chance that she might have accidentally smashed it in her sleep. The only other realistic explanation is that someone tried to break in, or was playing the fool and threw something at the window. The things that confuses me, is that surely to merely crack the window, that is for it not to fully break through, you would need to apply a fairly specific force. It seems unlikely that an object thrown from the street, or even Lottie's stray elbow as she moved in a slumber, would have such a specific force on the window to do this type of damage. Either way, we should find out tomorrow when the glaziers come to fix everything up. Needless to say, it's a slightly worrying turn of events.

* Not strictly true. When we first moved in we had a broken dishwasher, clogged up washing machine and very few working doorknobs. Thankfully most of these issues are now resolved.

A Tourist in Paradise

Open your eyes!

Have you ever found that when you go abroad, or even just to another part of the United Kingdom, you always find out what there is to do in the area, and do it. If you go to London you will possibly have visited Madame Tussauds, The London Eye or The National Science Museum. Visitors to York will often find themselves drawn the the traditional splendor of Bettys Tea Room, the Jorvik Viking Centre or The National Railway Museum. Chances are you will have visited these and many others in a short space of time, often a few days or a week.

Why is it that in our own city, we constantly complain about having nothing to do when in reality there is a wealth of interesting Museums, Castles, Art Galleries and other attractions that we likely walk past every day? Are we so blind that we can't see how diverse and exciting our hometown could be?

Today a friend and I were on a mission to enjoy Edinburgh without breaking the bank

The Culprit

, so I opened my eyes and discovered (unsurprisingly) a great selection of fun, low budget ways to spend those days off this Summer in Edinburgh. At the end of the day we ended up at Edinburgh Zoo. Although this doesn't sound too extraordinary, seeing most people have been to the zoo numerous times, I am one of the sad, lonely people who were seemingly deprived of both their childhood and a trip to the Zoo. It was such a fun day and although a certain someone found herself running for her life from a squirrel, we saw a lot of other fabulous animals who didn't look like they were going to eat us. We were also lucky to see some of the most stunning views in the whole of central Scotland, which I happily snapped away at with the old faithful digital camera. Although this day cost us some money (£7.50 plus busses when you consider the concession rates our student cards afford us) I discovered plenty of other places which were free.

If you don't mind submitting yourself to the controversy that this building has been surrounded by recently, then you can give yourself a guided tour of the new Scottish Parliament which wont cost you a penny. You should probably enjoy one of the few things the Government offers free of charge while you can. However if, like most people, you consider this structure a waste of money and an eyesore to the beautiful East End of the historic old town, you might want to stroll up the Royal Mile slightly and try the next option on the list.

The Museum of Childhood on the Canongate hosts an extensive range of gifts and toys offered to children in years gone by. There are a lot of arcade games which the youth of yesterday wereprivilegedd to enjoy (in a time when children were satisfied with such novelties), including beautifully crafted automatic fortune tellers and lovely automated puppet shows. The exciting part is that these machines are still operable today, the only change being that they wont ask for imperial currency, rather some new fifty pences. I'll warn you though, even at the tender age of eighteen I have found things I enjoyed as a child in here. If you don't want to feel like you belong in a museum there are plenty of other options.

Further up the road, tucked away in Castlehill is the mystic wonder of Camera Obscura. Although there is a small charge to enjoy this (£5.50 for the concession) I have heard rave reviews. I suppose it depends on what you value, but some of the attractions available at this unusual venue sound very interesting. I have heard from other people that it's a pointless place which shouldn't be given a second thought but after further investigation, a Camera Obscura enthusiast has explained that you either get it, or you don't. Either way, I think it's worth a try.

If you want to be a bit more traditional there is the Museum of Scotland and the Royal Museum both on Chambers Street, just at the south end of George IV bridge. You can't beat a good museum, especially a free one, and with a new feature Green Design: Creativity with a Conscience in the Special Exhibition Gallery of the Museum of Scotland, you might just pick up some top tips on saving the earth while you're there.

At the end of the day, there is a lot to do in any City, you just need to open your eyes. Today I have, and I've discovered days and days worth of free and downright interesting things to do. Sure as hell beats sitting doing nothing!

BBVII

The weary, depleted eye of BB8?

Do you love it or do you hate it?

Is it your hot summer viewing, or has the hot summer sun simply dried out this well known, loved and loathed format?

The chances are that even if you aren't a fan of the show, you'll still be overwhelmed by tabloid newspapers trying to print the best pictures of someone's nipple, while the broadsheets quietly chastise the show, pleading for the end to come. So has Big Brother gone from the almost intelligent experiment that we all witnessed 7 years ago to an obscene show filled with nudity, drunkenness and violence.

