Homelife, Home, Life...

So, I'm on holiday in Northern Ireland at the moment.  For those of you who might not be aware of such things, that's where I'm from originally... well sort of.  I'm actually English by birth, but my father's from 'Norn Iron' and we moved here when I was five.  I left for Aberdeen to go to university when I was eighteen and it seems I haven't looked back since, but the funny thing is, the longer I'm away the more interest the country has for me when I return.

It seems to me that when you grow up in a place it either becomes somewhere you're eternally attached to, causing terrible homesickness even when you go on holiday, or it becomes, in your mind at least, the least interesting place on the planet.  I was closed to the latter.  I didn't dislike Northern Ireland, exactly, I just assumed that everywhere else would be more interesting and when I moved to Scotland I was initially convinced that this was, indeed, the case.

Of course, I have learned now that this is nonsense and that there's as much to enjoy and find interest in in the Province as anywhere else and I find that I'm increasingly proud of my connection to it, even though to most people I sound English and even folk from Northern Ireland need some convincing to believe I lived thirteen years of my life there.

And there's another thought.  I'll probably always think of Northern Ireland as being the place I've lived the longest.  Naturally it was during my 'formative' years, so it's impact must be considerable.  But if you add up the years of my life so far, like so:

0 - 5 - Bromborough, Wirral, England.

5 - 18 - Donaghadee, County Down, Northern Ireland.

18 - 27 - Aberdeen, Aberdeen City, Scotland.

it becomes very clear that whilst Northern Ireland still holds the top spot in terms of time spent there, I have now spent more than half my life in other places.  In a few years time, assuming I stay in Aberdeen all that time, and that seems likely at the moment, I will have lived there for the longest portion of my life.  That seems like a momentous thought, like I should notice when it happens immediately and that the whole balance of my life must shift, but I suspect that it will pass completely unnoticed.

And this brings me, tenuously, to a second topic.  Being at home has given me the opportunity to see my maternal grandmother again.  She has Alzheimer's and, seeing her as irregularly as I do, I find her in an increasingly worse state each time.  Before I left for university she was still fairly compus mentis, with just the occasional lapse in memory.  As the years have passed she's moved into a nursing home and has begun to forget who all the relatives visiting her are.

The last time I saw her she didn't seem to know I was her grandson, but saw me as someone she cared about a lot nonetheless.  She always smiled and laughed and talked about how lovely I was.  It was very moving in a strange way; sad and yet reassuring that she seemed so happy.

I visited her again yesterday - the first time in about a year and a half.  She didn't speak at all, just smiled and laughed and hummed along to the Viennese waltz from The Sound of Music playing on the big screen TV.  She could hardly stay awake.

I know that she wasn't unhappy, or distressed by her situation at all, and yet I had so much trouble reconciling the sleepy, blissfully unaware old woman with the bright, sometimes fearsome lady I remember visiting as a child in Birkenhead.  Back then she was looking after her own mother at home, a hunched over figure in a chair and a blanket with a basket of sweets from which I was often treated.  I don't remember her very well other than that, but I know that my grandmother must have worked very hard to look after her in her own home.

I remember flying back over to the Wirral with my mother sometime after we'd moved to Northern Ireland for the funeral, which I did not actually go to.  It didn't really mean much to me then.

I wonder now alot of things and they all make me feel sad.  When might I get called over here for my grandmother's funeral?  Will there come a time when I might see my own mother fall into such a decline?

I hope and pray that I do not, but there is some comfort from knowing that we all must face moments like this, one way or another.  It is likely that Jesus faced Joseph's death early-on in his life.  In this as in all things we can go to him for comfort.  He taught us that we need not worry about the future because our Father in heaven knows the things we truly need and will provide them for us.  We need to focus on what we're doing day by day and making the most of our lives.

I had aspirations of rounding this point off in some profound fashion, however I'm now being distracted by television - oh irony of ironies - and cannot think straight.  Go figure.

