Monumentally Frustrated: In LiveJournal Form

I fancy a change.

moscow_olympics.

THE HORROR! THE HORROR!
MISTAH MELLER HE LIKE NEW BAND

I've begun eating my own words and I have finally decided to confess my liking for The Long Blondes. They're playing the Academy in October. Anyone fancy coming with me?

Ulysses trudges along at a slow / steady pace. I'm now on page 575 out of 732 which means there's 157 pages remaining. God! That isn't a lot. I'll be so bloody chuffed when I've finished this. I don't ever recall spending such a long time on a book, apart from Paradise Lost. Saying that though, the minute I've finished this, I'll give it a tap and probably a hug for the amount of time I've devoted to it. It's certainly become a bit of a friend during my lonely hours at home and in town.

I came across a great website whilst shirking off any prospect of booking in iPods or phoning customers to apologise for them being on hold for twenty five minutes, by looking at this: http://www.emsah.uq.edu.au/ulysses/index.htm

It's all how I pictured it in the book. When I get my pay cheque later this month, I'm going to scourer for cheap flights to Dublin, even if it means I have to go on my own. I might meet an Irish lovely over there, and decide never to return. I doubt it. Perhaps just stay there for a couple of nights in a cheap bed and breakfast or a youth hostel.

In fact, from looking at a hostel website, I might just have been introduced to the world of hosteling. Tokyo for £17 a night? I might get saving, now.

I dropped off a CV at two places whilst in town yesterday: Fopp and Waterstones. I can't imagine they'll get back to me. I'd jump in sheer, unadulterated joy if either (particularly Fopp) give me an interview, never mind a job.

It's really funny when you're watching Trainspotting on FilmFour with the subtitles on, and this appears on screen whilst Renton is sat on a toilet in 'The worst toilet in Scotland':

1945-2006

My Grandma (my Dad's mum) is the most conservative person I have ever known. She displays union flags in her bedroom window 365 days a year; her views on immigration and multi-culturalism are on par with Enoch Powell; has pictures of the royal family, as well as other royalphernalia (is that a word? I doubt it) such as Diana and Prince Charles depicted on various thimbles; and a picture she took of the Queen Mother whilst down at the Cenotaph for Remembrance Sunday years ago.

Anyway, she has just phoned me up to ask how I am, as my family are currently holidaying in Spain for a week, and I have been entrusted in minding the house and the pets. She asked how I was, if I had enough food, and that my Dad has just phoned her to say that tomorrow, they're going to visit Gibraltar. However, she also said:

'Don't have any orgies, unless you invite me'.

Scared.

I say that Ulysses hasn't got me cowering, well, it's inflicted a couple of blows on me this evening. It takes about five minutes simply to read one page, and by the time you get to the end, you realise you don't understand what the fuck it means. So, you go back and do it again, and by this point, a vicious circle has developed. Still, I'm approaching page 400 now, which means only 336 pages left, and these next 130 look fantastic, as it takes the form of a play layout. I think this section is mirrored on Circe.

I wish I had a Circe in my life at the moment to entice me to bed. Because I'm not going back to London, Helen and I have called the relationship off, although we remain extremely good / best friends, but it is a shame, and I do think about her a lot - I still have a picture of her in my Paperchase frame, and when someone's in an expensive Paperchase frame, they must have meant something. Well, she still does mean something. No need for the past tense there.

I think I prepared myself for it for some time, as I flittered between going and not going back, so I was half ready for the consequences. Still, it didn't stop last Tuesday being extremely upsetting after returning from London the day before. It felt as if I'd disappointed so many people, including myself. But, I'm still happy with the decision, and I should be going to see Helen sometime soon in Nottingham before she moves to London herself to become a journalist.

I, meanwhile, cannot wait to enter the road of becoming a journalist, and probably writing stories on village fetes, and the mighty feud of Troy. Troy being the A6, 192 bus route; the Trojans being Stagecoach; and UK North being the Greeks, with a trusty Polish mentalist bus driver being Odysseus, fooling the Trojans by decorating his own bus like a Stagecoach R reg lo-liner, fooling Stagecoach, and winning the battle of the A6. I fucking hate Stagecoach.

