Andrew Carter's Blog, page 3
November 25, 2015
Leeds City Musings
Good evening,
This week's blog is about Rock, Paper, Scissors.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew...
Please take a read,
Cheers,
Andy
This week's blog is about Rock, Paper, Scissors.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew...
Please take a read,
Cheers,
Andy
November 17, 2015
Leeds City Musings
Hello,
This week's article is about my band days.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew...
Please take a read.
Thank you.
This week's article is about my band days.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew...
Please take a read.
Thank you.
November 10, 2015
Leeds City Musings
Good evening,
Part two of my tribute to Sunday league football is now out.
Please take a read if you have a minute!
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew-
Cheers!
Part two of my tribute to Sunday league football is now out.
Please take a read if you have a minute!
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/andrew-
Cheers!
November 1, 2015
Leeds City Musings
Good morning,
You may have (but probably haven't) noticed that my regular blog Monday Musings has been put on the back-burner of late. I have, however, been writing about my formative years for Leeds City Magazine so please have a browse through my articles if you have a few minutes.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/tag/an...
Monday Musings will be returning soon.
Cheers,
Andy
You may have (but probably haven't) noticed that my regular blog Monday Musings has been put on the back-burner of late. I have, however, been writing about my formative years for Leeds City Magazine so please have a browse through my articles if you have a few minutes.
http://leedscitymagazine.co.uk/tag/an...
Monday Musings will be returning soon.
Cheers,
Andy
September 21, 2015
Monday Musings 6
First of all, my apologies for not writing anything last week. It was not because I am now writing a blog for Leeds City Magazine, have got too big for my boots and forgotten my humble beginnings. It was merely a case starting a new job and not having the time to do it. I'd also eaten an incredibly salty pizza last Monday which made me dehydrated and unable to focus.
I’d planned to perhaps write something on Tuesday instead and toyed with the idea of writing Monday Tuesings, which I thought would have been very clever before realizing that Tuesings is definitely not a word and it wouldn’t have made sense. I also dislike word / name combinations so it would have been a bit hypocritical. People in silly magazines referring to as Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez as “Bennifer” was just unacceptable.
My plan is to juggle both this and the Leeds City blog. I don’t know if this is too much but I will give it a try, like Kevin Keegan did when he managed Fulham and England at the same time. It was too much for Keegan in the end if I recall correctly, although writing a few words of nonsense probably shouldn’t be compared to managing a nation should it? I will probably start writing one or both on a fortnightly basis to avoid overkill though. I don’t want to become a complete pain in the neck.
I finished at my old job without incident; a couple of celebratory pints at lunchtime made for a drowsy afternoon before saying my goodbyes. I’m inept with goodbyes and don’t really know what to say. Under pressure, I found myself saying; “We’ll have to go for a beer sometime,” to a man who didn’t work in my department and I’d spoken to very briefly, twice. I very much doubt that we will stay in touch.
My last day of work happened to fall on my birthday. I am a bit of a misery when it comes to my birthday – a birthday Grinch. I don’t feel I deserve praise and gifts simply for being born, which is something that I had no control over at all. I’m getting on a bit too - at twenty nine, it’s now difficult to try and claim that I’m still in my mid-twenties but try I will.
A pair of my friends threw a highly enjoyable engagement party on the Saturday and after thinking I’d escaped it, I had to sit through a rendition of Happy Birthday which is always fairly excruciating. What are you supposed to do? Sit and grin? It always seems to go on for twice as long when it’s your birthday.
The first week at my new job has gone well and I’m hopeful that having been an employment journeyman, working in sixteen different jobs over the years, I may finally have found something to stick around in for a while. (Sixteen isn’t just a figure plucked from the air by the way – I have just written a list. I’m evidently not very busy this evening.)
I’d got some slick new shirts for my birthday but have since found out that the dress code is casual and I am the best dressed man in the office by some way. Like when you forgot it was a non-uniform day at school. I’m going to persist with the shirts for the time being though. Possibly roll the sleeves up?
It can be tricky to get the balance right when you start a new job; you want to come across as keen and enthusiastic (by overdressing for example) but you don’t want to keep asking, “What shall I do now?” or words to that effect. Also, when chatting to new colleagues, you don’t want to come across as rude and / or really shy by not engaging in a bit of conversation but then you don’t want to be a loudmouth that is distracting people from their work. There was a small mishap in the staff room where I coughed whilst waiting for a lady who was washing a cup at the sink. It was a genuine cough but she took it as a, “I’m waiting, hurry up,” cough and probably thought, “Who does this new guy think he is?”
Everyone is very friendly, although I have been warned that you do not want to get on the wrong side of the cleaner by a couple of people. They have said it with a smile but the sort of smile that means; No, really you don’t.
I have to cycle up a horror hill on the way to the new office which will hopefully push me to pass my driving test in the not too distant future. I despise driving lessons and am not keen on paying thirty quid to feel inadequate and useless. It doesn’t help that the area where I practice manoeuvres is frequented by droves of other learners, all of whom seem to be at least ten years younger than me.
After ballsing up a parallel park three times in a row and becoming horribly flustered, it doesn’t help when you see a seventeen year old girl effortlessly gliding into her spot further up road. I have long known that I am not a natural driver but lessons also make me feel like a complete moron. I find myself unable to follow simple instructions and my mind often goes blank when my instructor asks me the most basic of questions.
Louise is being very patient and taking me for the odd spin, which while highly emasculating, is certainly helpful. However if she has to grab the wheel again because I am admiring a nice football pitch and not looking at the road, I think her generosity, and indeed our relationship may end before I have my pink licence.
I’m surprised that I got my current job without a driving licence. Having a car appears fairly important because we go out to visit customers in their homes. Worry not, I am not a door-to-door salesman - it is a council funded job where people are aware that you are coming and from what I’ve seen so far, you talk about fairly useful things.
The world of door-to-door sales is not, however, completely alien to me. In bizarre circumstances in a previous job, I once found myself going out for the day observing a man whilst he tried to sell incredibly overpriced Kirby vacuum cleaners to people in their homes. I’m really not sure why I was there but vaguely remember being stood in a kitchen in Wakefield while this man, who had a tattoo on his neck, unconvincingly showed an elderly woman that the vacuum could clean ceilings. It was one of those moments where you really question where your life is going. What decisions have I made along the way that have led to this?
On our return to the office from a visit today, a woman asked for my assistance as she had got her car stuck in some mud and couldn’t get out. Panicking, I did that thing where you go and stand by the scene, make a few “hmm” noises but actually have no idea what to do and help in no way whatsoever. I eventually went inside and got the assistance of some colleagues and we managed to push the car out of the ditch and to freedom. After (being part of) this good deed, I strode back into the office and sat down at my desk in a cheery mood. A few minutes later I looked back and saw that there was a thick trail of muddy footprints leading from the door to my chair.
I’m suitably terrified about seeing the cleaner tomorrow morning.
I’d planned to perhaps write something on Tuesday instead and toyed with the idea of writing Monday Tuesings, which I thought would have been very clever before realizing that Tuesings is definitely not a word and it wouldn’t have made sense. I also dislike word / name combinations so it would have been a bit hypocritical. People in silly magazines referring to as Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez as “Bennifer” was just unacceptable.
My plan is to juggle both this and the Leeds City blog. I don’t know if this is too much but I will give it a try, like Kevin Keegan did when he managed Fulham and England at the same time. It was too much for Keegan in the end if I recall correctly, although writing a few words of nonsense probably shouldn’t be compared to managing a nation should it? I will probably start writing one or both on a fortnightly basis to avoid overkill though. I don’t want to become a complete pain in the neck.
I finished at my old job without incident; a couple of celebratory pints at lunchtime made for a drowsy afternoon before saying my goodbyes. I’m inept with goodbyes and don’t really know what to say. Under pressure, I found myself saying; “We’ll have to go for a beer sometime,” to a man who didn’t work in my department and I’d spoken to very briefly, twice. I very much doubt that we will stay in touch.
