Personality is a Poor Excuse

Resurrection

Mon, 28 Apr 2008 23:23:32 GMT

Okay, so it has been almost two years since I made any post. I'm sure many of you will thank me for this delay, and yet more will be unaffected.

I've been reading Shelley's Frankenstein. I'm a little dismayed by the convenience of the monster managing to learn language and complex metaphoric structure by observation, but it is interesting to say the least. I have read another interesting book of late - The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall. I would recommend it.

It's a time of the earth, and growth, isn't it?

Chris

I passed my driving test!

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 21:06:56 GMT

Okay, I admit I am a little pissed.

I passed my driving test today. It was my fourth (and, overall, worst test so far). I passed with 15 minor faults; yes, 15 - the maximum amount allowed. I always dealt with tests really badly, no matter how much of the helpful advice I accepted from friends and colleagues on calming remedies and eating mars bars to compensate for the energy-loss through stress. Anyway, I thought I'd attempt a short poem to illustrate my experience.

A wait, outside of time.
Positioned on a padded seat
and accomapnied by other hopefuls,
The sickly-soft kitten pictures stare on;
Property of D.S.A.
The door opens, and luminous waistcoats emerge.
The lady (she's a bitch)
doesn't say my name,
but some other poor sod.
A minor victory.
The grey man, with grey eyes,
and grey clipboard,
clips my name from the ether.

A couple of questions,
before we begin,
a numberplate,
and oil change.
How do I check my brake lights?

Pulling off, isn't a thrill.
Wait for the others to clear the way.

Is that right?

Take the first exit, turn left.

I don't go the way he intends,
but I perform the correct procedure
for where I choose to turn,
but he raises his hand to indicate
my mistake.
That's not right, is it?

Stop and start.
Stop and start;
There is so much other traffic,
slipping in and out,
weaving, winding,
parked cars and bastard vans.

My manoeuvres are a nightmare.
I feel I fail,
every breath.

The dual-carriageway rushes past,
happily no need to overtake anybody.

I feel so hot.

We finish,
he counts,
you have fifteen minor faults.

Do you know how many you are allowed?

Yes fifteen.

You are danger,
no I wont say that,
but I can imply it.

You've passed.

You bastard.

Yes, you bastard.

Hope that wasn't too toe-curling to read.

Well, I had a really nice dinner of pasta e fagioli (a kind of pasta and bean stew) with raspberries and ice cream for dessert. Oh, and a quality French wine; at least the EU is doing the right thing, encouraging the producers of lower-quality French wine to grub-up their vines. France should be reknowned for really good wines, not bog-standard tripe.

Hope you are all well.

Chris

Merry Christmas

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 22:09:47 GMT

Merry Christmas to anyone who still reads this. I hope you have all enjoyed your day and don't feel too peculiar from the food/wine you have consumed.

Chris

How Can You Tell Somebody to be Themselves?

Fri, 08 Apr 2005 20:23:44 GMT

There is a girl at work called Cara. She's an okay sort of girl, and I've always felt a little protective of her, possibly because she is a bit of an easy target for people. It's quite insulting really, to be nice to people because you think they'll be humiliated otherwise, but I have that tendency.

Anyway, to elaborate, she is quite the Chav - likes boxy, speedy hatchbacks and adding pieces of metal to them so they look even boxier and talks in a lot of text language-style catchphrases "Innit just" when they don't actually make much sense to the conversation - but she's harmless and I'm sure that if she didn't try so hard to be so hard, she'd be a great person. She has a habit of exaggerrating, bordering on lying, and flips her stance to fit what she thinks the rest of the group feel.

I think she may have got sacked today - her mum came in and had a meeting with Cara, Wayne (Cara's manager - she works in the wholesale office, and he's some kind of office manager) and Toby, the owner of the company. Charlotte overheard as she was using the photographics room which backs onto the meeting room and acts like some form of amplifier and there was a great deal of Cara's mum shouting an assortment of things like "She gets no fucking respect...nobody cares about her... I had to hide knives 'cos she said she wanted to kill herself".

Now, I think perhaps Cara's mother has the same skills of exaggerration as her daughter, so I don't think it was as suicidal as it sounds. I also believe what happened was related to Cara falling out with Sophie yesterday over a mistake she made that had been propagated by misunderstanding a certain amount of ill-advised "initiative". My theory is that Cara went home in a mood (she also had an argument with Wayne that afternoon), moaned to her mother about it, and, in some kind of back-to-school moment, her mum decided to come into work shout about it.

Let's face it - when a 24 year-old's mother comes to her workplace to fight her daughter's battles, something is a little off-kilter. Cara sent me a message later today (she didn't stay at work, unsurprisingly) saying she was being sacked due to her illness - she has had an unidentified problem with her inner-ear for the past year and a half and has quite a bit of time off work. I really don't think that would be why she would get sacked, and I'm also reluctant to believe she has actually been sacked. Tobar has only ever sacked one person, I'm told, so the likelihood is very very slim.

I don't really know how to respond to her, or what to do really. How do you treat someone like that? We've known for a long time how she distorts the truth etc. and it's awful for her, as I'd much rather she said what she thought and told us her plain, boring life like the rest of us do, but how can anybody really tell her that?

Hmmm.it's a little old, and only a beginning.

Sun, 25 Jul 2004 13:12:19 GMT

Stuart curved his back to the wind as it fussed with the folds of his scratchy black reefer coat. He glanced over at the small crowd surrounding the sole reason he was standing in the malevolent weather with a tired, ring bound notebook and an indifferent expression on his grey face. Amongst the photographers, pregnant with their flickering devices, and the sharp profiles of the broadsheet journalists, inclining their heads in the practiced way in an effort to gain a Freudian slip, stood the tall, broad, contradiction of Raphael Poulain, player for the French rugby squad.

