Blimey. It's only gone and turned Chirstmas Day, isn't it?

Here goes...

There is justice in the world

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/music/3302887.stm

That song is like a mind expanding drug. The sheer depth of emotion the it contains is unfathomable to me. The fact that the feelings behing the song have only gone on to become even more relevant to people today is astounding. Indeed, it's affect on me never lessens with subsequent listenings. I really can't put into words just what a great song it is. I feel it encapsulates the joy and greif of everyone living in these past few years (and perhaps 1982 as well, though I wasn't here to see it). At any rate, it's up there with Weightless Again and Ask The Mountains in terms of it's personal gravity to me.

Oooh, it puts shivers through me....

And yes, I've made a whole post about one song. It's that good, no, that IMPORTANT.

Well, that's semester one over. Whew.

I cannot believe how fast the past 4 months have gone by. It's really quite alarming. Certainly, despite my little... startup problems, this semester has marked the most fufilling period in my life so far.

So you'll excuse me if I'm a little reticent about now being back home. At christmas, no less. Eep. Enough to give anyone the jibblies. Anywho, I'm back untill at least the 7th, and at most the 13th, depending on my tolerance for: (a) Being up north, (b) Forced festivity, and above all (c), A serious lack of personal freedom.

So... Here goes...

Blimey. Over a month and no post. I do apologise for that, but I find nowadays that there just are not enough hours in the day in which to do everything you want to get done. Right, let's recap on the past month...

First of all, the Handsome Family gig. Excellent. One of the best nights out I've had in a long long time. The band were yet again of perfect form (aside from a hilarously dealt with broken guitar string: "can I keep playing?" "No! you're going to start over"). I apparently was very much the Groupie as I hung around after the performances and shot the shit with the Sparkes (Darrel, Brett and Rennie, in that order), and they were all kind enough to sign some objects for me. Kudoes to them, and to Thom for coming along with me that night.

Shortly after this came by birthday/reading week, which has a sedate affair, and very strange to be back for a week in my old and largly abandoned life. Came back after that with muchos presentes, to find that Stuart was to come the next day (my actual birthday), to stay. We went out to a very good comedy that in a roundabout way, highlighted quite a nasty problem. Since about 60% of students at St Andrews are English, there are roughly 60% of people here who beleive that the national anthem for this country is "God Save the Queen". While many people have been on the wrong end of my "Flower of Scotland is the worst national anthem in the world!" rant, I still conceed that -for the time being at least- it IS our national anthem, regardless of how shit it is. I swear, these English fools wouldn't be nearly so hastry to make such stupid remarks about the state of the nation if we were still speaking Galic.

Speaking of which, I'm coming to notice how a great many songs in Galic/Gaelic resemble the Blues in terms of their composition and structure. It certainly wouldn't take much to convert them fully to a Blues format ("'S gann gun dìrich mi chaoidh" in particular). I'll definitly be looking into this for further adventures with my banjo. I just have to get the pronouciations down...

Not too much has happened since then, up to last weekend, whereupon I made my fist big foray into that "lifestyle exploration" last weekend. Conclusion: subcultures are fun and will make you new friends easily. Take the plunge into something you fancy. Despite the horror stories you hear, it's hugly rewarding. Thanks very much to pippa for inviting me along, she's a total star as usual, and may much wellbeing accompany Katie the researcher: the world rewards open minds with it's diversity.

On another note, you should all go and rent/buy the film "Koyaanisqatsi" as soom as possible. It's mesmirising.

The Banjo set went semi OK, though my novice ability with said instrument clearly showed. Need to practice my technique before trying that one again.

Kill Bill is an excellent film, The japanese aesthetic working to a huge advantage. If you ain't seen it yet, bloody well do so!

I'm skipping a psychology tutorial on monay to go see the Handsome Family in Edinburgh. Taking a couple of buddies form FilmSoc, as well as meeting Mr. Sherrington to give him his own ticket. Should be an excellent night out.

It's raining quite hard outside, and with the window open the sound is quite mesmserising. Ahhh...

I have a week off in a fortnight, to be used for study purposes, but I'll try and get as much out the way (Pshycology writeup, genetics problems and an essay on light and electron microscopy - fun...) as I can before I make the jaunt up north. It'll be my 19th birthday in 16 days! Yay for me!

Am rekindling my love of Vangelis at the moment due to a new compilation album doing the rounds. 'tis quite nice.

"Contentment is the enemy of invention".
Too true. As you might guess, things have imporved somewhat since my last post, and I'm no longer reduced to tears by the hour os so of time alone each day.

Societies are the name of the game now, and are proving to be an excellent way to meed people. Hopefully by this time next year, I'll have one or two short films made, a bucket load of new writings, and a wider foreign vocabulary. Yes, this town is still small and potentially suffocating, but the open mindedness of my fellow students is a great offset. Still no place to buy CDs here, though.

