Random musings of a London geek...

The Move Pt 3: Nomenclature

2011-08-10T00:44:00.001+01:00

Richard lay splayed out across the couch in nothing but his boxer shorts. And why shouldn't he? For these were no ordinary pair of boxer shorts. No, these were the sort of high-end quality boxer shorts you would expect to see on movie-stars or male models... not that one would of course be in a position to witness such a thing; but you could imagine that if you were to see a famous actor remove his trousers, then these would be the boxer shorts he would be wearing underneath.
You could always tell these boxer shorts apart from the more common type of underwear, due to the designer's name being written across the elasticated waist band at the top. These therefore encouraged wearers of said undergarments to don a pair of 'low-rise' or 'hipster' jeans that would fall just below the waist thus revealing the designer's name for the world to see.
For Richard this was a symbol of status. He thought to himself how unfortunate were those people who were ashamed to display their underwear because they were 'tacky', for lack of a better word. Boxers bought from Top Man, Burtons, or God forbid... H&M. No, it was certainly for the best that they kept their ghastly underwear well and truly hidden from his line of sight.

Richard was currently enjoying another well deserved day off at the expense of his ever dutiful girlfriend, Rachael. Since meeting Rachael, Richard had "lost" his job and become reliant on her good nature and incredible good fortune, for you see, Rachael, unlike many other twenty-something's in the City of London, owned her own flat in that increasingly desirable hotbed of wealth that was West Hampstead. But she did not pay for this, not a single penny. It was instead left to her by her late grandmother, Ms. Dorothy Burbridge the Third. Why anyone would name their child Dorothy was beyond Richard, but to name three children Dorothy was madness. There was of course a perfectly reasonable explanation for this bizarre occurrence that Rachael felt was worth wasting Richard's time over:

The late Mr. Burbridge, great grandfather to Rachael, was overjoyed that his wife was expecting a child. In those days one did not know if one was to give birth to a boy or a girl, so names had been chosen for both. If it was a boy, he would be a called George: A strong English name. If it was to be a girl, it would be Dorothy.
When the baby was due to be born, the housekeeper Ethel, ran to Mr. Burbridge informing him that his wife would very much like his presence in the birthing room. Mr. Burbridge, being the ever doting husband that he was, could never refuse a request from his wife, and was up there in a flash!
A short while later, the cries of a baby could be heard, and the doctor proudly announced "It's a girl!", to which Mr. Burbridge happily responded "And she shall be named Dorothy". All in all, it had been rather painless experience for poor Mr. Burbridge, who was not sure he could ever look at his wife in the same way again, for you must remember that during these times, the husband would always be kept away from the spectacle of child birth, preferring of course to be waiting outside, cigar in hand.
Feeling that his duty was done, Mr. Burbridge was on his way out when the doctor called him back.
"We're not done here I'm afraid Sir."
"What the devil do you mean, not done? If there's anything to be signed, my house keeper Ethel can bring it to my study." Mr. Burbridge snapped.
"You misunderstand me Sir. What I mean to say is, there's another one." The doctor explained.
"Another one?"
"Yes Sir. Another child."

As you can imagine, Mr. Burbridge felt rather dizzy at this news. He dreaded to think how his poor wife must have felt lying in that bed, her face and body covered in sweat, having been awake for countless hours in pain. Maintaining a stiff upper lip, Mr. Burbridge turned back to the bed and remained by his wife's side.
A short while later, the doctor produced another baby girl.
"You're not hiding any more in there are you my dear?" Mr. Burbridge said jokingly to his wife.
"Actually..." The doctor's voice trailed off as he ducked under the sheets to retrieve yet another child.
This was all too much for Mr. Burbridge who was starting to feel rather faint.
"It's another girl... three girls, all identical. Congratulations Sir." The doctor said with pride, as though he had given birth to them himself.
Mrs. Burbridge had now collapsed into an unsightly heap upon the bed and Mr. Burbridge could barely speak for shock had taken him.
"What will you name them Sir?" Ethel asked excitedly, to which a dazed Mr. Burbridge could only stammer "Dorothy... Dorothy..." before falling to the floor.
And so it came to be that the Burbridges gave birth to three girls, all named Dorothy, the youngest of whom, Dorothy Burbridge the Third would grow to be the grandmother of Richard's latest girlfriend, Rachael Freeman.

Nomenclature aside, Richard felt he had done fairly well obtaining Rachael. With Rachael, he didn't need to have a job. She may not have had the highest paid position in the world, but not having to pay rent meant that she had a lot of money to put aside each month... money that could be spent on him. And why shouldn't it be? After all, in the old days a man would work and the woman would stay at home. He would bring in the money, and she would spend it. When the credit card was invented, many men were unable to keep up with the debts their wives brought upon them. So why should Richard not enjoy that which women had enjoyed for many years. Let his partner work, and let him spend the money. Women were always banging on about equality, well here you go! Let it never be said that Richard Kingly was not a supporter of the Women's Rights.

After all said and done, the truth is, Rachael was lucky to be with him. Richard knew he was quite the catch. Girls had a habit of falling in love with him. He was certainly not lacking in the aesthetic department; he kept his body in good shape; he read the daily free paper and picked up enough titbits of information to hold a conversation about almost anything; and most importantly, he oozed confidence. "If there's one thing a woman loves," his father explained to Richard one day "it's confidence in a man", and this was a lesson he had ingrained into his very being; one that had not let him down since. It was how he had "won" Rachael. Well, he knew who the real prize was in the relationship... and it wasn't Rachael. She was nice enough, and certainly not painful to look at; but Richard was certain that if it wasn't for the money, their relationship would have ended after a series of one-night-stands.
Obviously no money comes for free, and Rachael was nothing short of a slave driver. Her current focus was on making sure Richard found a job, to which end she had entrusted him the use of her laptop during the day. Richard had no intention of looking for a job, but he had to at least make it seem as though he were trying, in order to placate Rachael. He would say he had spent all day searching and applying, but there was simply nothing out there. No one wanted to hire someone who was made redundant from his last job. Another white lie of course. Richard was not made redundant, but instead chose to leave when he felt that his relationship with Rachael was concrete enough that he would be able to move in with her. He said temporarily at first, obviously, but with no intention of leaving any time soon. Now, whenever she would give him a hard time about job applications he would give her a smouldering look and say "Of course... it's easy for you baby. You've never lost a job before. You're lucky that your company is safe during these troubled times. I hope you never have to experience what I did..." and so on, until she would apologise in tears and kiss him dearly. Game, set, and match: Richard.

Richard was now sitting in front of the television with the laptop in tow. Neither the channel on the television, nor the laptop were displaying anything to do with job hunting, but instead depicted scenes that were certainly not suitable for anyone below the age of consent.
'I know what...' thought Richard to himself, 'I'll throw her bone. Let her know I'm thinking of her. Women love that.' Richard then reached for his mobile phone and sent Rachael a text message of an... adult nature.
No response. That was certainly strange Richard thought. Rachael usually replied instantly to his messages. He waited a short while and tried again. This time the response was rapid:
"Go look for work you naughty boy ;) I have a meeting. I'll see you soon xxxxxx".
'The nerve!' Richard was livid. 'How dare she dismiss me like that?'. Well, that was that. Richard had tried to be nice. He had given her a chance, but if she wasn't interested, then he would simply have to go elsewhere. It was then that he remembered the rather attractive barista who worked at the coffee shop at the end of the road. He had seen her admiring him from behind trays of muffins. Surely she would be getting out of work soon. There was only one way to find out.
Richard pulled on a pair of 'low-risers' and a tee-shirt and left the flat.

The Move Pt 2: Terms of endearment

2011-08-08T00:45:00.000+01:00

At the same moment John Burrows, recent resident of the Finchley Road area, was pulling an envelope from his pocket; Rachael Freeman was sat at her desk sighing as she stared out of the window admiring the beauty of the London summer.
It was not that Rachael didn't have any work to do, but she needed something to take her mind off the heat. For you see, during the recent spate of hot weather, the air-conditioning within the entire building had suffered what the building officials referred to as "minor heatstroke", and would therefore be out of operation for a few days. The hot weather had of course taken its toll on productivity, with many barely able to keep awake in the heat. Rachael felt that in these hot times one needed a suitable distraction, and right now this distraction came in the form of the rather tasty gardener tending to the roof garden of the adjacent building. She was not alone however, for news of the view had spread fast, and soon Rachael was joined by many of the other women, and some of the men, who also wished to enjoy the sights of summer from her window.

Rachael couldn't ponder over the mysterious stranger for too long however... it wouldn't be proper, given her recently altered relationship status. For a long time now, Rachael's Facebook profile had stated "Single", but that had all changed last weekend when Richard had decided it was time for them to be 'official'. She had been seeing him for months of course, but there was never a contract drawn up. There were no terms of endearment being thrown about. By this she meant "boyfriend" and "girlfriend". It was strange to be referred to as a "girlfriend" when you were capable of giving birth at twelve, or less. Rachael was sure she had read somewhere in the papers about a girl, nay, woman, by the name of Lina Medina, who gave birth at five years old! 'Imagine that,' she thought to herself 'being a mum at five!' Rachael couldn't remember much about being five, but she was certain she wasn't able to look after herself at that age, let alone a baby.
But despite whether Rachael had given birth or not, at 22 she certainly had the ability to do so, and therefore felt the term 'girlfriend' was inappropriate. But then what term was appropriate? 'Lady-friend' made one think of you as a one-night stand; and 'Partner' was a term well and truly reserved for the gay community these days. There weren't really any other options out there. She might be a "significant other", although she was unsure as to how "significant" she really was to Richard at this early stage. She resolved that she would be a 'girlfriend' until she got married, and then she would be a 'wife'. She felt she shouldn't complain though. As women got older, they did all they could to look and feel young again. Even she had purchased vanishing cream lately. How could she then take offence to being called a girl. Was that not a compliment?
These thoughts quickly disappeared however when she received a text message from Richard. Rachael flushed as she read the message hoping no-one noticed her face go red. Richard could be quite saucy when he wanted, and now was such a time. But Rachael couldn't reply, not now. It was alright for him she thought, he was still out of work. Richard spent most of his days on her couch, using her laptop to look for jobs, or so he said. But after two months and no interview, Rachael began to doubt his commitment to getting back on his feet. She would have to bring it up with him at some point... she'd wait for the right time, of course.
Her phone buzzed again. Richard obviously couldn't wait. She replied:
"Go look for work you naughty boy ;) I have a meeting. I'll see you soon xxxxxx".
Pleased with the response, Rachael turned off her phone and prepared for the weekly Friday afternoon meeting. For Rachael, preparation for a meeting meant making a cup of tea and taking a notepad with which to doodle. Her position as researcher often meant her opinions were neither required, nor welcomed. But this suited her just fine. She didn't have to prepare any speeches, or handouts, or presentations. She had only to drink her tea and ponder her weekend plans. She was loathe to give up her summer view however. Sighing heavily, she took one last long look out of the window and reluctantly got up from her seat and walked into the meeting room.

About thirty minutes later, Rachael walked out of the Friday afternoon meeting more than a little dazed by the news she had just received. Apparently there were changes to be made. Changes that would affect her. God forbid Rachael should comprehend the thought processes of her superiors, and let's be honest, who did?
Rachael was sure that as far back as hierarchy had existed, there would have been countless moments where those below would not understand the decisions of those above. She could quite easily picture the cavemen of prehistoric times gathered around a stone boardroom table, discussing through a series of complex grunts, the plans for the coming winter food stores. She could see a prehistoric version of herself rolling her eyes as the tribe leader announced some newfangled process to record stock levels. Not that there was anything wrong with the old way of course, but she supposed that even upper management had to be seen to be doing something from time to time. A new change process here, or reorganisation of company structure there let staff know that behind their personal secretaries and closed doors, their bosses were still very much alive and taking a vested interest in the workings of the business... amidst all the long lunches, numerous holidays, and "business meetings" outside of the office.

In this particular instance it had just been announced that there would be a new starter joining Rachael's team. Or, more precisely, the new starter would be joining Rachael in doing her job. This meant only one thing to Rachael: that management felt she was not capable of handling her duties. Well, she wouldn't stand for it! Words would need to be had. She couldn't let the company directors think she was incapable. Donning a confident, yet grim look, Rachael marched over to the desk of her line manager with a quickly prepared mental speech.
It was very unfortunate for Rachael however, that during this time, she had inconveniently forgotten the request she had put in to her line manager not two months before requesting the need for more assistance.

The Move Pt 1: Concern with a smile

2011-08-07T04:35:00.006+01:00

'I can't believe I actually did it!' John mused to himself as he walked down Finchley Road. 'I'm on Finchley Road... The Finchley Road, London.' He smiled as the thought fermented in his brain, and then quickly corrected himself, for this was London, and it was not proper for one to smile to oneself whilst in London. Sure, you could do that sort of thing in York, or even Manchester... perhaps even Milton Keynes. Did people even smile in Milton Keynes? What was there to smile about? Either way, John knew for certain that London did not tolerate smiling, and if he was to fit in with his new surroundings, that would be the first thing to go.

There were a number of changes that would need to made in fact, to adjust to 'London Life'.
One such thing would be the acquisition of a satchel, or 'man-bag' as they were now popularly known. He never needed one in Ely, for you see, he had a car. When you have a car, your possessions have a permanent home away from home. It's easy to transport things from one place to the next. But here in the centre of London, where cars are seldom used by anyone who are not taxi drivers or millionaires, you are a perpetual hermit, or human snail. Whether you are a female or a male, you have a bag, and in that bag you need just about everything to deal with whatever life may decide to throw at you.

To this end, he had planned a survival kit with the advice from some university friends who had previously made the move to London the year before. He had made sure to write it down on a piece of paper so he didn't forget. John now took said list out of his pocket and double checked the contents.

London Survival Kit:

1. Bag (Should be big enough to carry a small umbrella).
2. Book (in case of Tube delays - likely according to Stephen).
3. Painkillers (self-explanatory).
4. Lighter (good conversation starter).
5. Bottle opener (see above).
6. Sound isolating earphones.
And so on...

Happy with the list, John continued to walk. He noticed a Sainsbury's supermarket on the road when his dad had helped him move in. His father had offered the use of the car for John to pick up the groceries he would undoubtedly need, but John could not wait to kick start his independence. "I'm going to have to go by myself all the time and carry the shopping back by hand. There's no point starting my new life off by being spoiled."

Martin Burrows sighed, but he understood. Poor John had to live at home whilst at university, what with Cambridge being so close, and money being tight. They couldn't afford for John to live away from home, and now at 22, he deserved the freedom he so rightly deserved 4 years ago. It can't be easy for a young man to watch all his friends fly the nest at 18, move into student halls, and enjoy those late night student parties... amongst other things. But it was a side of university life John very rarely got to experience. 'Well, now is his chance to be free,' his father thought, 'and if he wants to get his own shopping, so be it. We can't mollycoddle him for life.' For a moment John's father wondered if anyone from a generation beyond his own even knew what mollycoddle even meant, let alone used it in everyday life. His daughter often told him that if he insisted in speaking such an ancient language, he should try to speak both quietly and infrequently. His wife on the other hand thought it best he didn't speak at all.

"Dad? You alright?" John was looking at his father with what could only be described as light concern... or perhaps even 'concern with a smile'. Yes, that was it. Martin looked at his sons face. John had raised an eyebrow, his eyes were wide, but there was a smile on his face. Martin knew that look. It was the same look his own mother gave to his father when he started to forget little things like where he put his keys... turning off the light... or being married - an incident that led to their inevitable divorce some months later. But Martin's mind was wandering even further away from the matter at hand.
"Yes John. I'm fine. I was just thinking about when I first moved away from home. It's an exciting time."
"I can't wait to go explore."
Martin smiled at his sons enthusiasm. "Now, before I go, there's a couple of things your mother wanted me to say."
John groaned and raised his eyes. "Seriously dad?"
Martin tried his best to look stern and nodded. "Okay. Your mother says to keep safe, don't go out too late, and call her every night so she knows you're okay." Martin could hear John gasp in shock, but continued nonetheless. "Although I think after the first couple of days, she'll be fine. I'll talk her round. Secondly, she says be careful of London girls, and I quote 'they're trouble: they'll chew you up and spit you out.'"
"But isn't mum from London?"
"Precisely." Martin responded with a chuckle. "Anyway, forget the rest. I'm sure you know to keep away from drugs, discarded needles, homeless people and murderers."
"She really said all those things?"
"I haven't even scratched the surface. She spent an hour and a half last night listing all the things you shouldn't be doing."
John sighed. This was so typical of his mother. She couldn't bring herself to let him go. John supposed all mothers were like that really although he didn't understand why. They spent nine months trying to push you away from them, and the rest of your life trying to pull you back. Perhaps it was some kind of subconscious guilt. John felt that this is something Sigmund Freud might have concluded, and quite possibly did. He was obsessed with mother-son issues to an unhealthy degree. Perhaps Freud also suffered a mother similar to John's.
Regardless of his mother's subconscious intentions, whatever they may be, he knew that certain measures needed to be taken to ensure she was not here when he moved. For example, he had deliberately packed more than he would need just so there wasn't any space left in the car for her to come along. And when his mother insisted on taking the train, John had pointed out that the weekend line works would make her otherwise hour long journey, take approximately three hours, by which time his dad would already be back home.
It wasn't easy to dissuade her, but with a little help from his father, they had managed to keep her at bay. It wasn't as though John didn't love his mother. He did in fact love her dearly. But he hated it when she mollycoddled him. As the thought crossed his mind, John wondered if anyone else in the world still used the term 'mollycoddled'.

"Right. I know you want to get on and what not. And the last thing you need is your old man getting in the way."
John began to object but Martin stopped him. "Anyway. Look, take this." Martin handed John an envelope. "Put it in your pocket and don't open it until I'm gone. Go on."
John folded the envelope and put it in his pocket as instructed.
"Okay son. I'll see you in a couple of weeks when you come home." Martin raised his hand expecting John to shake it. Martin knew that when a boy reached a certain age, he no longer hugged other males. It wasn't the proper thing to do. Unless of course one was 'that way' inclined. Although he was sure that John was not 'that way' inclined. Or was he? How much did Martin know about his son, really?
"Thanks dad." John said taking his father's hand and then pulling him and giving him a hug. If John could have seen his father's face at that moment, he would have noticed a look of concern... with a smile.

Now approaching the doors of the supermarket, John remembered the envelope given to him by his father less than an hour before. John opened the envelope hurriedly and pulled out a cheque made out in his name to the sum of five hundred pounds! John stumbled as he walked through the supermarket doors. He never thought his dad would give him such a large amount of money. John thought it typical of his father to write a cheque however. Most people these days used internet banking these days to transfer money, but his dad was of the belief that if something isn't broken, why change? And rightly so! Cheques had always worked for him in the past, and until they stopped issuing them, he would keep using them.
Pocketing the cheque he made a mental note to find a bank nearby. This time John could not stop himself smiling as he took out his phone to give his father a call.

Bedtime thoughts...

2011-08-05T01:33:00.000+01:00

For those of you who know me, you'll know that I'm a very happy person. A day doesn't go by when I don't have a smile on my face - and that's through the good times and the bad.
Of course there some days where I may be an 8 on the happiness scale, and others when I'll be a 10 (for your information, even a 1 on the happiness scale is happy, as it's a happiness scale and doesn't include any negativity), but I will always be on some level of happy.

Tonight I'm very close to the 10 mark. I just finished watching a very feel good film, and it's really made me think about things.
I'm one extremely fortunate fellow. I've had my share of bad news over the years, but nowhere near what other people have had to go through. Perhaps this is why I remain so happy: never having to know true sadness. Perhaps one day it will come and I will discover a part of me I never knew existed.
Or maybe I'm just built this way - that no matter how bad the news is, I can always focus on the positive, or accept the reality and move on. I certainly haven't had trouble doing that in the past.
Who can say for sure? Until I'm put in that situation, I'll never know.

But, regardless of all that, I have noticed that my unwavering happiness has made me abnormally freakish in society. I often find my friends looking for any excuse to be in a bad mood. Things that would upset them do absolutely nothing to rattle me. Take the weather for example - a prime factor of mood swings here in England.
When you have a rainy day, everyone is miserable... yet, I'm ecstatic. I love the rain... as much as I love the sun, the snow, the clouds, the sky, the wind, the cold, the heat... to me, it's all the same. I don't see the point of getting upset about something you have no control over. You can cry all you want when it's a rainy day, but it's not going to change anything. It's still going to rain.
So, you can either accept it, dress appropriately and embrace that life rejuvenating precipitation; or you can sulk like a four-year old (who LOVE the rain by the way) and be depressed all day.

Is it really that strange that I want to be happy? Why is that so wrong? Why is it, that in the Western world, it is so discouraging to find someone who is happy? If you see someone happy, you just want to kill them! Why? Is it because you are not ready to take the steps in your own life to achieve happiness?

Human beings do surprise me sometimes. Most unhappiness is self-inflicted. If you don't like your job... leave. You don't like where you live... move. "Oh, but it's so haaaaaaard." PISH POSH! All it takes is the will to get up off that well cushioned rear-end of yours, and do something to better your station in life.
There are people out there who are sad for REAL reasons. Death and disease plague the world. Those are real reasons to be unhappy... not the weather... or moaning about some trivial piece of hearsay.
Maybe after you handle something really devastating, you can start to appreciate how good your life is... but why do you need to wait for something so bad to come along to make you see what you already have right now? That's such a reactive existence. Who wants to be reactive in the unfolding of their own life? That's a pretty depressing thought right there.

When you ask someone "where do you see yourself in 5 years?" Your standard response would be something like "Buying a house"; "Getting a promotion"; "Having kids"; etc...
My answer is never so specific. I simply say "Being happy". Whatever it takes, I don't care. Because that is was life is about: Being happy.
And if you are not the master/mistress of your own destiny, then you've already failed. Never leave your happiness in the hands of another person, because they can never care about you more than you should care about yourself.

I know this sounds like a motivational speech (my calling in life perhaps), but I promise you it wasn't intended to be. I'm just rambling... but I'm sure there's truth in my words. It works for me... I can't give it a better recommendation than that.

The trials and tribulations of full fat milk

2011-08-01T23:27:00.000+01:00

When you're young, all you drink is full fat milk. Good ol' blue top.
Do you remember that fresh, creamy taste of liquid calcium rushing through your mouth ready to revitalise those aching to grow bones?
I do. I remember it like it was yesterday.

How lovely cereal used to taste when drenched in ice cold full fat milk. I could even sacrifice the sugar on my cornflakes if I was getting a taste of Ol' Blue.

But then something happened... We grew up you see... all of a sudden, blue is uncool and green is the way to go. "Semi-skimmed". What is that? I'll tell you what: It's half the taste gone.
And God forbid you had militant parents that switched you straight from blue to red top! The milk lovers nightmare... "Skimmed" milk. It's basically white water. Reminds me of a halls of residence I stayed in during the University days. Whenever we opened the hot water tap, the water would come out this whitish, milky colour. That's exactly what skimmed milk looks like. It's not real milk. It shouldn't even legally be allowed to be sold as milk.
How can people put that in their tea, let alone their cereal?!?! It's a travesty.

Why do they have to take us off the blue top? Some people say that as you grow older, you grow intolerant to it. And to that I say "NAY!" It's because you stop drinking it and switch to white coloured water that your body can't handle the pure awesomeness of full-fat milk!
The trick is to keep drinking it, man up, and your body will thank you in the end... and so will your taste buds.

Remember kids: Be cool, drink blue! Go on... make the cows happy :)

And now time for some promotional messages:

Check out this science dude waxing lyrical about full fat stuffs:

= WRONG

= Happiness

There's something missing...

2011-08-01T01:24:00.001+01:00

Mankind's incredible ability to demand ignorance has never ceased to amaze me. More often than not, when engaged in apparent 'intellectual' discussion with my peers, I find that others' view of the World differs greatly from my own. At first I considered that perhaps I was naive, unaware of the greater issues that surrounded me. But after time, I realised that this was not the case.

At the moment this is out of context, so let me attempt to frame my thoughts so that they resemble some form of sense:
There are have been a lot of wars over the past 10 years. Some have been going on for much longer than this time, but the significance of the events of 2001 have increased tensions beyond that of breaking point.
With the tragic events of September 11 now nearly a decade behind us, the aftermath we are seeing has been unpredictable to say the least.
If I were to tell you that there have been between 102,043 and 111.536 civilian deaths*1 due to the violence in Iraq between 2003 and now, would you believe me? These are innocent men, women, and children I'm talking about, not soldiers or suicide bombers; and this number is a result of violence from both sides.
But it's okay, because a number of people that equates to a population higher than say Burbank, CA; or Palm Bay, FL, is considered 'collateral damage' in this "War on Terror".

So where does ignorance come into this? Well, I suppose it's not so much ignorance as it is gullibility. People accept what they see because it's easier than searching for the truth. You go to work, you pick up the free paper on the Underground or Subway. It gives you some menial celebrity gossip or sporting result you can discuss with your colleagues at work. Once in a while there's a devastating shock: a terrorist attack, or an earthquake somewhere. Hundreds, thousands, maybe more have died. You feel bad and give some money to charity. The next day, there's some other celebrity gossip to take your mind away from feeling bad. Because what good comes out of feeling bad for people you don't know? It's better to think about celebrities you at least know from television or films right?

If I wanted to discuss with my friends the underlying reasons for say, the conflict in Palestine, the response I would get (and have got) is either: "I don't know enough about it to comment"; "That's too deep for this early in the morning/late in the day/or whatever time it is"; "It's not in the news, they would have told us if it was bad".
When really, all that says to me is "I don't care."

Now, this is where people are going to get really angry at me, because no one wants to admit they don't care. Most people like to think they are the pinnacle of humanity. But the truth is, it's so much easier to shut yourself off from all the bad things, and carry on living the way you do.
The best response I get from people is "Well, what do you do huh?" As if my actions should dictate their own. This is usually followed by: "Well, one person can't make a difference, so why bother?"
And there you have it. The final answer of one who has no intention of changing the way they think: "Nothing you can do will change anything, so why waste your time." It's not a question, it's a statement.

Believe me, because I know this from experience. I would much rather have throw a can in the bin than recycle it; I took no regard in animal welfare; and certainly didn't give a damn about whoever died in some war... because what could I do?

But you know what? It's not always about making a difference (although it is possible, as history has shown). Going out and learning about something doesn't make you weak, or foolish, or even idealistic. Instead it makes you break away from being one of the sheep... and believe me, society has enough of those. Hordes of zombie followers that align themselves with the right, left, or liberal way of thinking. Those who follow blindly seeking only short-term, visible benefits of what can be offered to them. Like coaxing a child into a car with candy; masses of people get into bed with politicians and religious leaders with little or no understanding of what they represent. Why do you think it's so easy for radical and fundamentalist groups to brainwash young people?
A quote from Malcolm X springs to mind: "If you don't stand for something, you will fall for anything." And that is exactly what's happening in society: Whether it be future suicide bombers, or swarms of workers heading to the office.

My problem with mankind is simple: We are lucky to be the only creatures on earth with the ability of conscious thought. Animals follow basic instinct and desire. We however, have the potential for so much more... yet we behave worse than animals at the best of times.
Mankind cannot progress with such blind faith and closed-mindedness. Sure, we can build rockets, splice genes, and invent endless gadgets - but that won't stop us bending over like fools for the next President with a twinkle in his eye.
If you think the answer is: "What difference can one person make", then you've misunderstood the question entirely.

*1 According to the Iraq Body Count

The problem with religion

2011-07-02T22:40:00.001+01:00

I've been having a long think recently about what it is that makes people feel they hate religion.
If you mention religion to most people in today's society, they don't want to discuss it. In fact, a very common response I get from people is "...religion causes wars, I hate it." or "It's all just made up and backward."

Although I don't agree with either statement, I completely agree with the line of thinking that has brought people to this conclusion. You see, we come from a society where religion used to rule. All the laws, all the morals etc... have all come from a culture rich in religious belief. In England and America, it is the Church and Christianity who used to run society. In other countries there are other religions. Only now, in recent years, are we becoming more secular as a society. But you have to wonder: what is it that made people want to turn away from religion?

Surprisingly, I have a theory about this.
You see, during the time of the Enlightenment, there were many advances in science, things that made the average Joe on the street have to think very hard about life and the universe, and where it all came from. Now, at the time, the Church was the head of state, and so people when people had questions, they would go to the Church and ask them.
Uneducated as religious leaders were in the world of science, and so afraid to lose their hold of power on the masses, the Church regarded these scientific advancements as falsehoods and works of the devil.
So now you have an average Joe with questions, and the only place he can go to ask them is telling him to not think and instead say 50 hail Mary's for ever harbouring the notion that something might exist that the Church, in all it's infinite wisdom, had overlooked.