He seemed to stand a few inches higher than any person around him – his clipped hair and similarly clipped features bobbing in and out of sight. He was the story that French media had was keen to feature in the silent front pages of the sports section; keen to drag unceremoniously onto the front pages to inflate the patriotism ready for the World Cup. The seemingly perfect idol to transplant all of the anxieties, responsibilities and lucrative commercial possibilities that go hand in glove with any international event, Poulain was the heady mix of boy-next-door persona, model good looks and surprising skill in a rough and fairly unforgiving sport.

This was, of course, the bloated and smug craft that Stuart excelled in – simplifying and caricaturing individuals for mass consumption in the flimsy infectiousness of a newspaper column. By means beyond the limited morals of most media establishments, the paper Stuart worked for had arranged a private interview with this most desired of current celebrities, to take place in the changing rooms of Le Stade Français after the week’s practice had finished. He had already had to wait roughly twenty minutes, as the bulk of the other journalists and bewildered fans were making it physically impossible for Poulain to leave the pitch. Stuart absent-mindedly fingered the cold plastic biro in his jacket pocket, easing off the smooth lid and circling it slowly and deliberately between his finger and thumb.

Stuart was born in Hertfordshire in England, but after finally gaining masters in journalism at a provincial university at the age of twenty-four and working for a few years at a national daily, he moved to France and was employed as sports columnist by a fairly liberal broadsheet. Stuart’s mother had originally come from France when she was in her early twenties – an idealistic young woman, eager to burn her bra and demonstrate her love for the pale Scottish novelist who was later to become her husband and then father to Stuart.

Another glance and the crowd was dispersing – it appeared Poulain had grown tired of the ready questions and fussing tones as he strode purposefully in the direction of the tunnel leading to the player facilities. Even at a steady, but confident, pace the looming mass of flesh was quite intimidating and Stuart wasn’t brave enough to interrupt the man’s progress. Luckily, Raphael saw the sleight figure and slowed as he approached, forming a polite grin in greeting.

‘Salut, vous etes Monsieur LeDane?’ The rugby player’s voice was warm and rumbling – it was a strange comfort in the harsh wind, ‘Je comprends qu’il y a des questions vous me voulez repondre?’ The chill of the air had tensed Stuart’s face and he replied with a stifled smile.

‘Yes, that’s me. Do you mind if we speak in English?’ Stuart affected his most affable manner.

‘Is that the first question?’ Raphael smiled, “You want to go the changing rooms and get started?”

“Uh, sure…” His voice caught in his throat for a second. There was an air of mischievousness in both Raphael’s tone and eyes that made Stuart mildly uncomfortable. Sports men were often a lot less guarded than their peers in the celebrity bubble, and certainly a lot more authentic in their geniality, however the rugby player seemed to insinuate a kind of intimacy with his words. Nevertheless they both walked through dull tunnel and inside the concrete intestines of the sports complex.

“Here is the room that finds me naked every weekend…” Raphael laughed as he entered the changing room, roughly peeling off his shirt and shaking it so the dried scabs of mud flaked onto the floor, “…Put that in your article.”

He had smirked as he said it, turning his head to flash a grin at the poker-faced journalist.

“Saying things like that could make people think you’re arrogant.” Stuart said warily.

“Oh, you misunderstand. It’s my sense of humour…my way of dealing with the attention.” He combed his fingers through his hair briefly; “I find it peculiar that people get excited by that when they hardly know me, so I make a joke out of it.”

“Is that why you do the calendars? Is it part of the joke?”

Stade Francais had for the past few years made an annual calendar of it’s players and other notable sportsmen in very few clothes. Stuart had flicked through the current issue as research, which had added to the slightly intimidating aspect of the interview; the photography accentuated the deep curves of muscle and power in the naked forms, as well as the sensuality of the bare skin.

“That’s Stade’s joke, not mine.”

Experimentation

Wed, 21 Jul 2004 20:13:36 GMT

Hayley leant backwards heavily upon the cool metal railing that clung to the sea wall and looked along the row of houses staring resolutely over her shoulders at the beach. She indulged in the cumbersome warmth of her thick, brown coat and leather boots; the night was drawing in and the breeze attacked her bare face. Her life had been spent, all fifty years, in the indifferent embrace of this town called Merwold. The salty air had worked itself into the crows feet edging her dark brown eyes and her body was as compacted and malleable as the sand at the shoreline. Her pale brown hair was pulled forcibly back from her face, with only the occasional lock dangling coarse and free like the coast-stiffened weeds that crept blindly from any crevice in the cakey cliffs with sustenance.

The sparse row of street lamps were beginning to glow orange with life and seemed to shortened the distances with their faint, warm light. The closely set fisherman's cottages were supplanted to one side of the ostentatious victorian villas with their pregnant bay windows and drapery of iron balconies, but it was to there that Hayley trained her eye. They seemed to have been swept up hastily from the seabed in a haphazard mixture of brick and uncut flint- the few windows and doorways peeking uncertainly out from their mottled shell. A few seagulls wheeled as graceful silhouettes in the darkening sky before rattling out their blatant cacophony around the caged bulb atop the lighthouse and settling, finally, upon the shadowed ridges of the rooftops.

Hayley irritably pulled at her sleeves, uncovering her wristwatch to only stare blankly at its surface. She had waited most of the evening and still there was no sign of her accomplice. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the ghoulish image of a person framed in one of those idiosynchratic bay windows of the victorian homes; an elegant hand supporting the fatness of layered curtains and an inquiring, dark eye peering curiously at the solitary figure on the seafront. Hayley turned smoothly around to greet the dank grey, unsettled sea and away from the disapproving eyes of her onlooker. It rolled and broke with a muted hush, like the meaningless rhymes Hayley had murmured to her children when they were almost asleep and too young to understand the words she was saying. A gentle weight on her shoulder blade made her start.