One upshot of being put back into an institutionalised state is that it gives you a clear sense of purpose. Biology gives that. Can't say the same for Geography and Psychology, which are a total monopoly on my time, as evdienced in my feild trip last weekend to arthur's seat. I'm sorry, but rocks just do not do anything for me.

"Finding Nemo" is one of the best films I've seen. The graphics are lushious, it doesn't treat you like an idiot (or child, for that matter), the jokes are hilarious, the casting and performaces surperb. It also has the most romantic confession of (unspoken) love I've ever seen, dulled not one iota by that fact that it's delivered by a fish. Go see it. Which reminds me, I must go seek Kill Bill next week...

I'm currently listening go "Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm" by Crash Test Dummies, quite a mesmerising bit of Americana.
I'm playing m Banjo at an open mic night tonight. I'll let you all know how it goes.

Right, that'll do. I 'll stop...




here.

This place is just nuts.

Coming here was one hell of a shock. For starters the Uni is totally oversubscribed (read: everyone who said they would come, HAS come), the result of which is that all available rooms in the hall have been converted to bedrooms. Including the TV room, and a lot of tiny storage cupboards. One of which I was alotted to. Dad put up a fuss on my behelf, and the wardens "discovered" that a mistake had been made...
I now have a room that is capable of being lived in.

This is a very lonley place. To date, I've only one person to my name that I could consider a friend, and for that, you should look under "perfect stranger". I'm still feeling totally alone, even after my little trip back to banff last weekend (something I will repeat this weekend). I can't count the amount of times I cried last week, purely out of not knowing what other response to have. I'm still very loney.

The workload looks massive. From what I'm seeing in the introductary lectures, there's a tough year ahead. I've NO idea how people are ablr to balance their study with fun. With the dyslexia on top of that, things are going to get sweaty (in a mental sort of sense).

The oppertunites for fun look endless. So far I've joined Film watching, Film making, Creative writing (something woefully absent from the english syllabus), Anime, Comedy and SCUBA clubs. It was at the meeting of the film making club that the wierd thing happened.

We were all at the front of a bar called "drouthy neebors" when a very important looking motorcade of black vintage mercedes dorve by the window, stopped infront of the no entry signs that bar that section of road from the road out of town. On the front of each car were these flags: http://www.flags.net/elements/gif_flags/AFGH001.GIF

All three cars proceeded to perform three-point turns, and having caught the attention of everyone in the front of the bar, a figure in the back proceeded to wave at us untill the cars drove off again.

The man was this man: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/3153494.stm

I got waved at by an important internation statesman whilst sipping a long vodka.

Absolutely nuts.

Right, Internet account is now all set up and working nicely.

My new E-mail address is: as90@st-andrews.ac.uk

MSN messenger remains the same.



It's quite different here...

Well, just one more day to go before the end of my days up in the deepest darkest north.

An odd sense of calm has come over me latley, compounded largely by my trip to the Findhorn foundation today. It's a lovely little place inhabited by a collective of people who really have found a viable alternative to everyday life. Needless to say, iut's a world away from certain peoples' written prose concerning it...

In other news, as of tomorrow, my old e-mail adress, and subsequently my website, will be no more.
It will be started anew at some point in the future. I will post my new e-mail address as soon as it becomes available. Watch this space.

Well, farewell to you all.

It's been real...

Well, I'm just about recovered from the party on Saturday. And I have learned the first rule of partys: Never ever host one.

It all went reasonably well, but I was dashing about all night long just to make sure I wasn't neglecting anybody, so by the end on the night my feet really hurt.

It was good to see a lot of the people that I havn'y seen on SO long, thogh some I'd rather see out of a party/alcohol context.

Also, there were some friends present (they, and I, know who they are) who, believeing they had a sense of humour, took it upon themselves to disrupt and damage my own, but more importantly, my parents property. It really just felt like a punch in the guts, especially given all the hard work, time and money that was put into giving them something that they could enjoy. All they really have succeeded in doing is putting the brakes on my quickness to invite them to something similar in the future. Well done, eh?

That unpleasentness aside, the night went fairly well, though there's still a bit of mess to clear up this morning. It'll be quite a while before I do something like that again...



Well, It's my last week here in Banff. Soon, I'll be off to pastures new. Still cannot wait. There's a lot of packing to do. And that has to be fit around an imminet trip to Findhorn, and Aberdeen with Pippa (whom I will have to get even with cause of her inability to get to the party).

Happier days wait ahead...

Back.

And with banjo in tow, as promised, as well as a few interesting experiences.