The real sting for organised religion came after Darwin's theory of evolution. God made Adam and Eve from clay in his own image... so how on Earth could they evolve from apes? It's sacrilege. We, as human beings are so pure and perfect... how could we come from an animal as base as an ape?

Next it was the wars. People say "religion causes wars" - well, that's a lie. People cause wars, and use whatever excuse they want to cover it up. You want land? You find a reason to make your soldiers fight for it... How about "The Barbaric Moors are living in the land of Land of Christ. They wish to defile the birthplace of our Lord. We must stop them!"... and so the Crusades began.
But what's so different now? You want oil from a country, you find an excuse to remove the current government from power and supplant it with your own. Does this excuse sound familiar: "We believe there are weapons of mass destructions in Iraq". Definitely a winning tale to get some soldiers on your side. Where's the religion there?

Whenever people say it's religion that causes war, I have to bite my tongue and avoid giving them a verbal lashing for their ignorant short-sightedness. You cannot, after all, change the world by ridiculing others directly.

Anyway, a few "religious" wars later, and it was all downhill for religion. The close-minded, power-hungry few heads of State at the time had tainted religion forever.

I don't want the whole world to start believing in God. I don't actually think such a belief in God is for everyone. All I want is for people to lay off the hate and God-bashing for a change. But to be fair, there are some religious groups that need to lay off the hate and atheist =bashing too.
Ironic really - doesn't matter what you believe, humans are all the same. We all want something to give us answers, and we protect that belief against people who speak against it. At the same time, we want others to subscribe to our way of thinking to affirm what we believe to be true: Whether you believe in God, science, nature, or all of the above.

New geeky site... for geekiness

2011-03-10T08:36:00.000Z

I have recently been inspired to make a new site dedicated to nothing but being geeky. To this end, most of my new posts will be going there - so if you do regularly read this blog, please do take some time to check 8-bits in a Bite.

Thanks everyone.

Caffeine

2011-02-20T15:18:00.003Z

Caffeine. It's the only thing that takes the edge off... for me that is. I can't speak for others. There's something about the smooth rich flavour of freshly ground coffee beans, mixed with just the right amount of water, at just the right temperature; that both stimulates the senses and calms the nerves.

It starts before you even drink the damn thing. It's the smell -the bait as it were. It reels you in. You can't escape -like a lamb to the slaughter, you get drawn in. Before you know it you're ordering a double espresso, knocking it back with all the air of an alcoholic... for me that is. I can't speak for others.

That said, this particular shot of espresso I'm “enjoying” right now tastes like the coffee beans were roasted in a volcano and then topped off with cat piss. I mean, how dense do you have to be to burn coffee? There's no excuse for it, not in this day and age. What with all the machines doing the work for you -you set the temperature and let technology do the rest. This is why I tend to stay away from chain coffee shops. The staff are mostly students hired off the street with no more knowledge about coffee than they have about nuclear physics or brain surgery. A real coffee shop will have a seasoned veteran behind the bar. Someone who knows the difference between Kenyan, Colombian and Peruvian coffee. When I say “Give me something with a kick”, they'll know exactly what I mean.

On this particular occasion however, I had no choice. This was the only place I could go to. I vowed before stepping in that I would order a Coke and perhaps partake in a sandwich, but as I said before -the smell was impossible to resist. Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Hell yes.

A girl sat with her boyfriend, or at least someone who appears to be her boyfriend, stares at me from across the floor. Now, when I say “stares” I mean she is staring with desire. She wants something from me, and she wants it bad. I'm sat in my seat of preference -the sofa by the front door. It affords me a view of the patrons inside, and also allows me to catch glimpses of the women passing by. Boys will be boys after all.

So why is this girl, who is clearly taken by another man, staring at me? Is it because I embody the essence of an Adonis? With chisled features and an athletes body? I wish that were the reason. It would certainly be better than the truth, well, I guess that's a matter of opinion.

I suppose it would have made sense if I said I was a product of my upbringing. My father beat my mother from as early as I could remember. And when I could talk, he used it as excuse to beat me. My parents later divorced and my mother took up with a man who felt my biological father was too soft on me. Seeing everything that went on and unable to stop it, my mother turned first to anti-depressants, which then turned to Valium, and then worse. She was either too high or too drunk to care what her new husband was doing to her son. They even kept a bed for me at the local hospital I was in and out of there so often. Even they must have known what was going on, but child services back then wasn't what it is now.

So, to escape the harsh realities of home life, I looked for trouble elsewhere, because surely no one could do worse to me than my step-father. I guess I was wrong about that.

Have you ever noticed how society is divided into two worlds. There's the world you see on the surface: the rich, the poor, the middle-class. Everyone making their way through life in their own way. Then there's the other world you read about in the newspapers, but it's so far from your life you can't believe that it exists on your doorstep. You know the world I'm talking about -the one with gangs, fights, murders, drugs, prostitution... and that's just the start. Even I don't feel comfortable thinking about kidnappings, rape, and human trafficking. This is what is now commonly known as “The underworld”.

People always think the underworld will never affect them. That they can go through life and never come in contact with it. But where do you think the prostitutes and the children come from? Sometimes the worlds cross, usually to the benefit of one and the detriment of the other. Let me tell you something else, it's always the underworld that benefits.

When kids run away from home, sometimes they find a hole between the worlds and slip inside. Those are the missing kids that are never recovered. The ones that fall in with a gang, or a drug lord -and that's if they're lucky. If they're really unlucky, they'll come across a pimp with clients who have a taste for young blood. But let's not talk about things like that. Not today.

I did run away from home, but I can't blame my upbringing, for you see none of it was true. My parents are happily married. My father never beat me. He's a very respectable architect who always made time for his family. My mother is a general practitioner who never forgot to pick me up from school when I was growing up. In fact, you could say I had a perfect childhood. But you can't use that story in the underworld. It just pisses people off. Most of them are there because they had no choice, and it burns them that someone with a chance threw it away to join them.

So why did I throw it all away? This perfect life? Well, you know when I told you about my parents? Well, my father's not an architect... not any more anyway. And my mother used to be nurse. Now, they're both dead. And in case you're wondering, yes it was me. Am I proud of what I did? Not really. Would I do it again? Hell yes. Why? I don't know. I just couldn't stand them, and I was always taught that if you don't like your life, don't sit and complain about it -do something about it. So I did. But then I had to run, and run I did.

Which brings me back to the girl and her boyfriend.
Why is she staring at me? Why does she want me?
Simple.
She's a junkie, and I'm her dealer.
Oh... and if you happen to read anything about a coffee shop going up in flames, it wasn't me.
Only joking, it totally was.

Remember when: A musing of fads forgotten

2011-02-06T23:47:00.002Z

Remember when your [insert older relative here] told you that "fashion always goes around in circles"?
How, when baggy tie-dye t-shirts were in at one stage, they would come back again? "Don't throw that away, you'll regret it when the fashion comes back around." And you laughed at them, because you thought that no matter how stupid you were to buy and wear them in the first place, you would never make the same mistake twice... and yet everyone's wearing leggings now?!?!

But I'm not here to talk about fashion fads. What would I know about fashion? As far as I'm concerned, if it fits, I wear it. And if it doesn't, I stretch it as much as possible to make it fit.

These wise words of fashion can also be applied to the world of the geek in relation to toys that experience revivals. Some excellent examples of this are the YoYo, the Rubik's Cube, and the Space Hopper. These once loved toys of Generation X experienced an International revival toward the start of the current millenium but have somewhat dwindled since, quietly biding their time... waiting to make another widespread resurgence. And I'm sure they will when the time is right.

But this is also not what I want to discuss. The fads I'm interested in are the ones that have completely disappeared. Remembered only as a whisper, if you will, in the far reaches of the minds of the adults who had the good fortune(?) to experience these said 'one-hit-wonders'. I feel the need for a 'best-of' coming up, complete with soundtrack.
(Please open YouTube and direct yourself to 'One and Only' by the greatest one-hit-wonder of all time, Mr. Chesney Hawkes - I've only just realised how appropriated titled that track is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_r0oQE5jEU).

So, the Top 5 forgotten (non-fashion) fads for me:

5. Finger Skateboards:
This was thankfully one fad I NEVER got into. In the late 90's early 00's, kids were going crazy for finger skateboards... although it made no sense, because you would just control a board on wheels... with your fingers. There's no skill involved in that. The advertisements would show off how many 'tricks' you could do... but... I mean... fingers... what? ARGH!
See it in action here! AWESOME:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9iDrebVcAM

4. Mighty Max:
One of favourite toys I ever owned. There was a girls version called Polly Pocket, and it lasted a lot longer than Mighty Max (might even still be around now), but Mighty Max was better for the simple reason that it was for BOYS! Oh yeah!
It was basically an entire game-set - that's characters, setting, and cool little trap doors and stuff - all in a handy pocket sized case. I even had the one featured in this ad:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkrLWjNxYbY

3. Talkboy:
Anyone who watched Home Alone 2 when it came out will remember how the Talkboy was the Christmas gift that year. Sort of pointless now, what will all the computer effects you can simply apply to your voice, but in the early 90's this was our way of making prank calls and never getting caught! Trick your parents, siblings, neighbours... and even the burglars trying to break in!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hoz0vbm3Vss

2. Pogs / Tazos / Anything circular made of card:
Okay, I literally OWNED Pogs. I was undefeated champion. I had the greatest Pog collection of all time, with the best set of 'slammers' you'd ever seen - won from my unsuspecting victims. They were no match for my striking skills.
See the video for an intense Pog 'World' Championship game taking place:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKbhUegP2Mo

1. The Tamagotchi:
Who could forget this? Bandai even keep trying to bring it out again with new features and wireless multiplayer 'fun', but it fails miserably (at least in the West). The moment you could have virtual pets on your phone, no-one needed to have a Tamagotchi... but wow, how much it was to laugh at the kid in class who forgot to turn it quiet?
I remember I wanted one so badly and Toy 'r' Us had sold out of all except the pink one. Instead of waiting for new stock, I bought the pink one so I would not be left out. Obviously, coming to school with a pink Tamagotchi caused all the other kids to make fun of me... but it was nothing compared to the amount of fun we made of the kids who didn't have one! YEAH!
I couldn't find any commercials of the original version, so here's a video of a proud owner of one! Pixel fun!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bs0DEnKpLJE

Assuming the Role: Part 6 - The end of Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy VII

2011-01-31T08:26:00.000Z

Before you all think that I have given up my endeavour to play the top rated RPG games of all time (as chosen by Jodi and Mariona), you are wrong! I have been constantly playing a variety of games at the same time, hence why it's taking me so long.

So firstly, I am proud to announce, that after 30 solid hours of game play, I finally managed to stick it to Lavo's rear-end and complete Chrono Trigger!
I must admit, it's possibly one of the best games I have ever played. The storyline and dialogue are pure awesomeness, and although the graphics are dated, it is extremely addictive. I think it says a lot if an RPG game can get me hooked, and so if you haven't played it, I suggest you go out now and BUY BUY BUY it! (Yes! Buy it THREE times).

In other news, I finally managed to get hold of a PS3 (for my birthday, thanks to my brother), and I downloaded Final Fantasy VII. After a couple of hours, I realised there was no way I could play this game on a home console. It is far too dated, with (by today's standards) terrible graphics. Instead I decided that if I was ever going to play this game, it would have to be on a portable device.
So, managed to procure a PSP (thanks Kate), I downloaded the game again and continued where I'd left off.
After 10 hours of playing I have decided that I can't take any more. There was one point in the game, where I had it on for nearly an hour without playing, simply because it was cut scenes and dialogue. I nearly fell asleep.
I think there's some RPG games I can handle (Mass Effect, Fallout 3, Chrono Trigger), and some I can't, and Final Fantasy most certainly falls into the latter category.
I know that everyone waxes lyrical about how amazing it is, and how FFVII is possibly the greatest game of all time... but it's not for me. I tried it. I haven't quit yet though. I will stick out the 20 hours, as much as it may kill me, but as soon as that's done, I'm moving onto something far more interesting.

In other news, I'm still playing Knights of the Old Republic (which I love), and I'm still waiting for people to play Diablo 2 with online - please submit your applications.

More fun on the tube...

2011-01-24T08:47:00.001Z

This is only going to be a short one.
I saw something on the tube this morning that I simply MUST share... but I really don't know what to make of it. I'm still trying to figure out if it really happened, or whether I momentarily fell asleep and dreamt it.

So, opposite me on the District was a quite well dressed woman. She looked like she worked in finance, or some other professional office job. She worked in the city, so I'm guessing she had a certain level of intelligence and social comprehension.
The reason I say this is to make you all understand that she wasn't a child, nor did she appear mentally unstable from first glance. She was not homeless, nor did she dress in such a manner. She seemed a very "normal" kind of woman.

Anyway, what I saw next completely surprised me. The "lady" (I can't really use this term, and you'll see why in a second), openly picked her nose on the tube... didn't even try to hide it. Now, we know that at some point, everyone picks their nose, it's normal. Okay, usually people do it in private, or if they HAVE to do it in public, they at least try to hide it. But not this woman.
And if you think that was all I was freaking out about... then you're wrong. It's what happened next that really sent my brain round the twist:
The woman then proceeded to place her finger on her mouth. At that point she noticed me looking at her, and instead of licking or sucking her finger, she tried to look innocent and rubbed her finger over her lips and her face, as though she may have been applying make up or lip balm or something other than boogers.

I think I'm a little scarred now. Just goes to show, never judge a book by its cover... or just don't look at people on the tube.

Killer treadmills, random pick up attempt and the inability to get tired...

2011-01-23T05:27:00.000Z

1: The inability to get tired...
It's currently 5am in the early hours of Sunday morning. If you haven't already guessed, I'm finding it impossible to get tired enough to sleep.
So in this time, I shall share with you some random anecdotes from the last few days. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

2: Random pick-up attempt...
On my way home on Friday night I was sat on the tube next to an interesting pair of people. There was a young girl, must have been about 22-23, and opposite her was an Indian man, probably about 50ish.
Now, I joined them mid conversation, obviously looking like I wasn't paying attention to them and totally immersing myself in the PSP, when in actual fact, I was paying complete attention to them.
They were speaking about financial markets... when I say "they" I mean the Indian guy.
Anyway, I figured they must have just gone to a uni lecture or something together. It's possible I suppose. It was all fine though. The girl was very polite and responded to every question she was asked. I figured it was pretty harmless. (Listen to me... I sound like I'm some kind of Batman of the Underground. Making sure young girls are safe from dodgy old men! haha). Anyway, I bet she wishes I was Batman, because what happened next was embarrassing even for me, and it had nothing to do with me.

The guy asked the girl if she was on Facebook. She hesitated for a moment, but then decided that it could do no harm to give the gentleman her full name. Although it was followed up with the customary "Oh, but I haven't been on there in ages. I hardly ever check it." comment that means "I won't be accepting your request."
He then asked her if she had internet on her phone and if she could add him right away. To this she replied "Oh, I haven't set up internet on my phone yet. I'm so rubbish with those kind of things." Again... highly unlikely to be true. But possible.

Unrelenting, the man then asked for her email address in case he couldn't find her on Facebook, which she gave him - although whether it was true or not is another matter entirely.
Finally, and this was the worst, he asked for her phone number, saying (I quote): "Can I have your number please? The next time I visit London I will certainly be giving you a call."
To which she responded "Just email me." But she said it so politely. I was actually shocked. I have never witnessed such a polite brush-off before.
Still though, the guy was pretty creepy, I hope she doesn't add him on Facebook. I don't think it will end well. Possible future restraining order there.

3: Killer treadmills...
I decided to get back into running this week. It's been a long time since I've been to the gym. Following my laser eye surgery I've not been able to exercise. Now enough time has finally passed, so on Thursday and Friday I left at 5:30am and marched myself onto the tube and into the gym. I'm quite glad I did now because I saw something that not many people get to witness.
On Friday, whilst running on the treadmill, I heard a loud screeching sound, like a car skidding. I turned to my left and saw a woman running... well, she was running. At the point at which I turned however, she ceased to run and actually fell on the treadmill belt face down. But that wasn't all you see, because the treadmill was still running!
So, just like in a cartoon, the woman flew off the treadmill whilst still lying on her front. It was extremely painful to watch... I have no idea how she felt. But like a hero, she got up and continued running... for about two minutes before making a hasty exit from the gym. The poor thing... still though, pretty hilarious.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed these random stories... all true!

How to write a best-selling children's book...

2011-01-17T08:59:00.001Z

Despite all arguments of equality and sexism, people cannot fail to understand that men and women are different. I mean, you have to be really obtuse to believe we are the same. I'm not saying one is better than the other, but what I am saying is that we are different. Perhaps that's due to gender education from birth (girls like pink, boys like blue, blah blah blah), but there are some things that simply will not change. For example, "in general" women have an innate sense of compassion, care and understanding. This is exemplified especially after childbirth. They say you can never rival a mothers love, and it's quite possibly true.

Men on the other hand, although not without feeling, are less likely to display intense emotions. We would rather keep it inside and deal with it ourselves, instead of broadcast it to the world. Of course, this is all just "in general" - there are always exceptions and I'm not talking about those... I'm talking about the majority. And if you're a girl, then you'll understand what I'm saying. I cannot count the number of times I've heard a female friend complain that her boyfriend "doesn't share" and "acts like he doesn't care" - it's not that we don't care... we just don't say it.

Anyway, I'm veering off the subject. It hit me yesterday that the key to writing a best-selling kids story is to appeal to the needs of both girls and boys, and this is where a bit of sexism comes into play, but when you think about it, it makes sense. So, with the above in mind, here's a few tips for any budding writers out there:

1) Select a male protagonist:
- Girls will read stories where boys are the heroes, but boys will not read stories about heroines. At the very least, there should be a group of mixed sex. But the girl can never be the ultimate hero. And think about it - how many boys read Tracy Beaker, Nancy Drew, or The Worst Witch? But look at other best-selling children's books: Narnia (Peter is the overall King); Harry Potter (self-explanatory); Artemis Fowl; almost every Roald Dahl book; etc...

2) Have strong female characters that appeal to women, but never have them overshadow the main star:
- Think about Harry Potter - the best-selling children's book in the world - Hermione Granger is far more intelligent than Ron and Harry. She has saved their lives many times. Always finds the solution... but she can NEVER be the chosen one. If the book was called Hermione Potter, a whole bunch of potential readers would have been lost.

3) Include a little romance:

- In the same way that boys like guns, magic, sci-fi, cars, etc... Girls also need escapism. You cannot hope to appeal to the girls, especially with a male protagonist, if you don't give them something to escape to. Usually this comes in the form of some kind of love interest. Hermione and Ron; Harry and Ginny; Bella and Edward. Giving girls a fantasy romance allows them to escape to a world where relationships ultimately end happily... personally I think magic and aliens are more realistic... but what the hell.

That is by no means a comprehensive list... but it's all I had time to write :)

New years resolutions...

2011-01-06T08:52:00.000Z

January... a time for change. A new year, a new you. And what better way to celebrate than to make a promise you undoubtedly break after a mere few weeks, or even days?

Interestingly enough, I have actually been quite successful at keeping new years resolutions... and it's not because I make easy resolutions either. One year I remember giving up tea (I know! What was I thinking right?!) - I was young and quite addicted. So I decided that I needed to just stop for while. Another year I gave up Coke, which I was also very addicted to (my drug habit was proving too costly).
Two years ago I gave up swearing - and believe me, that is the most difficult thing I have ever had to do.
So you see, despite not partaking in smoking or alcohol consumption, I have my vices which I have needed to cut out for a while. And it's not like I can even reduce my intake - it has to be all or nothing. That's how I am. I either want limitless amounts of Coke, or none at all. I can't be doing all this "in the middle" business.
I guess I'm like that with a lot of things, for example, I live in London. I love the busy life, the rush, the noise, the crowds. But at the same time, I love the peace, quiet and remoteness of small villages. I could do one, or the other; but ask me to live in a small town that has both, and I'll go crazy.

This year my resolutions are far more practical than cutting things out, and also a lot more challenging than ever before. This year it's about a make over... for my soul!
The last few years I have been a mad busy social butterfly. Hardly ever coming home before 11 or 12 at night... every night. Sleeping for a few hours and then back out again for an 18-19 hour day of work and social activities. As fun as that has been, it's taken a serious toll on my personal development. I have neglected my creative side. Having no time to myself means I have not been able to create anything.
2010 was most probably the worst year for my music since I started playing 10 years ago. It was also the least productive year for my writing since... well... I started writing.

I have therefore resolved that THIS year I will put an end to all this mad socialisation and focus completely on myself and my own self development. My music especially - I aim, by the end of this year, to have an album at least roughly recorded. That is a resolution I have no intention of breaking.
I will also finish writing a complete story and perhaps even get some copies made. I have something in the works, and it's only a matter of time before I finish it.
Finally, I WILL get my head down, learn Java, and make an application for my Android phone.

So, that's 4 things:
1) Reduce socialisation (doesn't mean I won't come out of the house... it will just be maybe once or twice a week, as opposed to 6 times a week).
2) Record an album.
3) Write a story.
4) Create an Android application.

I have 12 months... Let the games begin!

The science of deduction

2011-01-04T08:53:00.000Z

2010 was most certainly the year of Sherlock Holmes. With both the rather enjoyable Guy Ritchie adaptation, and the superb BBC re-invention, Sherlock Holmes has once again found a place in society once more. It has been a while since Basil Rathbone, Christopher Lee, and Peter Cushing depicted the world's favourite (and only) consulting detective; but thankfully both Robert Downey Jnr and Benedict Cumberbatch do a fantastic job in their portrayals of this masterful crime-fighter.

Having seen both the recent incarnations of Mr. Holmes over the seasonal break, I have found myself being inevitably drawn toward to re-reading the various escapades of the good detective. This is not without consequence however.
You see, watching or reading the adventures of Sherlock Holmes has one lasting effect on an individual - you begin to analyse everyone and everything, trying ever so hard to be as observant as London's finest.
The one massive drawback to this is: you can't!
It's just not possible. Try as hard as you will, you simply cannot BE Sherlock Holmes. Just like when you watch Star Wars too much and you end up trying to move objects using the Force, immersing yourself in the world of Sherlock Holmes can be equally as disappointing... but it doesn't stop one from trying.

So if you run into a random individual staring intently at you, please do not be alarmed... it's probably just me trying to be a consulting detective.

Some changes...

2011-01-03T20:54:00.000Z

Oh dear me, two posts in two days - there must be something wrong!

Another quick one I'm afraid. Just to let you know, you may have noticed some changes on the site - the layout for one. But in addition to this, you may notice a stream of badges appearing on the left hand side. This is basically an attempt in improving my site traffic. I have never really tried to get readers before, but now I feel I'm going to attempt it. By finally bothering to META tag my page, and linking off to other sites, I'm hoping it gets me more noticed by those little crawling spiders Google spreads around the interweb.

Some of them ask for a rating, and IF you have time, I would really appreciate a quick rating :D

Here would be great if you could * puppy dog eyes *

See! I already have a rating of 6.3... I want it to be BETTER!

Thank you :)

Happy New Year

2011-01-02T22:50:00.000Z

Happy new year to all!

This is not some special blog about anything in particular, just tying up a few loose ends... and of course, a chance to say happy new year.

Firstly, with regards to my last blog, I was surprised to see that I had a total of 10 votes - 5 of which were "I don't really care" and the other 5 were "sniggering" - that is much more incredible than I ever thought possible. I also got one rating of "boring" - thank you for that too :)

It certainly has inspired me to work on my humour, and then post again, with something funnier next time I hope.

That's all I really wanted to write in this one - nothing really exciting has happened to me... no amusing anecdotes to relate I'm afraid. But I will make sure to hang around in "happening" neighbourhoods so that crazy things happen to me... the next time you hear from me, your mouth with be agape with shock and wonder as you read my adventures.

For now though, once more - happy new year.

The art of funny

2010-11-17T10:08:00.004Z

THERE IS A POLL AT THE BOTTOM - KEEP READING ^_^

Lately, I've been reading a lot of the posts on Hyperbole and a Half, and aside from being completely in love with the author, I have come to realise that I am nowhere near as funny as I want to be.
If there was a funny scale, I would undoubtedly be more toward the "unfunny" side. Occasionally I may happen upon a nugget of humour, but it's a rare occurrence. I am more likely to ramble on about nothing, bore the reader to death, and finish it off by inserting a mildly relevant, and highly non-amusing picture.
Also, don't forget the grammar-fail riddled sentences throughout.

I wrote a blog a while ago about how I would like to be more witty, and yet I'm still sitting here, unwittingly dull and now of the realisation that I am unfunny. There needs to be some kind of school where you can learn to be funny. It's not that I don't understand what constitutes as funny - I am more than able to appreciate the comic talents of many stand-ups, and also discover the humour in an assortment of writings. What I cannot do however, is replicate this "funny" in a manifestation of my own designs. I fall short of what it takes to be truly funny. Usually what I think is funny in my head is received with a look of either confusion or utter disgust from others.

I guess being funny is not for everyone. We can't all be funny. Different people are made for different things... but I WANT to be funny. I yearn it. I want to be able to speak and have masses of people laugh at my every word (and not due to something stupid like speaking akin to Jonathan Ross). I want to say a line at a dinner party and for everyone to remember it and think "Hey, that Mo... he's a funny guy.", as opposed to the current feeling of "Hey, that Mo... I hope he doesn't add me on Facebook."

Maybe I've just run out of funny anecdotes to tell. Perhaps I need to put myself in the vicinity of mentally unstable people so that I have new and interesting stories to write about. I mean, it's easier to make something like seeing a crazy bag lady licking a cat sound funny. It's much harder to make a day at the office sound hilarious... not impossible... just difficult.

So, now I plan on trying to be funnier and I will test this by posting a random surge of things I think are funny. I'll see if I can't insert some sort of polling feature and attempt to track my progress as funny-man, with the hope of improving over time.
I'm going to drown some kittens now (that was a joke. I'm not really... I'll resuscitate them, promise).

It's been a while / Tube strikes

2010-11-12T08:59:00.001Z

I always say the same thing - it's been ages since I last blogged about something... blah blah blah.
Well, this time it really has been. But today I woke up in the mood to write, and so here I am... writing.

You will have noticed (I hope) that my blog has undergone a redesign (http://www.mojiwa.com - for those of you reading on Facebook). It's quite simple, but I like it. No need to complications... life has enough of those already.

Recently I've actually been doing a lot of writing. A friend of mine has a film website (http://www.thefilmbuzz.com) that I'm writing some reviews and features for; and also our company newsletter that I got onto the writing team for. In addition to that, I'm nearly finished on a secret project I've been working on with a good friend of mine. Hopefully the results of which will be seen in early 2011.

I don't know how this turned into an update of my life. It's all pretty boring I'm sure. I'm just trying to think of new and interesting things that have happened to me... an anecdote perhaps that I can relate to you that may be of more interest that my current writing habits... hmmm... *ponders*

Lately in London I've noticed people getting a bit more angry than usual on public transport. Usually I would expect this sort of behaviour during the summer months when it's hot and people are agitated - but to see it in the winter... well, that's just new and strange. Personally I think it has something to do with the recent spate of tube strikes taking place in London. I mean, it's just getting ridiculous now - and the patience of a lot of people is wearing thin. I don't particularly like it when people shout on the tube, but at the same time, I think I can understand their frustrations. The people I have less sympathy for are those who are striking. At first, I felt sorry for them. I backed the protest. I defended it all. I was like "Well, they are protesting unfairness in the system! Power to them!"
But then they did it again. I was like "Okay, yeah. Power to the people."
And then they did it again... for like the third time in 2 months. With another strike planned at the end of November, and now one for Christmas, I can't help but feel apathetic to their cause.

The way I see it is like this:
They are angry with the actions of their bosses, so they protest.
Their bosses do nothing - so they protest again.
Their bosses do nothing - so they protest again.
Etc... Surely they should understand by now that the protesting is getting them nowhere, and all they are doing is making the people who pay insane amounts of money to travel in London get angry at them. It's bad enough that we have the highest transport costs of any capital city in the world; we also have to put up with an extremely outdated underground service that closes by midnight and has engineering works with closed lines on every weekend. And now, in addition to that, we have to deal with a suspension of services during the weekdays. I mean, it's all a bit too much.
And what's worse is, the people who strike, despite their actions getting them nowhere, STILL choose to work for the transport service.
Personally, if I'm not happy in a job, I leave and find a new one. They are lucky enough to have a union and a law that protects them if they strike- but if the strike fails to achieve anything, on multiple occasions, they should just either man up and deal with it (as most of us have to do in our respective jobs if they are bad), or quit and find something else.