"Hay?" The steady, slightly broken voice dissolved her shock as she turned to face her sister.

"Pat, I've been waiting ages...where did you get to?" She rubbed her naked palms together, distilling the emergent guilt floating about in her sister's eyes.

"I couldn't get away for a bit. Vicki phoned me." Her eyes seemed to dim with the mention of her daughter.

"Not more troubles with Phil?" Hayley enquired with caution, and, with the slight nod she received, added, "She should pack up and leave him. Take the kids."

"Hmmm," Pat mused, "Things aren't like they used to be, although we're told they're better."

"They are in some ways." Hayley wanted to end the diversion and bring her sister's fragile concentration to the task in hand, "Did you bring the torch?"

"Yes. Did you bring the knife?"

Hayley felt the outline of the kitchen knife in her deep pocket, softened within its crumpled paper bag and beamed back at her younger sister.

silly meme

Wed, 21 Jul 2004 19:35:30 GMT

you are mediumauqamarine
#66CDAA

Your dominant hues are cyan and green. Although you definately strive to be logical you care about people and know there's a time and place for thinking emotionally. Your head rules most things but your heart rules others, and getting them to meet in the middle takes a lot of your energy some days.

Your saturation level is medium - You're not the most decisive go-getter, but you can get a job done when it's required of you. You probably don't think the world can change for you and don't want to spend too much effort trying to force it.

Your outlook on life is brighter than most people's. You like the idea of influencing things for the better and find hope in situations where others might give up. You're not exactly a bouncy sunshine but things in your world generally look up.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

I didn't post the husband one as I kept getting famous men I don't really fancy, and living in a caravan/tent in former soviet europe :S

Writing

Tue, 01 Jun 2004 17:08:14 GMT

Hello, I've decided to try and get back into writing...this somewhat ignited by Mandie. I'm a little disappointed in myself to be correct. I have a habit of making promises and not keeping them, due to a sense of worthlessness- how could something I do ever be good enough? Not the way to live, as where does it get you? So, in response to my frustration, I have decided I am going to write again; when I was writing fairly regularly, I always felt like there was something commendable about myself.

For the past few months, I have been trying to create my own fictional place as a way of getting back into writing. The idea is that part of the impetus for creating a story will be adding more depth to this fictional place. I still don't have a name for it - much more trawling through explanations of anglo-saxon, romano-british, and gallic names will be needed - but I have a general idea. It's inevitably going to be in the East of England (my region) and fairly coastal, but in Suffolk rather than Norfolk as the Suffolk coast is far wilder. I'm trying to build a place which has convincingly been far bigger and more important, but has been reduced and humbled in some way. Today I have thought up a feature which has got me really excited, and I've begun a short story about a middle-aged woman working in a small cafe, centred around the landmark.

Hopefully I'll finish it so any interested parties can take a look.

To the next time

Chris

Now the redemption

Mon, 31 May 2004 12:10:02 GMT

After the shame of a post singularly about big brother, I thought I should redeem myself with a post about other things.

I've been reading His Dark Materials again, after finishing The Secret History of Geisha by Lesley Downer. I'm not sure if that's the right title of the book...generally I just refer to it as the Geisha book. It's such a challenge; to try and get your sense of morality, acceptability and society around the idea of Geisha. When trying to explain the book to my friend in the pub, I found it so hard to convey how it could not be prostituition/ I think the facter I find the most beguiling about Geisha culture is the lifestyle demands the participant to live in a constant piece of performance art when in the company of men. It's so strange. And where does it go from here?

Other things I found less agreeable was the sexism. Homosexuality was acceptable, and in Samurai culture, almost encouraged or revered as 'perfect love'...but this was only amongst men. The book makes no mention of lesbianism in Japanese tradition. Given that the husband and wife were expected to see as little as possible of one another, with sexual contact being purely for reproduction, it would make you wonder if the wives formed special friendships amongst themselves...much like the women of Britain around the 17th century. The book gives the impression that married women lived within the context of domesticity and family only- they were expected to look after their children and husband. They could have no other interests outside the home, as there wasn't time for it.

I can hardly accept this. The mystery of this has really made me want to find other books on the role of women in Japan before the occupation by America after WWII. Speaking of which, another hugely interesting part of the book is how American occupation changed Japan; some good, some questionable. It appears that 'americanisation' of Japan has contributed to a decline in Geisha culture, and much other aspects of Japanese culture. I suppose a lot of the other changes could be attributed purely to belonging to a globalised culture- kimono are no longer standard wear (the Japanese dress like westerners), their diet has changed (before the 1950's, meat or dairy products were very odd foods for the Japanese) and their eating habits have been altered (go into Wagamama's and read the menu- Japanese used to 'slurp' noodle broths, but now the practice is dying out as it appears unsophisticated to the westernised Japanese youth).

Obviously we would applaud the influences such as compulsory education for children under 14 and democracy, but it is always damaging when a foreign government with different values and cultural expectations enforces their own ideals upon another civilisation. I hope the Iraqi administration are more careful with the opportunities they bestow.

Chris

Sat, 22 May 2004 18:15:09 GMT

You're Fran!

Take the Which Strictly Ballroom Dancer Are You? Quiz
Also try my other quizzes.

Just to let everyone who cares know I'm not dead.

I'll go read journals now.