I don't know what book to read next. I plan on ordering a load, alongside some DVDs and maybe even a knocked down Platinum edition of Pro Evolution Soccer 5 off Amazon this week, as I've finally been paid. PAID, I TELL THEE! I bought a few DVDs yesterday which included:

- Totally Bill Hicks
- Yes Minister (Series 2)
- Apocalypse Now

All DVDs I've been meaning to buy for sometime. Bought a pair of cords and a shirt as well, which I will wear tomorrow when off out t'Retro Bar. Again.

I've been reading this for the past two or three weeks now:



Safe to say however, that I am not yet the cowering individual in the ring. Suffice to say, I'm actually making significant progress. Well, it's steady. Considering I've been working full time hours and I'm more than half way, I'm quite proud of myself. I can imagine I've read more than probably 65% (is that a conservative estimate?) of the people who have it on their bookshelf. I'm up to the section where Bloom has just had his intriguing encounter with Gerty Macdowell, and is the section loosely based on Nausicaa from The Odyssey.

I get paid on Friday, which is something I'm looking forward to a lot. Mainly because it's the first time in nearly a year since I've actually earned money through working, rather than through student loans and relying on my overdraft. So, a sense of achievement has come about, and I've constructed a list of various books which I want to buy, as well as DVDs and the like. Could do with some boxer shorts and socks as well. I'll Primark those, I think.

Does anyone know how to use 'whom' properly? An anonymous poster accosted me for not using it properly, yet from what I've seen and read, I think I'm using it correctly. This is one of the pains of not being taught grammar at school, I think. To be honest, I don't even think whom is that widely used anymore, apart from in formal settings or like me, you try and be a pedantic, annoying little bastard fucking cunt. Why are people pedantic, I wonder? Is it to try and enact a sense of superiority? Is it a yearning to try and retain rules and order? Are we all secretly inside wanting to become police officers, and wait until someone slips up before cuffing them on their grammar? Are the people who are pedants just projecting their own lack of control within their on lives onto something they feel they have control over? I think even the most literate of people argue over it.

Comments like that of anon always really bother me, which I guess is why the person made it in the first place. Especially when he/she/they mentioned that UCL should have alerted me to it. Well sonny, they didn't. And neither did secondary school or college. I' am however always a pain in the arse when I see something spelt incorrectly or just doesn't seem right. I even saw a bit of graffiti on the wall in O?? (the question marks were upside down, and the bar is called Odd) and inserted a comma with my pen last night. Why in God's name (a comment the anon actually said) do that? There must be something missing in my life. A life, perhaps.

The bar I went to last night with sijui_sasa is actually fantastic, and could become my regular haunt, I think. I don't know why it's that fantastic, but it is. There's plenty of room to sit outside, they serve good beer, and the bar staff seemed very friendly, which is always a huge plus whenever you go out into a bar in the Northern Quarter. They also have very comfortable leather seats as well. The thing I've always found with leather seats is that they can make you slouch, and then the minute you get up, it's as if your back has been kicked in the side. However, I'm glad to say that that didn't happen. Maybe I've got knotted muscles.

So, I have now definitely left London behind me. I have been emailing my Departmental Tutor all day today, who has been exceptionally understanding and empathetic. Instead, it looks as if I'm going to the desirable, highly commended educational institution of..... Salford:

http://www.salford.ac.uk/course-finder/course/1300

It looks absolutely fantastic. I've been on the phone to them this morning, and it seems they will give me the credit for the English units automatically because of completing the first year at UCL. The journalism modules sound brilliant, where I can learn shorthand and journalistic law. In the second year, I can study Cinema and Psychoanalysis which sounds right up my street, and can also do Broadcast Journalism. Third year includes the likes of British Theatre, Modernist and Post Modern literature and Music Journalism. Chances are I would have done the majority of the reading needed before I do the English units I want anyway.

Whilst Salford is in no way near as prestigious, and unlike UCL, I won't be able to attain a detailed picture of the whole meta-narrative of English Literature, I can attempt to fill some of the gaps. The vocational element, alongside the academic English side, look as if they fuse together brilliantly.