More Shadow

Well, it has been a surprisingly long and quite stressful week thanks, mainly to driving lessons, but now a new week has begun and, consequently, there is a new episode of Shadow for you to read.  In truth it's really this episode that starts the story off for real.  Episode I is more of an introduction, but it doesn't give you much idea what to expect from the series as a whole.  Episode II is much more honest and it introduces the character who I like most of all those I've ever written:  The Former Baron von Spektr.

As Shadow continues it will become clear that he is a very eccentric and enigmatic character, but despite his comic appearances he has a surprising amount of depth and history.  I don't know it all yet and I always enjoy discovering something new about him.  I suppose he's like my version of the Doctor from Doctor Who. In fact, since discovering classic Doctor Who I can now compare him with a somewhat more comical version of the First Doctor, although I was not familiar with that character when I created the Former Baron.

Anyway, visit Shadow, read it and tell me what you think.  I'd be really interested to know.  I'd also be interested in any advice people might have about getting the word out about it, although since I haven't even managed that with this blog, it seems unlikely that anyone will reply.

Or will you?

Drivin' and Larkin

Well I had another driving lesson last night and it did not go well.  I was in a new area, it was very dark and a little wet and I was quite tired and so it is probably not very surprising, when you consider how little confidence I have behind the wheel, that I panicked often with nearly disastrous consequences.  My instructor got annoyed with me and I got annoyed with him and in the end I snapped.  The result was kind of cathartic and in my remaining lessons booked with this company I hope things will improve, but I'm considering switching company anyway as I'm clearly a slow learner and it's getting too expensive.

The rest of the evening was better.  Eruntane and I had Haggis, Sneeps and Tatties (neeps being parsnips, as there were no neeps) and a little wine as it was Burns Night.  Neither of us are Scottish, although we've lived here for quite some time now, so I asked her to pick a poet to toast.  Apparently she'd had a bit of a bad day as well, since she picked Phillip Larkin.  I wonder if he'd enjoy being toasted, or whether the context would somehow confirm everything he ever believed about life and the human race...

Driving Business

So, the Shadow blog has had its first complete day of existence and, somewhat unsurprisingly, it has not become the No. 1 most read blog on the internet.

Don't worry, I'm not deluded.  I would, however, be genuinely interested in advice on getting the word out about the site.  There has to be a way to increase readership, other than just word of mouth and posting a link on Facebook, but I'm not really sure where to begin.  If I'm going to take this seriously, I need to consider my options.

In other 'news' I had a driving lesson today.  I think this was the seventh lesson, which makes fourteen hours so far.  I can't say that I enjoy them and I'm too stressed out by all that I have to keep remembering when I'm behind the wheel to really be able to enjoy the driving itself either.  Hopefully as I gain more confidence it'll all become clearer, but part of me (a part I have to kick into line everytime) just thinks it's stress I don't need.

Of course, I <i>do</i> need it.  Or at least it would be really very helpful.  Eruntane and I cannot spend the rest of our life relying on the kindness of strangers (and not just because that didn't work out too well for Blanche DuBois), or on the malevolent conveniences of FirstBus and trust me, I could write a whole other post about the things we have seen and/or heard on those diabolical conveyances!

No.  I have to learn to drive and I have to learn to do it well, but boy do I find myself marvelling at all those billions of people across the world who do it everyday without even breaking a sweat...  Seriously - how?

Argument

So, in an effort to keep my first post upon my return to this blog as something a little more 'pure' I've decided to leave all explanations to this post - a secondary post, but one which gets to the point a lot quicker.

Last night I watched Julie & Julia because my wife had just read the book and we'd just signed up to Love Film and a very sleepy friend had come over to visit and so this got put on. It was a good film, if admittedly of the 'girly' kind in terms of it's themes, but it was well put together and very well performed and I found something in its premise very challenging. Here were these two women, both with a connection to some kind of writing, trying to make something of it, putting so much effort into it that, in the case of Julie, it was actually destroying her marriage - which is obviously going a bit too far - but actually trying. And what have I been doing?

It was made somewhat more challenging by the fact that Julie Powell was taking charge of her writing career in the form of a blog, and here was this blog just sitting here, almost forgotten about, flooded with SPAM comments and links to sites I don't even want to imagine. (I'll have to work on deleting those, sorry).