My last day of work happened to fall on my birthday. I am a bit of a misery when it comes to my birthday – a birthday Grinch. I don’t feel I deserve praise and gifts simply for being born, which is something that I had no control over at all. I’m getting on a bit too - at twenty nine, it’s now difficult to try and claim that I’m still in my mid-twenties but try I will.
A pair of my friends threw a highly enjoyable engagement party on the Saturday and after thinking I’d escaped it, I had to sit through a rendition of Happy Birthday which is always fairly excruciating. What are you supposed to do? Sit and grin? It always seems to go on for twice as long when it’s your birthday.
The first week at my new job has gone well and I’m hopeful that having been an employment journeyman, working in sixteen different jobs over the years, I may finally have found something to stick around in for a while. (Sixteen isn’t just a figure plucked from the air by the way – I have just written a list. I’m evidently not very busy this evening.)
I’d got some slick new shirts for my birthday but have since found out that the dress code is casual and I am the best dressed man in the office by some way. Like when you forgot it was a non-uniform day at school. I’m going to persist with the shirts for the time being though. Possibly roll the sleeves up?
It can be tricky to get the balance right when you start a new job; you want to come across as keen and enthusiastic (by overdressing for example) but you don’t want to keep asking, “What shall I do now?” or words to that effect. Also, when chatting to new colleagues, you don’t want to come across as rude and / or really shy by not engaging in a bit of conversation but then you don’t want to be a loudmouth that is distracting people from their work. There was a small mishap in the staff room where I coughed whilst waiting for a lady who was washing a cup at the sink. It was a genuine cough but she took it as a, “I’m waiting, hurry up,” cough and probably thought, “Who does this new guy think he is?”
Everyone is very friendly, although I have been warned that you do not want to get on the wrong side of the cleaner by a couple of people. They have said it with a smile but the sort of smile that means; No, really you don’t.
I have to cycle up a horror hill on the way to the new office which will hopefully push me to pass my driving test in the not too distant future. I despise driving lessons and am not keen on paying thirty quid to feel inadequate and useless. It doesn’t help that the area where I practice manoeuvres is frequented by droves of other learners, all of whom seem to be at least ten years younger than me.
After ballsing up a parallel park three times in a row and becoming horribly flustered, it doesn’t help when you see a seventeen year old girl effortlessly gliding into her spot further up road. I have long known that I am not a natural driver but lessons also make me feel like a complete moron. I find myself unable to follow simple instructions and my mind often goes blank when my instructor asks me the most basic of questions.
Louise is being very patient and taking me for the odd spin, which while highly emasculating, is certainly helpful. However if she has to grab the wheel again because I am admiring a nice football pitch and not looking at the road, I think her generosity, and indeed our relationship may end before I have my pink licence.
I’m surprised that I got my current job without a driving licence. Having a car appears fairly important because we go out to visit customers in their homes. Worry not, I am not a door-to-door salesman - it is a council funded job where people are aware that you are coming and from what I’ve seen so far, you talk about fairly useful things.
The world of door-to-door sales is not, however, completely alien to me. In bizarre circumstances in a previous job, I once found myself going out for the day observing a man whilst he tried to sell incredibly overpriced Kirby vacuum cleaners to people in their homes. I’m really not sure why I was there but vaguely remember being stood in a kitchen in Wakefield while this man, who had a tattoo on his neck, unconvincingly showed an elderly woman that the vacuum could clean ceilings. It was one of those moments where you really question where your life is going. What decisions have I made along the way that have led to this?
On our return to the office from a visit today, a woman asked for my assistance as she had got her car stuck in some mud and couldn’t get out. Panicking, I did that thing where you go and stand by the scene, make a few “hmm” noises but actually have no idea what to do and help in no way whatsoever. I eventually went inside and got the assistance of some colleagues and we managed to push the car out of the ditch and to freedom. After (being part of) this good deed, I strode back into the office and sat down at my desk in a cheery mood. A few minutes later I looked back and saw that there was a thick trail of muddy footprints leading from the door to my chair.
I’m suitably terrified about seeing the cleaner tomorrow morning.
September 7, 2015
Monday Musings 5
As I've got older, feeling genuinely excited about things has become increasingly less frequent. This isn't me being miserable - I am often cheery and there are lots of things I enjoy doing, it's just being properly excited doesn't happen anywhere near as much as when I was younger. This is largely down to now being a fully grown man but also, lots of things I used to get excited about were down to the anticipation; waiting a week for the next episode of a good TV show or saving up to buy a new album just doesn't happen now. Most things are accessible within a few seconds on a laptop which takes away the magic a bit.
My friend and I were discussing excitement last week. What are people excited about these days? Some people are prone to exaggerating - when I hear girls saying that they are ''so excited'' about meeting a friend for a coffee, I wonder how true this is. Our conversation took place on the way back from playing 5-a-side football, which we decided is something that men definitely still get excited about whatever their age. We won which always helps and morale was high afterwards. Complimenting one another on a football performance is one of the few forms of praise that men feel comfortable dishing out. It is still a bit awkward to receive acclaim although this wasn’t really an issue for me as I didn’t play particularly well. Badly timed eating arrangements left me with a stich after one sprint which is never ideal. I also haven’t played football in months so my legs felt like granite, which is probably cause for serious concern with a marathon coming up in four weeks.
As well as the enjoyable resumption of our 5-a-side team, I was excited a further two times last week. The peak came when I received a flashy new bike as an early birthday present from a number of generous contributors (thank you.) Cycling is so much better when you are riding a bike that isn’t falling to pieces. I’d been dropping subtle hints to Louise over the past few weeks (‘I hate my bike, I want a new one’) but it still came as a very pleasant surprise.
I am a big fan of most aspects of cycling. One thing I particularly enjoy is the mutual respect among cyclists; the cyclists union. You look at each other and offer a smile and a nod which has underlying tones of an ‘us and them’ attitude towards drivers. There are three regulars who I pass almost every time I ride to work. Two of them – a curly haired woman and a muscular middle aged man – always greet me with the aforementioned nod and smile and I have even stretched to saying ‘hello’ to the woman if it’s sunny and / or after Tuesday.
The third regular is a man of similar age to me who is clearly a very serious cyclist. He has his head ducked down, wears Lycra and goes really fast. This guy is a bit of a bastard. I tried to nod at him a couple of times and he was having none of it, slightly raised eyebrows as far as he was willing to go. I wasn’t in his league.
This was until last Tuesday, when I was on my new bike and wearing a trendy new helmet. (Can helmets be trendy? Probably not.) He didn’t ignore me this time but looked over and said. "Alright mate." For weeks and weeks I have cycled past him slowly, sweating on my rusty old bike and he wasn’t interested. As soon as I’m on shiny new wheels, he respects me. He wants to be mates. Unbelievable. Of course, I felt quite pleased and replied with a cheery ‘Morning.’ Cyclists are a fickle bunch.
One of the reasons why I don't get excited so much is that at twenty eight, most things I do, I have already done before. This was not, however, the case with the third time I was excited this week; playing footgolf. This was an early birthday celebration with some friends confirming that my birthday is over already even though it hasn’t actually happened yet. To be fair, it is on September 11th, which isn’t really a day associated with celebration and cheer.
Footgolf is an excellent invention that combines something that I really like with something that I can’t do. I’d hoped to be good at it but sadly came seventh out of eight as an outsider took the crown with a strong performance. It was great fun and despite being pretty rubbish, I managed to keep my head, which is something I sometimes struggle with in individual games where you only have yourself to blame. The last time I played mini golf, the red mist descended and after a succession of infuriatingly bad shots, I had a meltdown and booted the ball off the green in a rage as parents with toddlers looked on in disgust. I was playing with Louise’s mother and sister, who have fortunately met me enough times before this to appreciate that this was an anomaly and I am not actually a psychopath.