For the first time in a very long time, I actually feel excited about going into education, rather than dreading going into university to sit through a seminar with a bunch of precocious idiots, of whom most of them effervesce such an arrogant and over-confident air, it was enough to make me either cry, or run to the toilet. At least at Salford, I can do what I like to do: write. But, also study what I want to do. This course will give me much more control over my learning, and after ramming myself with prestigious institutions over the past two years via the flirting with Oxford and the year at UCL, I'm willing to come down to somewhere which gives me the time to hold a good part-time job, go to gigs and other events I desire to attend regularly (and actually write and practice writing about them, and to perfect a skill which otherwise I've felt I've not had the time to do), and to have lots of time to actually read for leisure, as well as for an academic environment.

Yes, I've definitely made the right decision. Although I say this now...

Does anyone fancy Retro Bar this evening?

Today I went back to the necropolis / metropolis / dystopia / utopia / ________ of London to try and find somewhere to live. And to be frank, it's not my insecurity that's playing havoc again (well, it's contributing), it's the fact that I'm simply not going to be able to afford to live there.

I will need to get a job which will stop me from doing anything else enjoyable from going out in the evenings to simply going to an art gallery. All my time would be taken up with working and studying. I would be working to exist there, not to enjoy being down there. My family simply cannot afford to be giving hand outs (which I don't want). The amount of time I would have to work would mean my degree would suffer. Not working would mean I couldn't live in London. It's a lose / lose situation. It's certainly not a case of making sacrifices either. With or without sacrifices, I wouldn't be able to live down there.

I've been toting it up in my head. There's a place I saw today for around £115 a week. Then I'd have around £25 food a week, along with internet; phone and other bills, and it mounts up. Couple this with things like a TV license and home insurance, it gets too much. I think it's almost certain that I won't be returning to London in September unless I come across a lot of money.

I have looked at transferring to University of Manchester, but they said no instantly. I'm not going to bother with them again. The amount of begging emails and phone calls I've given them over the past two years borders on humiliation, and I intend on it happening no longer. My Mum spoke to a careers advisor at the school she works, and half an hour later, came back with a list of universities that would have me if I wanted to transfer. Manchester Metropolitan would take me, as would Salford. I'm going to look into Liverpool tomorrow I think.

I still contemplate whether English is the right course for me anyway. I still think about doing a Film Studies course, or a course in Journalism, but whilst I would enjoy them both, would they be worth the paper they're written on? To be honest, I don't think that would matter. I've always said to myself that I go to university to achieve a mature, knowledgeable mind, which is balanced and intelligent.

I think in the Blair era, it doesn't pay to be in the middle: to be lower middle class. Well, when it comes to education, anyway. It's all or nothing. The difference between a few hundred pounds out of the collective parents pay packet, determines how someone goes through three years at university. It's not as if I'm a hardship case - far from it. Being on the periphery or the border of one class to another doesn't pay. When it comes to university, this is just one of many boundaries I'll have to deal with.

I wonder what Materazzi did say to Zidane? It's the question on everyone's mind it seems at the moment. Even news agencies have brought in deaf lip readers to try and decipher what the most momentous words ever said on a football pitch.

Therefore, I have tried to come up with my own.

1. 'What? You're Algerian?! Piss off! You're about as Algerian as my mother's prime spaghetti which grows from trees! Yes! That is true! It wasn't an April fools made by Panorama after all!'

BOSH!

No, that's a bit long. Need something a bit shorter

2. 'The World Cup is glistening on your head, you bald bastard'.

BOSH! You see, that could work. Because Zidane's actions could be then interpreted as:

'It is? Well, I'll give you the World Cup!' BOSH!. Zidane's act of charging was therefore symbolic. Little did he know that his action would physically give Italy the World Cup.

3. 'The 'Three Colours' trilogy was just abysmal. Too sentimental for my liking. FELLINI! Shove it up your arse'.

BOSH!

4. 'Croissants. They're far too fattening!'

This is just an excuse to play on stereotypes isn't it?

5. 'What great writers do you have? Proust? Who else? Can't think of any other great French literary figures. Oh, there was that Rousseau fella, I guess. And you had good modern writers such as Camus. But still, they all relate to DANTE, don't they? You fucking unoriginal bunch of cunts!'