Chains xx

Stolen Quiz from Kim

Thu, 06 May 2004 21:49:40 GMT

[x] Wallet: Five pound note, student cards which are still valid, bank card, random change, receipts (I seem to hoarde them).
[x] Hairbrush: I'm not *that* gay
[x] Toothbrush: Translucent white and orange...retro.
[x] Jewelry worn daily: Don't wear owt.
[x] Pillow cover: White with embroidered detail of a winding stem with a couple of violet flowers in a lower corner.
[x] Blanket: Navy, blue and yellow squares (remembered it in the family since I was born)
[x] Coffee cup: One from the Tate Modern (green), or the mug my sister got me with my name and the chinese year of my birth (The Pig Chris).
[x] Sunglasses: not had those for a good few years.
[x] Underwear: What I'm wearing now? Boring black trunk shorts from debenhams (or somewhere as dull)
[x] Favorite shirt: Erm...I have a white one I like with embroidered detail...I also have a red, long-sleeved t'shirt that looks like it has blood dripping down from the shoulders. Oh, and I have a really funny white/blue and brown striped shirt with a stiff collar and cufflinks et al!
[x] Cologne/Perfume: Hmmm...don't wear any.
[x] CD in stereo right now: Upstairs in my stereo is Goldfrapp.
[x] Tattoos: I like them on other people...I've considered one on my lower back (chains, of course).
[x] Piercings: Nein. Eyebrow piercings, or tops of the ears look so sexy on men, I think.
[x] What you are wearing now: Really cheap tee my mum bought me (claret red with some graphic on it in White- Christie's Campus Cleaners...with the silhouette of a naked lady in stilettos with a hoover), my grey-green cords.
[x] In my mouth: The residue of a honey Locket.
[x] In my head: Well, kim, as I'm reading through her answers as I'm going through this...also Benny, a cute guy I used to talk to and would like to chat to again soon.
[x] Wishing: To meet the amazing guy I saw in Oxford on Sunday (still obsessed).
[x] After this: Sleep, or random internettage.
[x] If you could get away with it and murder anyone, who and for what reason? Crikey... I don't think I hate anyone enough to murder them. The closest would be my mum, once she got too disabled to do anything and if she asked me to. The reason would be because I love her and understand how hard it would be for her to just live and not be able to do anything.
[x] Person(s) you wish you could see right now: Oh, nathaniel. Naked. Or in his jeans. Or in his pants. Or in a raincoat. Oh, heck, I don't care...as long as I could talk to him for a while.
[x] Is next to you: I'm alone.
[x] Some of your favorite movies: Dancer in the Dark, Leon, Donnie Darko, Rabbit Proof Fence, Amelie, Bugsy Malone, Watership Down, Fight Club, Being John Malkovich, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Chocolat...
[x] Something you're looking forward to in the upcoming month: This weekend! Umm... Matthew's birthday at work (perhaps I'll jump out of a cake for him...haha, no chance), Nathaniel's proposal, planning to see PJ Harvey at Somerset House in London (though that actually happens in July)
[x] The last thing you ate: M&S Three Bean wrap. Yum. I like mexican.
[x] Something that you are deathly afraid of: Lies.
[x] Do you like candles: Yes. I like randomly scented ones (I had an opium candle once, and it was black).
[x] Do you like incense: Not really had a huge amount of experience with it.
[x] Do you like the taste of blood: Yes, but not after it kind of goes stale in your mouth.
[x] Do you believe in love: Yes, but as a kind of mental state, rather than a spiritual conclusion or something. Love can happen many times to many people.
[x] Do you believe in soul mates: I believe some people are destined to get on really well together, and I think the odds vary depending on the individual, so one person could have five possible soulmates...whereas another may only have one.
[x] Do you believe in love at first sight: I believe in Love at first sight as lust at first sight. Real love wears the storm, whereas sight works on sex.
[x] Do you believe in Heaven: Not particularly, no. Heaven on Earth perhaps, but nothing to go onto.
[x] Do you believe in God: Not in the christian sense...I believe in a steward of life.
[x] What do you want done with your body when you die: All the useful parts to be donated to those who require them...otherwise I would like my body to be buried under a sapling. Or sky burial...always appealed to me. The birds could pick my bones clean, and then they could be sold off as a cheap skeleton for biology classrooms.
[x] If you could have any animal for a pet, what would it be: Oooh, a bird of prey. I've now seen a long-eared owl and a golden eagle as people's pets...both just perched in the open, not tied down or anything. I'd feel guilty though, and would have to be confident that said bird would be happy to go fly abouts themselves.
[x] Can you eat with chopsticks: Yes, although I don't do it that often, so it takes ten minutes to refresh my memory usually.

Ahh, not done a random quiz thing for ages.

My weekend

Mon, 19 Apr 2004 19:49:55 GMT

Howdy everybody...single figures again, huh? Each and every one precious.

I went to Dover this weekend to meet Karl. It was much fun, although I was travelling for a total of eleven or so hours, in train, tube or bus. We had a lovely time. I did some unadvisable things, although I managed to retain a fragment of moral superiority. I find it very hard to stop myself when somebody near-perfect is kissing me. Argh. I think Karl and I are quite similar...get lost in the great feeling of things, and forget the impracticality whilst it's convenient.

The end result? I have a new friend. And I think that's not a light statement. A real friend. A friend I fancy the pants off, which is not easy for me...but a friend. Who I shall see...not all the time, of course, but often enough.

I was upset to begin with, as I left Dover with the impression he was, or is, something more...but common sense prevailed (on his side initially)...and now I'm in accordance. It is pretty foolish to try 'being' with someone when you live a five hour train journey away and can only feasibly visit at weekends...kind of turns any relationship into one centred around sex. And sex is good...it just shouldn't be the foundation.

