A few years ago, I went on a comedy course (what do you mean, you can't tell?) led by Marc Blake, and one of the very many comedy ideas created during the course revolved around a down-on-his-luck character who'd end every sketch by raising his fists up at the sky and cursing the Peruvian Gods above.
Fast-forward to last week, and after a very tempestuous fortnight (lost my job, got another temporary job, temporarily living in my mate's spare kids' bedroom and commuting four hours a day into West London) I went for a very quick drink with the ever-glamorous Zuzula where I met her partners in crime. She and She Of The Handbag reminded me of the concept when they talked about their GodBeadle - the idea that when life throws stones and wine barrels at you to jump over, it's actually the God Jeremy Beadle who is laughing at you from on high for the amusement of celestial audiences.
Fast-forward to today, and the slightly sad news that Jeremy Beadle has indeed decided to become one amongst the Gods. While I never met him and am not going to join in the necro-voyeurism that seemed to accompany the death of Heath Ledger, I shall only note that he seemed like a jolly nice chap considering all the stresses he put people under in the name of comedy, and I really do hope he doesn't start throwing more wine barrels and stones in my way. Stability, please!
Apparently, British women thinks blokes called Dave are the most well-endowed. Which ought to be good news for David Lloyd.
Fortunately, Mark Boulton, James Cridland, Mark Thompson and Mark Byford would seem to have nothing to fear either. (Wonder what goes on at BBC executive meetings...)
This blog post is brought to you because there are tons of things I do want to say, but summoning the energy to say them in a vaguely cogiscent and amusing manner fails me at the moment!
Well, after two weeks of working and commuting in London, I can tell you this:
- the free newspaper market in London is *insane*. Everywhere you go, there are men thrusting bits of newspaper at you, and making loud banging noises occasionally to get your attention. Of course, when you're about to enter a tube station, the *last* thing you want to hear is a loud banging noise.
- the commute is rather tiresome. I'm living in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine in Chesham, which means a 90-120 minute journey each way to the office.
Although it is voyeuristic fun watching other commuters and wondering what their life is like. Like the man who sits opposite me totally unaware that Brylcreem is not meant to cover your hair, but complement it.
Then again, a couple of times I've been part of the scrum half that forms the Jubilee line. Boy, wonder what that would be like in the summer...
- the work is fun, good and interesting. It makes a nice change to actually have my work critiqued professionally.
- it's a nice office too of friendly people. Shame the job's only temporary!
- Oyster cards rock. Much better than the horrible Travelcards I used to have to contend with!
Thanks to a lovely blogger friend of mine (who says blogging gets you nowhere?) I have now embarked on the strange and interesting world that is freelancing, for one major employer, doing some online editing and writing, which is nice. It's a bit of an eyeopener into the way that "real" publishing works, and I've got some stuff to learn but as the Amerikanski would say, It's All Good.
However, the vexed question of my official status and how I should be paid has arisen. Should I:
- go completely freelance, and just invoice the company direct, and sort out tax and National Insurance at the end of the year? The slight flaw being I'm not sure i can be a "sole trader" if I'm just working for one employer.
- go on their payroll as a casual? Easiest option, but least lucrative I guess...
- employ an umbrella company to be the middle man for sorting out invoices and the like...
What do you think?
Let's face it, while most of Apple's products have been somewhat cool and nifty, they've never actually been particularly useful. Or innovative in terms of functionality, for that matter. MP3 players were around before the iPod came out. Mobile phones were around before the iPhone came out.
But now, Apple have brought out something that - to my mind - no-one else has done yet, and is genuinely useful.
The Apple Time Capsule is a router with a built-in hard drive. Simple as that. Apple sell it as a way of doing automatic backups - but think about it. A router with a built-in hard-drive. In one fell swoop you remove the need for a modem, a router and a network hard drive in one go. I really really want one.
Shame it probably won't work with PCs.
Oh, and don't get me started on the Apple Macbook Air. In a world where we're trying to make things last longer, Apple bring out a product that becomes landfill trash after three years. It's almost as if Apple is sticking its tongue out at Greenpeace...
I'm in London this week doing some freelance work (thanks to a cool blog friend). So if you happen to fancy a drink, shout!
Up till now, I've been sleeping in an old duvet that I've had for students' years, with a multi-coloured bedspread on top to try and keep the chill out.
Yesterday, I thought I'd take advantage of the January sales, and ended up buying a combination non-allergic 15-tog duvet, which I'm told is the warmest you can get.
So I climbed into bed last night, thought it was a bit chilly but thought the bed would slowly warm up. And ended up dreaming of being trapped in a South Pole arctic base all night.
Did I miss a trick with the tog thing? Is 15-tog the warmest you can get, or am I just living in an exceptionally cold flat?
Unusually, I seem to have rediscovered my love for pop music lately - probably as a result of driving around over Christmas with the radio turned up. But it's never usually a good sign.
I'm certainly digging (daddio) Scouting For Girls, if only because Elvis Ain't Dead lets me do my air synth dancing, which goes down well at the local discotheque.
Every time Girls' Aloud's Call The Shots, I can't stop doing the "ooooooh" lyric - which can be embarassing in the office. Then again, I first heard the chorus starting off as "Just because you lay in your bed and call the shots". But even with the correct version, I still have no idea what the narrative flow of the record is - it just makes no sense! Do you know what it all means?
There's no such confusion with Rhianna's Please Don't Stop The Music. Simplistic pop that's only saved by the grace of having that Michael Jackson sample in it. One that comes in very handy when trying to keep your cool and shopping around the place.
Then again, I still like hearing Take That's Rule The World. Even if it's been played to death on British radio. It's still a damn good track.
I've recently been musing over whether 'tis better to blog like a shotgun (occasionally but in depth), or like a machine gun (short frequent updates)?
The problem with doing a machine-gun like approach is that the posts would get even more irrelevant, to the point where I'd blog about observing that over Christmas, whilst driving through Bedfordshire, I managed to flick through the various radio stations to find Take that's Rule The World being played five times in fifteen minutes. It's a great song - and the first time around, I was bellowing out the lyrics with wanton abandon - but even my voice couldn't sustain doing that for fifteen minutes.
So, shotgun or machine gun?