If I heard that the tubes were suspended because the majority of staff quit, I would be more inclined to respect them for standing up for what they believe in. But to cry wolf so many times... well, they are losing the support of the very people who rely on them - the public!

I'm not saying that striking is bad. It can achieve change - history has proven that. But right now, with Transport for London, it's not doing a damn thing. The staff need to realise that and find an alternative solution, either continue working without complaining, or quit. There's a lot of jobless people out there who would be more than happy to take those jobs and work hard.

A reminder of how wonderful the tube can be

Assuming the Role: Part 5 - Knights of the Old Republic

2010-10-25T13:51:00.004+01:00

Having finally done my 20 hour stint on Fallout 3 (which took me significantly less time than on Mass Effect), I am still FAR from completing that game.
But can I say, it's the most fun I've had in ages in a game. So much to do, literally limitless.
I was evil as evil can be. Killing anyone and everything in my way. I loved it to bits.
I loved that you could save anywhere you wanted, that you could make your own awesome weapons. Just... wow.

It's not perfect however. Some things did bug me:
- Having to walk miles and miles to get to somewhere new - it's okay the start, but even after only 20 hours I started to get bored of this.
- The overly repetitive music on the radio station. With such a huge game, you'd think they'd get more than 5 songs on a loop. I mean, 20 hours listening to the same 5 songs, and the most annoying radio DJ ever was a bit much. But it was either that... or silence.

But that aside, it was awesome. I love the perks and the weapons. I barely got through the story line, but it's a game I can most definitely see myself coming back to.
As promised, here is my character (remember, they had no brown people):

Now I've moved on to Knights of the Old Republic. I have played this game before, but only for about 5 hours - then I had to go to uni, and so left it. But I loved it. If there was ever a way to get me in RPG's, it's by making a Star Wars one! hehe.
So now I'm starting again. Last time I played was very different to this time, as I'm starting off a scoundrel as opposed to a soldier. And it's the first time I'm playing as a female character (if you're going to play an RPG, might as well diversify as much as possible). Unfortunately the characters are not as customisable as newer games, but here's my character nonetheless.
Keep checking back to see how I progress!

Going bald (Halloween fun)

2010-10-22T20:54:00.002+01:00

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about anything (non-gaming related that is), but I have suddenly been fired up about something, and now is the time to write about it.

As you will all be aware, next weekend is Halloween, and with this comes hours of fancy dress fun.

I am, as a rule, quite a fancy dress hater. Not because I think dressing up in costume is a waste of time, but I feel it’s so expensive to get a costume that is remotely decent looking… even ugly outfits (such as a vampire with a detestable PVC cape) can cost quite a bit. The nicer the outfit, the way more it costs, and so you’re forced to get creative.

Now, I am a big fan of being creative, however I cannot make anything. Seriously, Blue Peter was one major envy trip for me. I tried and tried to replicate anything they made with dire consequences. My version of Tracy Island looked more like a landfill, and let’s not even broach the subject of my failed space rocket.

My point anyway: my brain is creative, but unfortunately my hands cannot reproduce what is in my brain. For this reason, I do need to buy a costume and cannot simply make one at home. But I can at least be creative in choosing where to buy things from. A cheap shirt from here, a budget wig from there, some terribly applied face paint, etc…

For this Halloween I had many ideas, most of which were either too expensive, or required a make up artist of Hollywood standards. One outfit I did want to try however was Uncle Fester from the Addams Family. Seeing it online, I got very excited, thinking ‘I can totally pull this off’. The most expensive thing would be the robe, but I’m pretty sure I could do with a make-shift one. It could work.

The problem arose when it came to being bald. If you know me, then you’ll know I love my hair. There’s no way I’m going bald (again), leastways for one Halloween party. The next logical step was to get a bald cap. I was so pleased at how many options there were for bald caps online… and so cheap too. Problem solved! Halloween, get ready for Uncle “Mo” Fester.

FAIL!

You know what the biggest problem with the fancy dress industry is? They don’t give a damn about the brown man! I swear to God, I could not find a brown bald cap anywhere online. I mean there has got to have been some Indian person somewhere who wanted to don a bald cap at sometime in his/her life. I wonder if they were so denied?

What was I to do? Go with two-toned skin? The other option was to use face paint and colour my skin white to match the bald cap… but that felt too much like kicking my ancestry in the b*lls. Controversial much?***

It seems that there really is only one solution to this problem… We need Hollywood to make a film with a bald Indian psycho killer… maybe then the fancy dress companies will start making brown bald caps… just a thought.

***For the record, I have no problem painting my face white, but I quite liked the line I came up with.

Assuming the Role: Part 4 - Fallout 3

2010-09-19T20:30:00.003+01:00

It's finally time... the game I've been waiting for AGES to play, and I'm finally on it.

Having completed Mass Effect in just short of 20 hours (HELLS YEAH! WOOOOOO - AMAZING game, although I hate the jerkiness), I started on Fallout right away.

I spent a few hours this morning playing, I created my character and played through all the beginning stuff, so now when I get back to it, I will be ready to just go into the story.

So far, I totally love it. I mean, the moving around is wonderful. I love how it lets you have a third and first person view. I liked the way it started as well... playing as a 1 year old baby. Genius.

The movement is smooth, unlike Mass Effect, and the graphics are outstanding.

What annoyed me though, was that the only options for player castes were:

Caucasian, Asian (Oriental), Hispanic, and African American... What about Indian mofo?

Dammit! So racist! lol.

I had to pick an "Asian" (not Indian) and mod him the best I could.

I want to show you what I came up with... but it won't let me view my character :(

That's no good :(

Oh well, here's another pic from Fallout 3 anyway:

Assuming the Role: Part 3 - The end of the beginning...

2010-09-14T08:41:00.002+01:00

So, it's finally happened.

Months later, I have managed to play for 20 hours on Mass Effect and Chrono Trigger... BUT, I have not completed the games. Now, here's the funny thing: I WANT to.

Me! Yes, the RPG hater actually does not want to give up!

For this reason, I have set myself this entire weekend to do NOTHING. All I am going to do, is play those two games until I've finally completed them. It should take too long. I'm hoping a combined effort of about 10-15 hours of gameplay.

Once that's out of the way, I'm gonna start on Fallout 3!

I am also going to be playing Diablo 2, but ONLY online. So during the times I can't get friends online, I'll be playing Fallout 3.

And for the DS, I'm going to start on The World Ends With You - which is not technically on the list, but I've heard amazing things about it! hehe.

So, stay tuned for more updates ^^

Big Brother is watching me...

2010-09-07T08:39:00.002+01:00

Today, I came across a damned scary website.

During my early morning at work, where I had nothing to do, I was soooo not Googling myself (promise) and I came across this site:

http://radaris.com/

Just type in a name - doesn't matter if they don't live in America... and then check out the results.

This is serious Big Brother stuff.

If I wasn't so obsessed about being widely known to the world, I would be outraged :P

Deception...

2010-08-23T15:52:00.002+01:00

Okay...

I really didn't want to write this, but I am left with no choice.

The world is conspiring against me, and this time, in the form of (once again) a Chris Nolan film: Inception.

Now, read this part carefully before you burn my house down:
I like this film. I think it's quite good. I enjoyed it.

I cannot however, stand how this has suddenly become everyone's favourite film ever. I mean... what is that Chris Nolan does? Memento was great, but people didn't go loopy crazy over it.

No, it all started with Batman Begins, then Dark Knight. Both of these were good films, no doubt... but amazing? Incredible? Best Batman films ever? Seriously?

How quickly people forget the genius that is Tim Burton.

And now Inception? People are going mental over it. "It's so original... It's ground breaking..." No, it's not! It's a good film that came out around 10 years later than it should have.

In fact, so many "Inception"-type films were made during the early part of this decade to jump on the Matrix bandwagon. It's an OLD idea. There is nothing original about it.

There are scenes which are awesome... but the story itself is nothing new.

I really want to like this film more, but every person I speak to seems to have had multiple o*****s whilst watching it, and it's starting me make me like it less and less - just like Dark Knight :S

Why can't people understand that Inception is no Matrix, Star Wars, Pulp Fiction, Casablanca Lord of the Rings or Godfather. Those were truly amazing films that will live on for many years. Within 5 years, people will barely remember Inception, and it will disappear off everyone's top ten film lists.

Best film ever... psshht. Nolan's planting ideas in your dreams people. Just let it go.

Spewing chunks...

2010-08-16T12:32:00.003+01:00

OMG! I had to share this VILE experience.

On Saturday night I was making my way to my friends' house in Wimbledon.

Now, the football season has begun again, and for reasons I cannot comprehend, football fans in England seem to think it's okay to get drunk far beyond any limit their body is ever supposed to handle, and then scream out loud at random passer-bys about how amazingly well "their" did; or how terrible the opposition were.

Occasionally a few fights will break out on the street because some people cannot handle the fact that a team they do not control didn't do exactly what they wanted them too - and yet feel they need to defend the said teams honour against "the enemy". (The enemy, who may or may not have players that will, next season, be on another team entirely).

Anyway, after witnessing all of the above on the District line from Earls Court to Wimbledon (passing through Fulham Broadway and the Chelsea stadium area granted me many drunken post game-fans in my tube carriage), I saw something that shook me to my very core.

For anyone that knows me, they will also know there are a couple of things I simply CANNOT handle. One of those things occurred on Saturday night.

Between Wimbledon Park and Wimbledon station, there was just one other man in my tube carriage. I hate using stereotypes (actually, I love it), but he was the typical English football hooligan.

Heavy set, with a beer belly, and a shaved head, wearing an England shirt. Seriously... right? *shakes head*

So, we depart Wimbledon Park and I hear it... retching... and the sound of splashing.

The guy was throwing up, in the tube carriage, on the floor. The sound alone nearly made me sick. I can't stand it.

And he wouldn't stop... for Queen or country. That guy was spewing out his guts. All over the tube floor. And there was nowhere for me to go!

I was traumatised. Thank GOD the train stopped before the smell reached me, otherwise I would have vomited right there and then. Ew ew ew ew ew.

The sound keeps playing in my ears. So much puke.

Arrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhh!

I hate it when people can't control their drink.

Nakedness in the gym...

2010-07-30T08:54:00.002+01:00

I'm sure I have mentioned before my annoyance with nudity at the gym, but let me explain it more clearly.

I have no problem with my sexuality, my gender, or anything like that - BUT I was brought up in a household where we don't go walking around naked in front of each other - and that's with people you know. There's a little thing called boundaries and shame.

Now, in the gym, there's a bunch of men I don't know, all flaunting their junk at me like I'm interested. And worst thing? When they take off their towels, or boxers - they STARE at you. As if inviting you to look at what they're packing.

Dude... I don't want to know.

I may not be homophobic, but that doesn't mean I want to look at your bits.

In fact, it amazes me - England is one of the MORE homophobic countries in the West, and yet, here in our gyms, behind closed doors, men are totally happy to walk around naked in front of each other.

That's just not something I'm comfortable with looking at.

Why is it, if a man flashed me in the street, I can have him arrested, but when he flashes me in the gym, I can't do anything about it... what's the difference? I don't want to see it either way - and being forced on me.

Where is the sense in this?

Perhaps I am old fashioned in this way, who knows...

Assuming the Role: Part 2 - Mass Effect and Chrono Trigger

2010-07-26T09:40:00.005+01:00

Hey there loyal followers!

So, what can I tell you - the last two weeks, I've been attempting to put my social life on hold, and focusing entirely on playing RPG's.
The games I began with were Mass Effect (at home) and Chrono Trigger (on the DS for the journey to and from work).

So far, I have logged about 9 hours on Chrono trigger, and 8.5 hours on Mass Effect - I know it's not much for 2 weeks, but even with a social life on hold, I'm a mega busy person.

Anyway, I'm writing this blog to give my first impressions of both games, maybe with some screen shots too.
I'll try not to make it too boring.

Chrono Trigger:

In hindsight, this was probably not the best RPG to start with right away. You see, when you start the game, you are in a house, and not told anything, but to go to the village fair.
Now for me, being an RPG noob, I was completely lost and had no idea about the rules of the game - as in, that it would hold everything I did against me. Haha.
It wasn't until AGES later that I realised there's a tutorial house, which tells you all the things I wanted to know - it's just shame no-one told me about it!

So yeah, the lack of instructions had me pretty lost - but if you are frequent RPG gamer, you would know these things before going in. However, from my point of view, it was a bit disappointing.

Now, that said, I simply cannot fault the rest of the game. It is possibly one of the most addictive games I have ever played. The dialogue is hilarious, the characters are awesome, and the music is just out of this world!
If you have never played this game, get yourself a SNES, or a DS, and GET ON IT!
I think I've broken my thumbs from non-stop play. You can't imagine how lost I was when my DS ran out of power one day :(
But with a charger at work now, and one at home, that will not be happening again!

It's Chrono - although I have renamed him Momo!

Mass Effect:

There's not really a bad thing I can say about this game.

From the outset, it had me gripped - all the talk about astrophysics, aliens, fighting - what more could a gamer want?

I know I said I have only clocked about 8.5 hours on this game, but in reality, it's actually well over 10. The thing is, creating your character, and reading through your journal and computer doesn't count to the overall time when you save the game. And believe me when I say that I spend AGES reading my computer. I have to know everything about the game. Every species, every weapon, every planet, vehicle, whatever. So it takes me a long time to get through.

Not bored of it yet though - which is a miracle.

On the recommendation of Jodi, I played a soldier - as this is a bit closer to a FPS and so it has been quite enjoyable. I love that the guns never run out of ammo!
So far I have reached SPECTRE status, and investigated one planet on my journey after becoming a SPECTRE. So it's still very very early days. Long ways to go yet.

If I have anything of a complaint, it's that the game is very jerky when you move around. Loading the environment seems too much for the XBox, which is silly, as the game was DESIGNED for XBox... why would they deliberately make it difficult to render?

It's not a deal breaker, but it is annoying when driving, or running, and the system struggles to keep up with your movements.

But other than that, I love it completely.

I can't believe I'm actually playing RPGs and I haven't given up yet. By now, I could have completed 4 FPS games, but I'm more than happy being still at the beginnings of two RPGs.

And I have to admit, there is NOTHING more satisfying than gaining EXP and levelling up! Maybe there is hope for me = Mo +100EXP

My character... you guessed it: momo Shepherd!

Root cause

2010-07-22T09:02:00.004+01:00

You might think that you're to blame,
But you're only a catalyst to a greater pain.

It's not you, It's me-
No, it's not me, well, not entirely.
Or it is me, entirely, but in parts-
If that makes sense?

One part is yours, to have and to hold.
Shattering like glass when you grow cold.
The other fights brain demons up in my head,
Losing the battle, I think of you instead.

And so the pain grows,
And the demons turn stronger.
Screaming insecurities,
Left, right, and centre.

I try to go on,
But my will becomes weaker.
Thinking of you,
is so much easier,
Than having to fight,
And having to find,
Another to love,
To hold at night.

So you see, it's not your fault,
Well, not entirely.
My heart is just weak,
And you treated me kindly.

Some of the most amazing song lyrics ever

2010-07-21T09:47:00.001+01:00

I've heard this song so much, but I wanted to share how amazing the lyrics are.
I have never been able to connect to any other song as much.

Thank God for Noah and the Whale...

Peaceful the World Lays me Down:

Oh, well it's hard to look deep into your soul.
Not everything you'll find will be perfect gold.
There are ghosts and demons that hide in the dark.
Oh, they wait till I find love and then they laugh.
Oh, they know that my body is no way good enough.
Know that my heart is no way strong enough to bare the sorrow that love brings.
When I coil in fear, oh, the demons sing-

Oh, it's a hollow love for a heart with no blood
in its veins.

Oh, there is no endless devotion,
that is free from the force of erosion.
Oh, and if you don't believein God,
how can you believe in love?
When we're all just matter that will one day scatter,
when peaceful the world lays us down.
Oh and finding love is a matter of luck,
and unsettled lovers move from fuck to fuck.
Oh, and compare their achievements like discussing bereavements
And compare their abrasions with romantic quotations,
Oh, as peaceful, the world watches down.

But oh we were blown out of the water.
Oh, and we walk on the feet we have grown.
Oh, and we were given a heart, of which love is a part.
Oh, and we cornered the thing from which all life will spring.
And it gave value to the world that surrounds us.

But we consider the world just for a moment
Oh, and its gone before we even know
Oh, but ill follow it round yeah I'll follow it round
Oh, I'll follow it round yeah I'll follow it round
Till peaceful, the world lays me down.

Love in the wrong places...

2010-07-20T08:23:00.003+01:00

Very rarely do I read something that reads so true.
I would like to thank Kayla for sending this over to me.
I fell in love with it instantly and just had to share.

The following paragraph is a description of the character of Tara in True Blood...

"This perspective also softens me a little (just a little!) on the Tara question: The poor girl has spent the entire series looking for love (both romantic and parental) in all the wrong places, and she has given away her strength and identity in the process. There's something terribly human in that desperation. If we sit still and listen to ourselves, I bet we all can remember a time that we were so hungry for acceptance that we sold ourselves out. We went against our very natures in order to get that one kind look, that one approving kiss that we believed would somehow, somehow make us worthwhile."

Assuming the Role: Part I

2010-07-07T16:09:00.009+01:00

Sorry to all of you who are expecting something philosophical or slightly humorous - I am afraid that this particular series of blogs cannot help you.
If however, you are looking for ultimate geekiness to the nth degree... read on.

Two of my good friends, Mariona and Jodi, are complete gaming nerds (when I say nerds, I mean legends) and they have a certain love for Role Playing Games (RPGs).

Now, RPGs are not really my cup of tea, and I'll explain why.
I have a VERY short span of attention when it comes to games. I am used to playing First Person Shooters (FPS), and these usually take between 5 and 9 hours to complete, and as the name might suggest, centre largely around lots of action!

RPGs however, take at least about 20 hours to GET IN TO, and can take 50 to a 100 hours to complete - because of the sheer vastness of the environments. You are basically free to roam as you wish, completing many many side missions on the way to your actual mission.

In the past, I would always start an RPG with much enthusiasm. The story lines are wonderful, and the graphics, especially in some of the newer games, are breath taking. But after a week of playing, I would get bored and move onto something with more constant action.

Recently, talking to both Mariona and Jodi has made me realise that I have missed out on some of the most widely considered "best games" of all time through my neglect of the RPG genre.
Once dead set against RPGs, I find myself drawn toward them... however, the problem still exists - I know I will get bored and therefore not enjoy the games.

I suddenly realised that something needed to be done that would let me a) play the games, and b) CONTINUE playing the games.
And so, the idea of this blog series came to mind.

With the help of Mariona and Jodi, we have compiled a list of the 11 best RPGs of ALL time. That's right... 11 - Spinal Tap style! Who needs 10?

I will work my way through each game, blogging my progress - initial thoughts, gameplay, story, continued gameplay, screenshots, etc...
The rules are simple - I must spend a minimum of 20 hours on EACH game - regardless of how bored or annoyed I get.

In theory, after playing this list, if I cannot find at LEAST ONE RPG that appeals to me, then I can officially turn my nose at the genre and walk away.

So, the list, in no particular order (with platform I will be playing on) is below:

1. Diablo II: Lord of Destruction (PC)

2. Neverwinter Nights 2 (PC)

3. Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion (PC)

4. Kingdom Hearts (PS2)

5. Knights of the Old Republic (PC)

6. Fallout 3 (Xbox 360)

7. Mass Effect (Xbox 360)

8. Chrono Trigger (Nintendo DS)

9. Final Fantasy VII (PS1)

10. Persona 4 (PS2)

11. Dragon Age: Origins (PC)

First game I'm going to start with... Mass Effect on the Xbox 360... wish me luck!

Instant toast and the invention of the 'Bread Death Ray'

2010-07-07T08:29:00.004+01:00

This is quite a random and impromptu blog related to a conversation I just had in the kitchen with one of the IT Support team at my company.

I had some bread in the toaster and got impatient waiting for it to toast, so I made a passing comment about how I wish "they" ("they" being the science folk) would invent an instant toasting machine.
And so began a conversation whereby we discussed the possibility of such a machine existing. Indeed the technology is there, and it's not like toast is difficult to make, for example, it's not as intricate as say chicken or beef - whereby you have to worry about the item having to be cooked all the way though or whatever.

No, all you need is a 'Bread Death Ray' that you can zap the bread with, thus resulting in (near) instant toast. The only problem of course is that having various levels of toasting would be pretty difficult to incorporate, not to mention how much energy such a device would require. It would be a highly expensive toast maker indeed. But then again... instant toast! Think of the possibilities! Think of the time you would save. Think of all the fire alarms that wouldn't go off when people forget their toast in the toaster! Think of all the awkward conversations you could avoid at work whilst waiting for bread to toast :P

We have the technology... we just need to work on a way of reducing the cost of energy. I would hate to be faced with the dilemma of either a) powering my house for a week, or b) having a slice of toast.

Calling all geeks...

2010-06-30T15:14:00.003+01:00

The geek bug has bitten once again, so I apologise to those of you who aren't geeks (because you're so sad for not being one).
I think it started again when I ordered the new Transformers game on Monday. Imagine my surprise when it arrived yesterday - only one day later! I tested it out and was actually disturbingly excited that I could change from a robot into a tank, and back again at the press of a button!

Also, last Thursday, my new iPhone 4 arrived - and I have taken much joy in gasping at it's beauty and stroking the wonderfully clear screen.

In addition to this, my comic book collection has been growing exponentially. I just bought all the Scott Pilgrim comics and am slowly building my Bleach collection.
I did another lesson of Japanese this morning, and am re-reading Lord of the Rings (for the God knows how many-eth time). All these things have happened in less than 7 days! I think it's safe to assume that this is officially THE GEEKIEST MO WEEK EVER!

But alas, there is something missing. It is the company of other geeks. I need others who share a common love for comics, films, technology, sci-fi/fantasy, reading, etc... so that we can meet, discuss, laugh, joke, and whatnot.
The idea actually came about last night when I was thinking about putting together a geek themed pub quiz!

The trouble is of course, finding said people.
I would love to arrange some kind of social event, but finding the right kind of geek is never easy... so I will try tweet or buzz my call to geeks.
Maybe someone will pick it up. Who knows.
If you're in London and want to meet other geeks, then get in touch. Let's create a group of geeks! We MUST!

Mo out...

Can't take it back...

2010-06-27T20:47:00.004+01:00

Have you ever said something or acted in a way you instantly regretted?
Not because it wasn't true, but for what it might mean.
Even if the recipient of your words or actions may claim to be fine, you know that things will never be the same again.
Everything will change and short of travelling through time, there's nothing much more you can do about it but wait and see how events unfold.

Moral of the story: don't say or do anything unless you are prepared to deal with what might happen.
Even though the passage of time can be very forgiving, it's about as pleasant as removing a plaster(band-aid) at a turtles pace.
Personally, I'd rather avoid plasters all together thank you very much.

Unhappy women and men

2010-06-22T15:14:00.004+01:00

A worthy author once noted that "If there's an unhappy-looking woman, then there's an awful man somewhere. Always."

Although my love for the author (Alexander McCall Smith) knows no bounds, and our opinions are mostly intertwined, I would, at this point, like to state that I do not agree with such a statement.
I am by no means a sexist, in fact I resent those who are. I do however, prefer to make comments based on my own life. And so, in my short, yet thoroughly colourful experience with mankind, I have made an astute observation about women: sadness can be brought about by anything, men being only one of a limitless number of possibilities.

I have witnessed women unhappy due to spats with fellow girlfriends, parents, or siblings. I have seen women become hysterically upset at not being able to find a shoe in the sale that fits them. A wrong word said by a tutor or class-fellow at university can have a woman in tears. Even adverse weather conditions make them frown.

No, it is not fair to say that wherever you see an unhappy woman there is always an awful man responsible.

But, consider the alternative. Consider the unhappy man.
When I see an unhappy man I think back to the men I know and the reasons for their sadness.
I certainly have not seen a man upset from a small argument with a friend. Men tend not let these things cut them deeply (or at all). Nor have I seen a man cry at not obtaining a desired garment of clothing. No.
I have, however, seen many a man fall apart due to an awful woman.

It's funny, I think, how so many women complain about "men!" as if we were the bane of their very existence. But seldom do you find a (straight)man who says "I hate women!" despite his negative experiences with the fairer sex.

The point is this: in my experience, I have seen that anything can upset a woman... but women are one of the very few things that can upset a man.

More intrinsic motivation...

2010-06-19T18:30:00.003+01:00

It's very easy to sometimes lose sight of the bigger picture.

One second everything is fine, you're going through life with no problem - happy as Larry as they would say (and boy, that Larry is a happy chappy).

But then suddenly, out of nowhere, you get hit by a great big stick of stupid, and regress uncontrollably back to the depressed state of your former self.

The worse thing is that absolutely anything could cause this regression. It just needs to be a word, or sometimes even a look (or lack of a look) from the right (or wrong) person, and before you know it, you're fighting to breath as that invisible hand takes a hold your heart and squeezes it so hard that you feel as though you chest will implode.

There are two ways you can deal with this situation:

1) you can ramble like any idiot to anyone and everyone that will listen to you - achieving nothing else other than feeling even more stupid and annoyed with yourself; or you can...

2) take some time out to get self-reflective. Think hard about what it is that has caused your depression, and exactly why it happened. It may hurt to consider that you have been stupid, but believe me, I can tell you from experience, it's better than just blabbing all your emotions like an out of control 14 year old girl.

Find yourself a good friend. Someone you can trust with your life. Think about what's made you regress from happiness, and then to talk to your friend. Explain it all, and you'll see that by this time, you will have already found the solution to return to happiness again - before your friend need even say anything.

Finally, once you're all sorted, you could even write a blog called "More intrinsic motivation" and advise others against making the same mistakes you have.

Your happy friend,

Intrinsic Motivation...

2010-06-08T11:34:00.002+01:00

Sometimes, all you need is a hard slap of reality, and acceptance of this reality, to be happy!

It may not be the reality you hoped for, but the more you try and deny it, the sadder you will become.

However, the moment you accept the world for the way it is, without delusions of grandeur, you will be in a much happier place.

That doesn't mean you shouldn't hope or dream... you totally should! But try and keep it realistic. Like, there's no point in me dreaming I'll be the King of England - it just ain't gonna happen.

Keep your dreams attainable and your vision unclouded - it's the way to be happy.

The problem with web surfers today...

2010-05-24T12:26:00.008+01:00

I apologise if you are one of the people I am about to describe...

Actually, wait. No I don't. I don't apologise to you at all.

You people have no right to use the internet!

When I see you misuse the internet in this way, it makes me want to chop your fingers off, and tattoo g o o g l e . c o m on every digit and then hang it on a piece of string around your necks!

So... do you want to know what it is that frustrates me?

Well... let me tell you:

Most intelligent people will open a web browser, say Firefox, and if they want to search for something on the internet, will type their search engine of choice, say "Google" into the address bar like so (click on images to increase the size):

If you use Firefox, then you may realise that the address bar automatically works the same as a search field in a search engine. So for example, if you wanted to search for pictures of bunnies, you could just as easily type "pictures of bunnies" in the address field and it will come up.

There are others however, fools if you will, who ignore the huge address bar, and instead choose to use the search engine entry field on the right.

Now, I wouldn't mind if they used this entry field correctly, e.g. typing in "pictures of bunnies" into it. But no, they do not. Instead, they search for their search engine inside their own search engine, like so:

I mean, how stupid do you have to be to do something like this?

Do you not realise that you're not only making it take longer to find what you want, but you're also looking like a web illiterate noob at the same time?

Oh, and don't think you idiots that open up google and then type in "www.amazon.com" into the search bar are exempted... you're just as annoying, if not worse!

For shame... for shame...

Everyone needs a Group Hug...

2010-05-17T08:58:00.008+01:00

Ahh... what a weekend.
It's been busy beyond belief, but not without some awesome highs!
Saturday was spent arranging music for the a cappella group - it was actually a lot of fun. I ate pasta and sang (although my singing was terribly off on Saturday :S - MOREso than usual).
Saturday evening was then spent with a couple of the 'guys' having drinks (obviously OJ for me). Well, we went to Nandos first, and then to Sun in Splendour in Notting Hill (amazing place).