St Andrews is a VERY dull place when there is nothing studenty to do and you don't like golf. Even at 2 and a half days we were hard pushed for things to do. There's bogger all in the way of comprehensive bookshops, and if you're looking for a CD that's not currently in the chart or known to everybody, forget about it.

Went to see Pirates of the Carribiean again avec mother (who is besotted with Johnny Depp), and am glad to report that the cinema is up to scratch, even if the screens are tiny. No, I mean bloody TINY. I can forsee frequent trips to E-burgh during my studency.

Anyway, got a lot of valuable resources that will save a great deal of time in the long run.

And I ALMOST ran into Sean Connery, but alas, I went for lunch one half hour too late. Ah well, I'm sure the paths will cross (He's in St Andrews quite a lot for the golf, the sad git).

Well, I'm all ready to go, an even though the town's shopping is quite definitly shit, I've a lot of money in thw bank, and a switch card is in th post, so Amazon, here I come...

Berwick is nice, but getting distinctly worse. As ususal. The accents seemed to have switched round from the bizarre amagamation of Lothian and Tyne accents, and people seem to have settled for the good old GeordieLight™.

Right, I've no-one to speak to just now, so I'll have a little fiddle with me banjo....


Tee Hee!

Well, after a false start yesterday, I'm off on a little trip to Berwick and St. Andrews today. Might be fun, might be miserable, but I hope to pick up a Banjo somewhere along the course of this trip...

Will be back in time for fiddle night at the ship. Which will be fun, I'm sure.

I really don't have much else to say... really...

After much practising during the endless tedium of the ...Unpleasantness... , I am now able to throat sing. I prefer the Inuit mod of singing (ransome burping-grunting noises sung at a steadily increasing tempo) over say, himalayan singing (which is just plain frightening).

There will be ample demonstrations the next time I'm down the pub.

Or in Pizza hut.

(OoooH! I'm SO going to do that next time....)

If you want to know what it sounds like, here's one example: http://www.stuff.co.uk/media/polar-relay/sounds/inuit2.wav

It's over.

No more barley. No more 12-hour shifts. No more slack jawed, cretentious turck drivers.

There's not as much elation in me as I would expect. The bastards have stolen so much joy from me.

Time to get back to living my own life now.

Bad News: I'm on 12 hour shifts in the what is quite possibly the most shit job ever.

Good News: Only 2 weeks from today to go untill I reach my cash target and quit the bloody thing.

I'm not thinking straight at the moment, and If anyone would like to call me between the hours of 7-9pm (the only free time I have now), I would really, really, really love it.

Not even the music is helping now...

It's hot as hell.

The weather has decided to join the rest of the nation in the much publicised heatwave, coinciding neatly with my first day of proper work at the job. The result is a sweaty, filthy, dignity and moral stripping mess. I now officially hate my job.

With such discontent occupying my mind for most of the day, my throughts have turned to my inevitable future. I've decided to take some drastic action concerning my lifestyle as a result of my present suffocation. I'll be investicating avenues that most people definitly would not expect me to venture down, save for a tiny amount of induviduals. Whilst some people I know might be hopping up and down with certain speculations, I will assure you all that my value system has not changed, and I'm still as prudish as ever. But in other departments I have found my inhibitions totally disgraceful. Changes must be made. And as soon as I find some bloody breathing room, they will be.

The Handsome Family are playing in Edinburgh on November 3rd. As this is quite close to my birthday as well as St. Andrews, i may well yank the few friends who would actually go to the concert along with me. They're excellent on stage. Only thing that sands bewtween me and then is time. And that also encapsulates this bloody job.

Just a few more weeks...

God this job has got me down.

It's hot as hell.

The weather has decided to join the rest of the nation in the much publicised heatwave, coinciding neatly with my first day of proper work at the job. The result is a sweaty, filthy, dignity and moral stripping mess. I now officially hate my job.

With such discontent occupying my mind for most of the day, my throughts have turned to my inevitable future. I've decided to take some drastic action concerning my lifestyle as a result of my present suffocation. I'll be investicating avenues that most people definitly would not expect me to venture down, save for a tiny amount of induviduals. Whilst some people I know might be hopping up and down with certain speculations, I will assure you all that my value system has not changed, and I'm still as prudish as ever. But in other departments I have found my inhibitions totally disgraceful. Changes must be made. And as soon as I find some bloody breathing room, they will be.

The Handsome Family are playing in Edinburgh on November 3rd. As this is quite close to my birthday as well as St. Andrews, i may well yank the few friends who would actually go to the concert along with me. They're excellent on stage. Only thing that sands bewtween me and then is time. And that also encapsulates this bloody job.

Just a few more weeks...

God this job has got me down.

Well, as promised, I'll tell you about my job. In summary: So far, so shit.