I think that's what happened with my ex...and that's why I felt so bad about it all. I ended up not really liking him much, but having sex to keep him quiet and happy. It sounds awful, but I wasn't really aware of it at the time...perhaps that is what marriage feels like.

On the other side...I've walked up to the edge of the white cliffs, snagged a few 'bluebirds over' and ate takeaway pizza. Oh, also saw 'The Hours'. Who else has seen it? Isn't it a great film. Kind of draped in a depressive tone, but actually an extremely uplifting kind of realisation at the end. It really is an interest...not really a story as such, but more a study of a falsehood. The falsehood of happiness. If you see the interiors and lifestyle magazines in the shops and wonder how people can buy into them, or watch the Teen dream films and see the vacuum...you'll understand The Hours.

What have I learned from this? My thoughts of the past few months have been wise. Don't go looking too far for love, cos inevitably the the best is on your doorstep.

Chris x

Easter excess

Mon, 12 Apr 2004 19:26:55 GMT

Hey, I just spoke to Karl on the phone for the first time!! How exciting, it's cool cos I felt comfortable after about ten minutes worth of mumbling...which is good for me. Very good. It's almost scary how good things are going. Makes me expect far too much. Well, only four and a bit days left before I find out if I'm expecting far too much from this, or whether I'm viewing it from the right angle.

Mum thinks I'm a dirty stop out, as I'm staying the night (well it is a five hour journey there...). The saddest, or happiest part is, it will probably turn out to be the correct judgement. I have a bad relationship with self-restraint once a certain level is reached.

Crikey

Sun, 11 Apr 2004 12:17:26 GMT

Say hello to Stella, everybody, my new icon.

She's a Thai ladyboi who had a fatal accident with a dodgy rickshaw.

Merci

C xxx

My So Called Life

Fri, 02 Apr 2004 22:53:47 GMT

I think I have a problem with real people...online ones are so much more perfect, n'est pas? You don't have to go through the painful silences that inevitably accompany real people during any search for conversation, as you can always quickly say 'gtg...dinner' and nothing is thought of it. It's with this optimistic note that I launch into my latest craze...

So, it's been, what,...a year and a half since I felt the welcome touch of another man upon my person (aside from Matthew at work...nothing intended; he's just the kind of bloke who gives you a pat on the shoulder). "This time," I told myself heartily after making my ex (Carl) sob, "I'll restrict myself to the region...no more hiking across the uk due to getting squishy feelings about someone I've only chatted to online, and subsequently on the phone."

Hmmm...a year and a half is a pretty admirable sticking to that policy, especially considering the absolute lack of interest locally. There are nice enough people in the Eastern arse of Britain, but unfortunately all those I find attractive seem to be happily entrenched in relationships, straight or gay. So, I've made a few friends during my period of strictness, but no real love or desire to speak of. There was Daniel, and he is (or was) an absolutely first class person, but I'm afraid even there it wasn't enough.

So, what should I do, but discover a rare and remarkable beauty. Good on me, I hope to hear you cry. But, as with most treasures...just a little out of reach. Dover to be precise. Dover! As in five hours away by rail. DOVER! It's crazy...I think I must be some kind of self-destructive romantic, as my relationships appear to begin with a chance discovery (and, happily, so far I have always thought...I've got no chance) of people, and then an intense period of getting to know one another. I mean, this guy, also called Karl (but with a sexy K) has only been exchanging messages with me for a week. I've only talked to him through msn for a couple of days, and we only graduated to text messages yesterday because I got pissed off with the online thing!

It's insane. Despite all the craziness and 'things I know I shouldn't' it's so nice to be in that blissful position where you're getting attention from a person you really admire and desire. I'm concerned he might be mentally unstable- I sent him a few photos where I look like I'm sweating off an addiction, and he thinks they are really good...I mean, he called them sexy. Insane, I tell you. I suppose it's time to give a brief overview...

He's 27, my height (5'10"), average build (which seems to mean he's fit, but with soft edges...yum), white skin, dark hair and hazel eyes. I can't say exactly what it is that I find attractive about his appearance (apart from I'm a sucker for dark haired men) but I think he's got the kind of face you can imagine ten years down the line...like a comfortable face. Handsome, but not kind of fickle in its beauty.

He works in some kind of administration and management for the port (Human resources or something), but has published poetry and writes short stories. I've read a few of his pieces so far, and they are impressive. I'm quite a tough critic of people's work, and the poetry I found very good...kind of delirious and blind in it's feeling, suiting the subject and context. He's also really into films and has good taste- when I see him we're going to watch the Hours, which he says is one of his favourite films of recent years...and I can cry on his sleeve if it manages to get me that low (I'm not susceptible to weeping at films, but I may make an exception...)

Personality wise, he's remarkably positive about things, although not blind to others' feelings or arrogant...and still there's a little insecurity which just makes him so very human and adorable. I think one of the nicest things, is that he is not at all bitchy or sarcastic. It's so weird to find that in a gay person (goes against the usual barriers minorities put up). He's wicked really...really suggestive and doesn't shy away from saying exactly what's on his mind, but as he's fairly open-minded, this doesn't translate as opinionated.

I guess the only 'negative' point is that his taste in music includes some artists that I find hard to swallow, but it also includes some of my favourites, so not all bad! And, given enough alcohol, I could sit through a Jamie Cullum performance.

Age on the surface is not really an issue, although at times I'm paranoid that I'm being immature and ignorant, against his sophistication and wisdom, but he's not complained, and doesn't patronise me, so sees me as an equal. The only really worrying thing about the age is friends, seeing as all my close friends are very close in age to me, and his friends appear to be his age.