It was quite refreshing to hang out with the guys. It's not often I find male company I can stand to be around, but these dudes are awesome.
We had proper guy talk, made random jokes, and just had an immensely awesome time!
I must do that more often :)

To top it all off, this morning I was introduced to the greatest site in the universe!
I'm pretty sure a lot of you would have heard of it before, but it was my first time!
It's called Group Hug go check it out.
It's basically just a bunch of randomly random confessions from people... about anything... it's amazing.
For example:

"I just realised I don’t love my wife."

or,

"It took me months to rebuild my shattered self-esteem and muster the courage to ask you out. By some miracle we exchanged numbers, and you told me you'd call the next day to discuss plans. I am excited and actually thinking positively for the first time in far too long.
Needless to say, the next day comes and goes with no call. Just like my ex would do, again and again. She never called, ever. And then I discover the number you gave me doesn’t work at all.
I can’t decide if I’ve been seized by a white-hot, apocalyptic rage, or if I’m suicidally depressed again. Thanks a lot, you bitch. That’ll teach me to have good expectations about anything anymore. You’d damn well better have a good reason for this, because I’m not going to take this bullshit anymore, even though that’s probably all you’re going to give me: bullshit.
I am not a doormat, not anymore."

Maybe I'm incredibly insensitive or just quite evil in taking pleasure in reading the misery of others... but meh - what you gonna do eh?

Uni-Qlo for a Uni-Mo

2010-05-14T09:51:00.004+01:00

I have a new obsession... but before I tell you all about it, let me set the scene...

Time was I would HATE shopping for clothes. You see, I despise the current fashion scene. Firstly, for men, it's the WORST. You walk into any store, and after trawling through two or three floors of women's clothes, you FINALLY find the small cupboard sized room of men's garments - and to your utter dismay, you realise that they only stock the same patterned shirt in about 5 different colours - a shirt which should be considered criminal no matter what the colour.

And what bugs me the most is that everywhere you go, you see all guys dressed in exactly the SAME thing! It's the SAME shirts... the SAME jumpers... the SAME t-shirts even. There is no sense of individuality any more.

I was fed up of going to stores like H&M, Top Man, Burtons, etc... and finding either nothing that I liked, or nothing that fit. Too many pinks and yellows and baby blues. I know some guys can pull that stuff off, but not me. I have no problems with a store selling that rubbish... as long as they have stuff for me as well.

And that's where Uni-Qlo comes in.

Believe me... I am not being over-dramatic when I say that Uni-Qlo has restored my faith in men's clothes shopping!

Firstly, their men's clothing selection is the same size as the women's, or near enough. That's amazing in itself.

Secondly, the quality of their clothes is pretty good (and doesn't fall apart in a day like Zara).

Thirdly, their sizes were MADE for Mo! And anything that doesn't fit, they alter IN STORE for a mere few £'s! Which is genius.

And all this comes for a very reasonable price! I mean, you can get fitted jeans for like £20 - that's amazing.

I have sort of developed a bit of an obsession for the place, I must admit.

In the last month I've bought two shirts, two jackets, socks, a hoodie, and 3 long sleeve tops. Hmmm... I think it might be time to invest in shares.

If you haven't been there, then I seriously suggest you go check it out. Male or female, it's amazing for everyone :)

(I'll take that cheque now Uni-Qlo marketing).

Super Mo!

2010-05-11T09:53:00.005+01:00

As some of you may know, I have recently gone into some crazy, self-imposed health kick!

But it's really not as bad as you might think!

Let me explain...

... You see, I work for an amazing company that keeps me well stocked up with all kinds of biscuits free of charge.

If you know me, then you'll know I cannot refuse a biscuit... not for anything. This doesn't mean I need to be offered one first - no! I can simply say to myself in my head:
"Mo, would you like a biscuit?"

"Why yes Mo, I would!"

And then get up and go to the kitchen (which is conveniently located directly behind me) to raid the biscuit tin.

This happened approximately 4-6 times a day, everyday for 5 months. And each time, I'd be taking like 3-5 biscuits.
So that's like a max of 30 biscuits a day, which I'm sure you will all agree is a bit excessive.

Anyway, upon reflecting on this information, I decided that a body cleanse was in order.

Now, every time I want a biscuit at work, I go get a piece of fruit (also provided free by work) - it's wonderful!

But that's not at all!

I've been hitting the gym about 3 times a week and I've cut all unhealthy foods from my diet - which includes anything with chocolate, saturated fat, added sugar, or some other crazy thing (apart from one evening in a week where I allow myself to indulge - be it a fatty meal, or some chocolate, or a coke).

But I am eating... and eating a lot. Going to the gym makes me hungry - but I'm trying to eat foods that will give me a lot of protein and slow release carbs. Seeds, nuts, pulses, baked potatoes, whole wheat pasta, granary bread, fish, fruits, etc...

I can honestly say though, it feels AMAZING!

Like, I have even MORE energy than usual. And I'm surprised at myself at how easy it was for me to cut out the junk. I am such a junk-food-junkie. But I have managed to stop myself eating a bar of chocolate and a bag of Doritos when watching a film - and that for me is a challenge!

I would definitely suggest this to anyone who wants to get in shape - it's not a crazy lose weight fast diet. It takes a lot of time to shape up with it - but it's completely healthy and will leave you feeling like a million bucks!

But it DOES take a lot of will power - especially if you love junk food like me!

But it's a small small price to pay for feeling amazing :)

Yoda and Gremlins - May the 4th be with you - Happy Star Wars day

2010-05-04T16:37:00.010+01:00

It has always bothered me, for as long as I can remember, how similar Master Yoda is to a Gremlin:

But when I suggest a link, people instantly point out that Gremlins are inherently evil, whereas Yoda is a symbol of peace and knowledge.

To these people however, I say: a curse to you is your short sightedness.

Consider what we know...

The rules for keeping a Mogwai and why:

1) Avoid bright lights - this causes temporary blindness and disorientation.

2) Avoid water - this causes the Mogwai to reproduce somewhat mischievous offspring.

3) Do not feed after midnight (although this doesn't take into account time-zones, nor daylight savings time, we are not here to discuss the flaws of the rule) - this causes the mogwai to transform into a larger green creature, otherwise known as a Gremlin.

Now... what else do we know?

In the two Gremlins films, Gizmo gets wet, thus creating evil offspring, who then eat after midnight and become big and retain their evilness.

We never actually see what happens should Gizmo, who is sweet, and good, and wise; eat after midnight.

There my friends is how the unknown race of Yoda was created... a few good Mogwai, such as Gizmo ate after midnight - got bigger, turned green, but retained their pure hearts.

A long life?!?!

2010-05-04T13:46:00.002+01:00

Yesterday I was on my way to the cinema with my friend Kate, when a voice from behind me said "Very lucky... very lucky..."

I was like WTH?!?!

I turn around to see an old Indian man looking right at me.

"What?" I say, mildly surprised.

He looks me in the eye and says "Your aura says very long life. Very lucky. Good. Good."

I was a bit surprised... most people would hear that and think "Wow! Long life..."; but not me, I instantly said "Yeah, and now watch me get run over by a bus."

It's ironic in fact that today I received the first death threat of my life.

That's so Murphy's Law for you :)

A story of friendship

2010-04-26T10:10:00.003+01:00

Friends are people who don't laugh at your hair-brained schemes - or at least, laugh, but then fully support you - even if they don't want to do it (just like in Kenan and Kel)

Friends are people who don't judge you based on what you believe, your culture, or your peculiar pasta eating habits.

Friends are people who never get fed up of what you have to say. Even if you've said it a million times before, they act just as interested as they did the first time you told them.

Remember that time we stayed over your at your temporary house back in sixth form? Your house was being re-done, and we had an English trip the next day.

I brought my guitar and we sang "Because I got high..."

We talked about films and music, and the other kind of thing guys talk about.

I had a driving test the day of the trip that I had to rearrange for the following week.

I think we stayed up for more or less the whole night and then it was time for Fajr.

That's the one story that always sticks out in my head whenever I think about you.

It was December 2001...

We were 17...

Best year of my life...

Best friend I ever had...

Still the best friend I've ever had...

We have literally gone to Hell and back together, and always ended up being better friends than ever.

I can happily say we've shared WAY more laughs than frowns (men don't cry... as if!), but those frowns were pretty intense.

There'll be more frowns to come yet, for both of us.

But you know I've always got your back, no matter what... just as I know you've got mine.

Thanks dude.

My milkshake brings all the, erm... people to yard...

2010-04-15T15:51:00.004+01:00

Recently, I've been toying with the idea of having a 50's themed milkshake party. Now, for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, it's basically a house party consisting of people in 1950's fancy dress (think Grease), music, and tons of ice cream and "edible food stuffs".

The idea is to mix whatever "edible food stuffs" you want (preferable chocolate bars and biscuits) with the ice cream, in a blender - thus creating an awesome thick shake of your choice!

This all stemmed from a recent excursion out to Ed's Diner with our a cappella group. For those of you that don't know, Ed's Diner is an American themed diner in the UK, with 3 restaurants in London, and 1 in Kent.

I must admit, I love it to bits. They have a jukebox there, you put in 20p, and get to listen to awesome 50's music (although there are some 60's and 70's sneakily snuck in for good measure).

Anyway, at Ed's, I ordered a peanut butter and chocolate shake (Americans will know what I'm talking about... Brits - don't knock it till you've tried it), and we started talking about how awesome it was. And so I thought to myself 'I could so do this at home'. And now that's the plan.

Do not be surprised if you are soon invited to a milkshake party by random friends of your own... or one up, why not help spread the word of this magnificent new themed party idea, and host your own (I want an invite if you do!).

This will be the party fad of 2010!

Birth, Life, Death... oh, and Resurrection

2010-04-13T10:40:00.005+01:00

I find that the title of this blog is appropriate for the time of year.

We recently celebrated Easter here and even though I'm not going to say anything about the afore mentioned topics, I thought I'd just give a shout out to my man J.C. "Sup G?"

Anyway... back to non-gangster Mo - if you've been following my incessant ramblings lately, you will have noticed that I've been talking about a whole bunch of random things - from airfare, to valentines day, to pollution, to... random stories - but nothing about meeeeee.

So, let's take a moment to reflect on the life of the individual known as Mo. His observations, experiences and thoughts from the past few weeks.

(Back to first person):

Well, I suppose one of the most important achievements of the last month has been the creation of an A Cappella group in London.

I decided that I wanted to sing in a group, but I couldn't find one. So, instead of giving up, I decided to go out on a limb, and advertise on Gumtree for 6 people to sing with.

Suddenly 6 became 10, which then became 15, and now it's nearer to 20, and still growing.

I found a venue near London Bridge, sorted out a weekly fee, and 5 weeks in, it's running like a proper club! Oh, and we have the most amazing group of people! It's unbelievable.

I randomly met two springer spaniels recently that were awesome beyond belief. Many thanks to Jules for the introduction!

The first of my school friends got married on the weekend. She looked completely stunning, and the wedding was wonderful. I danced... oh yes I did... and I have to give a shout out to Jo and Jules for keeping me company throughout the day :)

Congratulations to Emma and Ed... you guys are sooooo cute!

The wedding has obviously got me thinking about life. Loads of people get married all the time, but when it's a close friend, who also lives in London (because let's not forget the effect of the Big City on life i.e. you tend to get married later, have kids later, etc...) that gets married; one naturally begins to question ones own progress in life. What do I have? What don't I have? What have I achieved? What have I yet to achieve?

If you let them, times like these can really grant you a chance to self-reflect and think about whether your life is going in the direction you want it to. And that's exactly what I did. I let myself self-reflect so that I could think about my life. It was quite refreshing, and it made me realise a lot of things that have been building up inside, which I've been ignoring lately.

Also, quite randomly, I made an awesome new friend from the a cappella group. This has possibly been the most life changing thing so far. Even though I'm still developing a friendship with them, they could quite soon become a friend on the level of Aji (my best friend in the whole world... I love you man... move back to London so that I don't need to find replacements!). But that has yet to be seen.

Self-reflection has taught me that I need to stop spending time with "friends"... you know, the ones that are only there when they want something, and that's all.

Before, I used to keep in touch with everyone, for the simple selfish reason that is: you never know when you might need something from them! Show them friendship now, even though they are lousy friends, and hopefully, if they make anything of themselves, that's when you start asking for kick-backs.

But now I'm very lucky that I've got a great job, a great home, great flatmates, everything. So instead of wasting time with people that don't appreciate me, I would much rather spend time with people that I can connect with and who would do the same for me as I would for them.

Unfortunately these people are very very few and far far between - but the great thing about them is that when you find them, you don't need many. Just one or two that you can rely on.

That's a true friend...

Someone who won't leave you out in the cold when you need it most, or even, when you don't need it at all.

Someone who will listen to your crap all day long and never get bored.

Someone who you can spend hours on end with, and not want to kill each other.

Someone who "gets" you, in every way imaginable.

Luckily I do have some good friends... but they are very hard to get to :(

Another major event of the last week has been my introduction to How I Met Your Mother. I've Tweeted this so many times, and put it on Facebook as well. But this show has actually changed my life.

I found it at a time in my life where I can appreciate it more than if I had found it at any other time. It's really inspiring and it's making me really want the good things in life!

I doubt you can understand what I'm talking about... but seriously, the show speaks to me in a way that I don't think anyone can fathom.

Having a new great friend has made me re-connect with my geeky side. Something I had neglected somewhat over the years. Sure, I've always been a geek... but it's been toned down for so long - just unconsciously - due to the comments of others, or because of having to fit in at work, uni, flat, etc... But now I work in a company of geeks, one of my flatmates is a geek, and now so my new awesome friend!

I have no excuse now to hold back the inner-geek that has been dying to escape.

Do not be surprised if I start trying to use the 'Force' to control your mind :P

Okay... well, I actually wanted to write a lot more... but I think I'm going to have to stop there for now.

Strangely enough, my thoughts seem more jumbled up now that when I started writing this! haha.

p.s. - Oh! I went gym this morning and totally forgot to put my belt in my bag... now it feels like my jeans just want to fall down... but they're not falling - which means I've put on weight! D'oh!

Story of my life...

2010-04-05T05:18:00.002+01:00

“I wanted you to see it first father. It was given to me by Aunt Silvia.”
“Well, whatever is it my dear? A man can reach a ripe old age waiting in the wings for youth to reveal their plan.”
“Patience father, patience. It will not kill you.”
“It might do.”
“Please, do not jest about such things.”
“When you reach my age my girl, there is not much that would not kill you.”

“CUT!”
I can't believe this is happening.
“I SAID CUT!”
I'm going to kill him!
“Tom, what the hell is this?”
That pompous prick better have a good explanation for this.
“It is nothing short of a masterpiece. But I would not expect anyone as common as you to comprehend.”
Christ! Just what I need. After six years worth of degrees in English, he's even starting to speak like a Shakespeare play.
“A masterpiece? Tom! NO-ONE in the world talks like that any more. In fact, they haven't for at least a hundred years... You do know what year it is don't you?”
Put that in your pipe and smoke it you cocky ego-maniacal arrogant self-righteous twat.
“Stephen, I need not remind you that sarcasm is considered the lowest form of wit. Your repeated use of it bewilders me.”
“You promised me a re-write. The curtain goes up on this show in a month, and this is what you bring me? Remind me why we hired you?”
“Quite simply because I am the very best at what I do.”
“If what you do is act like a self-obsessed arse, then I suppose you're worth the money. If it's writing, then you have one last chance to get me a suitable re-write by the morning, otherwise you can bugger off!”
“Now really, I must-”
“I believe you have some writing to do. GO!”
Oh good, he's gone. Thank God for that. What an idiot. I never should have taken James' advice on that guy. But where am I going to find someone else? I don't have time to worry about this.
I'm hungry. I'm sure it must be around lunch time by now. What do I fancy?
I wonder if Jane will come to lunch if I ask her. But I don't want her to think I like her. That would just be awkward.
Wouldn't it?
I mean, we work together.
But then again, it is only temporary.
But still, what if she doesn't feel the same, and then felt uncomfortable, and then quit? We'd be without a leading lady, all because I couldn't hide my feelings. Doesn't-
“Hey Stephen.”
Oh my God, it's Jane.
“Hey Jane. Great work today.”
“Oh please, it was nothing special.”
“Are you serious? You were incredible. You capture Violet's nature as if it were your own. I can't imagine anybody else doing such an amazing job.”
Oh Jesus! Listen to me. Did I just say that? I need to be banging my head against a wall right now. So much for hiding your feelings you fool!
“Awww come off it. You're just saying that.”
She's blushing. She liked it. Maybe I'll push it a bit.
“No, no. Not at all. I'm being honest. You were really great.”
“You sweet talker.”
Did she just put her hand on my arm? I didn't just imagine that did I? No, no, IT'S STILL THERE! What do I do? Put my hand on hers? Or just on her arm. Or should I leave it?
Too late. It's gone.
“I think after that compliment, you deserve to be taken out for lunch.”
Was that a date invite? Couldn't have been. Be a gentleman.
“If anyone's being taken out here, it's you my dear.”
“But I haven't done anything. You're the one who's put this whole production together. If it wasn't for you, none of this would be happening.”
“Jane, you can make Violet's character come to life, despite the poorly written script. That to me is the work of a miracle. Lunch is on me, and that's final.”
That's it. Be a man! Hopefully she won't be offended.
Oh my God! What if she's one of those girls who hates chivalry? There's a lot of them about now. Damn it. They make it so hard for a man to be kind to a woman in this day and age. And then they complain that there's no gentlemen left.
Women!
“Okay, okay. You win. No sense in arguing with the boss after all is there?”
She said it with a smile. Thank God.
“Right you are. So, where would you like to have lunch?”
–
I'm walking with Jane to lunch – and she invited me?! I can't believe this.
“It's right around this corner.”
She's holding my arm! I love it when women do that.
What did she say?
Doesn't matter – she's holding my arm!
–
“This place looks amazing.”
Oh God! Look at the price! Crap.
“It's my favourite place. I used to come here all the time with David... my ex. The bastard.”
She's talking about her ex. That's definitely a good sign. Better show some interest.
“Sounds like it ended badly.”
“He was an arse. But I don't want to talk about it.”
Quick... offer comfort.
“Well, if you do want to talk about it, you can. It's okay.”
“No, no. Maybe another time. Right now, we should enjoy our time. We don't ever do anything like this. Why not?”
'Our time?' Le sigh...
“Well, I don't want to bother you during lunch time. God knows that you get enough of me in rehearsal, let alone me monopolising your free time.”
“Don't be a silly. I enjoy speaking to you. You're not like most other guys I know. I suppose it's that creative streak, makes you seem more approachable... more caring.”
She's blushing again! Oh my God! So am I.
“I don't know about that. But thank you nonetheless.”
I think she's trying to tell me she likes me. She likes me! I can't believe it.
“Stephen, can I ask you something?”
“Uh huh.”
“I was hoping to get your advice on something.”
“Sure Jane, anything. What's on your mind.”
“Well, I went out on this date last nighla blah blah blah blah blah...”
What?! Did I just hear that right?
I think my heart just stopped for a second.
A date?!?
What the hell is she doing out on a date.
Oh no, she's still talking about it.
I don't even know what she's saying anymore.
Smile and nod... smile and nod.
Oh my God! She's looking at me. What was her last question?
“Well, I think he sounds like a really nice guy.”
“I thought so too, but I wanted an opinion from a guy, with, you know, experience of guys.”
Experience of what now?
“Huh?”
“Well, you know what women can be like. It's always different when you ask for a girls' opinion of a man, and then a gay man's opinion.”
What the hell?
“Erm... Jane... I'm not gay.”
“Oh... Erm... I'm sorry. I just assumed, what with the play, and the artistic side and everything. You seemed as though you might be gay.”
Ouch! Is that how women see me now?
“Don't worry about it Jane. Story of my life.”
Laugh... laugh God damn it!

I should have let her pay.

The path of least resistance...

2010-03-22T08:58:00.003Z

It's not often we take a moment to look back at the past and realise that many of the benefits we enjoy only exist due to the hard work and sacrifice of many people.

By benefits, I mean simple things that we often take for granted: the right to vote; the right to work; the freedom to say what we want, when we want; and so on.

As an ethnic minority living in the UK, I know that it's not been easy for immigrants to achieve equal status within the West. There are, in fact, many parts of the world that are still inherently racist, and show little or no sign of relenting.

Luckily for me, I have always had my rights protected by my country (which I consider to be England). I was able to go to a good school, good universities, find a very rewarding job, vote, and involve myself in the political sphere, to a party of my choice. I am allowed to write articles such as these, voicing my opinions - a luxury that not every person has.

My point is this: Even though I have been the victim of racial violence and ridicule, I have not known true suffering.

The freedom I enjoy was built on the graves of individuals that knew what suffering meant - and in this country, it was a lot easier to get heard than in some other countries.

The struggle of some people can bring a tear to your eye if you only take a minute to look at what they went through. Death was, at most times, a blessing for them. Many suffered imprisonment, kidnapping, torture, threats against family (often carried out), and much more before they were subsequently put to death. These people risked life and limb, and unselfishly gave themselves to a cause which they understood was bigger than them.

There were others, during times of oppression, that would sit on their hands, whistle to the wind, and let things carry on as they were - afraid to risk their jobs, or whatever livelihood they had cultivated for themselves. When we think about it now, it's so easy to call these people cowards. We admire people Martin Luther King Jnr and those who followed them; and subconsciously lack respect for those who sat at home and kept quiet.

But what if I was there? Would I risk my life, my family, my job for a cause that was bigger than me? Or would I be content in keeping what I had in fear of 'rocking the boat'?

I think we would all like to believe that we would protest, that we would do something; when in actual fact, we are so complacent, and happy to ignore problems, that we wouldn't dare to stand up against something we thought that was wrong.

Even now, there are many places where injustice takes place. Most of us sit at home and remain ignorant to the problems.

But there are some, certain people we might consider crazy, who give up everything and go to countries like Afghanistan, or Palestine, or Sudan, and actually live there and help. They join in with the struggles of the oppressed, even though it doesn't affect them directly.

I'm not saying that we should all do that, but surely we should do something!

To think, when the problems in these countries are over, the men and women that go down in history will be those who we now consider to be crazy, and we will be the cowards.

We, the fortunate Westerners who stood idly by as child workers were exploited in China; or as farmers in our own country were run to near bankruptcy by the multi-million-pound supermarkets; or how we, as a Nation destroyed a country based on lie after lie.

Is that really what we want to be remembered for? The population that was so captivated by shiny lights and airbrushed models that we turned a blind eye to the suffering of our planet - its people, its animals, and its beauty.

I'd like to think we're better than that... I really would.

Valentines for Dummies...

2010-02-16T10:52:00.000Z

Whilst walking from Piccadilly Circus to Leicester Square last Sunday (Valentines Day), I could not help but smile to myself at all the couples I saw. I am not a Valentines Day hater, and I like to see couples splash out on sub-standard roses from a street vendor, just because it's 'cute'.

There are however, a lot of single people out there who hate Valentines Day (mostly women...yes, it's true) - understandably. I mean, Valentines Day is literally "make out on the street day" for everyone who has a date. It's the one day where it's socially acceptable for couples to flaunt their coupling-ness.

Being single on Valentines Day is like being picked last for the football team at school, nay, worse... it's like having to sit at the back of the school bus alone; or being rejected from all the other tables in the canteen, only to find yourself sitting alone in the corner, under the leaky spot in the ceiling with the light that doesn't work. It can be a very depressing ordeal for many.

Society really wants to hit home that on this day, you NEED to have someone. And even if you didn't NEED someone before this day; after you see all the mush on TV, the cards and flowers in the shops, and the couples walking hand in hand (or hand in 'somewhere else'), you sure as hell NEED someone now.

So the singles revolt. They find any and all excuses to condemn Valentines Day: "It's not even a real holiday"; "It's just a money making scheme for card companies"; etc... And although they have a point, the couples response always wins out: "You're only saying that because you're not with anyone." - It's like being slapped in the face with a cold and somewhat smelly fish. The singles have no choice but to retreat, harboring even more anger and resentment toward the 14th of February.

But it's not only singles that have it tough. For the couples it's no walk in the park either, especially (and I'll probably get shot for saying this) for men. Yes... it's true. If women are the victims of being single on Valentines Day, then men are the victims of being in a relationship. Most men, when granted the opportunity to speak freely, will tell you that they don't really care all that much for Valentines Day. Women will usually say that all year round as well, until Valentines Day is upon them - and then, like an uncontrollable virus, it takes over their system, and the beast of expectation rears its ugly head.

If you are a straight man in a relationship, you must (and I cannot stress this enough) always get your partner something special on Valentines Day; even if she assures you that she doesn't care. I have seen the aftermath of such situations where men did not follow this golden rule. I have yet to witness however, a negative response from a man who doesn't receive anything for Valentines Day.

This rule applies ten-fold if Valentines Day falls on a work day. I cannot imagine there are many things more shameful for a woman who is in a relationship than not receiving a gift in the morning from her partner on Valentines Day. If it's a gift given at home, it needs to be something she can take to the office and proudly display on her desk. Otherwise, it needs to be something special delivered at work. Ignore this at your own peril, because I can assure you, that once her friends at work get their cards, flowers and candy grams from their partners, she's going to start getting jealous... and we all know that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

(Disclaimer: I point out at this stage, that I am not saying what is right or wrong, or whether I agree or not. I am simply just stating from my own observations and experiences).

But that's not to say that men are innocent either. I mean... there are some men who have been with a girl for long enough to know how she really feels about Valentines Day and ignores it anyway. I find this behaviour to be extremely insensitive. It's men like you that give us all a bad name.

But enough about lessons of Valentines Day. That was certainly not the purpose of this blog, however my mind has once again gotten the better of me, and I ended up rambling.

This year, I witnessed one broken heart on Valentines Day, and a sad scene it was too. Picture this: A young man, sitting outside McDonald's in Leicester Square. In one hand, a single yellow rose; in the other, a mobile phone; and in his eyes, tears.

I don't know the story of 'Broken-hearted: McDonald's'; but the romantic in me likes to think that perhaps he was exploited by an evil woman who set up a date with him as a fall back option, but then got a better offer and left him standing there, only to send a text message with the words "I can do better than you."

(Did I say romantic? Hmmm...)

Planes, Trains, and the Cost of Travelling

2010-01-21T12:37:00.003Z

When trying to book a journey from England into mainland Europe, it's common to book a flight with one of the leading no-frills airlines. In fact, with the current flood of cheap deals, one can travel to France, or Spain for a meagre £10 one way (inc. fees and taxes). It's no wonder then, that air travel over short distances has become so popular with the average consumer.
It doesn't apply to travelling abroad either. One can travel within the UK by plane for less than the cost of a meal at an averagely priced restaurant.

It is wonderful and exciting to think that international travel can now be undertaken by the majority of society, but at what cost?
It's become widely accepted that, per passenger, air travel is the most polluting form of transport (based on the idea that more than one person is travelling in a car).
The following graph displays the various transport methods, and their carbon emissions (per person, per mile):

The source of these figures can be obtained here.

Of course, this information on it's own is really not useful. It's important to know how popular air travel has become to fully understand the environmental impact.
A 2006 survey conducted by Global TGI stated that Britain had the highest population percentage that travelled by plane (53%), followed closely by Ireland and New Zealand (49% and 41% respectively). The fact that these countries are all islands is a significant contributing factor to these figures, but for Britain at least, one cannot ignore the availability of alternate forms of transport.

The problem lies when the cost of these transports outweigh the perceived environmental benefits associated with them. For example, at the time of writing this article, a return train from London to Amsterdam, booked off-peak with Eurostar would cost £336 (inc. tax). A no-frills flight from Ryan Air however, would cost £60 (inc. fees and taxes).
There are approximately 220 miles between London and Amsterdam (as the crow flies), and even though air or train travel would be more, we can use this figure as a base distance for comparison.
The overall carbon emissions for a £60 return flight would be: 426.8 CO2 pounds per passenger.
And for the £336 train, it would be: 198 CO2 pounds per passenger.

The train is causes less than half the amount of emissions per passenger, and yet costs over 5 times as much. Who can afford to be environmentally friendly when it costs so much?
The fact that the train is less hassle, more comfortable and safer to travel on for the short haul would encourage a lot of people to use it compared with air travel, where you have consider travelling to airports located out of the city, check in times, waiting times, etc. However the cost quickly puts people off, and it's a wonder why governments in Europe do not do more to
a) discourage air travel; but at the same time,
b) make rail travel cheaper.

It's even more interesting to note that the British government currently quote the following...