BOSH! Ah, it's too long again. I think the key however, is to definitely end it with a inflammatory remark. Still, one could apply the theories of Roland Barthes to the head charge and reveal some inner, unconscious reason, perhaps?

6. 'Your white shorts show up dirt. It looks like you've shat yourself'.

Can you think of any more amusing ones? I'm no good when I put myself on demand like that.

Oh, and acknowledgment to rhodri, whom I stole the user icon off.

Bloody England and the World Cup. I had to watch the game at John Lewis on Saturday as I had to work, but it felt good knowing I could swear and shout in the office without getting into real trouble. Obviously if I did that at any other time, I would be reprimanded, but with England playing, I could bypass that. Now they're out, I can't do that any longer.

I've always quite liked Sven Goran Eriksson. Whilst listening to the press conference in my Dad's van as he took me to work yesterday morning, the way he would pronounce, 'Weylllllle' or 'Well' made me chuckle. In my opinion, he brought a lot of entertainment to English football, as well as a bit of scandal and excitement, which more than warranted his wage. We had Graham Turnip Taylor and his ineptness at managing. Terry Venables and his financial irregularities. Glenn Hoddle; Eileen Drewery and the disabled people affair, then Keegan who brought no scandal to English football and then finally Sven came along with a fanfare Beowulf could have expected if he trekked back to Heorot, and provided it multitudinously.

All these England fans who were moaning about Sven and his relations with women, and yet I bet most of them would love to have an affair with Ulrika Jonsson and Faria Alam, whilst still having a wife who seems not to particularly care (I say care, I mean that a marriage hasn't broken up, has it?). Sven Goran Eriksson has not only brought exciting, 'Heat' magazine-esque scandal to the nation, but he's possibly introduced English masses to the idea of the modern, open, liberal relationship. Are most men jealous of Sven because he is living a dream no other man could ever fathom?

Of course, he was complacent and at best, average, as England manager. His first fixtures as head of the helm were signs that England had perhaps found a manager who could reach the heights Sir.Alf Ramsey reached, or at least rise above other popular, ex-managers such as Sir.Bobby Robson and Terry Venables. Yet, he surely brought an ounce of style to the job? A degree of reserve? A sense of cool? I agree, that there were moments where he looked over-placid and carefree, where really, he should have been the total opposite. But this is something that England should be perhaps proud of. He showed that managing a football team can be done in a different style and manner. He provided a contrast to what the run of the mill, English football fan is used to: Cloughism. An aggressive, outspoken, dogmatic style which people fell in love with. Cloughism, or rather its creator Brian Clough (the socialist), was the footballing equivalent to Margaret Thatcher.

Is Erikssonism to blame for England not going far enough in major footballing tournaments? Well, Cloughism worked, Erikssonism did not. Clough provided the results, Eriksson didn't. Loud and brash was listened to, whether through admission or submission. Erikssonism had to be studied and analysed. Clough was honest and open, Eriksson was secretive and closed. Are these observations the reason why he was so popular with women? Possibly. Did money play a huge part? Arguably so. Maybe even power did, too. Eriksson worked on the intrigue he created. It worked off the pitch, but it never functioned on it. Eriksson arguably became an analogy for what secretive behaviour causes: confusion, spontaneity and eventually, anger.

- I have since discovered, or rather remembered, that Sven and Nancy aren't married. Therefore, this entry has been debased. Thanks, Helen. Cow.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/5124104.stm

Rest in Peace, Eddie. I may not have seen a load of Frasier, but I know that you were indeed very special.

My LiveJournaling has been very lacklustre recently. Mainly because I've not been arsed, been watching too much football, or working at John Lewis.

John Lewis, the place which I thought I had managed to escape, has pulled me back in for the summer, with the promise of semi-decent pay. Yet it does have its comic moments, like for example, Martin.

Martin works on the sales floor, and has been there for a few years. He has often explained his huge love of jazz, and I would explain how I'm partial to some Miles Davis, and the bits sergelapelle has allowed me to borrow. He would also tell me about his time working for Philips, and when he was an electrical salesman in the seventies. I once told him about the time I worked at the ramshackle electrical retailer Miller Brothers, and he keeps coming out with the same joke about workers crowding around customers awaiting the big American fridge-freezer sale.