But I'm distracting myself again. He lives in Dover. Can anyone see this working? I mean, I'm quite relaxed about relationships, as in spite of feeling deeply about somebody, I can accept having to miss a weekend of seeing them due to a problem in times or travel or something. Argh, it's making me so teenage. He laughed and said I should go to Canterbury university, as it's fairly close, and I'm thinking seriously about it.

Well, gain some perspective Chris. It's early days, you're just acquaintances at the moment really...you can feel buoyed by the sense that he seems to like you, but wait til you've got the meeting over before you invest too much emotionally towards this. You could lose a friend by expecting a lover.

Am I mad?

Love to those who haven't felt it recently

Chris xx

Life is quite consuming

Tue, 30 Mar 2004 19:02:38 GMT

Hey hey, I went out last night! Here's a breakdown for anybody interested...

Left work early, which was a really nice feeling...and it was a nice cycle home, being as it was all bright and sunny without the rush of traffic to annoy me. Got to Norwich at 3 o'clock and ended up trampin' round Waterstones, buying, against the ethos of my new savings drive, two architecture books. Met up with Hannah in the Wine Press. The Wine Press is a really nice bar, but it's so hard to find. You have to go through an alleyway cut into this row of shops, and then through a courtyard, and finally down steps to the basement.

I got there first and bought a drink- the first of many. It was weird because this girl, Coco, happened to be there too. We all went to the same sixth form and when I started university Coco and I used to exchange letters, but I haven't heard form her for a couple of years. It's awkward when something like that happens, because it's so hard to just suddenly raise a conversation with somebody.

Anyways, we moved on to meet Jo in a pub a short walk away, and I had a second drink whilst we chatted. Jo works in a betting shop during uni holidays and yesterday they had a member of a fraud group in there! Oh, the excitement. The deputy manager tried to get the licence plate number form his car, but she was unsucessful.

We went back to Hannah's, and she subsequently opened a bottle of white wine that we ended up sharing between the three of us. Matt (Hannah's partner) came home from work bearing cans of lager so yet another drink disappeared down my throat, and I also met Hannah's neighbour, Rae (Rachel), who was much nicer than I think I anticipated.

We went to a pub for a pizza and yet more drinks. I had fun perving on the council-estate fantasy guys playing pool. By this time, I did feel a little like I had my head in a bubble, which is my own interpretation of what it feels like to be drunk.

We got taxis to the venue and arrived mid-way through the support act's set. They were okay, but I wasn't impressed really. I find the idea of Scissor Sisters choosing support bands quite weird...they are so individual in their style, it must be really hard to find a group that complements them. Anyways, we got rid of our coats and went to the toilets. I went in the men's (obviously) and waited to use the cubicle, as it was occupied, but whoever was in there was breathing really noisily...I got a little scared of what would emerge so after a few minutes I gave up and returned to my friends.

A few more drinks later I was really enjoying myself! Some random girl told me I have beautiful hair...what a nice thing to say. I was beyond thought, so I replied 'My...your's is very clean'. The Sisters were good, although the Waterfront is actually a much nicer venue than had been described to me, so I think the gig lacked that underground feeling that I had gotten when I saw them at Leicester Charlotte. Also, it was fairly well ventilated, so not very much stripping took place. Paddy Boom didn't even take off his top! And Ana Matronic didn't strip to her bra and pants like the last time. Most disappointing...

Hannah and Matt disappeared fairly early on, and we couldn't find them again that night. I ended up getting a lift home from Jo, who, if below the legal limit, must have some weird water content in her body. Or perhaps it's the purging effect of the lemonade she had drunk later on. I had left my bag at Hannah's earlier in the evening, along with my phone and toothbrush, but I wasn't too bothered about leaving it behind. It was a really difficult journey home though...the fog was so thick, we could only see a couple of lengths ahead!

Jo dropped me off close to the town centre when we got back, partly because we had forgotten about the fairly new one way system they have in place now. I was quite looking forward to the walk though- it's only ten minutes. It was eerie though, due to the absolute deathly silence, the encroaching fog, and the echo of the bell's of St Mary's Church striking midnight as I walked past.

Hmm, that was exhaustive, n'est pas. I went on the net when I got in and I had about 8 messages waiting for me on OUT. I rpelied to them, and now have completely forgotten what I said in my drunken haze. I even managed to write one in French!

Well, anyways, needless to say, I had a huge hangover this morning, and was sick twice. I guess I should have expected it really.

Must do it again soon though...has anyone ever thought of some kind of livejournal meet up? It would be quite funny, although I have no idea where it could be held. Perhaps we could all go to Finland and pay D a trip ;). Okay, that would be selfish of me...I just want to see lots of Alvar Aalto buildings.

Hope we've all had good weekends.

Chris x

To My Excellent Lucasia, On Our Friendship

Mon, 15 Mar 2004 22:42:11 GMT

To My Excellent Lucasia, On Our Friendship

I did not live until this time
Crown'd my felicity,
When I could say without a crime,
I am not thine, but thee.

This carcass breath'd, and walkt, and slept,
So that the world believe'd
There was a soul the motions kept;
But they were all deceiv'd.

For as a watch by art is wound
To motion, such was mine:
But never had Orinda found
A soul till she found thine;

Which now inspires, cures and supplies,
And guides my darkened breast:
For thou art all that I can prize,
My joy, my life, my rest.

No bridegroom's nor crown-conqueror's mirth
To mine compar'd can be:
They have but pieces of the earth,
I've all the world in thee.

Then let our flames still light and shine,
And no false fear controul,
As innocent as our design,
Immortal as our soul.

I heard this poem at about midnight last night on the radio, and found it really very beautiful. The poet is Katherine Phillips, and she is long dead.