"In 2006, air travel accounted for 6.4 per cent of the UK’s emissions of carbon dioxide, the main greenhouse gas causing climate change. Forecasts suggest that this could grow. If no action is taken, carbon dioxide emissions from aviation could make up around 10 per cent of the UK’s total carbon dioxide emissions by 2020. Air travel is also responsible for some non-carbon dioxide climate change effects, although there is still considerable scientific uncertainty about the scale of these impacts."

...and yet do nothing to encourage the consumer to go green.
On top of this, many airlines now offer the choice to off-set your carbon (which is similar to somebody calling the ambulance before choosing to break your legs), and that makes people feel that their not doing any damage to the environment, therefore justifying it as a clean form of transport.

If the governments in Europe are serious about reducing carbon emissions (as they claim they are), then they cannot simply tax airlines heavily - they must provide a cheaper alternative for the consumer.

London: A tale of two cities

2009-12-30T14:10:00.004Z

Smoke rises above the old city.

A screen of white before a grey sky,

Dotted with the arms of construction,

Building a new paradise.

Vermin populate the tracks below.

Moving to an unknown beat.

Each in groups, yet each alone.

Solitary wanderers of the street.

But when my carriage comes to a halt,

My heart learns to love once more.

For home I did not know till now,

And there was no time before.

Because in every street and every building,

There lies a hidden feeling,

Of time spent loving, hating, thinking,

In this town of London.

Misreading the Signs

2009-12-22T13:36:00.002Z

Ok, so have you ever been in a situation when you've misread a sign?

I don't mean like road signs (that could prove quite fatal, albeit hilarious); but I mean signs from people (which could also prove fatal and yet highly amusing).

You know, how sometimes you're so sure you know what someone's thinking? Like, you have no doubt in the world that you know what they're trying to say, without saying it?

And then, you realise you got it completely wrong and end up looking like a total idiot?

Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.

It's a very dangerous thing, interpretation. I mean, some people excel at it, and others just think they do. One can only hope they realise their mistake before actually going too far and saying something that could cause much unwanted emotional turmoil. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

Luckily, I am very good at reading people and situations. In fact, I am never wrong - and that's a big claim to make, which I stand by wholly!

I am never wrong at reading people... except when it relates to me directly. Then my powers of perception fall apart to little pieces and I feel much like a pilot attempting to navigate a plane through clouds without a radar. Yeah, it either ends in a mighty crash, or a very and lucky narrow escape.

Very recently I managed to successfully make it through one such event without making a fool of myself, however that's not to say it wasn't without injury. There were a few cuts and bruises, but nothing long lasting.

From years and years of having terrible perception in these matters, I have always found it best to keep my mouth shut when faced with situations like this. However, sometimes I find that keeping quiet may not be the right course of action. Perhaps to speak and express yourself is the way to achieve the best outcome.

But how do you know which to do if you're never quite sure what the other person (or people) are thinking.

Maybe you perceive their feelings toward you as negative, and so you say nothing; when in fact their feelings are positive.

Does anyone get what I'm trying to say?

So now, I'm thinking... maybe in this very recent event, by saying nothing, I may not have actually achieved the best I could have. Yes, I did not make a fool of myself, but I didn't gain anything either. But I don't know if saying something is the right thing to do.

So now I'm writing this, and I know that the person or people for whom these thoughts are intended will read it (I hope); and if they are any good at perception, they'll see it's about them and they will decide what to do.

If nothing happens I'll know that either:

a) Their perception is just as bad as mine

b) They'd rather not

c) They're not sure either

I'd prefer an a) or c) result personally... but let's see.

Happiness and Depression: Developed vs. Developing Countries

2009-12-04T13:24:00.002Z

Depression is becoming an increasingly prevalent condition in the developed Western World. A number of various studies have linked emerging cases of depression with alcohol, weather and even technology. As incidence of these cases become more frequent, acceptance of them is also increased.

Acceptance of depression is a vital part of our humanity and moral code, however, there are times when one must step back and consider what it is we are depressed about, and more importantly why there is such a vast increase in the number of depression cases reported.

Having studied psychology for a number of years, it has become apparent that certain types of depression, and it's causes, are very much determined by the condition of the societal status quo, the views of others on the subject, and ones current living conditions. Let me present you with one example:

SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder, is fast becoming one of the most common diagnosis of depression in the developed Western World during the winter months. The reasoning is very simple and scientifically viable: The lack of light causes symptoms generally referred to as 'the winter blues'.
Consider the following however: You approach a villager in Ethiopia. You see them struggle with their day to day life: growing crops, obtaining clean water, looking after their family, etc... You explain to them that there are many people in England and America that suffer from a disease: a mental illness called 'depression'. They will no doubt understand depression. Furthermore, you explain that it is caused due to shorter days and lack of light.
When the villagers consider this in respect of the troubles they face everyday, it would be interesting to see how many would find sympathy in their hearts for us.

Perhaps studies need to be moved further afield. Consider the topmost areas of the Northern hemisphere, where the land is covered in darkness for six months continuously. There are societies living there, and one must wonder if they are depressed half the year round or not.

Or maybe it might be, that here, in the developing world, life has become so easy for us, that we create a situation that allows us to throw our toys out of the pram... to complain and desire the attention of others. If we were to live in the conditions that many do in the Tundra, or the plains of Africa, would we be thusly affected by shorter days? Perhaps we would have more important things to worry about... perhaps not.

This article does not wish to conclude that disorders such as SAD do not exist. It merely wishes to ponder upon why it exists.

Love on the Underground...

2009-12-01T21:29:00.002Z

This is one for all you commuters out there. The ladies and gentlemen that spend all day on a bus, or a tube/metro/train/tram. Confined to small spaces, immersed in your books or your music. Too afraid to speak to the person next to you. Yes... you. This is for you.

You know those times when you see someone in your carriage who catches your eye? The woman putting on her make up. The guy nodding silently to the beat in his ears. How much do you wish you could break free of your confined space and just say "hello"?
I bet that when you lay down to sleep, you imagine how differently your day would have gone had you had the courage to speak a few words. Perhaps you re-imagine the situation, playing it back in your head again and again, acting in a way you wish you had, instead of how you actually did.
Am I right?

Well... let me tell you a story. It's not a love story as such... not yet anyway... and it's not a fairy tale either. It's actually quite true and is still in the process of unfolding as I write this.
You may remember, some time ago, I wrote a blog about smiling. Well... you might want to look at that now and mark my words, for what I am about to tell you now would have not been possible had it not been for the power of smiling...

... There was a girl I knew briefly some months ago. A friend of my cousin whom I met at said cousins wedding. The girl was... well, she was somewhat of a stand-out individual. She was very pretty, beautiful some might say, but that wasn't what made her so unique. No. There are many beautiful girls in the world, one only needs to open ones eyes and they will find them. Milling around shopping centres in their groups, or breaking the hearts of millions on the television. Alas... to be beautiful is simply not enough to be noticed anymore. It takes a lot more.
Instead, it was her unfaltering ability to always wear a smile. And what a smile it was. Radiant from ear to ear, coupled with a rather odd laugh that made you wonder if she actually found you funny, or if she was just being polite.
I didn't really know the girl that well, and we barely spoke, and once the wedding was over, I never saw the girl again. Such is the way these things go in the fast moving world that is inner-city life. People pass in and out like passengers on a train. Never lingering for more than a few stops.
But sometimes... just sometimes... you catch the same train... and sit in the same carriage... right next to each other, and not even realise it.

---
I sat down on the Piccadilly Line this evening next to a girl. Being the Londoner that I am, I took out my book and began to read without so much as a glance in the direction of others.
I must point out at this stage, I am a strong believer in smiling at everyone I see on the tube, and would have done so, had it not been so quiet. But I suppose I've learned my lesson now.

As the tube made it's routine stops, I looked up to make sure I was on the right track. Difficult not to be, considering it's a straight line, but it's a good excuse to give ones eyes a break from reading.
Whilst doing so, I noticed a young man opposite looking at the girl to my side. I thought nothing of it. Guys looking at girls. It happens all the time.
It wasn't until I caught a glimpse of the girls reflection in the window that I realised she was looking back at him!
To find one party eyeing up another is quite common on the tube. I see it all the time. But very rarely do I see both parties participating so openly. Many times they caught each others' eyes, and she smiled.
She looked so familiar, and yet, I could not place her.
Eventually, after so much smiling, she laughed and spoke to the boy:
"I'm sorry," she proclaimed "I didn't know where else to look."
I was shocked. Never before had I witnessed a blossoming romance on the tube before. And what's more, it was initiated by a girl! This was unprecedented. I was in shock, and yet, I couldn't believe I was seeing this actually happen. It was like watching a film - for surely these things never happen in real life.
They spoke and he asked her name: "------" she replied, and that's when alarm bells started ringing in my head. I knew this girl! It was indeed the very same girl I had met at my cousins wedding! What were the chances? And more so, how random that I should see her as she was 'working it'!

The man left the tube some stops later, but not before bestowing his email address upon her. Finally there I was, sitting next to the girl I knew, too afraid to say hello in case she died of embarrassment - for it is one thing to hit on a guy amongst strangers, and quite another when in the presence of someone you know.
I nearly said nothing, but if that experience taught me anything, it was to speak at any opportunity.
"Dude!" I said, and she turned around. She recognised me and instantly turned red and began to laugh.
-----

Who knows what will happen between the two of them. Perhaps she'll email him and love will blossom. That's not for me to predict. But at least I know I'll never stop smiling when I'm on the tube.

Love for Punk Rock - a short story

2009-11-03T12:18:00.011Z

Writing ones thoughts on the immense mesh of social networking madness that is the internet could be considered, by some, to be an act of pure self-obsession. What could possibly make someone believe that others care about they think? How vain must you have to be to reach such a conclusion?

These are the thoughts that passed through his mind as he updated his online status, never once believing that anyone would actually bother to read it, let alone pass comment.

But life has a funny way of thrusting upon you the things you least expect.

And so it was, that months down the line, he stood at the corner where the station met the street.

To Annie, passing comment on random thoughts spewed up online was somewhat of a pass-time. A mere activity to fill the space between one event (a morning cup of coffee) and the next (drying ones hair).

When she replied to his comment, she thought nothing of it. A few throw-away words that meant nothing, and yet everything at the same time. If she knew the effect that that set of random words could have... would have, perhaps she would have written more? Perhaps less? Or maybe she wouldn't have written anything at all.

Whatever the case, as a result of the exchange of a few simple characters, she was now making her way to the corner of where the station met the street, to meet the man whose thoughts had captured her interest, and in turn, who found her response equally as interesting, or so she hoped.

To this day, he couldn't really describe how he felt when he saw her for the first time. He had never seen her before, and yet he knew it was her before she had even emerged wholly from the sea of people washing over the pavement. A few words was all they had exchanged. A handful of public conversations online. Nothing intimate. Nothing remotely tender. Yet, looking at her now, he couldn't help but feel drawn to her in some way. There was something about her that pulled on his heart strings and he suddenly felt inexplicably joyful as she approached him.

Annie could see him through the crowds. She knew it was him, for he was standing alone, exactly where he said he'd be, his eyes searching for her through the mass of people. 'What's he looking for?' she thought, 'He's never seen me'.

Jostling her way through the pedestrians, she finally made it out of the crowd only to find him smiling at her. She was surprised he knew it was her, but then again, it might have had something to do with the fact that she was barely able to contain the smile on her face.

He had walked around the City a million times, both alone, and in the company of friends. But it had never felt like this. Every street he walked with her, and every sight he saw, felt like the first time all over again. It was as if he'd just arrived here, a stranger to the City, seeing it with fresh eyes.

This wasn't her city. It wasn't even her country. And yet, standing by his side, and walking through the streets of the City with him, she felt strangely at home in his presence. As though this is where she belonged.

"I feel like I've known you my whole life." It was a phrase he was so used to hearing from people he'd just met. He would start talking, and they would feel completely at ease around him. He exuded comfort, like a well broken in sofa, if that was even possible, and people would gladly take a seat. Life stories and experiences would gush forth from their lips, like a river finally breaking free from it's dam. Yet he took no comfort in them. He neither related nor cared much for their tales of depression, lost love, and eating disorders. And not once did he feel secure in sharing anything about himself. It was a series of one-way friendships, serving only the needs of others, leaving him empty inside... that was until he spoke to her.

She had an incredible ability to understand his mind, whether he said a little, or a lot (and it was often a lot with her). She listened to him with avid interest, or so he hoped; and he felt as though, in those moments, that he was the centre of her world. The truth is, she had stirred something within his heart, and he knew right away that he would never be the same again. She had become everything to him.

Annie was mesmerised by his childlike enthusiasm for everything around him. They walked for hours, and he had something to say about everything; something she found adorably endearing. For hours he spoke animatedly about the most mundane of things, making them exciting and interesting. The dullest buildings were transformed into beautiful pillars of light through his descriptions and childish excitement. She wasn't sure who initiated it, but before long, she found herself in an embrace with him. Their arms around each other in the open air, not caring for flow of passer-by's, they shared a hug with such intensity that no words could do it justice. She felt his hand stroke her hair, and she pulled him closer to her. So close they were, it was difficult to tell where she ended and he began, both physically and spiritually.

One mind, one body: that was how it felt to him when they hugged. He wasn't sure if she could feel him shaking at her touch, and when she pulled him closer, he couldn't imagine ever letting go. In such a short time, he had never known anybody to have such an affect on him, as she had had.

The way she looked into his eyes when he spoke to her had melted every barrier he had built within himself over the years. He had never thought he would meet someone that could complete him in such a way, but often, life has a way of throwing things your way that you least expect.

And sometimes things are taken away, just as quickly as they arrive.

Leaving was the hardest thing Annie had ever done.

She had contemplated 'missing' her flight a million times, but he insisted that she go. She knew he did it for her, but she wished he wouldn't. 'Damn men and their practicality' she thought as they shared their final embrace.

Neither of them wanted to let go of the other, but eventually it had to happen. Never sure whether they would see each other again, they parted, making promises to the other to never forget those precious 31 and a half hours they spent together.

A tear in his eye, he reluctantly withdrew, and she, turning her face away, walked on.

Something in their hearts told them to turn around.

He looked around and saw her looking at him.

She turned and there he was, his eyes on her.

They smiled one last time.

You couldn't ask life for a more exquisite 31 and a half hours.

A Story - Chapter 9, Part 1

2009-11-02T15:30:00.002Z

So sorry for the delay people.

There's been so much madness going on, but I have some time now, so I'm going to continue.

As you may remember, James was just out walking with his new friends after school. His mother didn't know where he was, and so she was worried about him.

James returned home to his mothers' screams, only to find that he had a surprise visitor.
Whoever could it be?

Let's get on to chapter 9 shall we?

You can read all the parts on Mo Jiwa's website.

Chapter 9:

"Where have you been, you little trouble maker?"

He would never forget that voice. Not in a million years.

"NOAH!" James cried with joy as he ran straight into the arms of his older brother.

"Easy dude. You're not so tiny anymore. Big enough to roam around on your own now eh?"

James's joy suddenly subsided and he was overcome with embarrassment and guilt. He didn't mind his mother being upset with him, but he couldn't bear the thought of Noah angry with him.

"Oh come on, don't worry about it." Noah smiled. "You're alright and that's all that matters." He then whispered "Next time, don't make it so obvious eh?" He followed it with one of his laughs, the kind of laugh that if you heard it, you couldn't help but laugh yourself, even if you had no idea what had just been said.

James smiled and began to lightly punch his brother's arm. It was something he'd been doing for as long as he could remember, and didn't see any point in stopping now. Either way, Noah never seemed to mind.

James was vaguely aware of his mother walking in behind him and shutting the front door. He didn't really pay any attention to it though... his brother was here! James was already imagining the adventures they'd have together during his visit. This thought brought an important question to his mind. "How long are you staying?" He asked his brother.

Noah frowned. "Only until tomorrow."

James couldn't believe it. One day! And he'd spent most of it wandering around the village with Tania and Ben. He wish he'd waited for his mother. This was worse than any punishment she could have given him.

A tear escaped his eye. His mind filled with anger and he could hardly speak. His voice broke as he questioned his brother.

"Why can't you stay?"

"Aw come on dude. Don't cry."

James turned away in shame.

"Come here."

James didn't move. Still too angry and ashamed to look as his brother.

It didn't make a difference though. Noah's arms engulfed him and reeled him in. He squeezed so hard until James could barely breathe. James couldn't help but smile as Noah ruffled his hair.

'At least he was here. He could not have come at all.' With this in mind, James counted his blessings and gave way to the happiness that flooded his heart.

"So," Noah began as he let James go, "are you going to show me this place or what?"

James leaped to his feet, full of excitement! "Mum didn't show you?"
"I only got here five minutes ago." Noah laughed.

James felt a lot better about his afternoon wanderings now and grabbed his brothers' arm as he led him through to the kitchen.

A short part... but writing it has just filled me with a bunch of different emotions, and now I'm really missing my brother! I think I'll call him tonight :)

James is on holiday (about the Story!)

2009-10-29T14:33:00.003Z

Hey everyone (especially to those following my story),

My apologies for not writing out part 9 yet.

Work has been mega hectic, and I've been covering the London Film Festival for the last three weeks, so for that reason, I've not had time to write anything.

I promise that as soon as things calm down, I will continue :)

Thanks for waiting!

A Story - Chapter 8, Part 2

2009-10-18T05:21:00.000+01:00

Okay, let me start by apologising for how long it's taken me to get this part of the story up.

Not only has life been hectic, but I've also been on a break to the Lake District (as you will see from all my recent posts), and that took a serious toll on my story writing time! lol.

Anyway, let's get on with this part now. Chapter 8, Part 2. You might need to read Part 1 again to refresh your memory - but just in case you can't be bothered - James has just been exploring the village with his new friends. He's come home only to find his mother screaming at him.

You can read all the other parts on Mo Jiwa's Website.

James walked slowly up the driveway. This was contrasted by his mother, who ran at full speed toward him.

"JAMES!" She screamed.

Without stopping, or even slowing down, she lowered her arms and grabbed James, holding him close to her as she finally came to a halt.

"Where have you been? I was worried sick. I called the school. They didn't know where you were. Who were you with? Where did you go? Why didn't you wait for me?"

All these questions were asked so quickly, that to James, they just merged into one long word. He didn't reply due to lack of comprehension.

His mother put him down, placed her hands on his shoulders and shook him.

"Well? Where were you?"

James knew better than to tell the truth. If he did, he'd never be allowed to see Tania and Ben again, and they were the best thing about being here. He was amazed he'd managed to make friends so soon, and he didn't want to lose that.

"I went for a walk." Which wasn't a lie at all. In fact, it was the God-honest-truth.

"Alone?"

James let out a non-committal hum. Not a lie, but not exactly revealing the facts either.
"I was so worried about you James! NEVER do that again? NEVER! Promise me?"
James nodded.
"Promise!" His mother voice was stern.
"I promise." James said, in a soft voice.
His mother was crying. She hugged him close again.
"I love you honey. So much."
"I love you too mum."
"I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
James thought of the bizarre garden dream, the bruise on his head, and his after school adventure. "It won't mum." He said, hoping to believe it himself.

His mother straightened up, and wiped the last tear from her eye.
"Come on inside. There's someone here to see you."
James looked up at his mother quizzically. Someone to see him. Who could that be?
His only two friends were now well on their way home, and he didn't know anybody else in the area. Unless it was that Miss Thompson. James shuddered at the thought of her shrill voice.
"Who is it?"
His mother only smiled and pointed at the door.
James didn't like surprises, especially when he had the feeling they could never end well.
But he had no choice and so, found himself walking up the front garden to the door.

As he reached for the door handle, the door opened from the inside.
"James" said a familiar voice.
He looked up and couldn't believe his eyes.
--

Sorry for such a short part.
Things are getting so mental now, that I have to break the parts down. But then again, part 1 was so long, that it seems only fair that part 2 should be shorter. lol.

To the Lake District, Part 8

2009-10-11T16:43:00.000+01:00

We're finally back in Peterborough now.
I have driven over 600 miles in the last 4 days. For those who don't know, that's. HELL of a lot in England. Lol.
Especially when you consider a fair few of those miles were up some very precarious mountain village roads. :S

So. Yesterday after we went to Holme Fells, we decided to walk around Great Langdale (where we were staying). There's some stunning scenery there.
It was very cloudy though, so no sun shots :(
Still though, we had an adventure. We were followed by a mad cow who was screaming at us. And then, after we went through a gate, he tried to follow us, screaming.
He blocked the gate and we couldn't get back. So instead we jumped a stone wall an walked across a field of sheep.
Insanely scary cow. Seriously.

Anyway, that was that. There's some iPhone photos below :)

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 7

2009-10-10T15:23:00.000+01:00

Omg!
Wow. What a morning!
I have a whole LOAD of photos and I even made a video diary which I will post up.
But in the meantime, enjoy these crudely taken iPhone photos.

These were all taken at Holme Fells near Coniston.

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 6

2009-10-09T20:21:00.000+01:00

So we're back. We've got Aji in tow as well :)

I managed to convince my bro that we go to Lake Windermere, and it was awesome.
It was supposed to rain all day, but it just as we left for Kendal to get Aji.

So now we're back in the caravan/cabin, cooking pasta (not my choice, believe me) and pizza for dinner.

Well, now I'm gonna go enjoy eating. I'll leave you with some pics of the afternoon.

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 5

2009-10-09T15:02:00.000+01:00

It's currently 3 pm and we're taking a break after finishing our first walk.
In the morning we went to Grasmere up supplies!
We also walked around the village, bought authentic Grasmere gingerbread (the home of Gingerbread apparently) and saw the grave of William Wordsworth.

After we got back, we made breakfast, ate heartily, and went off for our walk in Elterwater.
A pretty sweet walk with some beautiful views.
Lots of arguing between my brother and I (but we're allowed as we're brothers and best friends), and a lot of photos.

I'm currently trying to convince my bro to go for another walk now before picking up Aji (my other best friend) from Kendal.

Enjoy these temp iPhone taken pics :)

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 4

2009-10-08T23:17:00.000+01:00

A couple more photos from the journey :)

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 3

2009-10-08T21:41:00.001+01:00

Photos of the caravan/cabin

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 2

2009-10-08T21:15:00.000+01:00

Ok... We're here. After a 5 hour car journey in the most beautiful weather.
Seriously, it's stunning.
No phone signal tho :(
Luckily there is wifi so I skype and Twitter and FB and blogging :) he he.

Anyway, going out for a late night stroll. Another pic attached.

-- Post From My iPhone

To the Lake District, Part 1

2009-10-08T14:17:00.001+01:00

Ok. We're filling up petrol in Peterborough and are on our way out!!
Woooo. I'm drivig for this leg of the journey. 4 hours till we get there :)

-- Post From My iPhone

Lake District... away for a while...

2009-10-08T07:23:00.001+01:00

Hey everyone.
I'm gonna be off to the Lake District for 4 days, so excuse me if I've disappeared somewhat from the online world!
It's strange in itself that I feel the need to write a blog explaining my online hiatus. haha.
I'm obsessed.

Anyway, I will carry on with the story once I'm back :)

p.s. - Expect loads of photos to be posted, and perhaps even an ongoing travel blog on my website.

A Story - Chapter 8, Part 1

2009-09-29T11:08:00.002+01:00

My apologies to you all for taking so long to get the next part out there.

It's been MENTAL busy at the moment, and even though, all I want to do is write, I've had NO time at all :(

But here I am, attempting to make amends, so I hope you can forgive me :)

I don't want to waste anymore time, so let's get on to chapter 8.

You can read all the other parts on Mo Jiwa's Website.

Oh yeah, so you know, the locations referred to in this part of the story are all based on a real place, with a few minor adjustments. The geography however is correct, and in typical 'James' fashion, you can view AND study the maps of the area here.

Chapter 8

James felt that his first day at school had been somewhat of a success. This was mainly due to the fact that nothing of any consequence took place. In his old school, there were so many children, and so few teachers, that there was always some type of shenanigan taking place. But when you had only a handful of children, and teachers who were more often than not parents of the students, the trouble was kept to a minimum.

Lunch time (the time James dreaded the most) came and went with the only shock being the excellent quality of the food. James sat next to Ben and Tania at lunch time. It quickly became apparent to James that Ben and Tania were good friends. They might have even been best friends -but James didn't know enough about them to make that assumption. What he did know was that he liked them both already. They asked him to sit with them at lunch time, and Ben even helped James with an answer in Mrs Miles's afternoon geography class.

With the village being so small, he was sure that the two of them couldn't live too far away from him, and was excited at the prospect of hopefully being able to spend more time with them after school.

"Where do you live?" Ben asked the question before James could. They were stood outside the school where James was waiting for his mother to pick him up.

"In a bungalow." James replied, still completely unaware of the geography of the area. "I'm new, and I still don't know where anywhere is." He quickly added so as not to make himself appear totally devoid of brain matter.

Ben nodded.

"Well, it can't be that far away from here. How long did it take you to get here?" Tania said in her 'matter-of-factly-I'm-always-right-but-in-a-non-annoying-way' tone.

"Erm... well, it didn't take long, but we came in the car."

"Which way did you come from?" Ben asked looking up and down the road.

James pointed out to their left. "That way... I think."

Tania began to walk off in the direction James had just pointed. A few seconds later, Ben was by her side. They stopped and looked around.

"Well... what are you waiting for?" Tania questioned.

James didn't know what she was talking about.

"For my mum?" James was unsure whether that was the right answer.

"We'll get there quicker if we walk."

It didn't make sense to James, but she said with such conviction that he dare not question her.

"But I don't know where it is."

"You know what your house looks like don't you?" Ben asked as pulled his backpack over both his shoulders.

James nodded. "It's a bungalow."

Ben looked at Tania "Well, that's a start."

"Come on. It'll be an adventure." Tania's eyes filled with a look of excitement. "Come on, come on, come on."

For James, 'adventure' had been the magic word. It was a word that could fill the mind of a child with impossible possibilities. It didn't matter where you were, or what you were doing; but say 'adventure' and all of a sudden there was a chance of meeting a pirate, or discovering aliens, or maybe even meeting a giant! The only limit was the imagination of a child. James however, had no limitation in this regard, and mind ran wild with thoughts of goblins and wizards.

James soon forgot that he was waiting for his mother and ran after Tania and Ben who had already started walking up the road.

Before long, the children became side-tracked from their actual mission, and instead Tania and Ben gave James a tour of the village. James knew he was in Borrowdale, but what he didn't know was that Borrowdale was in fact quite a large area. The village where he now lived was called 'Rosthwaite'. Ben had kindly pointed that out to him.

It was a small village surrounded by three very large hills. There were trees and fields as far as the eye could see, with the exception of a river that split into two just before the start of the village, meaning that there were two streams passing through it.

There was no doubting the beauty of the place, especially now that grey clouds had moved on and the sun was shining brightly overhead; but it still unsettled James somewhat. You see, James was used to the big city life of London, and coming here had shattered everything he thought he knew about the world. He had never been out of London before, so he didn't know how people could live without lots of shops, buses, tubes or noise. To him, that had just been the way things were.

And now this was going to be 'the way things were' and was going to take some getting used to.

The school was located near a hotel and there was a road to the right of the one that they were on that led down into what James thought must be the 'Village Centre'. 'I must look this all up on the map.' James thought to himself as they walked down the road.

"Was it this way?" Tania asked, not really looking for an answer. He had already made up her mind as to where she wanted to go.

"I can't remember... I think so." Said James, knowing that it was a complete lie. He didn't know why, but he didn't think it right to say anything that would cause Tania to change her course.

"This is the road into the Village Square." Said Tania in her 'I'm-a-tour-guide-in-a-non-annoying-way' tone. "Ben and I live near there." She said it as though they lived together, which James found out later was not the case. "Did you go through the Square when you came to school?"

"I don't think so." Said James. That was true. He would have remembered seeing this many houses. Not that there were many, but it was more than none, which is the number he remembered seeing on his way to school that morning.

Tania carried on regardless.

They took James all around the village and showed him places of particular interest. The sweet shop ("Ye Olde Rosthwaite Sweet Shoppe" the sign read, and James began to wonder if it was the shop(pe) keeper who couldn't spell, or himself!), the village well (where a young girl apparently fell down years ago. Tania said that if you listened carefully enough, you could still hear her crying. James listened very carefully but heard nothing. "It only happens at night" said Tania), and the waterfall!

It wasn't a big waterfall mind you. About 10 feet high, and trickling steadily, but to a child-sized-Londoner, it might as well have the Niagara Falls. James couldn't stop staring at it, and eventually Ben had to pull him away.