Speaking of anger, I had quite a bizarre exchange with an irate man this week. The ATM near us and the only one in the area wasn’t working, which is obviously annoying. Perhaps buoyed by my recent social progress with the serious cyclist, I thought this was comment-worthy.
"They really need to fix it. It’s really annoying isn’t it?" I said.
"That’s not the fucking point. For fuck’s sake." Irate man replied.
Fearing that he thought it was my fault, I made the reasonable suggestion that he could get cash-back in the Co-op. He didn’t say anything, shook his head and stormed into the shop. I really hoped that the bus would just arrive so that I didn’t have to wait inside the shelter with him. Of course it didn’t.
“They don’t do cash-back.’’ He said, red-faced now. ‘’What a fucking joke.’’
This left him in quite a predicament as he and I clearly hadn’t hit it off but I was now his only option. There was a pause as he weighed this up.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a quid?”
I gave him a quid.
Juxtaposed with all of my recent excitement, last week at work was pretty relaxed. This is mainly due to the fact that I am leaving soon. I recently got offered another job so handed my notice in a couple of weeks ago which is an absolutely horrible thing to do, especially when you like your job and the people you work with and have only worked there for a few weeks. It’s not so much the letter and the official bit but the walking over to your manager’s desk and saying "Can I have a word please?" Everyone knows what’s going on. I had to mentally prepare myself for a good fifteen minutes before thinking ‘just do it’, all the while feeling scared and lightheaded. It was not dissimilar to preparing to do a bungee jump (something that I have done and am definitely boasting about) although gladly there were no tears this time.
When it’s known that you are leaving, you can definitely take your foot off the gas a little bit can’t you? Also, there were a lot of computer problems this week. Let’s be honest, no matter what your job is, you are quietly happy when you hear that systems are down. Systems down = guiltless feet up.
My colleagues and I saw it as an opportunity to watch stupid videos on phones including this wonderful piece of rugby commentary:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o58st....
I was first introduced to this gem by a good pal in Hong Kong and am proud to say that I now know all of it off by heart, which doesn’t impress Louise anywhere near as much as it should. (For the record, I won’t include links to videos in Monday Musings very often. It’s cheating a bit isn’t it?)
I start my new job next Monday. It's always daunting starting a new job and anyone who says it's not is a liar. I am looking forward to it though and I think it will be a good step forward in terms of becoming a responsible adult. Hopefully I will still have time to write something next week but if not, my apologies. Anyway, after all of last week’s excitement, things may balance out and calm down a bit this week leaving me with little content. At a push I might buy a new shirt but I’m not sure if that justifies a blog of over a thousand words.
My friend and I were discussing excitement last week. What are people excited about these days? Some people are prone to exaggerating - when I hear girls saying that they are ''so excited'' about meeting a friend for a coffee, I wonder how true this is. Our conversation took place on the way back from playing 5-a-side football, which we decided is something that men definitely still get excited about whatever their age. We won which always helps and morale was high afterwards. Complimenting one another on a football performance is one of the few forms of praise that men feel comfortable dishing out. It is still a bit awkward to receive acclaim although this wasn’t really an issue for me as I didn’t play particularly well. Badly timed eating arrangements left me with a stich after one sprint which is never ideal. I also haven’t played football in months so my legs felt like granite, which is probably cause for serious concern with a marathon coming up in four weeks.
As well as the enjoyable resumption of our 5-a-side team, I was excited a further two times last week. The peak came when I received a flashy new bike as an early birthday present from a number of generous contributors (thank you.) Cycling is so much better when you are riding a bike that isn’t falling to pieces. I’d been dropping subtle hints to Louise over the past few weeks (‘I hate my bike, I want a new one’) but it still came as a very pleasant surprise.
I am a big fan of most aspects of cycling. One thing I particularly enjoy is the mutual respect among cyclists; the cyclists union. You look at each other and offer a smile and a nod which has underlying tones of an ‘us and them’ attitude towards drivers. There are three regulars who I pass almost every time I ride to work. Two of them – a curly haired woman and a muscular middle aged man – always greet me with the aforementioned nod and smile and I have even stretched to saying ‘hello’ to the woman if it’s sunny and / or after Tuesday.
The third regular is a man of similar age to me who is clearly a very serious cyclist. He has his head ducked down, wears Lycra and goes really fast. This guy is a bit of a bastard. I tried to nod at him a couple of times and he was having none of it, slightly raised eyebrows as far as he was willing to go. I wasn’t in his league.
This was until last Tuesday, when I was on my new bike and wearing a trendy new helmet. (Can helmets be trendy? Probably not.) He didn’t ignore me this time but looked over and said. "Alright mate." For weeks and weeks I have cycled past him slowly, sweating on my rusty old bike and he wasn’t interested. As soon as I’m on shiny new wheels, he respects me. He wants to be mates. Unbelievable. Of course, I felt quite pleased and replied with a cheery ‘Morning.’ Cyclists are a fickle bunch.
One of the reasons why I don't get excited so much is that at twenty eight, most things I do, I have already done before. This was not, however, the case with the third time I was excited this week; playing footgolf. This was an early birthday celebration with some friends confirming that my birthday is over already even though it hasn’t actually happened yet. To be fair, it is on September 11th, which isn’t really a day associated with celebration and cheer.
Footgolf is an excellent invention that combines something that I really like with something that I can’t do. I’d hoped to be good at it but sadly came seventh out of eight as an outsider took the crown with a strong performance. It was great fun and despite being pretty rubbish, I managed to keep my head, which is something I sometimes struggle with in individual games where you only have yourself to blame. The last time I played mini golf, the red mist descended and after a succession of infuriatingly bad shots, I had a meltdown and booted the ball off the green in a rage as parents with toddlers looked on in disgust. I was playing with Louise’s mother and sister, who have fortunately met me enough times before this to appreciate that this was an anomaly and I am not actually a psychopath.
Speaking of anger, I had quite a bizarre exchange with an irate man this week. The ATM near us and the only one in the area wasn’t working, which is obviously annoying. Perhaps buoyed by my recent social progress with the serious cyclist, I thought this was comment-worthy.
"They really need to fix it. It’s really annoying isn’t it?" I said.
"That’s not the fucking point. For fuck’s sake." Irate man replied.
Fearing that he thought it was my fault, I made the reasonable suggestion that he could get cash-back in the Co-op. He didn’t say anything, shook his head and stormed into the shop. I really hoped that the bus would just arrive so that I didn’t have to wait inside the shelter with him. Of course it didn’t.
“They don’t do cash-back.’’ He said, red-faced now. ‘’What a fucking joke.’’
This left him in quite a predicament as he and I clearly hadn’t hit it off but I was now his only option. There was a pause as he weighed this up.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a quid?”
I gave him a quid.
Juxtaposed with all of my recent excitement, last week at work was pretty relaxed. This is mainly due to the fact that I am leaving soon. I recently got offered another job so handed my notice in a couple of weeks ago which is an absolutely horrible thing to do, especially when you like your job and the people you work with and have only worked there for a few weeks. It’s not so much the letter and the official bit but the walking over to your manager’s desk and saying "Can I have a word please?" Everyone knows what’s going on. I had to mentally prepare myself for a good fifteen minutes before thinking ‘just do it’, all the while feeling scared and lightheaded. It was not dissimilar to preparing to do a bungee jump (something that I have done and am definitely boasting about) although gladly there were no tears this time.
When it’s known that you are leaving, you can definitely take your foot off the gas a little bit can’t you? Also, there were a lot of computer problems this week. Let’s be honest, no matter what your job is, you are quietly happy when you hear that systems are down. Systems down = guiltless feet up.
My colleagues and I saw it as an opportunity to watch stupid videos on phones including this wonderful piece of rugby commentary:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o58st....