Saturday is a day of rest

Sat, 13 Mar 2004 21:00:45 GMT

I haven't done much of wonder in the past week, hence no entries.

We were finishing a catalogue on Friday at work...it should have been finished by Wednesday, but, hey, that's the efficiency of design for you. I was feeling quite, well, quite on edge, as recently most things I have done in design seem to become merely what my manager wants. For example, I would lay out the back page, which was 'given' to me, but after I had shown it to John (my manager has first veto), it would slowly become something that he has arranged on a page; myself a kind of labourer of his wishes. It pisses me off, because, although this sounds very big-headed, I believe that people working in a design department are not only employed for their ability to use Adobe Photoshop, but for their artistic insight.

Rawr.

Well, I finished the day (I was there until quarter to six) by playing Chicks on Speed very loudly. We are not openly allowed music in Design, although most people who have previously worked in other design departments/firms say they have always been able to play music...obviously design departments aren't all that 'chatty' as it takes so much concentration and focus on bloddy computer screens. So, there I was, flouting John's silent laws. It's great- he doesn't know how to take me, as it were, so I can say a lot, or do 'bad' things, and he doesn't tell me to stop. He kind of laughs a nervous laugh, and that's all.

Maybe my bad behaviour will come back at me soon, but for the moment I don't care. I feel quite justified in my actions, so it's nothing that can hurt me too badly.

Today I have felt very exhausted, despite having ten hours sleep last night.

I'm off to watch jonathon creek.

ttfa

We like to use Gaffa tape

Sun, 07 Mar 2004 01:32:56 GMT

I entered the competition...it's so hard to stop at one hundred words though. I didn't really finish my entry how I wanted to...it kind of just ends, but hopefully is intriguing enough. I managed to fit all the words in, but tried my hardest to take them out of the accountancy context. I also managed to fit in Chihuahua, which pleased me no end.

If you fancy a go... http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/frontrow/email_shortstory_comp_worldbookday.shtml

good luck to those who try (but, face it, Kim and Mandie have both submitted entries, so the competition is VERY stiff).

I really should sleep now.

Björk Gudmundsdottir

Sat, 06 Mar 2004 19:35:17 GMT

"I've always felt I was either five or 90. So between 25 and 45 is just not me. I remember watching my mum and thinking that this period is just haywire time. It's just a lot of hysteria about nothing, running around worrying about the rest of your life."

"When I get drunk I'm usually over-the-top happy, just on a mission. It's like all or nothing. You can stay at home and be sober, or get completely drunk. I wish I could be all polite and sit and drink two bottles of red wine and make it last for nine hours, but unh-uh. It has to be fucking blitzkrieg."

"I've been reading about reincarnation, and the Buddhists say we come back as animals and they refer to them as lesser beings. Well, animals aren't lesser beings, they're just like us. So I say fuck the Buddhists."

"What I don't like about the word "art" is the fact that certain people are artists and certain people are not. The minute you think that this energy - like what you say, "innovative" - belongs to certain people and not to others, you've got it all wrong. Then you've got some sort of VIP or hierarchy of that energy. That energy belongs to everyone. You can be creative just by driving a taxi but you have a great sense of humor - I consider that very creative. I admire different people that can be in that kind of situation and still just come up with something that never existed before. At the end of the day, that's what creativity is about, coming up with something that never existed before."

Let's be Serious for a while children

Wed, 03 Mar 2004 18:29:09 GMT

Good evening.

Please go and look at a brilliant, if fairly new-born, website called www.musegeek.co.uk - not only does it possess a rather good name, but it's of encouraging worth, for anybody interested in writing. It gives good advice, which I think applies to not only people who are just starting and feel confused, but also to people more experienced.

I've said that I will write an article on spelling, punctuation and grammar (in fairly general terms- centred around their importance to a reader, than to the actual science of getting them right), which I hope will encourage people (mostly fanficition writers) to write stories that are readable and accessible. I guess everyone has a bit of the James Joyce in them though...

One great thing about the site which was kind of unexpected was that it pushed me further towards writing again, and NOT fanfiction (believe it or not). I've got this story in my head which has a character visually inspired by a celebrity, and the question of what could have happened if they hadn't have become a musician...but the story isn't going to focus on this, and hopefully it wont be obvious who it is. It's more about cruelty in a relationship, and how 'charity' works in a modern context. Is everyone out for themselves? Do we automatically trust people because they have shown a great kindness, or are we more cynical than that? And how much is charity motivated by desire, rather than altruism?

Heavy themes, my dear.

Look at the cobwebs in here...

Mon, 01 Mar 2004 21:06:51 GMT

Yes, it's been a long time, and yes, I am sorry if anyone missed me *yeah right*.

Well, the world is now fairly calm. I'm not sure what to say, apart from a thought that has plagued me is that I find Mel Gibson rather fanciable, and he's what? 50? Somebody enlighten me, please? Perhaps it means I'm just very unprejudiced when it comes to age differences in relationships.

I keep watching Question of Sport, which is kind of odd seeing as I'm not really all that sportish (more of an observer, if you get me ;)). WHICH reminds me- the six nations game the other weekend between...I think it was France and Ireland or something. The only French player to switch shirts at the end of the game, thus exposing beautiful man flesh...my boy Michalak. Well done...and next time, perhaps switch shorts? All in the name of a united Europe, of course.

Look at me, I didn't think I had anything to write and I'm typing a load of crap like nobody's business.

I think my 'artistic understanding' is developping, to sound pretentious for a moment. My kind of understanding of how to look at the world seems to have changed a lot over the past few years, although, in personal situations, I still go to pieces. Well, that's the plan I guess- don't get into compromising situations. At least not for a while. Sex, hugs, intimacy and another person's warmth can be put on hold, despite the fact I miss them all.