Whenever I am in his presence, I can't help but laugh at anything he says, purely because he dithers and comes out with the most mundane things anyone can possibly say, although I think I almost reached his heights when stressing to Helen yesterday that rather than leaving her to go home, I would first have a cup of tea.

Whilst working there last year, he would tell me about his saga with a house he was trying to buy for his son and daughter. He would immaculately detail the endless problems of the damp in the walls, and the need for the gable end to be repointed. He wouldn't just confide this with me, but with everyone on the department. Yet I was the only one who seemed to express any interest, and from there, this led him to tell me about all his other problems concerning this house, and his own house which he lives in with his wife. Today, he came in asking about air pistols:

Martin: Do you need a licence for an air pistol?

The members of the Audio and Television Service Desk pondered this for a moment, and we decided that we didn't think so. We then asked why he was asking such a question:

Martin: Because we've got vermin'.

It continued:

David: Well what type of vermin?
Martin: I'm not telling you.

And off he went onto the shop floor, probably to sell a High Definition LCD. I then met up with him in the PDR (Partners' Dining Room: an example of John Lewis' insistence for abbreviations and superfluous names for simple things, although I can't talk at times), and I enquired further about his need for an air gun, and the vermin who've been plaguing his life:

David: Well what type of vermin have you been suffering from?
Martin: Pigeons.
David: What have they been doing?
Martin: They've been shitting everywhere.
David: Be careful then because I think you need a licence for that sort of thing.
Martin: Well it's not as if I'm going to be doing it for a living, though. It's just three pigeons causing a right mess.
David: Make sure you haven't got picky neighbours then as they could report you or something.
Martin: That's why I didn't tell you about the pigeons on the shop floor because you know what people can be like, what customers can be like if they heard me.

So, he doesn't care about asking about an air pistol, yet won't mention it's actually for killing pigeons. If one is to look at the stereotypical pigeon-fancier type, say, Jack Duckworth, then I can't imagine seeing many of them coming into John Lewis. Still, it went on.

David: Well when do you plan to shoot them?
Martin: Ah well, I'll go out at night or the early morning and hide under the tree. Shoot them up the arse.

At this point, Paul, former Service Desk worker now Salesman, stated how he once shot a pigeon, which started flying obliquely, and then ended up being food for the cat. He stated that it must have been a 'Cruel death'. Martin responded:

Martin: Well that's why I'll get right underneath them and shoot them up the arse. It'll be instant then. I'll have to get them soon as they're multiplying.

So we went from 'Three' to 'Multiplying' in the space of a couple of minutes. I really didn't think it was this funny whilst I was eating my blackcurrant and summer fruits crumble, but now I can't stop laughing.

LiveJournal doesn't half depress me at the moment. I think it's the fact that I read about other people who seem to be doing so much better in life currently, and are detailing all the things they're doing, or the interests they have, or just their apparent, expansive minds. It makes me feel very dull in comparison, and also increasingly threatened. Threatened, because it's further presents me as someone who's not particularly enlightened or intelligent about much things, or about life in general. I feel constantly worried about what I'm writing or what I'm saying because I know that it'll probably be incorrect, and I'll be berated about it, or scorned at for my opinion or my answer about something. People come out with these quick witted facts which I'm useless at remembering or telling, yet it's full of thoughts and feelings, which at times, feel utterly useless.

This is all due to being at university for a year, in my opinion. I guess in that sense, it's making me think about what I say and what I write a lot more, but when it coerces you to question what you say constantly, and to scare you into believing that everything you say doesn't bare any weight whatsoever, it makes me wonder why I bother to say anything at all, and further heightens my view that the best way to get by in life is to remain quiet until you know there's a certain answer for something.

I keep reliving the counselling session I had before I came back here to Stockport, and the more I think about the experience, the more I realise what a fucking waste of time it really was. Yes, he pointed out aspects which I agreed with, but it hasn't made me feel particularly better, nor has it stablised my feelings about going back in September. I looked at the reading list for my courses next year, and I felt incredibly intimidated by them, and a feeling of impending defeat descend into my stomach. I've been trying to read over the past few days, but I get consistently distracted, and again, I get intimidated. It's as if I feel I shouldn't be reading, that I'm not clever or bright enough to be doing so. I really just don't know what's going on.