It is true that the show has changed. Who can forget the unlikely characters from season 1. I cannot imagine any of those comparatively normal people getting into the show anymore. We had a Nun for goodness sake, as well as computer salesmen and other people with average, mundane jobs. These were real, everyday people. Back then it could have been described as a sociological experiment. Even the house was dull and took on a 'back to basics' style. There were no hidden surprises. No secret brotherhood. No lies encouraged and started by big brother. Nothing. They just put the housemates into the house and let them get on with it while we watched in our millions.

This year, however, it's completely different.

It's actually rather unfair to say that this year is different. There has been a gradual change in the format since the start. It's more about making the housemates suffer. We want Big Brother to put them in, tear them apart, patch their relationships back up only to shred them to pieces. It doesn't help that they are consistent in mixing social opposites, and extremes thereof. You just know that if a homophobe is in there, so will a homosexual. You're putting in an upper class chap who's earned his money and hates people who scrounge from the Government? In goes Wee Boab from round the corner who hasn't done an honest days work in his life. Racists are accompanied by ethnic minorities. Chauvinistic men are accompanied by strong, self-confident, lesbian women's rights activists.

This year we have a whole load of irritating, conflicting people. We have quiet royal George, a self confessed mummy's boy. British, and homophobic. Then we have Shahbaz, the unemployed Scottish Pakistani Poof who has been nothing but over dramatic, argumentative and petty and has already fallen out with all of the housemates. We have Pete who is also unemployed and suffers from Tourette's Syndrome, causing him to say 'wank' or 'wanker' all of the time (sometimes I wonder if it really is the Tourette's based on who he's forced to talk to) and we have Lea, a 35 year old mother who claims she has the largest (and possibly most expensive) breast implants in the whole of the country.

So we have a small space where opposites are forced together prior to a huge clash and explosion of strong personalities. If this were a nuclear warhead I would have left the country by now. This is, essentially, a TV show about nothing. It's filled with drivel and doesn't do anything. It just sits there. They just sit there. Doing nothing. All day. But for some reason, millions of people tune in religiously every night.

Including me.

I'm addicted. Despite all I say against the programme, it's compelling viewing and I'll be hooked 'till the end. Season after season, night after night. I'll be there watching, along with 4.5 million other people with nothing better to do with their summer.

Spring cleaning!

After much deliberating, and the imminent arrival of a friends sister who I was looking after, I finally did the deed and tidied my room. I know it sounds rather like I'm living at home and have been forced into hard labor by evil clean-freak controlling parents, but this was something I did for me (and if you know my parents, you'll know they aren't clean freaks. Evil and controlling maybe, but certainly not clean freaks)

In all sincerity, it was an absolute state. I was the sort of person who, at home did live in a pigsty. I shared a room with my brother, and with the amount of toys that nobody wants to throw out (How many different variation of the game Monopoly does one family need? And will Iain play with the wooden railway ever again?) and clothes that haven't fitted since we were two, the place was just disgusting. I always swore that once I flew the nest I would never let my room, flat, house or manse get anything like that. Ever.

Unfortunately, full time employment comes along and screws about with your ability to have any self motivation what so ever and you casually drop things sound in the knowledge that you'll pick it up later. You never do. After a few weeks of this it's inevitable that, much to my dismay, it doesn't look quite like it did at the start. I ended up with a desk and ironing board combination set up which was cluttered with DVD's, newsletters from work, bank statements, forms to fill in, letters to be posted, books to read and so on and so forth. Now add the clutter to the size of the room, and it fast becomes clear why I couldn't live like that any more. Not to mention the extra strain on my already painful leg which did less walking and more climbing around my room.

Anyway, with the arrival of the child to be minded as incentive (who seemingly doesn't react well to dust and general grime) I got it out of the way. And boy, does it feel good.

The Da Vinci Code

Last night I braved the terrible pain in my leg to be one of the first people to see the film adaptation of Dan Brown's wonderful, fast paced and ever so slightly controversial book The Da Vinci Code.
We've all heard of the plagerism suit brought against Dan Brown in recent months from The Holy Blood and he Holy Grail authors Richard Leigh and Michael Baigent which threatened the film's release, but Random House fought well, and the film made it's worldwide premiere at the opening of the Cannes Film Festival on the 17th of May. So after all of the publicity surrounding it's release, is this a film that you simply cannot miss? Here's my view, from someone who's a huge fan of the book.

Although I was looking forward to it very much, I was exhausted and drifted in and out of consciousness through the film. From what I did see, the film was a well produced film. It did not, however, stick particularly close to the book, but I'll get to that later. As a film it was very exciting, although it wasn't quite as fast paced as the book, nor as descriptive. The cinematography and post production work was very relevant. I liked the way characters thoughts (when trying to work something out) were materialised in front of them. The scene in Westminster Abbey where Langdon was trying to solve the clue to open the cryptex whilst Sophie was being help at gunpoint was particularly effective. I also noticed that they used this gosting effect a lot on arrival at Westminster Abbey to depict scenes from long ago.