So I guess the film was a bit of a call to arms. Now, as I said in my last post this is not about making grand promises or plans, despite the fact that I would probably work better under the same conditions as Julie, i.e. with a set deadline and target, but, to be honest, I can't really think of one right now. I'm too far out of my own stuff to be able to relate to any of that. What I can do, however, is try to blog more often. And I have another idea, one I might need to work on a bit to get going, or which I might succeed in starting up tonight - I'm not really sure. All I know is that this is probably worth doing - if I care enough about it, that is - so I'm going to give it a go.

Wish me luck.

EDIT:  The new project is 'go' - view it here.

Reintroduction

That last blog post was ironic. It was seeped in irony. Irony drips from its every typo and punctuation mark.

None of it was intentional.

You see Bebo came and went and with it (although in a somewhat more accelerated fashion) so did my blogging. I have barely blogged at all for 4 years and that includes my occasional journal updates on DeviantArt.

4 years is a very long time. Long enough for me to change job and change roles within that job. It's been long enough for me to stop writing almost completely and change the standards to which I want to write, even though I don't. It was long enough to get married, long enough to move into a flat which I actually own. Long enough to get a cat!

4 years is a long enough time to make me wonder if I'm still the same person who wrote this blog before, or if I've become something new. I wonder if that new thing is better, or worse, or if it's just a delusion born of a mind prone to pretentious delusions and self-deception.

4 years is very, very long time. I'm sorry I have not recorded much of it within the confines of this blog and sorrier still that I have fallen short on so many writing goals as to make a mockery of any attempt to call myself a writer. And yet, I do not regret any of those years. They are mine but, also they have been in the hands of one far greater than I and there have been many blessings to offset the disappointments I find within my own plans. I find myself in greater plans and in those greater plans, I think, I've found a little bit more of myself than I had before.

And so now I return here and wonder if I can start writing again.

No great promises. No grand commitment. No 12 step plan.

Let's just see what happens, shall we?

It's all over bar the blogging...

Well after an absence of, er, nearly two months, I am finally back online aproper, but this will also be my last blog on this site. I have sold my soul to Bebo (I think I'm over-using that phrase now, but it seems so apt) and so all future blogging shall occur there @ seraphism.bebo.com.
All good things must sell out and go somewhere else I guess...

I'll never hear the end of it.

Se you there then...

More Tales of, well... Everything! (Warning! May include Bees.)