I was first introduced to this gem by a good pal in Hong Kong and am proud to say that I now know all of it off by heart, which doesn’t impress Louise anywhere near as much as it should. (For the record, I won’t include links to videos in Monday Musings very often. It’s cheating a bit isn’t it?)
I start my new job next Monday. It's always daunting starting a new job and anyone who says it's not is a liar. I am looking forward to it though and I think it will be a good step forward in terms of becoming a responsible adult. Hopefully I will still have time to write something next week but if not, my apologies. Anyway, after all of last week’s excitement, things may balance out and calm down a bit this week leaving me with little content. At a push I might buy a new shirt but I’m not sure if that justifies a blog of over a thousand words.
August 31, 2015
Bank Holiday Musings
For those of you who were anxiously wondering whether there would be any musings today with it being a bank holiday, worry not. I like bank holidays and I enjoy how overexcited everyone gets about having one extra day off. Four or five weeks beforehand, you hear people saying things like; "Ooh, bank holiday weekend coming up soon! Can’t wait!" When you go to the pub on a bank holiday Sunday, you feel that you absolutely must drink more irresponsibly than you would on a normal Friday or a Saturday.
"I’m not working tomorrow so why not?” you will say to your grinning pal as he bounds over from the bar with a tray of colourful drinks.
"Rude not to!" He will reply and then you will feel annoyed as this is an irritating saying that often doesn’t make sense. You will then wonder whether you want to spend the rest of this special Sunday evening with him.
If, god forbid, you have to work on bank holiday Monday, you get an incredible amount of sympathy and some people are utterly disbelieving. They can’t handle it.
"What? You’re working? On a bank holiday? Really? You must be getting time and a half though right?"
"No."
I always associate the August bank holiday weekend with Leeds Festival despite the fact that I haven’t actually been in nearly a decade. It is something of rites of passage to go to Leeds Festival in Year 11 as it takes place shortly after your GCSE results and I have fond memories of going with my friends in 2003, most of us wearing TK-Maxx bought hoodies and fairly awful baggy jeans.
It was a wonderful weekend of teenage silliness but my overriding memory from the festival is one of fear. A friend and I decided that we wanted to go on a fairground ride – one of those stupid ones that spins round really fast and nobody actually enjoys. We didn’t have the necessary £4 each but with us being sixteen, inebriated and idiots, we managed to sneak on without paying. All good fun until the safety barriers didn’t come down and it started to move. We had to pull them down manually and hold on for dear life, which was testing for my spindly biceps. We lived to tell the tale and tried to impress girls by boasting about what daredevils we were, leaving out the fact that both of us were crying throughout the duration of the ride. I also remember my dad coming to pick us up after the festival and another friend, too polite to ask my dad to pull over, was sick in his rucksack in the back of the car.
Sadly Louise couldn’t be talked into spending this weekend in a tent and crowd surfing to Metallica so we went to the Lake District, which is of course a wonderful part of the country. Possibly my favourite in fact. The only snag is that it pisses it down every time you go. Many a family holiday was spent battling up mountains in swirling wind and rain as my stoic dad assured us that it was ‘just a shower’ and that we were ‘nearly back’ a good five miles away from the car. Being close to the Lake District was one of my university’s big selling points but I only actually went once in three years. It was supposed to be a romantic daytrip with Louise but we didn’t set off until after three o’clock and I invited my friend. When we arrived, we sat by a lake, looked at some ducks (if memory serves me correct, we gave some of the duck’s names and background stories) then drove back.
Anyway, this time went well even though, true to form, I got us lost on the walk. It’s not just that I struggle with practical tasks such as reading a map, I simply cannot do them. ‘It’s definitely this way’ isn’t convincing when you are wading through bracken up to your armpits. It was an enjoyable weekend though and with it being a bank holiday, there wasn’t even the Sunday blues to contend with on getting home last night. I also had a small wager on Swansea to beat Man United. Excellent.
Last week, one of my strategies to get people to read my Monday Musings and hopefully buy my book was excessively tweeting the link to celebrities, newspapers, authors etc. along with thinly veiled attempts to personalize what is clearly a copy and pasted message. (Does the copy and paste option make the world worse?) I am aware that this probably makes me really annoying but I am not going to lose sleep over my Twitter popularity. Of course, it’s unlikely to yield many results but it is brainlessly easy and can be done whilst at work so worth a shot? Maybe? As far as I know, Barack Obama is yet to read it but I shall continue to invite him.
Anyway, a couple of days ago, I got a first response to my irritating self-promotional activity, from a well-known author who wrote a book that was turned into an Oscar-nominated film. She simply advised me to introduce myself properly and start a dialogue before asking people to read my work. This is completely fair enough and good advice. It is difficult to balance though. Do you go scattergun and increase your options or do you carefully handpick people that may be interested and craft careful, personalized emails or letters? (I’m sure there will be some marketing terms to describe this.) Of course, the latter is a much better way to go about things but there is every chance that you’d spend ages doing this and still get no response. Similar to those job application forms that take hours and hours to complete but you don’t get so much as a rejection email. Quite why every job application has a different format for writing about education and work history is beyond me. I’m so sick of typing out the addresses of my previous jobs. By the time it comes to the personal statement, I’ve given up.
If money weren’t an issue (I only had £7.50 on Swansea to win yesterday), I would hire a publicist to help me out. I’m sure they could advise much better ways to promote my book although I imagine that people in this line of work are the type that misuse the word ‘literally’ and overuse the word ‘amazing’ which would be an issue. I will keep plugging away for a bit longer though. There’s no point giving up and while it can feel like banging your head against a wall at times, I am learning a lot and still have a couple of reviews and articles pending which may provide a boost. One thing is for sure; I will not be working on book publicity today. I will not be doing any work today. It’s a bank holiday isn’t it?
"I’m not working tomorrow so why not?” you will say to your grinning pal as he bounds over from the bar with a tray of colourful drinks.
"Rude not to!" He will reply and then you will feel annoyed as this is an irritating saying that often doesn’t make sense. You will then wonder whether you want to spend the rest of this special Sunday evening with him.
If, god forbid, you have to work on bank holiday Monday, you get an incredible amount of sympathy and some people are utterly disbelieving. They can’t handle it.
"What? You’re working? On a bank holiday? Really? You must be getting time and a half though right?"
"No."
I always associate the August bank holiday weekend with Leeds Festival despite the fact that I haven’t actually been in nearly a decade. It is something of rites of passage to go to Leeds Festival in Year 11 as it takes place shortly after your GCSE results and I have fond memories of going with my friends in 2003, most of us wearing TK-Maxx bought hoodies and fairly awful baggy jeans.
It was a wonderful weekend of teenage silliness but my overriding memory from the festival is one of fear. A friend and I decided that we wanted to go on a fairground ride – one of those stupid ones that spins round really fast and nobody actually enjoys. We didn’t have the necessary £4 each but with us being sixteen, inebriated and idiots, we managed to sneak on without paying. All good fun until the safety barriers didn’t come down and it started to move. We had to pull them down manually and hold on for dear life, which was testing for my spindly biceps. We lived to tell the tale and tried to impress girls by boasting about what daredevils we were, leaving out the fact that both of us were crying throughout the duration of the ride. I also remember my dad coming to pick us up after the festival and another friend, too polite to ask my dad to pull over, was sick in his rucksack in the back of the car.
Sadly Louise couldn’t be talked into spending this weekend in a tent and crowd surfing to Metallica so we went to the Lake District, which is of course a wonderful part of the country. Possibly my favourite in fact. The only snag is that it pisses it down every time you go. Many a family holiday was spent battling up mountains in swirling wind and rain as my stoic dad assured us that it was ‘just a shower’ and that we were ‘nearly back’ a good five miles away from the car. Being close to the Lake District was one of my university’s big selling points but I only actually went once in three years. It was supposed to be a romantic daytrip with Louise but we didn’t set off until after three o’clock and I invited my friend. When we arrived, we sat by a lake, looked at some ducks (if memory serves me correct, we gave some of the duck’s names and background stories) then drove back.