As for the accurcy in terms of the novel (historical accuracy is fat too controversial for little me to discuss) I was not terribly impressed. There are a lot of small pieces which really irritated me, as an avid fan of the book. At the start of the story, we know Langdon is taken away by the DCPJ Detective Jérôme Collet. In the book we see that Langdon is in bed in his lavish Ritz bedroom, when he gets a 1am call from the hotel concierge telling him someone is here for him (much to his dismay - it is early after all) and that the man is on his way up. The film doesn't even attempt to immitate the book here, with Langdon being removed from a book signing by Collet. There were a few more minor changes to the storyline and one absolutely major use of creative licence which I was rather shocked at.

The Ending.

As anyone who has read the book will know, Langdon and Sophie arrive at Roslyn Chapel just before closing. They see the last of the days tours, but have a look round on their own. Sophie realises she has been there before and is drawn to a cottage to the rear of Roslyn where she meets a woman who starts welling up with tears. This is Sophie's Grandmother, was was married to her Grandfather, Jacques Saunière. We learn from her that Sophie is a descendant of Christ, and has Holy Blood. She is reunited with her brother (who happened to be the tourguide as well). Langdon asks Sophies Grandmother about the riddle, and how although he was convinced that the Grail was here, he couldn't find the blade and challice which guard o'er her gates. The Grandmother explains this and Langdon realises that the Grail has moved to France, back to the Louvre where he goes to kneel before it. We never get confirmation of this, however, and are left with the mystery.

In the film the ending has been tainted with Hollywood. Robert and Sophie arrive, and the tour guide meets them. They walk about and wind up downstairs led by the Star of David - noticed by langdon as intersecting blade and challice. They finally meet with the Sangreal documents and Langdon tells Sophie that Jacques Saunière is not her Grandfather! How the producers managed to get away with that I'll never know. When they return upstairs the Priory of Sion have gathered (contacted by the guide) and the grandmother is there as well. She explains to Sophie that the Priory will protect her, and she is introduced to them. This was shocking to me, as in the book the identity of the members of the Priory of Sion are kept secret, even to those who they protect.

Although the ending was not quite what I had imagined from the book, it was effective in dragging in audiences, and it's very emotional. I have to say that my disapointment was overcome by an emotional shiver in my spine at various moments in the vault with the Sangreal documents.

All in all it was an enjoyable evening, even if I did fall asleep through most of the film! I'll have to see it again now...

A night to remember?

I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I feel really alone.

Tonight I was out at the pub (The 3Sisters) with 3 of the girls from upstairs. Nadine, Liezel and Gillian.

It felt like I was at the 3Sisters... with the 3Sisters.

They are all really close, and as a result, I felt rather left out. Why is it that I can't integrate into this group. Why do I feel excluded from my only group of friends. At the end of the day, can a guy really become one of the Sisters?

Think about it. If there are a group of girls, no matter how close you become to any of them - even all of them - you're still one of the guys (a gay guy, but still a guy). You can't take part in their toilet trips. You can't talk about women's things. You can't ask for advice about your new outfit without someone sighing as if to say You're a guy, you can wear whatever... Is it really too much to ask to be involved?

As an average guy (below average in the gay world) I still want to get people's opinion on a specific outfit. If a Sister had a dilemma about what to wear, a team of girlfriends would get to work on planning everything from make-up to shoes, from tone of fake tan to colour of skirt. All I would get, no matter what I was wearing, is You look fine. Maybe I don't want to look fine. Sometimes I want to look extra special too. Sometimes I want people to spend half an hour fussing over what I should wear. Although for a guy there are not as many combinations and possibilities as there are for women, there are enough to get the mind working. These Sisters spend hours and hours bitching about guys (and I'll happily admit to joining them). We'll bitch about a certain cut of jeans or how someone looks in a certain outfit. They obviously have an awareness of how a guy should look, so why don't they help their guy-friends out with style enquiries? Maybe if they did, they wouldn't have as many complaints about said guys.

Another non-style issue is that of friendships, and behavior when we're out. The Sisters love to take pictures (with my camera) but are rarely interested in photographing me. If I do manage to get my picture taken (again, with my camera) I generally have to ask. When the photo is previewed, everyone will be über concerned about how they look, or how a fellow Sister looks, but I'll always look fine. It's a certainty. Take any picture, and as long as everyone else in the photo looks incredible, I'll always look fine. Never mind my 3 chins. Never mind my atrociously large belly, because I've relaxed at the wrong instant. As long as the Sisters look their best, then the photo will be kept to adorn their walls and furnish their Bebo photo albums. It's the same in reverse, of course. I could have a picture that I simply love of me, but if just of the Sisters looks a wee bit fat, or a wee bit shiney, or slightly overweight, or facing the wrong way - that's it. The photo is gone. Deleted into the abyss of uncherished photographs.

I'd certainly love to see that huge digital abyss, filled with ever so slightly imperfect photos where the guys look awesome, but the Sisters have looked the wrong way.