Whilst my fear of being trapped in teuchtarland were unfounded (all there are able to hold a conversation, and nary a doric accent in sight), the actual work going down is crap. Really terrible. Since wednesday, our temp-boss Ross has basically just found new and exicting things for us to sweep up. For hours on end. in a 100mx50m grain bin. Sweeping up in this envronment has to be one of the most lonley and systematically soul destroying tasks in the world, to say nothing of the mind numbing repetitive tedium. Throw listening to Radio 1 (which plays the same set of songs over and over all day, whilst currently hyping up Robbie Williams for no discernable reason) into the mix and you've got a recepie for thorwing yourself off the high gantrys. Baird's Malt (or "The Company" as I have now dubbed it) are also guilty of grade A gender discrimination. The sweeping up and genral manual labour have been assigned to myself an the other male applicant, whilst the girls are doing the laboratory jobs. Since we all applied for the SAME lab jobs, I feel I may well have a cse to put forward to the DTA. The girls themselves are also less than pleased with the situation, and jump at the chance to help with the manual tasks.

But the worst bloody thing is the dust. Every day I have to wear one of those skin-irritating white face-masks, whilst I wade through reams of grain airborne clouds of dust that billow out whilst we sweep. I am covered in the stuff by the end of it. For a minimum wage job, this is just fucking outragous. Hell, even manning a till at Tesco's had more dignity to it that working in that demoralising sweatshop.

As ever, one song alone is pulling me through the emotional wreckage, but it had now been joined by another aural masterpiece: "Duvet" by a very obscure (as ever) British called "Boa". They're playing in London soon, but I'm working. Bollocks.

Plus it was Turriff Show today. For the most part, I avoided it, but I did have to wade in towards the end of the day. Naver before or since in history has there
been such a concentrated mass of ugly, ugly people.

Only 47 days to go before I leave this all behind for good.

Thusrday night. The Plough. Stufro's 18th. Well, well well...

I was the first to arrive at the party that evening, turning up promply at eight 'o clock. Before anyone else had arrived. Even Stufro. This cuased much confusion on my part, and solicted a little journey into the bar and back, by which time Stufro had spontaneously materialized in the lounge. Stange.

To my suprise, Stufro's much self-advertised promises of a grand mix-off featureing his and Tait's "MAD SKILLZ" on the turntables the likes of which Aberdeenshire has never seen was, well, never seen. No hard-house. No squeaky toy. No "danger! danger!". Instead there was a seemingly inept DJ on the stage who insisted in churning out the most vile aural filth he could muster, basically by going through his eerily complete back cataloge of the crappiest teeny-bopping chart nonsense ever comitted to silicone. The night did not bode well...

We began by showing stufro with the usual humiliating gift parade, notably including several inflatable objects. Apparently Stufro has a thing for well inflated items. I will pass on commentary as I'm much too scared by the implications of this. Around the time Tait turned up the music started to imporve, especially after Ewan Tait and D started cajoleing the poor old DJ nonce with thier CD-Rs. Things got into a good swing after "song 2" started a mass mosh-a-thon, after which poing a very professional pre-mix-up started to do the rounds, prompting me to to my usual hyperrapiddiscoraveflailing routine before the beach balls were introduced. "I believe" from Run Lola Run was played, much to everyone's enjoyment, but I soon become the victim of a massive stitch that impeded by dacning ability somewhat for the rest of the night. The band played on however, providing much merriemt as we all did the Macarena with ironic glee (except, perhaps, for Stufro's mum, who may well have mistaken it for a genuine like of the track, and joined in), as well as my own stuffing JaffaCakes in my gob in time to "all my life" untill the orangy sponge sucked all the moisture from my mouth and left me unable to chew, forcing me to just swallow dry JaffaCake. Brilliant. James's "sit down" also provided oppertunity for a hugely creative and highly original set of dance moves. Betcha can't geuss how?

Some interesting shenanigans were to be had in the toilets, such as the "girls toilet party", ot the round of "vocational guidance councillor" that srtarted up with the various people doing the toilet in the Men's at the time. Very amusing. One thing of not is Pippa's angel like status during what may otherwise have proved to be a near-fatal burnout period. Her quick thinking to provide us with ice gave a nigh-on spiritual-sexual euphoria to all of whom the ice was applied to. She saved us all...

By the late evening the music stepped up the pace yet again, becoming quite euphoric as the arm-linked jumping began. The last track I had before I had to go was "firestarter". I hate "firestarter". But I didn't care. We just all went mental. That is the power of the dance.

I must party again...

...And there it goes again...

Tomorrow I start work testing barley for Baird's Malt. I must say I'm somewhat apprehensive about this, mosly due to the fact that I may be working with insular teuchtars who are irrationally resentful of the new student twat. Of course, this fear may well be completely unfounded, but if worst comes to worst, at least there will be 6 others at least a little like myself.