Well, how is everybody? If anyone fancies it, please leave a note to just say hi...I'll really appreciate it.

Love

Chris xxxx

This song is for all the women out there, who've been lied to by their men...

Wed, 14 Jan 2004 20:56:59 GMT

Greetings

I neglect my journal far too much...I'm going to have to make another of those empty promises to myself to update every other night or something.

Life is good at the moment. Back in design at work, and, consequently doing more work involving design- strange that. I was helping compile the product despatch last week (kind of brochure with all new products for this month, and old stock with new packaging - for trade customers), and despite it sounding quite dry, it was interesting because I was learning to use a new piece of software.

I was back onto packaging design this week - in particular a very nasty, cheap looking plastic 'farm set', that includes cows the size of chickens, or vice-versa. Being somebody who played with toy farms when I was a kid, I really didn't like this stuff cos it is such awful quality. Obviously the price is going to reflect the quality (or lack of it), but I can't help thinking some relative is going to buy this as a fair-priced stocking filler or something, and the recipient is going to be a) disappointed and b) will forget about it and the tiny, deformed plastic pigs will probably RIP in a vacuum cleaner!

It really annoys me - I still have a lot of my old toys with a view to passing them on to maybe nephews or nieces if they ever come. I think that's how toys should make people feel; to be valued for the good memories they hold and be good enough to be passed on in future. I don't envy parents for the whole pestering side of having kids...kind of understand why people end up buying useless, expensive crap that will be bettered in three months, or have an extended range of similar crap.

Grrr. Sometimes I need to just stop thinking so much about the work I do.

Well, I'm off to watch Dancer in the Dark - hope it's good!

Chris xx

Second blonde child like velvet.

Tue, 30 Dec 2003 17:02:02 GMT

Hello everyone, it feels like I've been away for a spell, doesn't it? I thought I'd do a meme...

1. What did you do in 2003 that you'd never done before?
Ummm...break up a relationship - sometime in early January. Oh btw, the relationship was my own. I also got a full-time job, ate sushi and got work published (okay so it was box packaging for toys, but it was still put into the public forum!).

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't generally make New Year's resolutions...although I've started biting my nails horrifically once more...you know, til they bleed and stuff, so I'm guessing stopping that is a good pledge to make.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Ummm...no-one close to me really, although two work colleagues gave birth.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Not that I remember. The founder of the company I worked for died in October and he lived in this old farmhouse on site and I saw him quite a lot so I guess he could count.

5. What countries did you visit?
Pah!

6. What would you like to have in 2004 that you lacked in 2003?
Sense of achievement.

7. What date from 2003 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
None I'm afraid...I'm not good with exact dates.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Being an excellent supervisor!! Whoo!! Go me! ;o)

9. What was your biggest failure?
My mood over Christmas.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Normal things like colds and scratches. Oh I whacked my head on a steel girder at work (I was jumping over desks).

11. What was the best thing you bought?
I feel like naming some of the cd's I've bought, but I'd have to say the painting I bought for my elder sister as a Christmas present.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I don't really know him awfully well, but I'd probably say Matthew's at work. He's one of those people who are always nice, never seem superficial...yes I fancy the pants off him.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Ooh, a couple of people - Rachel and Lyndsey at work...mostly for the same reasons, although Rachel's behaviour was more protracted as she was there for a year, although Lyns was only temporary.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Christ, if I'm honest...amazon.com

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Going to see Placebo in London. And Leeds festival.

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2003?
Crazy in Love, Beyonce...Train, Goldfrapp...the one by Blazin' Squad...

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? Ummm...happier cos last year I was consumed with 'how to break up with somebody nicely'.
ii. thinner or fatter? Fatter by law of averages (I don't weigh myself).
iii. richer or poorer? Richer.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Going out to gigs, reading, visiting my absent friends.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Bitching, getting lifts from people...

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I spent it at home with my parents, my sister and her boyfriend. Other family members popped 'round occasionally.

21. Compared to this time last year, has your biggest crush receeded or gotten stronger?
This time last year I had a different crush.

22. Did you fall in love in 2003?
Erm, hard question to ask...I guess I sorted out my feelings better this year, but around the same person as before.

23. How many one-night stands?
None.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Six Feet Under/Little Britain.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Not sure I hate anyone...conversely I used to hate Kirstie, and she's now one of the people I most like at work. She's not at her best when she's stressed.

26. What was the best book you read?
Crikey...Memoirs of a Geisha. I think that one pulled me apart most.

27. What was your greatest musical discoveries?
Goldfrapp. Btw, the question is grammatically incorrect - it should use 'were' instead of 'was'.

28. What did you want and get?
Dvd player.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Donne Darko.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I became 20 (eugh) and I went to London for the day with my friend Isla.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Steady partner and sex. Or perhaps being spotted on the street and turned into the uk's hottest new model/singer/actor/demi-god

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2003?
If you like it, wear it. Choose dark clothes if you're feeling an acute spell of misanthropy in the wings.

34. What kept you sane?
Music. Books. My friends.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Hmm...Justin Timberlake, most of the French rugby team ;)

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
It'd be hard not to be Iraq, although asylum got me into a 'debate' at work.

37. Who did you miss?
Too many people, and my dog Buster who died years ago.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
What an awkward question...Lucy at work. She rocks.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2003:
Everyone has their own way of finding scapegoats.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"So I come and go, give each other more to know, silence we still talk, by the light of the stereo wall..." Alien - Bush. Not sure if those are the exact words, but that's how I hear them and that's what makes sense to me. Kind of still in limbo at the moment.

Rugby slash in it's formative stage?

Sun, 30 Nov 2003 19:57:45 GMT