Anyway, this time went well even though, true to form, I got us lost on the walk. It’s not just that I struggle with practical tasks such as reading a map, I simply cannot do them. ‘It’s definitely this way’ isn’t convincing when you are wading through bracken up to your armpits. It was an enjoyable weekend though and with it being a bank holiday, there wasn’t even the Sunday blues to contend with on getting home last night. I also had a small wager on Swansea to beat Man United. Excellent.
Last week, one of my strategies to get people to read my Monday Musings and hopefully buy my book was excessively tweeting the link to celebrities, newspapers, authors etc. along with thinly veiled attempts to personalize what is clearly a copy and pasted message. (Does the copy and paste option make the world worse?) I am aware that this probably makes me really annoying but I am not going to lose sleep over my Twitter popularity. Of course, it’s unlikely to yield many results but it is brainlessly easy and can be done whilst at work so worth a shot? Maybe? As far as I know, Barack Obama is yet to read it but I shall continue to invite him.
Anyway, a couple of days ago, I got a first response to my irritating self-promotional activity, from a well-known author who wrote a book that was turned into an Oscar-nominated film. She simply advised me to introduce myself properly and start a dialogue before asking people to read my work. This is completely fair enough and good advice. It is difficult to balance though. Do you go scattergun and increase your options or do you carefully handpick people that may be interested and craft careful, personalized emails or letters? (I’m sure there will be some marketing terms to describe this.) Of course, the latter is a much better way to go about things but there is every chance that you’d spend ages doing this and still get no response. Similar to those job application forms that take hours and hours to complete but you don’t get so much as a rejection email. Quite why every job application has a different format for writing about education and work history is beyond me. I’m so sick of typing out the addresses of my previous jobs. By the time it comes to the personal statement, I’ve given up.
If money weren’t an issue (I only had £7.50 on Swansea to win yesterday), I would hire a publicist to help me out. I’m sure they could advise much better ways to promote my book although I imagine that people in this line of work are the type that misuse the word ‘literally’ and overuse the word ‘amazing’ which would be an issue. I will keep plugging away for a bit longer though. There’s no point giving up and while it can feel like banging your head against a wall at times, I am learning a lot and still have a couple of reviews and articles pending which may provide a boost. One thing is for sure; I will not be working on book publicity today. I will not be doing any work today. It’s a bank holiday isn’t it?
August 24, 2015
Monday Musings 4
The week has started badly. This morning I had to weigh up whether to use my remaining £3 for bus fare to work or lunch. The day (ten days) before payday is always tough. I thought this would have stopped happening by now but to be honest, I'm sure that even if I was earning £50k a year, I would still find myself in the same position come the 20th of every month. I'd just be rummaging for coins in the pockets of more expensive jeans. I opted to go for food which meant I had to cycle to work, which I am pleased about now as I'm peckish.
Riding a bike with flat tyres on a drizzly morning, mostly uphill was not appealing at all though and I hated every minute of it, especially the bit when two elderly blokes glided past me as I was huffing and puffing my way up a hill.
"Good morning!"
"Is it?"
In my defence, they were on slick road bikes while my rusty, kind-of mountain bike squeaks and clicks with every pedal and is sadly falling to pieces.
Today's ride was made trickier as I am still not fully recovered from being ill last week. I was nearly there but after an enjoyable weekend of drastically unhealthy living, the immune system has taken another pounding. I was so ill in fact that I had to call in sick for work last Thursday. I'd woken up shivering, sweating, nose completely blocked and with an unbelievably bad headache. A cold. Until you get one, you forget just how bad a heavy cold is. I couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed which confirmed that I was clearly unfit for work.
Even if it is genuine, calling in sick is still nothing short of terrifying. Despite feeling terrible and genuinely sounding hoarse, I felt the need to emphasize my illness far too much resulting in completely overdoing the feeble voice, chucking in a couple of fake coughs alongside the legitimate ones for good measure. Paranoid, I began to fear that the receptionist might smell a rat and assume that I had either drank too much the night before or was perhaps planning on a daytrip to Lightwater Valley.
The relief at the end of the call was immeasurable but outweighed by just how shit I was feeling. It wasn't helped by the fact that we were completely out of Lemsip and parecetamol. I don't think I have ever before braved a cold without any medication. It's awful. My head felt like a bag of daggers. I managed to crawl out of bed and on to the sofa in time to catch the remaining half an hour of the Wright Stuff, which I always enjoy. A comforting reminder of my 'between jobs' days. By 12.30, I had managed to find my range in terms of chucking tissues into the bin from my sofa, confidently mixing things up with lofted and driven shots, but was still feeling no better and decided that I would have to go to the shop. After Loose Women was the plan but unfortunately it wasn't on. Why not? I thought Loose Women was always on? I had been looking forward to hearing Jamelia's insight.
After managing to make it to the shop and back without dying and thankfully not bumping into anyone I recognized, I took some Anadin and a Berocca which finally began to perk me up a bit and the banging in my head began to cease. This put me in a decent position. Not feeling too terrible but definitely not able to do anything productive. And definitely not at work. A guiltless afternoon spent lying down on the sofa. Perhaps tweak my Fantasy Football team?
I spent a nostalgic hour looking through some old material that I had culled from my book (I have written a book by the way) which was quite weird. There was a lot of stuff that I don’t remember writing at all and while some of it was utterly awful, there were a few bits that were decent so I am unsure why they got the chop. I’ll probably try and shoehorn these bits into my next book. Is that on? For those of you that have read the book, Troy was originally going to be a short, chubby guy called Tom and Sander was called Nicklas. I changed that because I was clearly basing the character quite substantially on Nicklas Bendtner.
I decided to watch an episode of the Office on Netflix. Although I know pretty much every line, I still find it very difficult to watch just one episode and predictably ended up watching the whole of the first series for around the fifteenth time. My lack of imagination in watching the Office again instead of something new got me thinking; my interests in life really haven’t changed at all in the last ten years. I still watch the same TV shows / films, listen to the same sort of music, enjoy drinking lager and spend too much time watching or reading about football. I still enjoy knocking around with Louise and I’m still partial to acting like a prat with my friends.
There is the theory that once you are twenty five, that is it. The personality that you have at twenty five is what you are stuck with forever more. That is who you are. I would argue that this happened to me a bit earlier, possibly twenty? Hopefully I am a bit less of a dickhead now (for a regrettable spell at university I had spiked sideburns) but in terms of hobbies, lifestyle, personality traits et cetera, I don’t feel there is much difference. I suppose I don’t really go to nightclubs anymore but I sometimes question whether I ever enjoyed nightclubs. I don’t particularly miss criminally expensive drinks, topless barmen, being unable to have a conversation or nervously dancing near but not ‘with’ girls. I've had a number of unsuccessful attempts at doing new things in the last few years such as going to Salsa classes, Yoga, Chinese lessons etc. but ultimately, nothing has stuck. My problem with trying new things it is highly likely you won’t be very good at them to begin with and who enjoys doing things that they’re not good at?
With that said, I am currently training for a marathon which is kind of a new hobby I suppose. The kind of hobby that you don't enjoy at all. That is my issue with running. It's just not fun. You never see runners with a smile on their face do you? I won't go into any kind of details about a training plan as I am aware that nobody cares but it is safe to say, fitness-wise I am roughly a million miles away from where I need to be. I am going to try and run on a treadmill this evening but running without actually getting anywhere is even more boring that running outside. Time on a treadmill goes so incredibly slowly. If ever you worry that time is going too quickly or that life is passing you by, just spend half an hour on a treadmill. It lasts well over an hour.