Aren't The Lightning Seeds fantastic? After just watching GMTV here at Helen's abode, and Ian Broudie mime his way through 'Lucky You' and 'Life of Riley', it's further enhanced my view that when it comes to pop records, Broudie is an utter genius. Produced some Fall, you know. And obviously the Bunnymen. Plus The Zutons and The Coral, but the less said about the former, the better.

This post isn't intended to be emo, so I apologise in advance if it comes across like that.

But, I was just thinking before that for the first time in my life, I feel as if I don't have a particular talent for anything, nor do I feel I have a subject or hobby in my life which I know a great deal about. I just seem to be someone who's got a bit of knowledge in everything which just about enables me to get by in conversations and discussions. I haven't read as many books as most people (well, it feels that way), my knowledge of music seems rather restrictive when I ponder about it, and my understanding of things like art is at best sparse. I've watched a lot of films, but there's always someone out there willing to exert their specialist expertise of a given genre and so forth. No, at the moment, I feel very under-whelmed: as if I don't hold a specialist skill or faculty for anything.

Even writing, something which I thought I was quite good at, seems to be at best rather average. I think my problem is that I'm very impatient, and expect results instantly. I think that's definitely the case with university over the past year. However, after having a discussion with my Mother before, I have decided that for the first time in my life, I am indeed going to find the middle ground, and be content with it. When I went to see the counsellor on Friday, he said that he got the impression that I have this insatiable hole which I'm attempting to fill and satisfy, yet ultimately never will. I explained to him how I haven't been able to identify with many people on my course, and I told him how I've felt undermined and threatened by people from a seemingly more affluent background financially, educationally and class; something which I acknowledge as absolute nonsense. He commented how it seems as if I'm creating this world where it's me against the rest of the world, or in the case of university, me against the rest of the academic world: a real Holden Caulfield quasi-situation. Importantly however, was how the counsellor said that I need to attempt to find the middle point in which I could consider to be happy with myself.

Yet when I think about that, it makes me think about whether I'm admitting defeat. But at the same time, it feels as if it's a very sensible option to pursue. But I look around at friends and acquaintances, and they all seem to have a real passion or supreme proficiency in a subject or interest. I just don't seem to have that, and it worries me for some odd reason. I guess it's because I'm trying to have an understanding of many different things I find interesting, yet because of this, I'll never have this awareness of anything specific. My Helen said to me once that one of the reasons she likes me a great deal is because I like so many different things: that I'm not too restrictive. She might be reflecting on that statement at the moment as all I care about currently is the football, but aside from that, I think I should maybe count that credential in my favour. But when I see people talking about a subject with gusto, or exercising a talent with panache, and I'm there showing an intermediate knowledge of various entities, it makes me wonder whether I should ditch some things in favour of concentrating on others, or carry on as I am.

Just seen a tutor about my exams. I'm actually feeling rather encouraged by the whole affair now. The main three foibles were these:

1. Handwriting. Whilst it's often been described as 'distinctive' and 'intelligent looking', I think it might be about time I resort to the practices placed upon seven year olds at primary school. Meaning, I think I'll be buying myself a box of Berol Handwriting pens and a handwriting book. I really did get quite some stick for my handwriting, even though the examiners' handwriting was just as bad. Bleeding hypocrites.

2. Writing style. The syndrome I suffered at Aquinas College has come into the fray once more.

3. Not focussing on the sodding passages they give you enough.

Apart from those, my tutor actually seemed rather optimistic, and surprisingly enough, I feel optimistic too. Beware that it probably will change in due course, however.

Something a bit more amusing (?) and insightful soon, I hope.

BUT, I might be home this evening until late Thursday night; Friday will be full of packing. Anyone available for a beverage later on, perhaps?

NT/ICS: B(-)/57
A to C: B-/53
OE/ME: B(-)/58.

I very much doubt I'll be here in September. The amount of work I put into the exams, and for them to yield three mediocre marks, is something I'm distraught about.