James saw where Tania and Ben lived (separately of course), Mrs. Miles's house, and they even bumped into Miss Thompson. "Hello James!" Her voice cut the peaceful village ambiance like a rusty saw on metal. "Tania, Ben! Good evening! It's so nice to see you're already making friends."

"Hello Miss Thompson" they replied in unison in a zombie-like fashion.

A few more pleasantries were exchanged and finally the children were free to carry on.

"I really should get home." James said in a sad voice. He needed to get home, but he really didn't want to. He was enjoying his time with new friends, and wasn't ready for it to end.

"Well, there's only one road we haven't been on yet, so let's try that one. It has to be it." Tania concluded in her 'It's-okay-I'll-take-charge-in-a-non-annoying-way' voice.

And so they went up a road that led away from the Village Square. The road took them back to where the school was and then went off into some woods beyond.

They didn't have to go far before the trees cleared and they saw James's house (bungalow). It was the only building on the road, surrounded by trees and fields. Behind the house was the biggest of the hills.

"That's it! That's it!" James shouted excitedly.

"I've never been here before." said Ben as he viewed the house, his head sort of cocked to the side as he took in the height of the hill.

"Neither have I." Said Tania in a 'I-can't-believe-I-haven't-been-here-before... in-a-non-annoying-way' tone.

James felt proud that his home impressed them.

The feeling was short-lived however, as a few moments later, his mother came running out of the front door screaming.

"You better go." James told Tania and Ben. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to think his new friends had steered him away... which they had, but that wasn't the point.

Ben understood why James was worried, and before Tania could protest, he pulled her arm and they ran down the road and out of site, leaving James to face his mothers' wrath alone.

To be continued...

A Story - Chapter 7, Part 2

2009-09-16T09:54:00.005+01:00

Guess what I tried to do the other day?

That's right - I attempted to record myself speaking the prologue of this story.

Woah! What a trip! lol.

I've done podcasting before, but this was totally different. Reading a story aloud is so strange. Trying to sound enthusiastic when needs be, and attempting altering your voice for the different characters. Hahaha.

Needless to say, it was an experience.

I still need to do some editing and touching up, but I'm hoping that the first part of the audio book for this story will be out for downloading pretty soon.

But, before I can actually release it, I need a title for this book - so please let's get some ideas flowing.

I wonder sometimes, how many people are actually reading my blogs? I mean, I have like 6 followers on blogspot.com, and then the people I tag on FB... but who out there actually reads this thing and doesn't follow me?

Could you comment? Let me know you are actually out there :D

Anyway, let's get on to chapter 7, part 2.

You can read all the other parts on Mo Jiwa's Website :)

The first thing James noticed as he walked through the door was how small the class was.

In his old school, James shared a class with about 25 other kids. Here, there were only 6 students (7 including him): 2 boys and 4 girls.

The tables weren't separated either. They were all joined together at the centre of the room, with children sitting around them facing in making it look more like the table in a boardroom than a classroom.

Standing in front of the new class, Mrs Miles presented James to them, as you would a dog at a show.

"Class, this is James."
"Good morning James." Their voices rang out in unison except for one boy, who was slightly slow to start, and so his 'James' came a moment after the others, creating the impression of an echo.

"James has just moved here from London, so let's do our best to make him feel welcome."

"Yes Mrs. Miles (iles)." The children (and the echo) sang.

Mrs Miles sat at the "head" of the table and motioned toward the only empty seat on her left "Why don't you take a seat James?"

James took off his satchel and coat, and placed them over his seat before sitting down.

"Okay, it's been a while since we've had a new student, so why don't we all introduce ourselves to James?"

No response.

"Yes?" Mrs Miles smiled at the children, making sure to catch each of their eyes as she looked around the table. They nodded. How could they refuse that smile?

"Yes Mrs. Miles (iles)." It was the only logical response.

"Excellent. Well, I'll begin." She turned to look at James. "My name is Mrs. Miles. I've been a teacher here for 3 years. I play the piano and I love children."

She smiled at James. James smiled back.

Mrs. Miles looked to the girl on her right indicating it was her turn to speak.

The girl was quite thin and pale. Her blonde hair was tightly tied in a pony tail and James detected a faint trace of lipstick on her lips. Her voice was overflowing with confidence as she spoke. She had obviously done this sort of thing before.

"My name is Jennifer Neil, but everybody calls me Jenny. I am eight and three-quarters years old. I love my dog Dylan, and my pony Snowflake more than anything in the whole world." As she said the word "whole", she stretched her arms out to as far as they would go. "I live in a big house with my mum, my dad, my older brother Fraser, and my baby sister Liane. Sometimes I look after my sister when mum goes to the shops. But I don't change her nappies. That's disgusting. Sometimes I-"
"Thank you Jenny." Mrs. Miles interrupted. "That was very... comprehensive." Jenny sat up smiling, obviously very proud of her oration.

"Okay, Michael, it's your turn. Perhaps use a few less sentences if you can."

Michael, the boy sat next to Jenny was shaking. James was sure that this boy was the cause of the echo earlier on. His long mousey-brown hair covered his eyes as he attempted to speak. His words barely audible due to his quiet voice and stammering.

"I'm M-M-M-Michael." He began... and ended.

"Anything else you'd like to say about yourself Michael?" Mrs. Miles's voice was encouraging without the slightest hint of annoyance.

"I like m-m-m-maths and t-t-trains."

"Thank you Michael." Mrs. Miles refused to let the torture continue and turned the attention to another girl. "Lisa?"

Lisa also had blonde hair, but hers was shorter than Jenny's. Her skin was not as pale either, and there was no sign on make up on her face. She looked at James and smiled as she spoke.

"Hi James. I'm Lisa. I love playing sports. My mum teaches P.E. at the school and my best friend is Joanne." She pointed at the girl sat next to her.

Joanne was easily the tallest girl in the glass. Even sat down, she dwarfed the others. She had curly black hair that fell just above her shoulders and was obviously wearing blusher and eye-liner... at least. She needed no cue to begin and just started talking.

"My name is Joanne and my best friend is Lisa." She looked at Lisa. Lisa giggled. "I like playing netball, but most of all, I like boys."

"Thank you Joanne. I think that's enough." Mrs. Miles had turned a light shade of red and was desperately trying to the stifle the laughter trying to escape her mouth. Smiling to herself, she nodded at the boy next to Joanne.

"Hi, I'm Ben." Ben was quite small, probably the smallest in the class. He had short, spiky black hair and his left arm was in a sling. "Ben's my English name. Most Chinese people have English names as well. My Chinese name is Xiu-li. I broke my arm last week when I tried to jump from the swing."

James could tell that Ben was someone he could be friends with. James decided he would try and make Ben his new friend. But it had been so long since he needed to make a friend, he didn't know where to begin.

"Thank you Ben." Mrs. Miles said in her kind voice. Both the blushing and the need to laugh had subsided now.

There was one person left, and that was the girl sat on James's left.

The girl had naturally tanned skin and long dark hair that came down in pig tails at either side of her head. Her pig tails were tied with bands that had a flower attached to them, so it looked as though her hair was sprouting daisies. She was also the only person in the class wearing glasses.

Mrs. Miles looked at her and nodded.

The girl turned to face James. She held out her hand.

"Hi James," James lifted his hand slowly and before he had time to do anything else, the girl grabbed it and shook it enthusiastically. "I'm Tania." She let go of his hand. "I'm the class monitor. I like making cakes at home with my nan who I live with. I hope you like it here."

James was overwhelmed with the new names and faces. He couldn't remember the first girl who spoke to the class. 'What was her name?' James was thinking to himself when Mrs. Miles spoke to him.

"Okay James, your turn."

James's eyes opened wide in shock. He'd been here for two minutes and he was already having to speak to everyone. His face turned red. How could Mrs. Miles do this to him? She was supposed to be nice.

Mrs. Miles looked into James's eyes.

"Don't be shy James." Her voice was calming, almost hypnotic. "Just tell us a little bit about yourself."

James took a deep breath. He wasn't wrong about Mrs. Miles. She wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.

He looked around at the students. All of them were looking at him. Waiting.

"I'm James." He began. His voice quiet. He coughed and spoke louder, confidence coming from his teacher's smile. "I'm James. I moved here a few days ago. I live with my mum in a bungalow. I have an older brother who is at university."

James looked at Mrs. Miles who smiled proudly at him.

James felt elated.

'Things were going to be alright' he thought.

"Shall we begin today's lesson then?"

"Yes Mrs. Miles (iles)." The class responded, including James.

A Story - Chapter 7, Part 1

2009-09-14T11:33:00.006+01:00

I was really pleased with the positive comments I got last week to Chapter 6, Part 2.

I know it's been a bit all over the place, and personally, I'm shocked I've managed to actually stick to writing this thing! lol.

In fact, I've been so excited about how this is turning out, that I've already been thinking about new stories to write and publish in a similar way.

Anyway, here's another idea I've been having: I was thinking about reading the chapters aloud, like an audio book, and having them available to download like a podcast, so those that don't have the time to read it, could listen to it instead.
Is that something that people might be into? If not, then I won't bother, but if there's enough interest, I'd be up for it.

So, here we go - Chapter 7, Part 1.

You can read all the other parts on Mo Jiwa's website.

p.s. - If you have personal sites, I would really appreciate if you could link up to my site, under the label "Mo Jiwa's website" or "Mohammed Jiwa's website", as opposed to just http://mojiwa.com, just to get my Google rankings up.

Thanks.

Chapter 7

The next couple of days went too quickly for James to remember. After taking his bike out for a spin with uncle, things suddenly went into overdrive. His uncle went back and his mother had him out shopping for new school uniform (which James hated by the way), books, stationary, and all the other usual school related things.

'So much for freedom' James thought. Those last few moments were snatched away from him by his mother never to be reclaimed, and before he knew it, he was standing outside the front entrance to St Thomas Moore primary school, his new home for the next 3 years.

James really did hope that he wouldn't have to start school until September. It was the end of June already and the holidays were less than a few weeks away. What was the point of starting now? He wish he had never mentioned the word 'school' in the first place the other day. Maybe his mother would have forgotten all about it.

Instead, James was now stood in his new uniform (consisting of a white short sleeved shirt that was far too big for him -his mother believed in investing for the future-, a grey tie, grey shorts, and long grey socks; all topped off with a grey hat) which complimented the current weather perfectly. The sun was long gone and the sky was now dark grey. There was a strong wind in the air, and James could smell the promise of rain heading toward him and his grey shorts.

His mother stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders, pushing him forward.

"Have a good time and make lots of friends. I'll be here at 3 to pick you up."

James tried to make a comment, but his voice was lost in the wind. Not that his mother was listening anyway. She seemed eager to leave, and James didn't want to keep her.

And so, stoic as ever, James pulled his satchel over his shoulder, lifted his head up high and walked forward toward the front door.

"Now Jamie, promise me you won't get in any trouble. You promise?"

James nodded in response to his father's words of warning.

"If any kid tries to cause you any trouble, just ignore him."

"Or her." His mother's head popped up from behind his father's.

"No girl is going to cause my boy any trouble. Isn't that right Jamie?" His father was smiling now, so James smiled.

"Just have a good time son. We'll be here at the end of the day to pick you up." His father laughed, "And don't break any hearts eh?"

James smiled again, but had no clue what his father was talking about. Why would he break hearts? It wasn't something he'd ever considered before. In fact, James never thought about breaking anything. Why would his father say that? Did he know something James didn't? James began to worry. It showed on his face.

"I'm only joking Jamie." His father's hand ruffled his hair. "Now off you go! We'll see you later. Remember, just have fun."

James was smiling again, and this time he knew why. As he walked up to the front entrance on that bright and sunny September morning, he looked back at his parents standing waving at him, and he was filled with love for them both, and excitement for what lay beyond the door.

James looked back before entering the school. His mother's back was already turned and she was making her way to the car. James shrugged his feelings of rejection away, and reached out for the door.
Just as he pushed it open, the rain started. James sighed as he walked inside. At least it waited till he got to the entrance.

This school was much smaller than his old school, which wasn't a surprise to James really. He knew it would be smaller. But this was really tiny. There must have been only a handful of kids at this school.

James went up to the reception desk, his eyes barely making it over the counter.

"Hello." He called out to the receptionist behind the desk.

The receptionist was a young girl and seemed a bit bewildered when she heard the small voice.

She looked around confused.

"Hello!" James called again, a little louder.

The receptionist was obviously completely clueless to James's presence.

James jumped up and down a little, and that's when the receptionist saw the bouncing cap in front of her table.

"Oh. Hi there little guy. How can I help?" Her voice grated against James's ears. The only way James could describe it was 'squeeky like a mouse, but louder... like a human-sized mouse would sound'.

"My name is James, and I start today."

She looked down at a sheet of paper.

"So you do! Well James, why don't you come with me?"

She got up and came around to the front of the table. She took James's hand in her own, and led him away down the corridor. "You can call me Miss Thompson." James nodded not wanting to encourage further conversation with this woman.

A few moments later, James was in front of his classroom door.

Miss Thompson behind him, her hands on his shoulders pushing him forward. If James knew what 'Déjà vu' meant, he would have used it to describe that moment.

'Mrs. Miles - Year 3' was printed on a sign that was stuck to the door.

James put his hand on the door handle.

The door opened from the other side, and a young, tall woman appeared in front of him.

"Hello Mrs Miles. This is James Baker. He starts today."

Mrs Miles eyes screwed up for just a moment. Obviously she couldn't stand the voice either.

"Thank you Miss Thompson."

Miss Thompson lifted her hands from James's shoulders and stepped back. She leaned forward and whispered in James's ear, "Good luck." She then turned and left, leaving James alone with his new teacher.

Mrs Miles looked down at James and smiled.

Instantly he was filled with assurance. Suddenly James knew that it didn't matter what lay beyond that door. It didn't matter how many bullies there were, or if he made friends or not. It didn't matter, because there was no way Mrs Miles would let anything bad happen to him. He didn't know how he knew this, he just did.

"We've been waiting for you James." Her voice was gentle and soft. There was a kindness running through it that James had only ever heard in the voice of his father.

James smiled back at her.

"Hello miss." He said as she led him through the door and to his new life at St Thomas Moore.

A Story - Chapter 6, Part 2

2009-09-10T10:20:00.000+01:00

So, I wasn't too happy with the last part of the story.
I was trying to write it when work were giving me too much work to do, and I was rushing it, and so now I want to go back and change it. lol. Maybe I will. We'll see.
I'm home now, and attempting to write this next section whilst in the lounge with two of my flatmates, whilst watching CSI: Miami... So yeah, I doubt my concentration will be at it's max level... but let's see where we go with eh? hehe.

Oh yeah, I've also decided that I want to learn to mimic the South African accent. All my flatmates are South African, and I love their accent.

-UPDATE - OMG! This has taken me THREE days to write! Arghhhh! lol

Anyway, back to the story. Here's chapter 6, part 2.
You can read all the other parts at http://mojiwa.com

--

After breakfast, James sat on the furniture-less living room floor with his mother. His uncle had just woken up and James could hear him milling around in the bathroom.
Now that he had eaten, James started thinking again about the previous night. He was still confused and wasn't sure what really happened.
His mind was wandering which would probably explain why he didn't hear his mother calling his name when she did.
"James. Are you listening to me?"
James turned to look at his mother.
"Huh?"
"I've been calling your name for ages. Where are you?"
James shook his head.
"Your head must still be hurting. I think we should get you to the doctor."
"No!" James said suddenly. "I was just thinking."
"Thinking? What were you thinking about honey?"
"Erm... you know... school and stuff."

James's uncle walked through the living room door.
"Morning. Did I... WOAH! James, what happened to you?"
James looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "I bumped my head in my sleep."
"Ouch! Is he alright?" He was looking to James's mother now.
She smiled. "I think he'll be fine."
"So, did I miss breakfast already?"
James nodded and his uncle's face dropped slightly.
"There's a plate for you in the kitchen." James's mother pointed toward the kitchen door.
Smiling, his uncle walked out and came back with a plate in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.

James looked at his mother raising his eyebrows.
"It's okay, he was asleep. We couldn't very well wake him up now could we?"
His mother woke him up for breakfast when he was asleep. James shook his head at the hypocrisy. Unfairness knew no bounds.

"So, what are we talking about?" His uncle asked as he sat down on the floor.
"James has been thinking about school."
"Can't wait to start your new school eh?"
James simply nodded. He wasn't particularly keen on going to school, and to be honest, it was actually the furthest thing from his mind at this moment in time.

"I think he should start next week." James suddenly paid attention at what his mother had just said. Next week? Already? Surely he would need more time to prepare for school.

"Is that too late for you Jimmy?" His uncle had misread the sadness in James's face.

"I suppose we could push it forward. I don't think the school would mind. I think Wednesday would be good."

Suddenly everything was moving too fast for James. From starting school next week to Wednesday?! Things were getting seriously out of control, but James knew there was nothing he could do. This was a classic example of what happens when you put two or more adults in a room together to discuss the welfare of a child. Even if James screamed out in protest, it wouldn't be possible to dissuade them from the decision they were about to make.

It was inevitable. As soon as his mother picked up that phone, he'd be starting school in two days.

You couldn't really blame James for being somewhat apprehensive about going to school. After all, his only experiences of school were not exactly... positive.

The constant bullying appeared in a variety of different forms: from simple name calling ("sticks and stones") to more aggressive acts of intimidation.

But it wasn't all bad. James did have a few good friends that made it better.

It struck James now more than ever, that even though he had friends, they were on the other side of the country. They wouldn't be there on Wednesday when he started school. He couldn't bear having to face the bullies alone, but what choice did he have?

James's mother stepped out of the room to make 'the call' that would rob James of the few days of freedom he had left. What kind of a mother would send her son out to the dogs in such a way? James felt betrayed, but he expected no less from the woman who had uprooted him from his happy life and landed him here, in this village of bad dreams and strange gardens.

"What's say we get out in that garden later today? Try out that bike of yours eh Jimmy?" His uncle spoke to him through mouthfuls of baked beans, one rogue bean making a break for it down his chin. He caught it with his hand just before it jumped for freedom.

Before James could answer, he continued, "I'm only here for one more day before I've gotta go back. Come on, it'll be fun."

James did enjoy spending time with his uncle. He had become somewhat of a father figure over the last couple of years. But something inside him made him want to just be alone for the time being. He couldn't however, express this feeling to his now enthusiastic uncle, and so James just nodded.

"Yeah!" He said, trying to sound as excited as possible.

"Great!" He fell for it. "Let me finish breakfast and we'll get you on that bike!"

James's mother walked through the door.

"It's all sorted James. You'll start on Wednesday. Isn't that great?"

James let out a small groan from his mouth and loud scream in his head.

All things Green and wonderful...

2009-09-08T12:17:00.009+01:00

As some of you may already know, I spent the better part of last week at the bi-annual Green Party Conference in Hove (this is why the story I'm writing hasn't been updated in some time).

Due to my duties as part of conference committee, I was hardly able to attend any of the speeches, panels or discussions at conference. I even missed the party leader's speech, and the deputy leader's speech; and have not yet had an opportunity to check them online.

But I will as soon as I get home tonight, as they're always very motivating.

From the feedback I received personally from conference delegates, it was a major success. Apparently it was one of the most smoothly run conference in recent years with possibly the best entertainment conference has ever had to offer! We had a comedy night featuring the very talented political poet, Attila the Stockbroker; and the one and only hilarious political comedian, Mark Thomas.

Anyway, the point I was getting to was this:

I have now officially stepped down from conferences committee, which is going to leave me with a lot of free time that I hope to dedicate to the party in some other way.

There's a number of things on my mind that I would like to pursue, and as much as I'd like to do them all, I know that's not going to be possible.

Firstly, I plan to stand for council in Ealing. Now, I know this is not actually going to achieve anything. The area of Ealing I live in is a Conservative Party stronghold. If I stand, I'll never get voted in. But, that doesn't mean I won't try. I don't care how difficult it's going to be, but I WILL do my best to make myself known to my neighbours and community. Even if I don't get voted in, the least I could do is educate people about Green policies - which are not JUST about the environment.

We have very sustainable policies about economy, healthcare and education. But of course, it's hard to look past the the ecology issue when your name is "Green".

But that's what it takes: a lot of hard work and educating.

I feel that our "Think Again" party broadcast video did a great job of letting people know that we're about MORE than just the environment. I highly recommend that you check it out.

So, other than council, I really want to spend more time with the Young Greens. There is in fact a Young Green's conference to be held in Cambridge in October that I will be attending, in the hopes of standing for a committee position.

Also, related to the Young Greens, I am keen to organise a London group for Young Greens, as we don't have a non-university affiliated group in London, and there's many of us here, so it would be good to rally together.

This is what conference does to me. It just gets me so riled up about politics, and it makes me want to actually DO something about it rather than just moan about it. Even voting can only get you so far - but getting involved, even on a small level - that's how to initiate change. It's not about winning general elections and running the country - it's about educating people how to live sustainably, responsibly and in happiness. Because happiness is really what it all comes down to. I say that knowing full well it makes me sound like a hippy. But you tell me this - who doesn't want to be happy?

I think that's all I should say for now, lest I get a bit crazy. I haven't started about the other things conference got me angry about (Palestine, again!). But we shall have to save that for another day.

Yes, that's me on the left in the Independent! lol

A Story - Chapter 6, Part 1

2009-09-01T14:23:00.003+01:00

So, we're back to the story, and things are starting to get interesting eh?

I find it so funny that each part of this story takes a different narrative style, as I write it all at different times, in different moods.

I really can't imagine it flowing at all. I feel for you that bother to read it. lol.

So, here we go, to chapter 6, part 1.

You can read all the other parts at http://mojiwa.com

When James woke up, he was surrounded by darkness.

The last thing he remembered was lying in the wet grass... and the breathing behind him!

He tried to get up, but a pain shot down from his forehead through his entire body, keeping him down.

He was still confused and tried to work out where he was.

The surface he was lying on was quite soft, and he could hear no nature-type sounds, suggesting he was probably in his bed. That would also explain the darkness, especially if the curtains around the bed were drawn.

James tried to think back to how he got into his bed, but he couldn't remember a thing. What if his mother had found him! He would definitely be grounded for this. Wandering around at night in the garden.

The garden!

Whatever that place was, it wasn't the garden.

If it wasn't for the pain in his head, he would have thought he was dreaming.

Maybe he did dream it? Perhaps he just knocked his head on the bed post during his sleep?

All these thoughts floated around James's mind when he suddenly heard his mothers' voice.

"James."

This was the moment of truth. Time to find out what had happened.

It took all of James's strength to lift his head without collapsing.

Eventually he managed to get out of bed and make his way to the bathroom.

"Jaaaaames." His mother had an annoying way of prolonging the "a" in his name when she was getting impatient. James imagined his mother's voice as a wave on the sea 'Jayayayayayaymes' the wave would call. And James would simply look away.

James looked in the bathroom mirror, and nearly jumped back when he saw the large greeny-blue bump on the side of his head. There was no way he could hide that.

Trying not to think about it, he picked up his toothbrush from the glass shelf and began to brush his teeth.

"Finally. Take a seat honey, and- OH MY GOD! James! What happened to you?"

James had just entered the dining room(/kitchen) and was slowly making his way to his seat when his mother caught sight of the bump.

So, she didn't find him outside. Which only made James think it didn't actually happen. He must have dreamt it. There was no other explanation.

"James! What happened?"

James shook his head coming back to reality.

"I think I hit my head on the bed in my sleep."

"I knew that bed was a bad idea. I'm going to get rid of it right away."

"No mum. I like it... I just need to get used to it."

His mother stood facing him for a short while before getting down on her knees and hugging him.

"Does it hurt honey?" She put on her overly-sympathetic voice now.

James nodded.

"Aww. My poor boy. Come on, sit down, let's get you some breakfast shall we?"

James nodded again.

He sat down facing the garden. The patio door blinds were open now and the bright sunlight was shining through the window warming James's face and hands.

Looking out into the garden now, he could appreciate its beauty properly for the first time.

His red bike was still on the patio, although now it was covered in rain from the storm.

The patio wasn't very large. Quite small in fact. Perhaps only a few feet. And beyond that lay the gigantic garden!

The grass was like a bright green carpet. James remembered how soft the grass had felt between his toes (in his dream of course).

The only trees in the garden were the line of conifers that James saw at the front gate. They came up to the start of the patio, and then shot vertically down the length of the garden. They also ran across the back of the garden, but they were not cut short down back there. Instead they were very tall and wild, acting as a back fence for the property.

In a similar way to the front garden, there was a path of slabs winding around the back garden, making it's way from the patio to the end, and back again; but not before circling the centre of the garden, and one of the most beautiful things James had ever seen.

There, in the middle of the garden was an extremely large, very old looking stone fountain.

It wasn't a typical garden fountain, but more like the type James had seen in photos of Paris.

It was bigger than most back gardens in itself, but in this garden it felt quite at home.

James was slightly upset that there was no water flowing from it right now, but it was far from empty. The storm last night had caused the base of the fountain to be filled to the brim with rain water.

James still couldn't get over the sheer size of the garden. It stretched back so far and was so wide. But without any trees, it felt very empty.

In all his excitement, James hadn't noticed his mother standing beside him. He looked down and a plate filled with fried egg, beans, sausages, bacon and toast sat before him. A glass of milk on the side.

Steam rose from the plate, and with it, the aroma of the various foods. James's mouth began to water uncontrollably, and for a while, all thoughts of gardens, strange dreams and nasty bumps took a back seat to breakfast.

To be continued...

School... lies, lies, and wait... yup, more lies

2009-08-26T12:33:00.005+01:00

I am taking yet another break from story writing to have a small rant about my childhood. Well, not just my childhood, but the childhood of everyone who grew up in Britain at the same time as I did.

It has become apparent to me, over the years, that many of things I was taught in school have proven to be a complete waste of time.

I know many people have been saying this for years: "When will I ever use maths"; "When will I ever use physics" - but I'm not talking about that. I personally use those skills everyday, so I have no beef with calculus.

My aggravation lies with things that are so institutionalised, that many of you will have simply overlooked them.

So let me begin with my most recent annoyance: History.

We learnt history in school. And it was great. I mean, I loved learning about the past. About what horrific atrocities the Brit's committed abroad (oh no, wait, they left that part out). About Ancient Egypt, Native Americans, etc... It was really eye-opening and interesting.

So what's the problem?

Well, my problem came when I was asked to write essays about what I was taught.

An essay? On the Tudors? Erm... WHY?

What can you possibly hope to accomplish by writing an essay on history? It's not like you can change it? All you will ever do is discuss to no end about something that's already happened, the outcomes of which have already manifest themselves; with no hope of ever, EVER being able to alter events in the slightest.

At least if you write and discuss sociology, you're looking at something that's happening now. How society is working now, and how things can be made better, or how we can study things better.

Learning about what took place is one thing, but asking me what I thought about it is something totally different. And then having the nerve to GRADE me on my thoughts, which by the way, have to actually be the thoughts of the syllabus (God forbid school should let you think freely), is simply unacceptable in my book.
Thank you, but NO thanks to you history exams! A complete waste of time.

The proof of which is: Mankind DO NOT learn from their mistakes. I don't think I need to point out all the examples of this. lol.

Secondly: Handwriting.

Ahhh... the bane of my primary school existence. Joined up handwriting. With an ink pen. What on earth was going on there??

I have a theory about this. You see, I think that Parker Pens had an agreement with the British government, so that we all had to buy ink pens in primary school and learn to write joined up. Sure, there were other pens out there, but the school would recommend Parker's, and SELL Parker's in their shop. Conspiracy? I think so.

Anyway, then the teachers would tell us: "You have to write with an ink pen, and joined up, because that's how you have to write in the real world."

So there I was, innocent and naive, aged 4, trying my hardest to master this pen that had obviously spawned from the creative juice of some demon; thinking "I have to learn to write with this, otherwise I'll never get anywhere in life."

Fast-forward to age 11, my first day in Secondary School, and I rock up, my pencil case adorned with a new Parker ink pen, and a handful of ink cartridges.

Boy did I feel like an idiot.

I learnt that day that in the real world, people used BIC pens, and wrote as disjointedly as they liked.

But they still wouldn't let me write with a pencil, or in all CAPS.

It wasn't until I started actually working in this so-called "real-world", that I found out that the very limited writing you do have to do, can be done in any way you want, using whatever you can find - black ink, blue ink, red ink, green, glittery purple, pencils, crayons... It's a mad free-for-all.

In addition to that, I hardly ever have to write anything by hand anyway. It's computers that do all my writing now.

So, from joined up writing with an ink pen, to hardly ever writing at all.

Thank you, but NO thanks to you handwriting!