Apologies in advance, Dear Reader, for the unbearable silence I am sure you have been experiencing from what has, sadly, been my forced absence from this blog. If you have been keeping up to date with my situation you will know that I was finishing Uni and moving flat. The present participles there used (that yould be the -ing endings) must now become past participles (-ed) to say they have (and here I misquote an old BBC schools programme) Happened.
Yes, very silly use of the english language aside, I am now officially a Graduate of the University of Aberdeen, complete with a degree certificate to prove it. You may now call me Seraph BSc. Equally as exciting, the move has been completed and I now share a nice flate, comp-elte with whtie walls, laminate flooring and not quite enougyh storage space with the Green One, the Other One having moved on to his year's volunteering at a Scripture Union (A christian organisation) conference centre-type place. IT feels like now is the tinme to use sound effects like 'Oooh' and 'Aaah', but there's also a fair amount of 'Eeep' and even 'Eeeeyaaaaagh!' as I now find myself in the position of seeking Full Time employment and, frankly, not doing a very good job of it. I am existing at the moment on my Part Time wage plus vast quanities of overtime and money given to me by my parents, who also offered substantial amounts of support during the move as they were up in Aberdeen at that time for the graduation ceremony (Pictures may be forthcoming).
I should also be writing, but with the demise of my laptop and the lack of acess to it's hard-drive's contents that's also looking a bit hard. Not being able to RP as we don't have an internet connection yet (the reason for my long blogging absence) combined with much watching offilms and the X-files as well as reading Jeff Vandermeer's excellent Shriek: An Afterword, has left me with a desperate need to write or tell a story, but without any actual story to tell. It's quite frustrating.
Eruntane has left for France, where she will be part of a gospel choir for two weeks. The Doctor has returned to her native Northern Ireland, before helping her family emmigrate to Canada and the Heckler is, like the Green One and I, left behind like a ghost in the muggy heat of the Granite City. It's a very strange situation.
We are planning to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest tonight, however. I have already seen it, having gone with Eruntane on Thursday evening as she had to begin her travels the next day.
I've heard various things sdaid about this film so far, but here's my point of view.
It's not as good as the first, but it still has some fantastic moments and the characters become a lot more interesting as the story progresses. Bill Nighy's Davy Jones is fanatstic and and scary witch woman is also very well characterised and performed. Jack Sparrow is, of course, the same character we all know and love, and although soem re-used jokes fall a bit flat towards the beg9inning of the film and some alter scenes just seem silly, much of the comedy, especially that centred on Jack, still remains. They scene shifts p[erhaps a few too many times, the story sort of meanders between it all, but, in fairness, the adventure is still a good one and even the first film was a little messy in its structure. It didn't stop it from being fantastic and Dead Man's chest, whilst not reaching such lofty heights, is still a fun film to see. The promise of the third film is greater however, and, if they can solve the problems of this film before it's release, it could well be a finish to remember.
I'm going to shut up now, but not before I give you the promised Bees [wasn't it more of a warning? -Pedantic Ed.]. HAving come into Uni to use these PCs and write this account, I found myself sumamrily unable to proceed as my computer account had been closed, but, having spent a full £1.20 in bus fares to get here I decided to visit the nearby park and enjoy the sights of the river Don, using up filmin my disposable camera as I did so. At one point, whilst trying to line up a shot of the river dissapearing into a beautiful bit of woodland I stepped down onto a wooden jetty of sorts, assumedly for kayaking and resumed taking aim for the piocture. Still unsatisfied I eximned a lower portion of the jetty and was consdiering descending onto it when I saw a bess fly up to me. I froze and then I realised it wasn't alone and that, from beneath the jetty, many more bees were issuing forth. I swore. I ran. End of story.
See you next time, folks.

Erattatatat

Firstly, just to ammend yesterday's rant, I will get used to this haircut, and it isn't anywhere near as bad as it looked during that first moment of facial pallor when it was all too tidy and blow-dried, but I reserve the right to moan about it for a few days more.

Secondly, the parental units arrived today and the first small truckload of materials have made their way to the new flat. Okay, carload... but they were all DVDs, CDs and Games, which I thought was quite a feat. Tomorrow everything else must go, but not in a horrible SALE type way which might imply I was getting rid of them...

I watched the end of the X-Files season 4 last night and immediately had to watch the start of season 5. Gethsemane is a crueler than cruel episode, second, perhaps, only to Farscape's Bad Timing. I would never have slept if I hadn't at least gained partial closure from Redux I, and as it was I still struggled.

I wish I could write such cruelty. To have my readers hanging on tenter(sp?) hooks, waiting for the next installment. Time will tell I guess.

Oh and I wrote an entire post of the surprinslgy long running Background Chain Fiction, Kyuuketsu to Kessen (Bloodsuckers and Bloody Battles - about vampires, demons and clan wars in a fantasy version of Feudal Japan: Sengoku) using the syllable structure of a traditional japanese Renku (5, 7, 5, 7, 7). I'm not really sure it worked and there was no good reason for it. Also it was the hardest post of my life. Still it's something to blog about, right?

Bad hair life.

I suggested that I might talk about my hair-related issues today. Well lucky you, I feel like unloading said issues upon this very (virtual) page. Let's start with some background.
My hair, as you can see in the (now out of date) photo above, is brown and very, very thick. It started off blonde and curly, but by the time I was about eight it had gone pretty dark and most of the curliness had left it years before even then. Even from a young age I recall hating my hair. I hated a hell of alot of other things about myself then, I'll admit, but the hair issue remains still, so I guess it must be pretty rooted (no pun intended). But why did I hate my hair?

Because it never looked right. Because mum liked to make it look worse (but isn't that the job of all mothers?). Because it liked to form annoying little tufts. Because everyone else thought it was wonderful (providing they were female and over 30). Because haircuts took so long. Because thinning can really really hurt. Because it caused me all manner of grief throughout secondary school where it was often the subject of ridicule. Because, sometimes, just sometimes, it looks great and it always gets messed up or loses something by the time it's on public display. Because how good it looks affects how good I think I look generally and it looking bad makes me feel awful and ugly.