I also need to think about getting sponsors and setting up a Just Giving page or whatever it is you do. I need to decide on a charity first. One that means something to me I suppose. Is there a hay fever one? Of course making money for charities is a nice thing to do but in recent years, things have got a bit ridiculous. Should you sponsor someone for a 5K run when they openly admit that they might not even run the whole thing? If you sponsor them, then you definitely have to sponsor someone who runs a marathon don't you? Then what about an Iron Man? I will happily sponsor people a few quid but when there are three fundraisers coming into the office in one day then surely something has to give? It’s all about finding the balance between not appearing stingy and not bankrupting yourself. Perhaps if I had managed this balancing act more effectively, I would not have had to decide between getting the bus or having money for a sandwich this morning?
Riding a bike with flat tyres on a drizzly morning, mostly uphill was not appealing at all though and I hated every minute of it, especially the bit when two elderly blokes glided past me as I was huffing and puffing my way up a hill.
"Good morning!"
"Is it?"
In my defence, they were on slick road bikes while my rusty, kind-of mountain bike squeaks and clicks with every pedal and is sadly falling to pieces.
Today's ride was made trickier as I am still not fully recovered from being ill last week. I was nearly there but after an enjoyable weekend of drastically unhealthy living, the immune system has taken another pounding. I was so ill in fact that I had to call in sick for work last Thursday. I'd woken up shivering, sweating, nose completely blocked and with an unbelievably bad headache. A cold. Until you get one, you forget just how bad a heavy cold is. I couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed which confirmed that I was clearly unfit for work.
Even if it is genuine, calling in sick is still nothing short of terrifying. Despite feeling terrible and genuinely sounding hoarse, I felt the need to emphasize my illness far too much resulting in completely overdoing the feeble voice, chucking in a couple of fake coughs alongside the legitimate ones for good measure. Paranoid, I began to fear that the receptionist might smell a rat and assume that I had either drank too much the night before or was perhaps planning on a daytrip to Lightwater Valley.
The relief at the end of the call was immeasurable but outweighed by just how shit I was feeling. It wasn't helped by the fact that we were completely out of Lemsip and parecetamol. I don't think I have ever before braved a cold without any medication. It's awful. My head felt like a bag of daggers. I managed to crawl out of bed and on to the sofa in time to catch the remaining half an hour of the Wright Stuff, which I always enjoy. A comforting reminder of my 'between jobs' days. By 12.30, I had managed to find my range in terms of chucking tissues into the bin from my sofa, confidently mixing things up with lofted and driven shots, but was still feeling no better and decided that I would have to go to the shop. After Loose Women was the plan but unfortunately it wasn't on. Why not? I thought Loose Women was always on? I had been looking forward to hearing Jamelia's insight.
After managing to make it to the shop and back without dying and thankfully not bumping into anyone I recognized, I took some Anadin and a Berocca which finally began to perk me up a bit and the banging in my head began to cease. This put me in a decent position. Not feeling too terrible but definitely not able to do anything productive. And definitely not at work. A guiltless afternoon spent lying down on the sofa. Perhaps tweak my Fantasy Football team?
I spent a nostalgic hour looking through some old material that I had culled from my book (I have written a book by the way) which was quite weird. There was a lot of stuff that I don’t remember writing at all and while some of it was utterly awful, there were a few bits that were decent so I am unsure why they got the chop. I’ll probably try and shoehorn these bits into my next book. Is that on? For those of you that have read the book, Troy was originally going to be a short, chubby guy called Tom and Sander was called Nicklas. I changed that because I was clearly basing the character quite substantially on Nicklas Bendtner.
I decided to watch an episode of the Office on Netflix. Although I know pretty much every line, I still find it very difficult to watch just one episode and predictably ended up watching the whole of the first series for around the fifteenth time. My lack of imagination in watching the Office again instead of something new got me thinking; my interests in life really haven’t changed at all in the last ten years. I still watch the same TV shows / films, listen to the same sort of music, enjoy drinking lager and spend too much time watching or reading about football. I still enjoy knocking around with Louise and I’m still partial to acting like a prat with my friends.
There is the theory that once you are twenty five, that is it. The personality that you have at twenty five is what you are stuck with forever more. That is who you are. I would argue that this happened to me a bit earlier, possibly twenty? Hopefully I am a bit less of a dickhead now (for a regrettable spell at university I had spiked sideburns) but in terms of hobbies, lifestyle, personality traits et cetera, I don’t feel there is much difference. I suppose I don’t really go to nightclubs anymore but I sometimes question whether I ever enjoyed nightclubs. I don’t particularly miss criminally expensive drinks, topless barmen, being unable to have a conversation or nervously dancing near but not ‘with’ girls. I've had a number of unsuccessful attempts at doing new things in the last few years such as going to Salsa classes, Yoga, Chinese lessons etc. but ultimately, nothing has stuck. My problem with trying new things it is highly likely you won’t be very good at them to begin with and who enjoys doing things that they’re not good at?
With that said, I am currently training for a marathon which is kind of a new hobby I suppose. The kind of hobby that you don't enjoy at all. That is my issue with running. It's just not fun. You never see runners with a smile on their face do you? I won't go into any kind of details about a training plan as I am aware that nobody cares but it is safe to say, fitness-wise I am roughly a million miles away from where I need to be. I am going to try and run on a treadmill this evening but running without actually getting anywhere is even more boring that running outside. Time on a treadmill goes so incredibly slowly. If ever you worry that time is going too quickly or that life is passing you by, just spend half an hour on a treadmill. It lasts well over an hour.
I also need to think about getting sponsors and setting up a Just Giving page or whatever it is you do. I need to decide on a charity first. One that means something to me I suppose. Is there a hay fever one? Of course making money for charities is a nice thing to do but in recent years, things have got a bit ridiculous. Should you sponsor someone for a 5K run when they openly admit that they might not even run the whole thing? If you sponsor them, then you definitely have to sponsor someone who runs a marathon don't you? Then what about an Iron Man? I will happily sponsor people a few quid but when there are three fundraisers coming into the office in one day then surely something has to give? It’s all about finding the balance between not appearing stingy and not bankrupting yourself. Perhaps if I had managed this balancing act more effectively, I would not have had to decide between getting the bus or having money for a sandwich this morning?
August 17, 2015
Monday Musings 3
As I was at a wedding on Saturday, I woke up feeling fairly groggy and jaded today. A hangover now lasts anywhere between eight hours and three days sadly. Gone are the days of having a coffee and a paracetamol and being fine by midday. I tried to combat this with a swim before work, which was a first, supposed to boost morale and make me feel pleased with myself. First, I went into the steam room in a bid to sweat out the remnants of the weekend's indulgences before diving into the pool but within seconds a Speedo-wearing man entered and sat a bit too near to me given that it was otherwise empty.
"Morning." He said, cheerily.
"Hi." I said in a tone supposed to suggest that I am neither antisocial nor sociable, something which is difficult to indicate with one syllable. I don't usually mind small talk but before eight o'clock on a Monday, when you are feeling a tad emotionally unstable? No.
"Not as much steam in here as usual?" The man said. Was his tone accusatory?
"Nope." I replied.
"Hopefully they will put some more steam in."
I couldn't do it. I couldn’t contribute to a conversation about steam now. I got up.
"Right...see you later," I forced with a flat smile then left the steam room, walked straight past the pool and back into the changing room. I'd been in for a matter of minutes. I didn't feel pleased with myself at all.
I went to the wedding with my fiancée Louise. I’m not sure how I should refer to Louise. I always feel like a bit of a twat saying "fiancée" as if I am boasting about it. Girlfriend seems unsuitable after nearly nine years and while partner is okay, my sexuality remains ambiguous. Barring an incident on Saturday morning where I flooded the shower and was stood in a soaking hallway wearing a really small towel while Louise and her mum cleaned up, the weekend went well. The wedding was excellent. If you don't like weddings, you are an idiot. My limited sales skills did become apparent at dinner though. A lady seemed genuinely keen on my book and asked for the best way to buy it. I recommended that she buy it on Kindle because the paperback is a complete rip off. She said she hadn't got a Kindle.