Of course, since the rains have only just started just now, there's a very good chance there will be bugger all for me to do, which makes for some great paid slacking. Sorry, I mean diligent working. Ahem.

Anywho, it's work and it gives me money so I can't complain. Otherther than I dislike the acrid smell of barley. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea....

I've seen two films in the past few weeks: Whale Rider and Buffalo Soldiers. Boths are top class slices of celluloid, with my personal preference going towards Whale Rider due to it's itimate and touching performances and even more beautiful cinematography that continues the New Zealand tourist boards projection room wet dream, kick-started by the (bloody) lord of the rings. Anyway, the film is beautiful, and give a brilliant insigt into Mauri society. It's not that different from what Scottish society could have been, had it not been for cultural cleansing.

Also seen some VERY good animes recently, but I can't tell you where to get them yet due to thier "sensitive" nature (read: Pirate). Still, when "Wolf's Rain", "Stand Alone Complex" and "Lain" are available to you, snap them up. They're brill. Not Turbot.

Right, early nights are needed, so I'll be off soon. The full update on the workplace will be posted the very instant a moment occurs when I am next at the computer and can be bothered. Bye for noo.

For the first time in a very long time I feel at peace with the world. Thigs that I needed to say have been said, truths strengthened by thier being made verbal. I seem to be able to just gel with people today, and I'm spotting the hidden worths in the most unassuming induviduals. For a tiny capsule moment, all is just right, and I feel like I could tolerate the intolerable.

It doesn't even seem to matter that the feeling will be gone by tomorrow. What I can't figure out though, is whether this is just a figment of samsara, or whether it's genuine happiness. It certainly feels like it.

Listen to Manu Chao. French-latin reggae. It just makes sense.

So, Amsterdam…
Where to begin on this one?

Right, first off, you’ll more than likely end up at Schipol airport, which is massive. Picture the most massive airport terminal you can think of. No, more massive than that. And again. Yep, that’s how big it is. Bloody huge. Plus it’s a good introduction to the quirkiness of Holland, incorporating bars with names like “hello there!”.

We arrived in Amsterdam’s central train station via a train almost exactly like Paris’s RER (read: clean, fast, efficient and actually ON TIME!). There were no intercom announcements on board, but fortunately for us there were some loud Americans who basically broadcast the names of the stations for all the train to hear.

Dutch is a very funny language. It’s sounds like people speaking German backwards. If you’re not tantalized by learning a new language that sounds like that, fear not, for absolutely everyone in Amsterdam, with no exception, speaks English, This is rather handy, especially after wandering Mallorca trying to cope with the bare rudiments of Spanish. The Dutch accent is just plain weird. It’s like a mixture of cockney Australian, Danish and South African accents. This makes it very hard to understand some words, but overall its fine.

Right, Amsterdam itself. We’ll get the obvious out of the way. Amsterdam is indeed, without a shadow of a doubt, a den of vice. There are heaps of the famed “coffeeshops” about the town, but don’t expect good coffee from these places. Outside of these there are even more Bong shops, as well as a quite a few “smartshops”, which deal in legal alternatives to mind expanding drugs, as well as life, fresh (and smelly) magic mushrooms. Of all these, the smartshops have to be the coolest, just for their sheer counter-drug-culture value. They are also where I first heard my song of the month, but more on that later.

The red light district is the first one that I’ve seen that actually has red lights. In this area of town there are a lot of sex shops as well as the omnipresent booths, each of which contains a scantily clad gyrating lady of pleasure. To be honest, it’s nothing really special, although the “big fat trannies” as worth the trip for their comedy value alone.

The Dutch are a weird bunch. Most have had a total sense of humour bypass, are prone to staring, and some, like a certain wine shop owner are just downright rude without actually being insulting. This rule is not without exception, one such being the very helpful and funny chip stand owner we met, who in addition to making very nice chips, was also of a warm and amiable disposition.

For some reason, there are masses of Indonesian restaurants in Amsterdam. Indonesian food is very nice indeed. But be careful for one particular delicacy. They are pretty much potato crisps that have been re-fried then covered in a sort of hard toffee-syrup. For the first few moments it tastes very nice indeed. After this time, however, the toffee stuff turns out to be VERY, VERY SPICY! I mean excruciatingly spicy! You have been warned!

Amsterdam has three letters in its name which is also a big draw, the letters being a, r, and t. Obvious choices for art galleries would doubtless include the Van Gough museum, where you can get very close indeed to the said painter’s works, but more appealing to me was the Modern Art gallery next door, featuring works from Mondrian no less! I now have a poster. YAY!

Nightlife is well catered for too, and I personally recommend a trip to “BoomChicago!”, an improvisational stand up act that is bloody hilarious. www.boomchicago.nl.