In school, and even in uni, the "system" seem completely convinced that an exam is the best way to see what you've learnt. If it's not an exam, then it's coursework in the form of some kind of essay. The more words the better (but remember... it's quality, not quantity), despite what they say. I could have summed up Marxism in half a page, concisely, but I would have got an F, because it wasn't 3000 words long. Yet another hypocritical lie of the school system.

Anyway, I digress.

Maths exams - learn the formulas... show your working out... no calculators.

Geography tests - know the capitals of every country, blah blah blah.

I would like to think that perhaps the school board was being a little ignorant of what the future held in store, but even today, I see the same tests and exams taking place.

In an exam, you can't talk to anyone.

It's all preparation for the real world. That's what they always say to you at school right? "This is to prepare you for the future!".

I can't believe they got away with that lie.

Since finishing education, I have NEVER EVER EVER been in a situation where I had to work something out where I couldn't use a calculator.

I can't remember the last time I couldn't ask someone for help with a problem I was having.

And I never recall having to write an essay about how I thought the use of one email service provider is more beneficial than another (this relates to my job).

School made me believe this was the way the world worked.

Obviously they never thought about the potential of Google and Wikipedia!

How could they lie to me like that? How could they lie to ALL of us?

I sit here angry about all the time that was wasted writing essays when I could have been outside enjoying the sunshine.

They keep you trapped indoors, you can't eat in class (OMG! What was THAT about? No food in class? I can eat at my desk at work WHENEVER the hell I want!), they work you like slaves, and at the end of it, you get some measly GCSE's, and A-Levels that don't actually count for anything after university.

This is how school SHOULD have been run:

Computers for every child.

Lessons on how to effectively search on Google and Wikipedia.

Google Earth 101.

Write with WHATEVER you want (for the very minimal time you will be writing).

No grading on writing style. I think it would more appropriate for them to test which student chooses the nicest looking font in Microsoft Word.

Keyboard training for every child (let's face it, you're going to have to use it more than anything else).

All assignments should be worked on in groups.

In fact, NO MORE working by yourself.

NO MORE silent exams.

NO MORE memorising formulas.

ALWAYS use a calculator... even if you don't need it.

Advanced lessons in pop-culture - everything from television, to current affairs, to sports: These are the real life skills you need everyday to survive in any working environment. They never teach you that in school.

A Story - Chapter 5

2009-08-25T12:00:00.001+01:00

Sorry it's been so long since an update to this story.

It's been a completely MANIC week at work, and even now, I'm so busy, but I thought I'd at least try to start writing something! lol.

Oh yeah... this is my 100th post on my website! Woooo.

CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES, COME ON! dududu du du du duuuu!

Update - OMG! I've been trying to write this for week now, and each time I keep getting interrupted with mind dulling rubbish.
I apologise for the disjointed story telling.

So, the long awaited Chapter 5!

Read the other parts at http://mojiwa.com

The light from the torch splashed out across the grass in front of James.

He was amazed at how dark it had become outside. James was used to darkness, but he had only ever experienced it in a city.

The darkness here, in this village, in the middle of nowhere, was very different.

James was sure that if he turned off the torch, he wouldn't even be able to see his hands in front of his face.

He looked up and saw thick, black clouds covering the entire sky.

No stars...

No moon...

No light.

James wondered how long it would be before the storm. He knew from school (and his own limited experience), that big black clouds could only equal rain... a lot of rain.

He toyed with the idea of going back inside for his coat, but decided instead that it was just another obstacle standing between him and his adventure. It was only the garden after all.

And in any case, it was far too hot and stuffy for a coat.

Confident in his decision, James took a deep breath and placed his barefoot onto the soft, warm grass of the garden.

Suddenly the entire garden lit up in a brilliant flash of momentary white light!

The lightening had startled James, but it was the thunder that made his hair stand on end.

It came only a few moments later, and filled the heavy air with a loud, rumbling sound that made the earth beneath his feet shake.

James had always enjoyed thunderstorms, but that was before he was out in one.

What if he was hit by the lightening?

How would he explain that to his mother?

James shook his head hard dispelling these negative thoughts.

He had to do this. He knew that if he went inside now, he would only come out again in ten minutes, or half an hour.

It was pulling him in a way he didn't understand.

But what? What was it that was pulling him?

Even James was old enough to know that a garden does not simply up and decide to draw a small child toward it.

James was walking forward, so deep in thought about the possible hypnotic abilities of gardens, that he had forgotten to look around and had no idea where he was.

He turned and faced the torch in the direction of what he thought was the house.

That was a strange. There didn't appear to be anything there.

"Maybe it was over there?" He thought, pointing the torch to the left.

Nothing.

James played this game several times, until he had exhausted every possible direction he thought the house may be in.

He didn't understand.

He had only been walking for a short while. Not even minutes... as far as he was aware.

Or was he aware?

James shone the torch on the ground by his feet. The grass was much longer here. Wilder. But still just as soft.

He didn't remember stepping onto longer grass.

It was only now that he also noticed the tall trees around him.

There were definitely no tall trees in the garden earlier that day when he saw his bike.

Granted, he did only glimpse at the garden, but he was sure he would remember a large number of tall trees.

It occurred to James that he might be dreaming.

He once saw a test on TV to check if you're dreaming or not.

"Ow!" he cried as he pinched himself.

He was most definitely awake.

And by the looks of it, he was still surrounded by trees and long grass.

Whatever this place was, it wasn't his garden.

Without any further idea of what to do, James felt it would be better to keep moving rather than to stand still. Perhaps he would be able to find his way to somewhere familiar.

Now, he was completely aware of the fact that he had only lived in Borrowdale for less than a day, and that nothing would be familiar to him; but these are things he chose to ignore at this point in time. The only thing that mattered to him now was to get home before his mother woke up.

James walked slowly forward. The trees around him got closer together, almost suffocating. He held the torch tight in his hand, the powerful beam illuminating the grass before him.

James lost all track of time.

He could have been walking for minutes, or hours. He wasn't entirely sure.

With no sense of where he was going, it was impossible for him to know how far he was from his house.

Completely drained of hope and enthusiasm James felt like collapsing to the ground. He was just about to, when suddenly, the trees stopped, and James walked into what appeared to be a clearing.

James shone the torch around to get a better look.

There was a large circular space in front of him, free from trees, where the grass was shorter. There didn't seem to be much else around.

It dawned upon James now how silent everything was.

The air was still heavy and warm, but there wasn't a sound to be heard anywhere. Even his feet were silent as he walked barefoot on the grass. Slightly strange for a garden he thought. Surely there should be some noise. Crickets? Badgers? Owls?

That's when he heard something.

And it wasn't a cricket, or a badger, or an owl. In fact, it was unlike any animal he had ever heard before.

There was a dragging, almost scraping sound; accompanied with heavy breathing. Nearer to panting in fact.

He didn't know what creature made that sound, especially on such soft grass.

James pointed the torch in the direction the sound was coming from... but he saw nothing.

Slightly more than just a bit nervous, James's hand was now shaking. He dared not move, but couldn't stop his hand.

The sound was getting closer by the second.

Louder now, the scraping made his whole body shake.

Still he could see nothing in front of him. He thought about perhaps turning off the torch so that he couldn't be seen, but his fingers were frozen around the handle.

James held his breath as the scraping stopped.

All he could hear now was the heavy breathing of the creature, and beating of his own heart.

Whatever it was seemed so close, and yet far enough to remain out of sight. Almost as if wanting to remain hidden.

Another white flash filled the sky and for a moment, James could see his adversary.

It was not an animal, or at least, if it was, it was very large animal. Not something you would expect to see in an English village at night.

He couldn't get a clear look at the creature, as the light was behind it, and so all James could see was a silhouette against a backdrop of trees.

It stood at nearly 7 feet tall, with wild, unkempt hair flowing around it's head, and eyes that shone brightly from the light of the torch.

James's scream was muffled by the thunder, and before he knew what he was doing, he dropped his torch in the clearing and ran back into the trees.

No sooner did he turn, the rain started to pour. It wasn't a drizzle, or a light shower, but heavy, thick rain that fell hard upon him with no mercy.

James didn't care where he was going. Thoughts of his mother and home escaped his mind as his survival instinct took over.

The ground become wet very quickly, and the soft grass was more like an ice rink now.

James slid this way and that, doing all that he could to stop himself from falling over.

But despite his best efforts, he was no match for the rain and the unfamiliar surroundings.

As he ran, James felt the ground beneath him begin to slope downward.

Before he could slow himself down, he stumbled downhill.

Falling over on to his side, James rolled past trees and rocks.

In the darkness, he could see nothing as he plummeted toward certain death.

He closed his eyes nevertheless, clenched his fists and mentally prepared him for an impact.

The last thing he remembered was another flash of lightening.

Then it went dark.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be.

James's head felt numb more than anything.

There was warm liquid running down his face. He thought it was probably blood, but couldn't be sure as it was still raining.

At least the creature wouldn't find him here.

He must be miles away by now.

James let out a sigh of relief, but perhaps a moment too soon, for just as he did, he heard the heavy breathing.

It was right behind him!
James tried to lift his head, and that's when everything went black.

No more rain...

No more sounds...

No more pain.

To be continued...

A Story - Chapter 4, Part 2

2009-08-17T09:41:00.004+01:00

Okay, now I know everyone's getting really annoyed about the garden, and I'm telling you, you'll all be really disappointed, so please prepare yourselves from now.

I've built it up so much, I bet that you're just gonna HATE me.

And yes, if you haven't already figured it out, today James WILL enter the garden! lol.

So, without any further delay, I give to you, Chapter 4, Part 2.

Read all the other parts at http://mojiwa.com

To James's surprise, when he went back into the house, his mother and uncle were sitting on the front room floor with plates of food before them.

James stared at his mother, his eyebrows raised in accusation. How dare his mother eat in the living room?! He was never allowed to eat away from the dining table.

He was just about start an argument with her when he thought to himself: 'if she's in here, then there's no-one by the patio door!'.

Perfect.

He lowered his eyebrows, and walked casually toward the hallway.

"Are you okay honey?" His mother asked.

James nodded and walked into the hall.

He could hear his mother talking about him to his uncle as he stepped out. Usually this would have bothered James, but right now, there was only one thing on his mind.

James entered the kitchen through the first door on the right in the hallway. When in the kitchen earlier, he discovered there were several ways in: the door in the front room, and two doors in the hallway, not forgetting the patio door, which is where he was now headed.

James prayed the door was unlocked, or that there was at least a key in sight, but when he got to door he discovered something better.

Although the blinds were still drawn, the door was in fact already open! James couldn't believe his luck.

Over the last few weeks, nothing had gone James's way, and now, for the first time in a long time, something had gone right.

He didn't waste anymore time.

James pulled back the door and walked through the blinds into the garden.

"Jamie!"

Silence.

"JAMIE!" The voice called louder. Not angrily though. Just louder.

Movement.

Sounds came from within the house.

A door opening.

Running down the stairs.

Another door.

"DAD!" James bounded out of the front door and ran straight into the arms of his father.

"Easy there son. How was your day?"

James hugged his father tightly in reply.

His father laughed.

"I made you something at school today." James said as he handed his father a tightly folded up piece of paper.

"This is for me?"

James nodded enthusiastically.

His father carefully unfolded the paper and looked at it with interest.

"It's the whole street... well, what I could remember of it anyway."

"Jamie... this is incredible. You did this all from memory?"

"Uh huh. It was for geography. We had to draw a map of our street. I wanted you to have it... in case you ever get lost."

His father's eyes widened. "What makes you think I'll get lost?"

James shrugged. "Just in case."

"Just in case." His father said smiling.

He stood up and walked over to the car.

"You know what Jamie?" He said as he opened the boot.

"What? What?"

"I got a little something for you too... I was thinking, that old bike of yours is getting a bit small for you now."
James gasped.

"You're a big kid now, it's time you got a big bike."

His father took out a shiny red, 5-gear, Raleigh bike from the boot. James eyed it greedily.

It was obviously far too big for James, but it didn't seem to matter, not to him, and obviously not to his father.

"JAMES!"

James opened his eyes.

His vision was blurred.

There was red everywhere.

"JAMES!" The voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater.

Or maybe James was underwater?

He didn't think so. He decided to check just in case.

He couldn't seem to move his arms or legs, but his head was definitely not underwater.

He could feel the cold, gravelly surface of the road on the side of his face.

Suddenly a sharp, and unbearable pain took over his entire body, and the world began to move.

He screamed out loud. He didn't want to, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"It's okay baby. I'm here. I'm here." It sounded less like gargling, and more like his mother.

It was then he realised that he was being carried, presumably by his mother, or someone that sounded just like her.

James moved his mouth to talk, but the pain started again.

Another scream.

There were tears in his eyes, and he couldn't even move his hands to wipe them away.

His mother(?) turned around and began to walk down the road.

It was then that James saw it, and the memory of what had happened flooded back.

There, on the side of the road was James's bike. The bike his father had given him. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't shiny anymore. It was a twisted mess of metal and rubber. A sad and ugly distortion of what was once beautiful.

Tears streamed down his face, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Standing on the garden path, in front of James, was a shiny red, 5-gear, Raleigh bike.

Obviously it was new. It couldn't have been the same one. He took a closer look. It was the same one! There it was, clear as day, his initials carved into the frame.
But how?

"Your uncle restored it for you."

James turned around and saw his mother and uncle standing in the doorway. They smiled at him.

There were tears in his eyes, and this time, James could have wiped them away, but he didn't. Instead he hugged his uncle, and then his mother.

"Now come on, it's getting late. You can play with it tomorrow." His mother led him inside.

James didn't even think about arguing with his mother. Even though he had barely looked at the garden, he was still in shock, and completely overwhelmed.

He felt as though he was floating through the kitchen, the hallway, and then to his room.

He couldn't remember getting changed, but the next thing he knew, he was lying in bed, the curtains were drawn, and he was about to spend his first night in his new house (bungalow!), and he was happy.

It was dark outside now, or at least it seemed that way. James closed his eyes and sleep came to take him...

James opened his eyes.

He didn't want to go with sleep.

What was he doing?

The pull of sleep was nothing compared to what James was feeling right now.

Without thinking it, James knew what was happening.

It was the garden.

He had to see it.

He had to see it now!

James stood in front of the patio door.

With his torch in his hand, he opened the door carefully so as not to wake anyone up.

He flicked the torch on as he stepped out into the darkness.

To be continued...

He DID go into the garden... lol.

I told you you'd be disappointed. HAHA.

In my defense though, I wasn't planning on a bike story... it just happened.

A Story - Chapter 4, Part 1

2009-08-14T09:28:00.005+01:00

After a well deserved break from writing about James (a great opportunity for people to catch up with the story, and for me to think about what to write next, as well as build some suspense), I feel it's time to continue.

So, we now go to Chapter 4.

Read all the parts at http://mojiwa.com

James had never eaten so quickly in his life. He barely remembered what he ate after the mashed potato, but within ten minutes he was finished and ready to go.

"Not so fast young man!" his mother chided.

Busted.

"We sat down together, so we will get up together." Another one of his mothers' dinner laws that made no sense to James. Why should he have to suffer because his mother and uncle were slow? It wasn't his fault.

"But mum..." James begged. He knew it wasn't going to change her mind, but as he stared longingly at the blinded patio door, he could see that it was getting darker outside. He had to try because he knew that once it was dark, there was no way his mother would let him out. If he didn't go now, he'd never be able to go... well, until tomorrow at least. But who could wait that long? Certainly not James.

He was about to launch into a full scale attack when his uncle stepped in at the last second.

"Let him go." His uncle said in a calming and kind voice, all the while looking at James. "He's had a long day. He's probably got more things to unpack." He raised his eyebrows.

"Uh huh." James nodded enthusiastically.

Finally his mother gave in. She sighed. "Okay, you may be excused James. But only this once. I don't want this to happen again."

James nodded so excitedly that he thought his head might fall off at any second.

He was gone in a flash. His plate was in the sink and he was out of the door in a matter of seconds.

His mother shook her head whilst his uncle smiled as he ate another mouthful of food.

James literally ran through the hallway to his room. The sun was now slanting in through the window. James looked outside and saw the sky beginning to darken. He quickly put on his trainers and ran back out.

He opened the front door. "Mum! I'm in the garden!" He yelled not listening for a response. He pulled the door behind him without waiting for it to shut and was half way to the garden gate when the door did close.

James had never moved so quickly before. He couldn't explain what it was that drew him to the garden. It's not like it wouldn't be there tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day, or the rest of his life that matter. But it he had to see it now. He couldn't wait.

He stood face to face with the gate, and through the twisted metal bars he caught another teasing glimpse of the garden. It looked just as impressive as it had earlier, although now he had more time to take it in. He couldn't actually see much of the garden through the gate, but from what he could see, he had a feeling that the rest would be even more amazing.

There was a path made of old looking stone that started at the foot of the gate. It wasn't straight however. It wound left and right as though unsure of where it wanted to lead those who walked upon it. When the path was inline with the far end of the house, it shot off to the right, disappearing from view.

Dotted along the side of the path nearest the house, were very old looking lights. Not the kind of small garden lights you find on the ground, but very large lights on tall poles, almost like olden day street lights. The grass on either side of the path was a lush green colour, and was beautifully maintained. Not a single blade was out of line.

Along the left of the winding path was a neatly trimmed row of short conifers. Their leaves an unnatural deep green, similar to that of the grass. And between the path and the trees there were flowers blooming. Not ordinary flowers that one might find in an ordinary garden, but luscious, bright, and almost tropical plants that brought warmth and brightness to everything around them. The line of flowers and conifers followed the path off to the right at the end of the house, and that was all James could see. He needed to see more.

His fingers reached up for the latch automatically. It was as though James had no control over his actions.

As his fingers pulled down on the latch, he heard the metal bar on the opposite side of the gate rise up.

He pushed open the gate.

Just about ready to walk through, James halted as the gate stopped short after opening only a few inches.

At first, James thought it was stuck and so he pushed it harder.

As he did, he heard the sound of metal clanking together coming from the bottom of the gate.

He looked and saw the one thing he hadn't counted on... a chain!

Of course! It had to be locked hadn't it?

James had only two options now:

1) Find the key, which probably meant asking his mother, who would probably say to wait until tomorrow as 'it was getting late'. Or,

2) Try and get through the patio door, but that also meant having to go through his mother who was still there having dinner.

It wasn't really much of a choice. If he started to look for the keys now, it would be too dark to go into the garden.

He decided to try the patio door and face his mother there.

To be continued...

The Ugly Truth about G.I. Joe

2009-08-11T23:00:00.002+01:00

Okay, so I'm in the middle of what appears to be a complete gender mix-up of a day.
With my Tuesday evening plans altered at the last minute, I decided to get down to the cinema and see what could entice me.

There were only films I wanted to see... The Ugly Truth, and G.I. Joe. Two COMPLETELY different films, aimed at two CONPLETELY different audiences - yet when you consider that it's me watching them, it doesn't seem all that strange does it?

So, I've just finished watching the Ugly Truth, and G.I. Joe starts in 20 minutes, in which time I have decided to start writing a blog that I hope to finish when this next movie ends.

As we have some time, lets talk about The Ugly Truth...
Interestingly, on the weekend I happened to watch 27 Dresses, starring the very same actress from The Ugly Truth, and guess what? It seemed like pretty much the same film too!
Girl meets love cynic, falls for lie cynic, love cynic stops being a love cynic. I'm sure you can guess the rest...
...but WAIT! Thats not to say it's not good!
Dies Hard 2 was exactly the same as Die Hard 1, but that didn't mean it wasn't awesome!
And yes, The Ugly Truth is actually pretty funny!
What is great about it is the fact that it doesn't pull too many punches and tells it like it is!
Oh my God... I sound like one of those run-of-the-mill film review people.
Ack.
Girls, watch it, you'll love it. Guys, watch it... there's women in it. (Ain't that the truth!).

Not really much more to say about that film. You can't really ruin a romantic comedy, they're all completely predictable. But that's not why we watch them. Action films are predictable too. In fact the two have so much in common:
It's not how it ends, but how much pain is caused along the way!

Now I must finish this segment as:
a) the next film is about to start, and
b) this really fat girl just sat on the sofa and I fear that if I don't get up I might get sucked in beyond the event horizon of her gavitational force.
That's the Ugly Truth.
...
So, just got out of G.I. Joe and am on my way home.
What can I say other than... How predictable! Lol. But that doesn't mean it's not good.
Well... It was totally cheesy and very childlike with little or no storyline, questionable acting and no sense of reality... The perfect action film!
You can't really say more than that. Basic story: good guys win. Perfect set up for a sequel.
Did you expect anything more from the same guy who made The Mummy?

There is one thing that will confuse many of you and that is: There is NO Joe!

G.I. Joe is the name of the secret government agency that these soldiers work for... there's no actual Joe! lol.

Seriously though, it was just right for me. The perfect contrast to The Ugly Truth.
I mean, both films were by no means the shining stars of their respective genres, but they didn't require any thinking or effort to watch on my part.
Just what you need when you have an unexpectedly free evening!
Still, nearly 5 hours in the cinema is too much for most. But then again, it's not at all strange for me.

The only problem with watching this film was that there were three young girls sat next to me, and they refused to shut the hell up, all the way through the film.

So damn annoying. And everyone in the cinema was laughing at their stupidity (they really were idiots)... but I suppose that happens at all cinemas at some time... more often than not in Hammersmith though :P

I'm at a loss now of what I feel like doing. Part of me wants to fall in love and other wants to blow things up.
Ahhh the complexities of life!

-- Post From My iPhone

A story - Chapter 3

2009-08-10T17:30:00.000+01:00

I think peoples' interest in the story is declining. lol.

I'm getting fewer comments and suggestions.

Maybe you're all getting bored? Personally, I'd like to think that perhaps you simply too busy to read... but if you are getting bored, please let me know, and I'll stop! haha.

So... chapter 3 (yes, the WHOLE chapter this time, no parts!)

You can read the prologue here.

Chapter 1, part 1 here.

Chapter 1, part 2 here.

Chapter 2, part 1 here.

Chapter 2, part 2 here.

James walked into the front room looking for his mother.

"In here James." came his mothers voice from the door to the far right of the room.

James opened the door and walked through into the kitchen.

His attention was captured right away by two things. His mind didn't know where to focus.

He didn't know what he saw first, but in order of importance (categorised in hindsight) it was the patio door that enticed him most.

It covered the entire back wall of the room and was protected from James by a large, old looking wooden table that stood a few feet in front of it. In between the table and the patio door were James's mother and uncle involved in a conversation James had no interest in trying to find out about.

The reason the patio door excited him was because it was, as James rightly knew, another route to the garden. The garden!

To James's disappointment however, there were blinds drawn across the doors.

Yet another obstacle in his way.

"Wash up and sit at the table honey. We can't eat without you." His mother instructed as she took her seat, her back to the patio door.

His uncle sat at the head of the table making a loud sighing sound as he slumped into the chair.

His eyes scanned the room to look for the sink. He saw that room was divided into two distinct sections. One part was clearly a kitchen, and the other (where his mother and uncle now sat) appeared to be a dining area.

It was in the kitchen that James was confronted by the other thing that had caught his attention earlier.

What was that?

The only way James could explain it would be to call it a... erm... er... centre table?

Centre table?!
That was new.
It was like a large table surrounded by chairs on one side and cupboards and drawers on the other. It was located right in the middle of the kitchen section of the kitchen/dining room. It was so big it even had it's own sink! And above it, hanging from the ceiling, was what looked like another table, but with lights and a place to hang things. It all looked very strange to James. He couldn't make head nor tail of the thing, but that didn't make it any less interesting.

There was another sink was on James's right. A large metallic bowl, complete with taps and a chain, placed within the confines of a smooth black marble work-top. He would have used the sink on the centre table(?) but it was too high for James to reach.

He looked at the rest of the kitchen as he washed his hands.

Most of the work-top was bare apart from a microwave that sat in the middle of the counter. A lone food serving soldier who arrived at the battlefield too early. The front of the microwave was at an angle, facing a corner of the room. His uncle must have put him (it) there James thought, as his mother would never have allowed the microwave to sit so casually on the work-top. A soldier does require order after all.

On his left, where the kitchen section of the kitchen/dining room ended, there was a large fridge/freezer. It was very tall and thin, with two doors, and much bigger than any other fridge or freezer James had ever seen.

He was toying with the idea of looking inside, but when his mother cleared her throat, he thought it best to take his seat at the table and not cause any further delays.

His mother was very particular about eating food together, and at the dinner table.

As his friends sat down to eat in front of the telly, James was forced to sit at the table and eat in silence opposite his mother.

The silence wasn't mandatory, but what could he speak to his mum about? He spent most of his day around her anyway, so she knew what he was up to most of the time. What was there to talk about? It wasn't as bad when Noah was home, because at least then James had someone interesting to talk to.

Regardless, he knew he didn't have a choice. And so James sat down at the table, opposite his mother, staring at the blinds that covered his only hope of escape from his dining table shaped prison.

Helping himself to several large spoonfuls of mashed potato, James pondered his new 'situation'. So far, not much appeared to have change. A little part of him had hoped that maybe, just maybe, things might be different. A new house (no, bungalow), city (no, village), and life. But it was exactly the same. Instead of being trapped in a large but confined city; he was now held in a small, but relatively open spaced village.

He felt like a bird that had been moved from a small cage in a big house, to a larger cage in a smaller house. Sometimes he wished he couldn't see through the bars, because at least that way he wouldn't know what he was missing. He would be happy thinking that what he had was all he could ever have. He would never need anything more, because he would never know anything more.

But know he did.

Maybe that's what drove him to do to what he did next.

To be continued...

RIP John Hughes...

2009-08-07T15:11:00.002+01:00

I thought I'd take a break from the story writing today to just send out a note of great importance!

So, yesterday, John Hughes died, at the tender age of 59. At work, I was saying to everyone "OMG! (as in, Oh My God! I didn't actually say O M G) John Hughes died!"
And everyone was like "who?"

Who? WHO?!?!

Dudes! This is John Hughes we're talking about. The writer and director of some of the most amazing coming-of-age films of the 80's.
As soon as I mention the films he's done, you'll realise how incredible this man was.

He was the man who directed:
Uncle Buck (1989)
She's Having a Baby (1988)
Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Weird Science (1985)
The Breakfast Club (1985)
Sixteen Candles (1984)

And he was the man who wrote:
Flubber (1997)
101 Dalmatians (1996)
Miracle on 34th Street (1994)
Baby's Day Out (1994)
Beethoven's 2nd (1993))
Home Alone 2
Beethoven (1992)
Home Alone (1990)
Uncle Buck (1989)
She's Having a Baby (1988)
Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987)
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Weird Science (1985)
The Breakfast Club (1985)
Sixteen Candles (1984)

So, as you can see, this man was a MAJOR influence in shaping my childhood and adolescence. Not to mention he was Kevin Smith's (Jay and Silent Bob dude) greatest influence, and Kevin Smith was the guy who made ME want to make films... so you can see the domino effect here.

During the 80's, John Hughes was the undisputed KING of the "teen-flick". In fact, many claim that it was Mr. Hughes who was responsible for the creation of teen movies.
I mean, from films like The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller's Day Off, to Uncle Buck and Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Dude... seriously... DUDE! What a hero. These are like the greatest films EVER! And all done by the SAME guy!

In the 90's, Hughes moved more toward writing children's films, and what great films they were! Home Alone, Beethoven, 101 Dalmatians, Flubber... I mean, these were awesome kids films! I recently learned that he was the one who was responsible for the story of Drillbit Taylor as well!

Even though he hadn't directed in around 20 years, his influence on the teen-flick never faded. If you watch "Not Another Teen Movie", it's John Hughes films that mostly referenced - not forgetting the fact that Molly Ringwald also makes an appearance (Molly who? - don't you dare even ask! IMDB it you uncultured peasant!).

So, in light of all this, I would like to take a moment to pay my respects to this great man, without whom, I would never know how to keep burglars away from my home...
"Harry..." tee hee.

A story - Chapter 2, Part 2

2009-08-03T15:31:00.009+01:00

The positive feedback I've had only makes me realise that the change in age was suitable. Woohoo!

So, without any further mucking around, let's get onto chapter 2, part 2...

You can read the prologue here.

Chapter 1, part 1 here.

Chapter 1, part 2 here.

Chapter 2, part 1 here.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to his new surroundings, James stared in awe at his new room. Like everything else he'd seen of the bungalow so far, this room was extremely large. One thing in particular caught James's attention, and that was the giant four poster bed that sat in the centre of room.