Psychiatrists make of that what you will (just don't tell me your conclusions).
So this haircut on monday...

I've been dreading getting my haircut for a while now. I've kinda been growing it on and off sicne I started University, since I think I have one of those faces that is better viewed within a frame, if you'll indulge the rather conceited sounding analogy. Everytime I go home my parents and my brother ridicule it or command me to get it cut again. Last time I got away without doing so, but then ahd to shorten it a bit for work (a small disaster in and of itself). Then up to monday it had grown to it's longest yet and apart from being a bit too thick and scruffy, I really liked it. I knew that I needed it cut for my Graduation, at least so that it could be neat, but I hadn't yet found a barbers/hairdressers that I could actually trust with my long hair. I was terrified I'd find the wrong one. And guess what?

Sitting there, on the chair watching my hair get snipped away, I was worried. Then I saw myself and it looked okay and I was like, "Tidy that up a bit and it'll be fine"... If only I'd actually said that. I look at myself a while later and think, "Oh God! I look like one of the beatles!" But I reassured myself that this is only an intermediate phase and all will turn out okay. Then the guy took out the mirror and asked me if thit was alright and my face just paled. Eventually I told him that it was indeed fine (because I'm too polite and because there wasn't really anything he could do to save it) and I fumbled for the money in my wallet, handing it over with a shake and leaving the store as quickly as possible. Then I walked home at that speed one is only capable of doing when you feel the full force of angry embarrassment (something I had also experienced a few days prior to this after beign hit by an egg thrown from a student flat as I walked home from Eruntane's) and retreated into the bathroom before applying vast quanities of Brylcream wax to disguise the horror I had been given.

What makes it so much worse is that people keep complimenting it... It worries me that people think I can look good with, that I can suit, a haircut I so despise. It's like the feeling of horror I get hearing my voice on recording after not hearing it for a while and thinking "Everything anybody ever said about me is justified by that voice. If only they could all hear the voice I hear and see the me I see."

Of course if everyone did then I'd probably lose as many admirers as I'd gain. I have to be thankful that people do see me differently from me, because I'd never love myself the way other people can. And missing out on that would be terrible. Plus many of things I probably thinka re "great" about me are possibly lies anyway. We never really see our true selves, even fi we think we are the sole keepers of such a conception. No one see's all of a person, except (if you believe in such a thing, I do) God. If He manages to love you after seeing the spiritual equivalent of the Full Monty, then He must be pretty cool, right?

And whoah, how did a talk about hair get so deep? Time to call it a night I think...

If I said I was busy, would you believe me?

Most humble apologies for the extended absence from blogging but:

-I've been working alot recently.
-I've had very little of interst to say.
-I've been feeling very lazy (as usual).
-I've been trying to catch up on my X-files watching.

And so on...

Yeah so it's one week and one day after my last post. Sheesh, doesn't time fly when your busy trying to survive a SALE at work? It doesn't? kuso...

Ok, so what's news worthy this week?

We had a flat warming party tonight, even thjough we aren't compeltely moved in to the new place yet. There was much sushi and cheesecake and I felt satisfied that it went pretty well.

I've been asked to be the Best Man at the distant wedding of the Other One and the Doctor, which is exceedingly exciting and honouring news, whikst also being darn terrifying... Me+Responsibility+Public Speaking=Mental Breakdown.

I've come up with an idea for a breif narrative poem inspired by baby bunny rabits (or baani-chan as we like to call them). Funnily enough for me, it's going to be dark and little scary and plenty with the weird. But it will have a kawaii baani-chan in it, so everyone's a winner.

No luck so far on the job-hunting front.

I got my hair cut and whilst Eruntane reassures me that it isn't, I still believe it to be the worst hair cut in the world, ever, barring none! It's just in time for my Graduation next Tuesday, hurrah! I may elaborate on it tomorrow if i have less tot ype about and more inclination. Night!

...and...