As I'm feeling decidedly low on energy, it fleetingly occurred to me that I couldn't be bothered writing my blog today. I was thinking that lunchtime would be much better spent idly scrolling through BBC Sport or photos of my friend’s German stag do on Facebook. Fortunately this was just for a second because as soon as I feel like that, I should stop writing it. (Hopefully not next week.) If you start seeing writing as a chore and not something that you enjoy, I don't think you should bother. It is a hobby after all. There is nobody telling you to do it. Well, unless you have been signed by Penguin and written a bestseller.
I've come across a few writers who like to talk about all the grafting, the hours and the blood, sweat and tears that they've been through to finish their book. I'm not saying that writing a book is easy and fair enough, editing and chopping and changing can take forever but it should be something that you want to do in your free time. You don't hear people talking about how hard they have worked to get through a Game of Thrones box set. Similarly I don't feel comfortable calling myself a writer and don’t introduce myself as a writer. I am a man who works in an office job, who wrote a book. Perhaps if I was in a trendy bar in East London talking to a bearded painter, I would introduce myself as a writer. But only then. My colleague plays for a Sunday league team but eyebrows would be raised if he said he was a footballer.
Work today is proving particularly difficult as I had Thursday and Friday off last week so I was starting to get used to a life of not working. I like not working and would gladly retire now, aged 28, if it were feasible. A couple of my old pals were back in Leeds, from Canada and London respectively, so we met up for a day out on Thursday. It had been mooted that we would meet up at 7am and hike the Yorkshire three peaks but after tweaking plans, we met at 9.30am. In the bookies. My Canadian pal (he's not Canadian), had bags under his eyes and a slight but telling whiff of alcohol in his proximity following a family do the previous evening. I remember from my own experience in Hong Kong that when you visit home, it is fully expected to see people and do things all day, every day which generally involves a disproportionate amount of lager.
Instead of the Three Peaks, we did a much more modest walk over some moors. I'd done this walk a few weeks ago with Louise and her sister and although we'd veered slightly off track (resulting in two angry women not really wanting to talk to me for a while), I was confident that this time I could navigate accurately. Of course this didn't happen and we were wading knee-deep in heather for over an hour, which is stretching the time-frame that such discomfort can remain funny for. At one point I was convinced I'd found our way back to the path, only to be dismayed by it actually being a stream. After the added mileage, we abandoned the walk at a pub and got a taxi home. The taxi driver gave me some dubious advice regarding my upcoming driving test (yes, I'm nearly 29 and can't drive. Piss off.) He said that in the week leading up to the test, I should simply drive really fast. He demonstrated this by driving really fast.
Map reading aside, it was excellent to catch up. It’s always reassuring that even when your friends live miles away and you don’t see each other for months or years, things don't change much at all. Within five minutes of seeing each other, usual service was resumed and it was like they’d never been away. Right, I'm in danger of sounding sentimental, which is not something I want. Because I'm a man.
"Morning." He said, cheerily.
"Hi." I said in a tone supposed to suggest that I am neither antisocial nor sociable, something which is difficult to indicate with one syllable. I don't usually mind small talk but before eight o'clock on a Monday, when you are feeling a tad emotionally unstable? No.
"Not as much steam in here as usual?" The man said. Was his tone accusatory?
"Nope." I replied.
"Hopefully they will put some more steam in."
I couldn't do it. I couldn’t contribute to a conversation about steam now. I got up.
"Right...see you later," I forced with a flat smile then left the steam room, walked straight past the pool and back into the changing room. I'd been in for a matter of minutes. I didn't feel pleased with myself at all.
I went to the wedding with my fiancée Louise. I’m not sure how I should refer to Louise. I always feel like a bit of a twat saying "fiancée" as if I am boasting about it. Girlfriend seems unsuitable after nearly nine years and while partner is okay, my sexuality remains ambiguous. Barring an incident on Saturday morning where I flooded the shower and was stood in a soaking hallway wearing a really small towel while Louise and her mum cleaned up, the weekend went well. The wedding was excellent. If you don't like weddings, you are an idiot. My limited sales skills did become apparent at dinner though. A lady seemed genuinely keen on my book and asked for the best way to buy it. I recommended that she buy it on Kindle because the paperback is a complete rip off. She said she hadn't got a Kindle.
As I'm feeling decidedly low on energy, it fleetingly occurred to me that I couldn't be bothered writing my blog today. I was thinking that lunchtime would be much better spent idly scrolling through BBC Sport or photos of my friend’s German stag do on Facebook. Fortunately this was just for a second because as soon as I feel like that, I should stop writing it. (Hopefully not next week.) If you start seeing writing as a chore and not something that you enjoy, I don't think you should bother. It is a hobby after all. There is nobody telling you to do it. Well, unless you have been signed by Penguin and written a bestseller.
I've come across a few writers who like to talk about all the grafting, the hours and the blood, sweat and tears that they've been through to finish their book. I'm not saying that writing a book is easy and fair enough, editing and chopping and changing can take forever but it should be something that you want to do in your free time. You don't hear people talking about how hard they have worked to get through a Game of Thrones box set. Similarly I don't feel comfortable calling myself a writer and don’t introduce myself as a writer. I am a man who works in an office job, who wrote a book. Perhaps if I was in a trendy bar in East London talking to a bearded painter, I would introduce myself as a writer. But only then. My colleague plays for a Sunday league team but eyebrows would be raised if he said he was a footballer.
Work today is proving particularly difficult as I had Thursday and Friday off last week so I was starting to get used to a life of not working. I like not working and would gladly retire now, aged 28, if it were feasible. A couple of my old pals were back in Leeds, from Canada and London respectively, so we met up for a day out on Thursday. It had been mooted that we would meet up at 7am and hike the Yorkshire three peaks but after tweaking plans, we met at 9.30am. In the bookies. My Canadian pal (he's not Canadian), had bags under his eyes and a slight but telling whiff of alcohol in his proximity following a family do the previous evening. I remember from my own experience in Hong Kong that when you visit home, it is fully expected to see people and do things all day, every day which generally involves a disproportionate amount of lager.
Instead of the Three Peaks, we did a much more modest walk over some moors. I'd done this walk a few weeks ago with Louise and her sister and although we'd veered slightly off track (resulting in two angry women not really wanting to talk to me for a while), I was confident that this time I could navigate accurately. Of course this didn't happen and we were wading knee-deep in heather for over an hour, which is stretching the time-frame that such discomfort can remain funny for. At one point I was convinced I'd found our way back to the path, only to be dismayed by it actually being a stream. After the added mileage, we abandoned the walk at a pub and got a taxi home. The taxi driver gave me some dubious advice regarding my upcoming driving test (yes, I'm nearly 29 and can't drive. Piss off.) He said that in the week leading up to the test, I should simply drive really fast. He demonstrated this by driving really fast.
Map reading aside, it was excellent to catch up. It’s always reassuring that even when your friends live miles away and you don’t see each other for months or years, things don't change much at all. Within five minutes of seeing each other, usual service was resumed and it was like they’d never been away. Right, I'm in danger of sounding sentimental, which is not something I want. Because I'm a man.
August 10, 2015
Monday Musings 2
As my blog post was warmly received last week (thanks), I have decided to try and make this a regular thing. The likelihood is that it will just be a fad and I will give up within 3-4 weeks. Comparable to when you are excited about trying new things as a kid but swiftly lose interest. For example, Warhammer. When I was about ten, my brother and I jumped on the bandwagon and bought - after guilt tripping our parents with the old: 'Everyone plays it so we will be left out,’ - lots of miniatures, dice, cards et cetera in hope of spending Saturday afternoons locked in glorious battle at Games Workshop. I think I had one attempt at painting some of my figures, realized that I didn’t enjoy it at all and gave up. That kind of thing must be so irritating for parents. All I remember from the short lived hobby is a character called the Bloodthirster who cost about fifteen quid which was entirely unreasonable for a small metal monster.