Anyway, here’s some odds and ends I learned in Amsterdam:

Noodles are everything that spaghetti should be but isn’t.
Dutch folk music isn’t up to much.
The Dutch love their houseplants.
No, not THOSE houseplants.
(You can get the seeds for those houseplants if you REALLY want them)
Pannekaaken with Stroop are best avoided unless you like the taste of musty sugar.
One place you won’t find the German tourists is at the Anne Frank house.
Jungle Formula insect repellent is also a potent herbicide.
The weather is VERY variable in the Netherlands.
Strip joints’ doormen will quite loudly pitch their product as “Grade A filth and sleaze” on the street. In front of small children.
Some parents will drag small children into red light districts.
Amsterdammers are hacked off with sex and drugs (and clogs).
Marijuana is a pretty plant; if you’d just let it bloody grow!


And my music pick of the month is “Hands Around My Throat” by Death in Vegas
It’s groovy, don’t you know.

Well I'm in Holland! Isn't that weird?

It's very rainy and I'm using the internet point in this hideously lavish hotel here, and it's probably costing a small fortune, so I'll be brief.

Marijuana EVERYWHERE here, though I've still to see the red light district. Very pretty here also, though the streets all look the same, and this has led to some confusion. In addition to hash growing, thew Dutch are very much into thier housepleants, and a such there are HUGE amounts of carniviorous plants that can be bought from the many flower markets.

Anyway, time is short, and I'm soon to partake of the many Indonesian restaurants here.

Weill soon have a cigarette and a flapjack/cigar and a pancake/crepe and a bong.

See you next time!

Well, that was Mallorca.

Not a bad holiday spot if I do say so myself, but not one I’ll return to with massive haste either. First of all, should you decide to go to Mallorca at some point, for God’s sake DON’T go in the summer! It’s like a bloody oven! Temperatures averaged in the high 30°’s during the day, and never got below 25°C at night. Now, this wouldn’t be so bad if everything was air conditioned, but nothing is there. To be fair though, by the end of the holiday I had adjusted quite well to the heat, but I certainly couldn’t sunbathe for very long without immersion in water. It would be more sensible to journey there in spring or autumn, when the heat is less intense.

After finally escaping Palma airport (a construction of nightmarishly Byzantine complexity), and the run down sprawl of Palma itself, we soon arrived at Port de Soller, a town about the size of Macduff (with slopes to match) on the north shore. The town is a lower key tourist trap that most places on the island, with fairly good views but a totally crap beach. The water is permanently murky due to heaps of yacht moored there, including, whist we were there, the royal yacht from Jordan.

Geographically, Mallorca is amazing. The island is one great chunk of mountainous semi-volcanic, beige rock, interspersed with some of the most perseverant trees I have ever seen. The roads that wind round give priceless views over the desert pines and olive groves that cling madly to the sides. Up in the mountains there are some very impressive villages, the construction of which boggles the mind as to how exactly it was achieved. Another thing which is pretty impressive in its construction is the 4km long tunnel that has been bored through the side of a mountain, connecting Palma with Soller. It’s long, dark, and like a road version of Euro tunnel. Only through a mountain. Obviously.

Not so impressive is the human impact upon Mallorca, leaving it stained with all the traditional tourist town tack was well are more depressing fare: Burger King, anyone? Indeed, the modern human presence on the island has ruined what was otherwise an astounding formation in the Mediterranean, a prime example being Port de Pollenca or the northern peninsula. Filled to the brim with what Basil Fawlty would call “riff-raff”, each one swaggering after their Whatney’s Red Barrell, no doubt.

The flora and fauna is quite interesting, with quite a lot to see at the small but concentrated botanic gardens in Soller, as well as 50 or so Black Vultures on the island (feel very lucky if you ever see them), as well as a weird moth that looks, moves and behaves exactly like a humming bird. Weird.

But the best thing about Mallora is underwater. The Diving there is excellent, with crystal clear water. And despite the Mediterranean’s pollution there was a huge amount of things to see including Groupers, Stingray, Lobsters, Octopus and massive schools BIG BLOODY BARRACUDA AS LONG AS YOUR ARM!

Needless to say, I was massively impressed. I would return to Mallorca for a diving holiday at the drop of a hat. Absolutely fan-tastic (it’s also a great excuse to ogle petite, giggling Danish au-pair types in skin-tight neoprene…)

Anyway, that’s what there is to do in Mallorca. As of tomorrow, I’ll be away again.

Destination: Amsterdam

Well, to be honest, bugger all is happening at the moment.

Had Cameron, James an Pippa round for the weekend, in which time we watched many movies and consumed much junk food. 'tis what life is all about, after all.

Oh, and I PASSED MY THEORY TEST! Ok, it's not much a of a real achivement is the whole life stakes, but it feels a damn sight better than failing it.