A new stereo;
New beeding;
New storage, and, finall;
New inspiration!!!

Double ugh.

The List of *NEW*

Very soon I need to acquire:

A new mobile phone;
A new laptop;
A new Nintendo DS or PSP;
A new pair of glasses;
A new haircut and;
A new job.

Ugh.

A Fate Worse Than Anglicanism....

Random title... It comes from a conversation I had with Eruntane last night about how I would make a terrible Vicar, a point we both agreed whole heartedly on. Still I'm amused to imagine what my Parish would be like (Mental Note, remember these imaginings for when you finally get around to writing CONFESSION).

In other news, the Green One and I appear to have actually got ourselves a flat for the next year. All I need now is a job to pay for the rent.

In other, other news, my CDs arrived this morning: Hurrah! I have ULTRA BLUEd and now I shall Dragon Quest VIII.

I bid you adieu!

A Handful of Darkness...

Wow, two posts in one day. Can you tell I'm feeling guilty and irresponsible?
Anyway this evening was worthy of blogdom as Eruntane, the Green One and I went to see Dylan Moran perform his stand-up stylings at the Aberdeen Music Hall. It was most amusing, with some chocie descriptions I mostly can't remember :( due to being rather tired throughout (for no apparent reason, hmm - paranoia of weeks gone by is kicking in again, entirely unjustly, stupid paranoia) but I do remember his comments on Aberdonian winter:

"You can open up the Hotel window, stick your hand out and grab and handful of darkness."

I like the way this man thinks.

In other news, my little foray of this morning (now proof-read and corrected at the request of Eruntane) has lead me to think that, while my laptop is dead (oh yeah, that happened) and Darksyde is therefore beyond my reach, I could focus my writing energies on the fictional city of Cadreden. Cadreden would be everything I've ever imagined Aberdeen might be; dark, creepy, full of secrets and plots and strange locations that hold more meaning than they might first seem. Cadreden would at the same time be everything Aberdeen currently is; thriving, beautiful, cold and grey.
For those interested in the origins of the city name, Cadreden is how Aberdeen first appeared in the predictive text of my old Nokia. I always figured it should be the name of a fantasy city (and indeed in the idea for my other "on hold" novel, The Dream, there was a city called Cadredin - the I being required to make it fit a language pattern).
Now all I need do is sit down and right soemthing. A hard thing to convince myself to do on someone else's laptop.

A Short Story Around Every Corner...

Apologies (again) for my not blogging last night, but it seems I just can't find anything interesting to say about anything at the moment. Having said that, there was a minor event this morning I felt worthy of relating to you, so I shall:

After the Green One and I had perused through the corridors and rooms of another set of flats (makes them sound like mansions doesn't it?) I had to take a different route home via our nearest ASDA supermarket. This meant travelling along Union Street, Aberdeen's central shopping district, and then down past Castlegate, the old central square of the city, and onto Beach Boulevard, which surprisingly enough, heads towards the beach. This lead to some random explorations in both the physical and mental planes of existence and the inspiration for various possible writings.