With the help of my mother flogging some at her work, I sold over twenty books last week which was decent. Not quite enough to give up the day job and look up properties in the Bahamas but certainly better than nothing. I had hoped that there would be an upcoming spike in sales as a result of a recent interview I did for Forbes magazine about Hong Kong. However, the journalist who interviewed me was offered a new position with a newspaper just before it was published. Selfishly, thinking about his career instead of my book promotion, he took the job so said interview will never see the light of day. It would have been a nice thing to boast about so it's a shame but what can you do?
My Twitter marketing attempts have continued to do almost nothing so I probably need to look at different avenues. It is difficult to convince strangers to buy your book in 140 characters. I can’t moan as I haven’t bought any books, or anything for that matter, as a result of a Tweet. A major issue is that there are so many great books available by famous authors, why would you take a punt on a debut novel from an unknown man, which could well be shit?
On this topic and on the back of Go Set a Watchman’s release, I finally read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time last week. I don’t see what the fuss is all about? I jest. It was, of course, wonderful. Reading books makes me eager to start writing a second one. Without sounding arrogant (precursor to definitely sounding arrogant like an angry man in a pub who starts a sentence with, ‘I’m not racist but…), I believe that I am capable of writing a good second novel. I’ve written a few bits and pieces but regrettably it is difficult to find the time at the moment. I know this is a weak excuse.
It was easier to write a book in Hong Kong. This isn't because I was inspired by living in an exotic place - most ideas I had for the book came during banal everyday occurrences such as being reprimanded at work or overhearing a conversation between drunkards in a bar. I didn't stand pen in hand, contemplatively looking at the Hong Kong skyline waiting to be inspired. It was merely down to working shifts which meant I had a lot of time on my own.
I often stayed up until 2am which isn’t feasible now that I’m back doing the 9-5 grind. My job in Hong Kong didn’t involve computers either, so on returning home from work, I’d be quite content to stare at a laptop for hours on end. Now, my job involves nothing but staring at computers so it’s not too appealing to then come home and press on. It's a bit depressing that life often seems to revolve around staring at screens. The modern man needs constant stimulation doesn’t he? On occasion, I’ve found myself with TV, laptop, phone and Kindle all on, which is completely stupid and an extravagant way of hiding that I am actually doing nothing at all.
Also, the football season has restarted so that rules out large chunks of the weekend. It’s hard to concentrate on writing a book when your mind is diverted by fantasy football and accumulators. I went to the Leeds game on Saturday and thoroughly enjoyed it until Burnley equalized. I’m not going to write anything resembling a match report as I am not a football journalist and also, because most people don’t care.
Before the match, we called in at an off-license near the ground. When I was younger, we used to go here as a ritual before every match and subsequently built up a rapport with the couple who own the shop. On arrival, we were greeted with a jovial, 'Hello, here they are again!' which was all very nice but I hadn't actually set foot in the shop since before moving to Hong Kong, some four years ago. For a moment, it felt as though four years of my life hadn't happened at all. Quite a large slice of time really. There is something comforting in familiarity though and the lady confirmed the seamless resumption of our friendship by spiking a Caribbean Twist with a flask of vodka that she kept under the counter and we shared a lukewarm cocktail together out of plastic cups. Before midday.
Something unusual happened at the game; my friend and I got into an altercation with one of our own fans. He turned round and angrily told us off for ‘yammering’ because he couldn’t concentrate on the game. The pre-match cocktail may have loosened our tongues but I'm fairly sure that you don’t have to remain silent during football matches? My friend aptly told him to shut up, and he mumbled something under his breath about us being like kids in a cinema, despite the fact that I have numerous grey hairs and am pushing thirty. The telling off left me feeling awkward and a bit nervous for the remainder of the game, unsure whether I was allowed to speak. Our deep-concentrating foe proceeded to spend the majority of the match looking at his phone and then left five minutes from the end which was very odd. He clearly didn’t care that much? His early departure also stopped me from asking if he was interested in buying my book. It would have been a tough sell.
With the help of my mother flogging some at her work, I sold over twenty books last week which was decent. Not quite enough to give up the day job and look up properties in the Bahamas but certainly better than nothing. I had hoped that there would be an upcoming spike in sales as a result of a recent interview I did for Forbes magazine about Hong Kong. However, the journalist who interviewed me was offered a new position with a newspaper just before it was published. Selfishly, thinking about his career instead of my book promotion, he took the job so said interview will never see the light of day. It would have been a nice thing to boast about so it's a shame but what can you do?
My Twitter marketing attempts have continued to do almost nothing so I probably need to look at different avenues. It is difficult to convince strangers to buy your book in 140 characters. I can’t moan as I haven’t bought any books, or anything for that matter, as a result of a Tweet. A major issue is that there are so many great books available by famous authors, why would you take a punt on a debut novel from an unknown man, which could well be shit?
On this topic and on the back of Go Set a Watchman’s release, I finally read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time last week. I don’t see what the fuss is all about? I jest. It was, of course, wonderful. Reading books makes me eager to start writing a second one. Without sounding arrogant (precursor to definitely sounding arrogant like an angry man in a pub who starts a sentence with, ‘I’m not racist but…), I believe that I am capable of writing a good second novel. I’ve written a few bits and pieces but regrettably it is difficult to find the time at the moment. I know this is a weak excuse.
It was easier to write a book in Hong Kong. This isn't because I was inspired by living in an exotic place - most ideas I had for the book came during banal everyday occurrences such as being reprimanded at work or overhearing a conversation between drunkards in a bar. I didn't stand pen in hand, contemplatively looking at the Hong Kong skyline waiting to be inspired. It was merely down to working shifts which meant I had a lot of time on my own.
I often stayed up until 2am which isn’t feasible now that I’m back doing the 9-5 grind. My job in Hong Kong didn’t involve computers either, so on returning home from work, I’d be quite content to stare at a laptop for hours on end. Now, my job involves nothing but staring at computers so it’s not too appealing to then come home and press on. It's a bit depressing that life often seems to revolve around staring at screens. The modern man needs constant stimulation doesn’t he? On occasion, I’ve found myself with TV, laptop, phone and Kindle all on, which is completely stupid and an extravagant way of hiding that I am actually doing nothing at all.
Also, the football season has restarted so that rules out large chunks of the weekend. It’s hard to concentrate on writing a book when your mind is diverted by fantasy football and accumulators. I went to the Leeds game on Saturday and thoroughly enjoyed it until Burnley equalized. I’m not going to write anything resembling a match report as I am not a football journalist and also, because most people don’t care.
Before the match, we called in at an off-license near the ground. When I was younger, we used to go here as a ritual before every match and subsequently built up a rapport with the couple who own the shop. On arrival, we were greeted with a jovial, 'Hello, here they are again!' which was all very nice but I hadn't actually set foot in the shop since before moving to Hong Kong, some four years ago. For a moment, it felt as though four years of my life hadn't happened at all. Quite a large slice of time really. There is something comforting in familiarity though and the lady confirmed the seamless resumption of our friendship by spiking a Caribbean Twist with a flask of vodka that she kept under the counter and we shared a lukewarm cocktail together out of plastic cups. Before midday.
Something unusual happened at the game; my friend and I got into an altercation with one of our own fans. He turned round and angrily told us off for ‘yammering’ because he couldn’t concentrate on the game. The pre-match cocktail may have loosened our tongues but I'm fairly sure that you don’t have to remain silent during football matches? My friend aptly told him to shut up, and he mumbled something under his breath about us being like kids in a cinema, despite the fact that I have numerous grey hairs and am pushing thirty. The telling off left me feeling awkward and a bit nervous for the remainder of the game, unsure whether I was allowed to speak. Our deep-concentrating foe proceeded to spend the majority of the match looking at his phone and then left five minutes from the end which was very odd. He clearly didn’t care that much? His early departure also stopped me from asking if he was interested in buying my book. It would have been a tough sell.