The mattress was about two feet above the floor and there were blue curtains on all sides. It was the bed James always pictured from stories he'd read when he was younger.

Other than the bed there was no furniture in the room. It didn't occur to James that this was strange in any way. In fact, simply thinking about the origin of the bed didn't even cross his mind. As far as James was concerned, he had a new bed. An awesome bed!

James walked across the wooden floor of his new room and placed his box on the bed.

Looking out of the window he could see the side entrance to the garden! James opened his window, ready to climb out when he saw his mother walk down the garden path.

"How do you like your room?"

Not wanting to give away his true feelings, James simply shrugged.

"Cheer up James. You'll get used to it, I promise."

James wished she was would just go so he could see the garden. He didn't know why, but it somehow felt as though he shouldn't go inside. As though it was wrong. But that was silly. It was just a garden.

His garden.

Then why this feeling?

James's mother came up to the window and looked past James into the room.

"Oh dear. They've left a bed in here. I specifically told them to remove everything." She took a mobile phone from her pocket and searched for a number. She held the phone to her ear.

"We'll get rid of that old thing and get your nice bed in here honey."

"No!" The urgency in James's voice startled his mother. "I like this one."

She looked at him questioningly. "Are you sure honey? God knows how old this bed is."

James nodded. "I want this one."

She nodded and hung up the phone. "Unpack your things and then help your uncle. We'll have dinner soon."

And with that, she disappeared around the corner.

James closed the window and walked back into the room.

Sitting in the middle of the bed, James drew the thick blue curtains around him. He was surprised how effectively they managed to block out the bright sunshine that came streaming in through the window. If he didn't know better, James would have thought it was night.

Opening his box, the first thing he removed was his torch. The torch was made of metal, and very heavy. His mother had bought him it at a car boot sale a year before. The man said it was from World War II. His mother was surprised it worked at all.

He switched it on and lay it on the bed.

Next out came the alarm clock, then the iPod, a pencil case and some loose sheets of paper. James left these on the bed without attempting to find a place for them. Right now he was only interested in his books that were at the bottom of the box.

James took out three books and lay them out in front of him. One of the books was bound in leather and much larger and thicker than the others. It also looked a lot older too.

This was the book that James lay on his lap. When he opened it, a cloud of dust escaped into enclosure of the bed. James could see it in the light from the torch until it floated out of reach of the beam. Dust freed from it's paper prison, only to be trapped by a fabric one.

Picking up the torch, James pointed it at the book so he could get a better look.

This was James's favourite book.

Apart from his Buzz Lightyear 'action figure' (not doll), it was the only possession James had that was given to him by his father. But that's not why it was James's favourite book.

It was James's favourite book because it was a book filled with maps.

For as long as he could remember, James had loved looking at maps. He loved following the roads with his fingers, imagining he was on a journey or adventure.

Travelling across oceans in an instant and visiting new continents in the blink of an eye.

James had other books with maps, but this was different. This book was old.

So old in fact, that all the maps had been drawn by hand, and then painted with a glittery, shiny paint that sparkled in the light. Rivers, lakes and oceans would shimmer sky blue, whilst the land glowed a deep, bright green. Even the snow on the mountaintops twinkled as though there were crystals in the paint.

James had never seen another book like this one. When he opened it, he felt as though he were inside, actually visiting the distant lands his fingers would rest upon.

He closed the book.

There was no point looking up his new home in there, as the old maps probably wouldn't have it anyway. This was something James learnt when he first acquired the book.

"Dad, this book isn't working." He exclaimed to his father.

"What's wrong with it Jamie?" His father never called him James... always Jamie.

"I can't find Manchester."

His father laughed.

"This map is very old Jamie. Many of the places you know about would have been called something else when this was made." He explained gently.

"So how I find what I'm looking for?"

His father told James to wait whilst he went out to the car. When he returned, he held in his hand an A-Z road book.

"Find what you're looking for in one of these. Remember where abouts it was, and then you'll be able to find it in there." He pointed to the large book.

James took the A-Z from his father and opened it up. There were squares everywhere, and he couldn't make any sense of it. It didn't make him angry or annoyed however. Although it didn't shine like his book, there was still something about it that made James feel excited.

It was then, at age six, that James learnt how to read a map. Something he would not soon forget.

James picked up one of the smaller books. It was a road map of England. He searched the index for "Borrowdale".

He managed to find it without too much effort, and memorised it's location.

Opening his larger book again, he turned the pages over searching for England.

Just as he landed on the right page, he heard his mother calling.

"JAMES! Dinner!"

With a sigh he closed the book. A fresh layer of dust flew to freedom, and this time it made it as James drew the curtains back. The sunlight seemed brighter to him now than before despite it being close to sunset.

James loved that summer days lasted so long. As he made his way to the front room he thought there may still be time after dinner to explore the garden before it got dark.

To be continued...

A story - Chapter 2, Part 1

2009-07-29T14:05:00.013+01:00

I realise the last couple of postings have been shorter than the initial one. The simple reason for this is that I have been extremely busy, and I'm trying hard write as much as I can, whilst being inspired as well (otherwise I'll just write for the sake of getting it done, and it won't really feel as though it's part of the same story).

Anyway... that's just my excuse for the shorter posts... also, I don't think people like to read a whole lot at once.

We're moving on to chapter 2!

You can read the prologue here.

Chapter 1, part 1 here.

Chapter 1, part 2 here.

Chapter 2

James was stood in the doorway looking in. His mouth was wide open, and the box in hands slowly slipped down toward the floor. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Not one to be excited by houses (or bungalows), least of all this one, James couldn't explain what he was now feeling. On the one hand, he hated the bungalow. It was a physical representation of his forced relocation. In fact, the bungalow was more than that. It was a symbol of his mothers love for her new job over the love for her son; it was the loss of his friends, his school, his old house and room and bed. It stood for everything that James despised at that very moment in time.

On the other hand however, he was awed by it. It filled him with a sense of wonder he had never experienced before. James was reminded of his first day of school - the way he felt when he first walked through those gigantic doors. Not knowing anybody. Completely alone and full of fear and dread. Walking into the bungalow felt just like that, but the exact opposite.

It wasn't fear and dread he was feeling, but excitement. Perhaps his mother had done the right thing... His mother! Where was she? James looked outside and saw his mother by the van. 'Thank God.' thought James. He may have been excited, but there was no way he was going to let his mother know that. He still had a list of demands to present!

Looking into the bungalow again, James stepped forward.

The front door led directly into the living room which was currently home to a van-full of boxes. The room itself was very large with a high ceiling that sported a rather strange looking light that had a fan on the bottom!

There was no furniture as of yet, which focused James' attention to the floor. In his old house, there were carpets in every room, and James had never known anything else. The bungalow however, had a floor made of wood that gleamed in the light, and had a rather earthy type smell to it.

James cast his eyes across the room. There were two doors on the opposite side of the room. One was open and revealed a corridor leading to the rest of the bungalow. The other was closed. A mystery yet be explored.

Looking around, James could see there were some shelves against one of the walls. He imagined his mother would cover them with books. She loved books. It wasn't that James didn't enjoy reading, but to his mother it was so much more. She would scold him if he bent the pages of his book over, or left a book lying on his bed. She made him arrange his books alphabetically or in height order. No doubt she'd do the same in the new house. James mentally prepared himself for the hours of library labour that lay ahead.

On the wall adjacent to the shelves, James saw...

Wait...

...Was that?...

...It couldn't be...

...It was!

Against the far wall of the living room was a large wood fireplace! Fireplaces were something that only existed in stories about Christmas as far as James was concerned. He had never actually seen one before.

James put down his box in the middle of the room and walked, almost hypnotically, toward the fireplace. There was a large grate at the front, as well an assortment of rather dangerous looking metal sticks on the side.

He reached out to pick one up. It looked like a soot covered cocktail fork made for a giant. It was cold and heavy. James couldn't imagine what it could be for.

"Jimmy."

James turned around to see his uncle's head pop around the corner and look around. "There you are! Come on, there'll be time to play later. Put your stuff away."

James put down the giant fork and wiped his now black hands on his jeans. Picking up his box, he turned to face the open door leading out of the living room.

He noticed a number of closed doors coming off the corridor. Excitement built up inside him. He couldn't wait to explore each of the new rooms. How quickly his anger had turned to joy. Just as long as his mother didn't find out. He still wanted that Xbox.

At the end of the corridor was a large window that his uncle was currently standing in front of. He was busying himself stacking boxes and his shadow covered the rest of the corridor in a fuzzy, box stacking darkness.

As James walked toward him, he noticed a light coming from the last door on the left that had been left slightly ajar. He looked at his uncle for permission to go inside. He didn't know why. This was James' house now. If anything, his uncle should ask his permission to stand in front of the window and cast fuzzy box stacking shadows all across the corridor. Nevertheless James only moved to open the door after his uncle nodded.

Hands full, standing in front of the partly open door, James used his foot to open it and let in the bright sunshine from outside.

The light covered him from head to toe, and now James's shadow joined that of his uncle in the corridor. A war ensued between the fuzzy box stacker and the child.

James couldn't see a thing, as his eyes were still adjusting to the brightness. Blindly he stepped forward into the light.

A story - Chapter 1, Part 2

2009-07-22T14:52:00.016+01:00

Okay, so I'm changing James' age from 13 to 8. I had a flow going with age at 13, and a concept, but I've decided to change it, as it can still work with him being younger, and also means I don't have to add certain other details that would have involved a lot of re-writing!

So, Chapter 1, part 2, here we go!

They approached the new house late that afternoon. James had never seen the new house. In fact, he'd never been to this village before. James couldn't remember ever visiting a village before. He was used to big cities, and this place was so small in comparison.

The houses on the other hand, were huge!

James found it funny that in big cities the houses were so small, but in a small village the houses were so big.

At school, James was told that if there something wrong with the country, you could write a letter to the Prime Minister and he would fix it.

If you were Prime Minister, you could do anything.

If James were Prime Minister, the first thing he would do is stop his mother from moving. 'I bet the Prime Minister's mum doesn't tell him where to live.' James thought.

James made a mental note to write a letter to the Prime Minister highlighting the fact that house sizes in the country made no sense and that it should be fixed. And if there was space at the end, he would also mention what his mother had done.

The new house wasn't actually a house at all. His mother told him it was a bungalow.

"What's a bungalow?" He asked inquisitively.

"It's like a house, but with no stairs." His mother replied.

"So where are the rooms?"

"Everything's on the same floor."

This scared James to no end. If someone broke in, they'd be able to find him right away. He worried for the safety of his iPod and soon-to-be-demanded new Xbox. He'd have to build some kind of lock. 'But what about the windows?!'

James's thought process was interrupted by his mother who opened the door of the van. She was holding his satchel bag in her hand.

"Come on James."

James took the satchel bag and wandered up to the front of the bungalow. Although loyal to his old house, even James had to admit that the bungalow was very pretty.

James walked through the large front garden. The grass was the greenest he'd ever seen. There was a path made from concrete slabs across the grass, but James chose to avoid this path. His own personal form of rebellion.

"James! Come and help your uncle." James's mother called out to him, but her voice fell on deaf ears. James had just discovered the gate at the side of the bungalow that led to the back garden. He had thought the front garden was large, but it was nothing compared to what lay in store behind the house.

As he reached up to open the gate, a hand firmly grasped his shoulder.

"James!" His mother was shouting at him in a whisper. "What has got into you? I told you to help your uncle. He can't bring everything in by himself." She pointed to the van.

James looked longingly into the garden. The one interesting thing about this move, and he wasn't allowed to explore it.

He turned around and slowly walked back to the driveway, carefully avoiding the concrete slab path. His uncle was already moving boxes from the back of the van into the house.

"Bring in that one over the there will you Jimmy?" His uncle nodded toward a small box sat by the side of van as he walked into the house, box in hand.

James looked at the box. 'PROPERTY OF JAMES BAKER'. It was written in thick permanent marker that had made James feel slightly dizzy earlier that morning when he wrote it.

Everything dear to James... the most important things in his life, up to and including this point, were contained within that box. His iPod, his torch, his Spongebob alarm clock, the Buzz Lightyear doll (no, action figure) his father had given him, his brothers' Pog collection (Noah said he won it when he became World Pog champion in 1994), as well as a random assortment of Matchbox cars, books and stationary.

James had not been into the house (no, bungalow) yet, and as he carried the box through the doorway, he couldn't help but feel as though the breath had been sucked away from his lungs.

To be continued...

A story - Chapter 1, Part 1

2009-07-22T09:47:00.009+01:00

Okay, so we still need a title for this story, so get thinking.

Please do comment, I would really love to hear your thoughts and/or theories as to where I'm going with this.

I really want to know what kind of impression I'm giving with this story.

Here we go...

Chapter 1

His mother let James sit in the front seat of the van on moving day, which James felt was the very least she could do given the circumstances. But it was only the beginning of her repentance. James had been eyeing up the new Xbox for quite some time and it occurred to him that he could submit his list of demands fairly soon.

It was a clear day. Blue skies and sunshine as far as the eye could see. James felt as though God were mocking him by making the saddest day of his life appear so perfect. Right now his friends would be playing football in the park, or running around Mrs Williams' garden (Mrs Williams had a water sprinkler in her front garden that James was rather partial to on a hot day).

And that got James thinking about God, and whether he really existed. If God did exist, then how could he let this happen to James? In fact, how could he have let any of the things that happened to James happen? James felt that if there was a God, he must enjoy watching people be sad, because that's the only thing he seems to make people feel. Or so James thought anyway.

In the drivers seat was sat James's uncle, to whom the van also happened to belong to. James's mother followed them in their ancient beat up Ford Fiesta. Although his mother cursed the car an awful lot, James had a soft spot in his heart for the ageing vehicle. It was given to them by the local Church.

"Why did they give us a car mummy?" James had asked at the time.

"They're probably hoping we go to Church again."

"Why don't we?"

"Because God doesn't ca-"

"Because God doesn't what? Doesn't what mummy?"

"Nothing James."

"But isn't it cheating if we take the car and don't go to Church?"

"We didn't ask for the car. If they want it, they can take it back."

They never did.

And so they got a car, and didn't have to go to Church either. 'A win if there ever was one' his mother had said once.

As James looked back at the car in the side mirror, he imagined how the it must be feeling: The car of guilt. Old and weary. Stolen from a Church. If it could leave, would it? Considering how much his mother swore at it, James thought yes.

But then James did love it. He always treated it well. He even named it: Bernard. Bernard, the car of guilt. Maybe it would run away and take James with him. They could go back home and live in the Church car park, sneaking out the body and blood of Christ at night when they got hungry.

The horn of an oncoming truck brought James back to reality. Bernard wasn't alive; he couldn't live in the Church; and he was never going home. James slumped back in his seat and stared at his legs. His signature sad face on show.

"Why so low Jimmy?"

Only his uncle ever called him Jimmy. James liked it. He wondered why more people didn't call him Jimmy.

"Eh Jimmy?"

James sighed.

"Your mum said you didn't want to move."

James was now very angry with his mother, and embarrassed at the same time. What right did she have advertising his feelings to the whole world. How could he trust he after this?

"Is it true?"

James nodded sullenly.

"Moving's never easy Jimmy. Especially when you're young. The most important things in your life are around you, and it's scary leaving all that behind and going somewhere new. But it's not all bad, believe me. You'll be going to a new school, and you'll make new friends-"

"I don't want a new school. I don't want new friends. I like my old school and my old friends."

"I know you do. And there's no reason why you can't see them. England's a small country. It doesn't take very long to get from one place to another. It's not like you're moving to America or Japan."

James wondered what it would be like to live in Japan. He'd buy a sword and fight the evil villains who tried to steal his rice crop. He didn't like the idea of having paper doors though.

"Look Jimmy. Your mum knows this is hard for you, but she's doing this for the both of you, so please don't give her a hard time."

James gave his uncle a half-hearted nod.

James loved his uncle, but right now he wished he would just shut up. James didn't want to listen to the lies about how much his mother supposedly loved him. He didn't want to know about what new friends he'd make, or what new school he'd go to.

He closed his eyes and pictured his old house. Already he was started to forget what his room looked like.

A tear slowly crept out of the corner of James's eye. A single rogue tear, navigating it's way down the perilous cheek-face of gloom toward freedom. Only a matter of inches stood between the tear and escape.

James sniffled and wiped his cheek.

If tears could cry...

Something new... a story!

2009-07-21T09:50:00.010+01:00

Okay... I want to try something new.
I'm going to try writing a story, in parts, and see where it goes.
Your comments will help me shape things to come, so I'd really appreciate them

Prologue

"It doesn't matter how much you scream..." Upstairs a door slammed shut, "or slam. We are going and that's final. You know, you could try and see this positively..." But James didn't want to. He didn't care for positivity. Not at a time like this at least. There was too much at stake to be positive. Being positive meant giving in. And giving in meant giving up. And giving up meant quitting. And the last thing James was, was a quitter.

He drowned out his mothers voice by putting on his headphones. The muffled sound of her nagging still managed to penetrate through the ceiling, door, and foam cushioning of his headphones. He reached for his iPod. The sound of clicking filled his ears as he scrolled through his music collection for the right song to match his mood.

Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit.

As the grunge guitar riff drowned out his mother's voice, James realised the benefits to having an older brother.

There was no way a boy of James's age would have discovered such music on his own, but his brother explained to him that it was important to lead the music revolution of his generation rather than to jump on the bandwagon once at university. That's where Noah was now. University. Studying something to do with physics. Despite Noah's efforts at attempting to explain what he was doing, it all just went in one ear and out the other. James did know however, that it was something to do with strings but couldn't understand what strings had to do with science, and secretly believed that Noah was taking textiles instead.

But it really didn't matter what Noah was doing at university, the real question was 'what was Noah doing at University?'

'He should be here with me' thought James. How could he fight his mothers decisions on his own. If Noah said something, he knew his mum would listen. After all, Noah was the man of the house. His mother had to listen to him. Didn't she?

James fell asleep despite the music and the hard wood floor.

===

Kurt Cobain was attempting to change James's mother's mind with an acoustic rendition of 'Breed'. Noah and James were sat on the sofa together singing along watching Kurt working his magic. Their father walked through the front door and into the living room, looked around, and walked out again.

James got up and made for the door. "Dad!" he shouted. But his voice became silent as soon as it left his mouth. It was as though he were in a soundproof bubble. He decided to test the limits of this bubble. He turned around. "Noah!" No response.

Deciding that shouting wasn't the answer, he ran out of the door after his father.

As soon as he left the room, he fell vertically onto what seemed to him a mattress. James looked around, but couldn't see his father. More importantly, he couldn't see anything at all. Now he hoped it was indeed a mattress he had landed on, and not something more sinister. Thinking about it though, James concluded that anything was probably more sinister than a mattress.

Too afraid to move, he tried shouting again.

"DAD!"

This time he heard his voice. It was loud. Extremely loud. Suddenly everything around him began to shake. He gripped hard onto the edges of what he hoped was the mattress.

"JAMES!" The voice broke through the earthquake like a horn in a fog.

"JAMES!" It was louder this time. And the shaking more intense.

He thought of all the terrible things it might be. Perhaps he had happened upon the secret cave of a dragon. A hungry dragon that had a particular appetite for 8 year old boys.

'That's the last time I use the front door of the house.' he thought to himself.

Helpless and trapped, James closed his eyes and began to count backwards from

10...

9...

8... Still shouting... still shaking...

7...

6...

5...

4... Still shouting... still shaking...

3...

2...

1... Silence...

===

He opened his eyes to find himself staring into the face of his mother.

He'd have preferred the dragon.

"James! Are you okay honey?" His mother looked genuinely concerned.

James felt bad and decided he preferred his mother to the dragon.

He sat up only to find himself in his bed, covered in sweat.

'First things first' he thought.

"How did I get into bed? And where's my iPod?" James enjoyed interrogating his mother. All he needed now was a pair of handcuffs and a detective inspector's badge.

"I found you asleep on the floor and I put you to bed. Your iPod's on the bedside. You were screaming. What were you dreaming?" She said it in almost accusatory tone, as if James chose what he wanted to dream about before falling asleep.

"Nothing mum." Came the quiet voiced reply. Gone was the detective inspector. Back was the 8 year old boy.

"Was it about your dad?" How did she know? How could she do that? James wondered if all mothers had this psychic ability, or whether it was his mother alone. What other powers might she have? James toyed with the idea of having a super hero for a mother, but decided that it would probably not work in his favour.

"I dreamt you changed your mind."

His mother's expression changed to one of sadness.

"James. I'm so sorry about this. I know you don't want to go. You have friends here, you have a life here. I understand, believe me I do. But we have to do this. If I don't take this job, we won't have anywhere to live. Do you understand that?"

James nodded, but he didn't really understand. He couldn't understand why he wasn't allowed to just stay here with his grandparents. He didn't understand why he had to leave his friends, his school, his house. He didn't understand why his mother loved her new job more than him. And if his mum loved her new job more than him, than why couldn't she go there and work by herself. He didn't need to be there. He didn't want to be there.

"How about some waffles with beans?"

It did sound tempting to James. But she wasn't forgiven. No way! This was just a sort of temporary ceasefire in order for negotiations to take place. Or at least that's what James led himself to believe as he wolfed down the waffles, tomato sauce dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

To be continued...

Hetero-dance-phobia!

2009-07-20T09:47:00.005+01:00

Dance is dead!

Okay... a bit dramatic I know. I'm sorry.

It's not dead at all. In fact, it's very much alive, even here in England. But there is a problem. A slight problem. Indulge me if you will.

In Latin America dance is immensely popular. Everyone dances (or at least it appears that way from the movies). It's the same in Spain and many areas in Northern Europe. In India and the Far East too. Dance is an art form not to be taken lightly.

In the States, there's all sorts of street dance contests, and in many cases, respect is earned through your ability to dance.

Interestingly, in all of these cases, males who dance are revered, loved, admired and adored.

So, why is it, that if you're a male in England, and you dance, you're automatically thought of gay? I don't have anything against being gay, it's just that I'm not.

I don't understand what happened in England that creates this concept in peoples' minds. I do have a theory however:

England has always been a bit... reserved shall we say, when it comes to expressing... well, anything really. Dancing is just not something men should be 'seen' to do... unless you're drunk in a club of course - which probably explains why you can't find one straight male in a club who knows how to move - because they never learnt how to.

Now, I'm going to generalise, but please bear with me:

Gay men in England are much more expressive, and are not really afraid to try new things. If they want to dance, they dance. They don't care about what others think... and it works in their favour, as they get to dance!

Straight men are too afraid to go dancing, even though, secretly they KNOW they want to. I mean, which guy didn't watch MJ pull of a sick move in a music video and think "I wish I could do that!"? They ALL wish they do the moonwalk. But in this country, they're simply too scared to do it.

So, as the majority of men one sees in dance classes are gay, it's automatically assumed that ALL men that attend dance classes are gay. But it's NOT true.

There are some of us out there... straight men... in England, who LOVE to dance... but are thought of as gay, simply because we dance.

I watched Footloose for the first time on Saturday night (yes yes, I know, I should have seen it already, blah blah... well I don't care, as I watched it in HD with digital surround sound, so BLERRGHHHHH!). Anyway, it reminded me of the dance films over time - the men in those movies (Footloose, Dirty Dancing, Saturday Night Fever, The Last Dance, Step Up, etc...) won the hearts of their respective sweethearts through dance! (although I'm sure the fact that they were heart-throbs at the time probably had something to do with it too.)

Also, note that they're all American films.

We need a British dance film... with straight guys - so that we can shatter this misconception that dance in England is only for women and gay men.

Anyone want to help me write one?

Blogging from my iPhone

2009-07-18T00:27:00.001+01:00

OMG!
I'm in total geek mode again.
I'm posting this blog from my iPhone whilst installing the release candidate of Windows 7 on my laptop AT THE SAME TIME as using ANOTHER computer to chat to my mate who's visiting Canada.
Can life get any better than this?

-- Post From My iPhone

Mohammed 2.0

2009-07-13T10:35:00.004+01:00

Today, I am feeling soooo geeky.

So much so, that I nearly decided to write this entire blog in binary code... but considering that writing something as simple as "hello" is:

"0110100001100101011011000110110001101111"

I thought better of the idea, and resolved to write in plain English instead (011000100110111101110010011010010110111001100111).

There is good reason for my feeling geeky today, multiple reasons in fact.

Firstly, I'm far into the deep end of learning about the advanced facets of string theory, which is both mind numbing, and exhillarating at the same time! (Quite a feat, I assure you).

Secondly, I've been watching 'The Big Bang Theory' non-stop for the last 3 days before going to bed, and it has caused all my geek loves to manifest themselves at once.

And thirdly, I just purchased a new bluetooth headset, that looks AMAZING, but is still charging, so I don't know how good it will be - however, based on the reviews, I have high hopes :)

So, anyway, all this geekiness has now got me thinking - how great would it be if I could upgrade myself?

Bear with me here for a moment - just imagine it:

Firstly, I could install an advanced bluetooth chip in my brain, thereby connecting my vocal and auditory sensors to any bluetooth enabled device, without the need for a headset. I could listen to music directly in my brain - no need to ever worry about playing tunes too loud on the bus and bothering anyone else.

I could have a mobile phone embedded within me, the screen connected to my optic nerve, thus allowing me to view the screen alongside my regular vision.

Forget touch screen phones... I would be able to control all the functions through thought alone.

Need to visit a website? Write an email? Text message? Imagine doing all that with the power of thought?

I would attach some form of flash storage device to my cerebrum, allowing me to store additional information to with no need to actually create the memory lines in my long-term memory to be able to recall it - similar to the book (and poor film adaption) Johnny Mneumonic.

Now, you're all going to think I'm mad, but there's a few geeks out there that are literally weak at the knees reading this.

Picture walking into your house and switching on the TV (or any electronic device) through the bluetooth controller in your brain;

Checking your email in your head and then downloading the latest Stephan King novel to your flash drive attachment and reading it in bed with your eyes closed!

And that's only the beginning. Think what could be done about driving!

*01110011011010010110011101101000*

School daze and the return of happiness...

2009-07-09T10:18:00.004+01:00

I'm in a really reminiscent mood today. The sun is shining, the world is happy, and as I walked into work today, I was consumed by memories of my younger days, more specifically: being at school at this time of year.

You know how sometimes you'll just walk down a street, and you'll smell a smell, or see a sight that will transport your mind back to another place? It happens to me a lot on Edgeware Road, where I feel like I'm in Dubai again! lol.

But occasionally, I'll pick up the scent of the grass in the wind, and it would be the same scent of grass on the playing fields in Jack Hunt School, and it will take my mind back to playing football at lunch time, or walking back to class after break-time.

What a different life that was. What a wonderful life that was.

You biggest worry was a mock GCSE, which when looking back on it now, was possibly the silliest thing to worry about.

I was very lucky in that I had a great secondary school life. I had good friends, I was never bullied and I loved being there. I made the most of my time in school. I wasn't one of these "I can't wait to get out" people. I loved being there. Especially moreso in sixth form, where I made much closer friends (who I still speak to today), and learnt so much about life.

I would LOVE to go back and live it again. Especially those last two years.

The worry-less existence was so wonderful. I didn't have rent to deal with, or a boss, or buying food. Money was never an issue. I had a car. I had freedom enough to remain happy.

It was a good life... no, a GREAT life.

Time these days seems to fly. You work so many hours a day, come home and sleep. And do the same again the next day. You have limited time on the weekends to do what you want, and a meagre number of holidays over the year.

All you live for is your job, and no-one seems to care anymore about what it means to be a HUMAN. We need time to sleep, to play, to socialise, to ENJOY being ALIVE.

The corporate machine makes robots of us all, and we have become so detached from the lives of others, and more importantly our own lives.

When we were young, the summers seemed to last forever. The days were long, even the cold and rainy ones. In fact, when did we stop loving jumping in the rain, and start hating it?

Time is slipping away and we're just automatons following orders to benefit the pockets of people who are on their huge yachts ENJOYING life. Ironic isn't it?

I've been writing a lot about keeping happy, and how important it is. Recently, I've known four people to die, two of whom were relatively young. But I find solace in knowing that two who died young really enjoyed their lives.

If I died tomorrow, then it should be known that I was happy. Really happy. I make sure I live my life in a way that pleases me, without hurting others. I always have a smile on my face, and I'm making the most of the time I have.

Can you say the same?

Not making the most of what you have is the fault of one person only, and that's yourself. You may not have a lot of money, or a lot of time... but that doesn't mean you can't be happy.
Smile on your way to work. Laugh as much as possible. And ALWAYS make sure you have some AWESOME tunes on your iPod :)