Firstly, at Castlegate, I was admiring the Mercat Cross, a monument made up of a circle of arches carved into what might be sandstone but which is now a dark black. It's quite a striking piece and it dates back to the City's earliest origins, marking some agreement or other nearly a millenium ago. Anyway as I walked past it I started imagining the arches as gateways to some other place and what if that really were the case, that some work of arcane magick (the k is neccesary, honest) could be situated at the end of a prime piece of high street shopping.
I thought about this as I wandered on down past the Salvation Army Citadel (an oddly turreted building that always makes me think of fantasy more than reality) and onto Beach Boulevard.
I have walked this way to ASDA at least once before and I was always intrigued by the little streets that head off from it (towards the harbour) which I had never explored and had trouble imagining what their contents might be. On a whim I picked one of these streets (Hannover Street I believe) and followed it down towards it's conclusion. This turned out to be the bottom of a road I had only just left, but beside it was another road which lead vaguely beachwards so I followed it and, rather than taking the street I had originally intended to bring me out beside ASDA, I found myself lured away by the sight of a church tower. Following these industrial backstreets, lined with various builder's merchants and harbour support services I found myself wandering into an Aberdeen I knew logically must exist (its harbour has been its central soul since it was first founded and is obviously crucial to the modern North Sea oil industry), but which I had barely experienced. Looking over my shoudler I could see the Citadel and the clock tower of the Sheriff's Court (also very turretous and fantastic), reassuring me that I was still in the same city, but all around me there were warehouses and signs of a culture compeltely alien to me, built on services and supplies I had nothing to do with. I felt like an intruder.
Still the Church Tower lured me on. It had a fine detailing at the top and a shroud of trees which made it seem very incongruous amidst all the angled, corrugated-iron rooftops.
Then I rounded a corner and there it was, St. Clement's churchyard. It was filled with well-kept graves and a sign told me that it was open for visitors, so I stepped in through the cast-iron gate and felt its silence englulf me.
As I approached the church building itself I realised something was amiss. It appeared boarded-up and the stained glass windows were hidden behind mesh coverings. A sign in fluroescent yellow on the board door informed me that CCTV camera's were in operation. I casually circled the building, staring at all the unfamiliar signs of its abandonment and saw parts of it covered in grafitti as well as further warnings that CCTV cameras would be watching me.
Ideas began to form in my mind. A Church, hidden away in a district that had no need for such an anachronism, for surely this church had once been for sailors and their families, but now it was lost amidst warehouses and chemical facilities. Something was going on there, something that meant people made sure it looked clean and tidy, well-kept, with neatly cut grass, but were concerned that no one should enter.
Expect a story about it soon :P

Ass(or/aul)ted Toys.

I played with toys in work today and whistfully dreamt of buying some (I'd left my wallet at home).

Otherwise it was a pretty straight-forward day. There was watching of X-Files (poor cigarette smoking man) and Aliens bonus features (Brits + early James Cameron = good film + bad relationships). There was also posting, involving my favourite pastime, worldcrafting. I had a bit of fun with this one, although the images I wanted to use had been in my head for the past two weeks and so, to some extent, it was just about putting them in in the right order with the right words. I think I was reasonably succesful.

My CDs have been posted! Wooh!

By Hook Or By...

Well as I mentioned in my last update, I was going to go out dressed as Captain Hook. It happened. There's photographic evidence and everything. I had a silly costume on and my hair and beard all waxed up (still trying to wash it out). Still the most amusing part of the evening (costume wise) was walking back to Eruntane's flat in itm getting assaulted by a drunken footbal fan, sung at (Don't You Ever - Adam and the Ants) by some other drunken gentlemen and being chatted up by a man dressed in fairy wings and face paints...
Other news of worth that night (indeed very exciting news) was that after a day of hillwalking The Doctor and The Other One returned somewhat engaged. Not sure how that happened, but the ring was very pretty and the Doctor was grinning inanely for some time afterwards.

Yesterday I was invited around to have a dinner at the home of one of the members of Eruntane's church. The food was fantastic and the weather was good. The conversation was also intersting, awkward though it was at times and chaired by the intimidating "Scary Professor" who I found immensely likable, in spite of the fear factor.

I'm verging on laconic at the moment aren't I?

Ich Trinke Champers mit Laschfisch (Thanks Franz ferdinand)

I've been getting awfully lazy with these blog updates haven't I? Bad Seraph, Bad, Bad Seraph!
Anyway, it's mainly because I keep getting lost in various events occuring elswhere online, like message boards and MSN messenger conversations and by the time I have concluded the best part of those I'm too tired to care about what happened to me. Knowing that hardly anyone is reading this isn't a great incentive either, but hey, I promised more details about Thursday, so here they are:

Thursday was, as has perhaps already been said, an odd day. I went in to Uni first to take part in a class photo (something I wasn't all that sure I really wanted to be part of), but for some reason was running a hour ahead of schedule so found myself reading message boards and chatting on MSN (as usual) whilst various members of my 'class' drifted in to the computer room to join me. We chatted, then we went to get our picture taken and waited about half an hour standing around like moron whilst the external examiners (who for some reason were to be part of the picture as well - ???) finished their lunch. We of course had had no such luxuries and were desperate to allieviate our hunger. Fortunately by about half 2 (the photo was supposed to be over by 2 at the latest) we were free to do just that, so we bought ourselves some slightly overpriced Ginster's sandwiches and wraps and sat in the Cruickshank botanic gardens enjoying the weather, the banter and fearing our soon-to-be-determined fates.
This too was (bien sur) delayed by the external examiner's luncheon, but by twenty to five we were being called into the Zoology Building's crowded foyer to be handed an ominous looking envelope.
I received mine after a friend who had wanted to get into Vetinary College but was pretty certain she wouldn't get the required 2-1. As I took my envelope I saw her crying into her boyfriend's shoulder. I was distraught. Could it really be that bad? I clutched my envelope in concern. Then I saw her jump up and down, still crying hysterically and I began to get confused. Was this good? Bad? Buh?
Fearing the consequences of speaking to her just yet I took myself aside and opened my envelope, pulling out the first piece of paper within.

"Cheese and Wine!?"

Aha, wrong piece of paper. instead of the one telling me how I would fare in the world of graduates, this was one saying that we were all invited to enjoy the above perishables in the cruickshank gardens before our graduation with the usual parental units. I put it back in the envelope and took out the next sheet. This one was made of better paper and looked both reassuringly and ominously official.

Degree Classification: Lower 2nd Class

After a few seconds of translating this into soemthing I could actually udnerstand I nodded, accepted my fate and wandered aimlessly towards people I knew. In truth I was a little bewildered. A 2-2 was the very best I had been expecting, but I couldn't really say I had been hoping for it. I had trained myself in apathy so well that when I finally received the result, I just didn't care, but everyone around me was exploding with emotion and here I was, a little island of confusion and silence.
I met up with another classmate who informed me that he too had recieved a 2-2, so I was somewhat relieved that I wasn't alone in this category, and then I went over to the Vetinary wannabe and discovered that she had managed a 2-1 after all and my confusion became further complicated by the immense feelings of pride and joy for her, contrasting bizarrely with my internal mutedness.
Eventually we went back out to the gardens and I rang my mother. A Transcript of the covnersation would appear thusly:

ME: I GOT A 2-2.
MOTHER: Huh?
ME: IT MEANS I PASSED, IT'S GOOD!
MOTHER: OH? SO HAVE YOU FOUND A FLAT YET?

You've gotta love the down-to-earth pragmatism of a parent, right?

Next there was chapagne. Generally I don't drink. I don't really like alcohol and I don't want to get drunk, but I like champagne and I don't begrudge a little celebration, so champagne there was and I drank it. 2 glasses to be precise. Which is alot for me, although not alot in the sense that it was intoxicating, especially since the stuff we were drinking was so cheap as to possibly not have any real alcohol in it, still...
Afterwards we went to someone's house for pizza, snacks and more champagne (just one more glass, and about 3 hours after the first two, so again no danger of drunkenness for me - less could be said for some of the others) and I came to realise that my one regret for my four years at uni is not, as I thought it might be, not working hard enough to achieve the 1st I possibly could have achieved, but is in fact not getting to know my classmates as well as they deserved. My usual outsider attitude has done them a disservice. Still, there's a while before graduation and we plan to do a few other things by then, so that'll be fun.
Now for today: I have work, then I have to dress up as Captain Hook. I live a very odd definition of life, don't I?

On Earning a Tutu/Gravegull

I got my results today. I got a 2-2. It's not a fantastic result, but it's still quite good and is more than i deserve. Many of my friends got 2-1's but I'm nto jealous. they really worked for theirs and earned it. I am justly proud of them and pleasantly surprisded formsylf as well as comfortable that the universe hasn't given me too much more than I deserve. I don't feel guilty.
It's been an odd day, worth blogging about, but I;m shattered now, so here's the bare bones of a poem I was inspired to write today:

Gravegull

He dances
Like a clown,
Marching
Back and forth,

King and beggar,
Pacing his,
Court, his
Net, his
Patch. His

White, ghost
White feathers

Like blossoms,
Like prayers,
Like tears, as

They fall,
Past the names,

And land
In a heap,
In a wreath.