As a result, I went anf bought one of those 10'' tall Alien Queen figures. It's very ph33rsomely w00t, yet kawai at the same time.

And no, I've no idea why I'm acutally spaking like a geek today (in addition to my usual acting like one).

Anyway, it's sun, sea and sangria as I go to Glasgow on Friday. A brief "hell-" to Stuart, then off the the depressing rainy slums od Mallorca I go (wait a tic...). Just for those who are easily confused (and stupid), it is worth pointing out that Mallorca and Majorca are in fact the very same place, with the same pronounciation. I had not realised this. Fortunatly I was saved by roughguides.com before i seriously embarrased myself im public. Apparant ly the whole "Majorca" this is a little inside joke exclusive to the islanders there. It's all easily confusing (and stupifying).

Will return in a bout a week hence, but there's a good chance I'll pop out to Amsterdam for a few minutes shortly after. Time will tell.

No music recommendations today, so you'll just have to wing it next time you're in HMV. Remember: If nobody's ever heard of it, then you can pass yourself off as "cultured".

What a mixed weekend. In summary:
Diving = Good
Camping = Bad

Anyway, the diving was superb. We (being me and a couple of diving clubs from all over aberdeenshire) were camped out on Mill SHore, which is a bay that sits between Cullykhan and Pennan. Decent weather, except on Sunday where is pissed it down. Not fun.

Anyway, on Friday I dived the shore at low tide with a Norwegian named Nina (Nice girl. Complimented me on my diving skill). Whilst there was not too much to see (as we were diving at dusk), there were some things of note, such as a tiny ikle little place about 2cms long and perfectly camoflaged on the sand (was blind luck that I saw it) or the little shore crabs that liked to bury themselves in the sea bed. Some big pollack decided to turn up later as we were leaving. The cause of this was revealed to be a couple of dolphins that had come into the bay the moment we had gone under, but obviously they had steered clear of Nina and myself. Obviously, were were a little gutted. To console myself, I made the 20 minute scramble over the low-tide rocks to Pennan, the the hope of getting a bit of nightlife that the tourist board would have you believe is omnipresent throughout all Scotland, the remote parts (like Pennan) in particular. Imagine my suprise (well, apathetic sigh) as I entered the Pennan inn to be greeted not by a furious maelstrom of celtic musicans and red haired dancing women, but a man in the corner. With his dog. And the pub closing. At half ten. Bugger.

Saturday morning saw the tide right out into the bay, and as such was a bit too shallow to make a worthwhile dive. I left for a perticularly stressful day at the aquarium, returning in the evening for a dive. This one took me 7m down, through some good rocky cliffs that were littered with Dead Man's Fingers (a type of coral) and a tiny crag filled to the brim with squat lobsters. The dive ended with a short jaunt about the kelp reef where I saw another of these blue Lion's Mane jellyfish (this is a local oddity - the Lion's mane should be an orange colour) that seem to litter the Moray Firth. Thankfully nothing got stung.

By Saturday night the beach was packed with tents, mostly erected by Aberdeen University students. I entered the raffle that was put on by some diving shop or another, and came away with a new mask. A new pink mask. Pink. Let me once again emphasis the fact that the colour of the mask was indeed Pink. (Pink is shit. Official.) A massive bonfire constructed of old fenceposts was soon set ablaze, but mercifully no-one proffered a guitar and began to sing folk songs. I massacred some marshmallows then went to bed, but only after experienceing the heart wrenching terror that is trying to piss in a pitch black portaloo.

Sunday brought my first boat dive. Chris and I stowed away on a RIB (Rigid-hulled Inflatable Boat), and did the 15m dive down to the wreck of a ship of which the name escapes me. Begins with a "P". It was really just a pile of girders with one huge boiler left over. I then proceede with my first really big ascent, which has to be the most terrifying thing about diving, as you have to keep dumping air from your dry suit to stop the ait from expending in the suit and sending you careering upwards to the surface and one big Bend. But it came off without a hitch, and on the way back to shore I saw some Puffins and Gannets. Which was nice.

Today I dived with Carla at Macduff. There's a really big cave just meters into the rock shore with coral, baby Cod, huge crabs and an even bigger lobster. It's also a lot deeper than most people would expect. So there you are.


A not to people unfamiliar with diving: It is a very pysically labourious activity.

I ache all over.

Even writing this is giving me a heamorrage.

ow.

Today I killed a Sparrow.

I was undertaking a driving lesson in the Skenemobile, in which I was egged on by Mr. Skene to proceed along the road to Turriff at the highest legal speeds. I was about halfway to Aberchirder when a Sparrow made the quite fatallt foolhardy decision to fly out in front of the car. I can only hope that its collision upon my side of the windscreen killed it instantly. I don't like the image of it writhing in agony for hours as it tries to cope with its newly and partially liquefied insides. The Darwinian in me tells me it's just natural selection, that a bird that stupid has to die so it's stupid genes are never passed on. But, inadvertantly or not, I have taken a life. Sigh.

Went to work at the Aquarium, to be greeted by some squid gutting, followed later by my participation in what has to be the least succsessful General Feed ever. It went as such: Jillan (nice, pleasant girl from Turriff) begins the display by accidently knocking the feed dish into the tank. This floods the dish, but does not cause the loss of all the food. It does make the fish in the tank go apeshit, and generally puts Jillian off kilter for the rest of the feed. I take over, barley managing to keep my voice level above the gathered throung of Buckie High School students, who then all leave the aquarium after the fist tank has been fed, leaving about 6 or so members of the general public. I feed the next couple of tanks to allow Jillian to regain compusure, after which point she resumes feeding and talking, albeit with a very red face that she cannot lose. She then went behind the scenes to feed the "Sub-Literal" tank (I assume it contains metaphors and ambiguites), leaving me to tell the visiors about what is going on. Now Murphy's law goes plain weird. I can only assume that barometric pressure were playing havok with my capillaries, because for no apparent reason whatsoever, my nose began to bleed profusley. I excused myself as politley as I could leaving poor Jillian in the lurch somewhat. Her conversation with the public, I am told, went something like this:

Jillian: "Where did Andew go?"
Joe Public: "He had a nosebleed"
Jillian: "What, someone had a nosebleed?"
Joe Public: "No, his own."
Jillian: "?"

Bleed averted, I joined Jillian at the toutchpools. Jillan pointed out some of the new baby crabs that had been bought in recently. Later, some little kid was pointing at the floor. We looked. A very small baby crab was scuttling about on the floor. So we ended the Feed with a kamikazi crab. I wanted sushi.

Home again, and calamari was on the table for dinner. I had gutted squid earlier. Do the maths.

I won't be in this weekend as I'm off caming at Mill Shore, near Pennan as part of a big Aberdeenshire SCUBA diving jamboree type thing. Should be fin. Sorry, fun.

Have a good one youself, and Have a better day tomorrow than I had today.

Well the computer survived the reformat swimmingly. I now have a nice, fast and virginal computer again! YAY!

Not been doing much the last few weeks. I really should get a job between now that the time the grain job starts up, but I'm just too apethetic at the moment. It's really rather sad. I may well resume barrowing loads of topsoil around the garden to the accompanyment of Ska blaring out the stereo in the greenhouse.

We now have a polytunnel. It's construction was quite hilarious due to the amount of bickering and obvious lack of logic being employed by those building it. (I exempt myself from that, but then I would probably exempt myself from a lot of things in life, the pompous git that I am). Anyway, the polytunnel is not exactly a joy to behold, and rather a shame considering all the kinds of exotic and beautiful plants that could be grown inside it but won't be. Instead, it will be used for vegetables. What's the point?

Anyway, the above point (or lack thereof) it moot, as i'll be long gone before anything has really gorwn there. I'm more concerned with my own carnivorous plands which I'll be forced to leave behind in the greenhouse when i leave. I do not trust anyone here to take care of them properly. Which means that my years-long investment in cultiviating and reproducing them will have gone completely to waste. That will certainly annoy me hugely when that happens. ah well...

I am perhaps vindicated in my decision not to attend the school prom which took place last Friday. Everyone I speak to about it says it was a bit pants. I'm sure this was not so much to do with my absense as it was with the venue's strict control of the alcohol flow. About time someplace in this area did. Most of the pubs don't care two hoots who they sell their wares to, as long as they pay. I also here that a cerain Mr. Sherrington still managed to get plastered and by the end of the nigh was bogeling Black Sabbath songs over the band's microphone. THAT'S something I'm glas I wasn't there to see...

Interesting fact you never knew about me:
To stop myself from going utterly insane, I listen to the song "weightless again" at least once every day.

Bye then.

There is a road around here which seems to be killing peopl at an alarmingly regular pace. Every year there are 2-3 fatal car crashes on that road, and every year the local papers print more pictures of ghastly car wreckages. I'm seriously entertaining the possibility that the road is cursed, or that it lies across some leyline that's carrying some seriously bad mojo. There is also the possibility that the victims were all taught by Skene.

That was in poor taste. Plus Skene is a fine instructor. I dunno why I've been fixated with that particular piece of news, it just seems to compel me in the most dark ways.

Today at the aquarium was... Interesting. My day began with two busloads of Brownies and Crinkleys (tee hee), before progressing to office politics between the Dive Team and thier out-of-tank compartiots. Being a neutral volunteer, I was mercifully spared the conflict or forced to take sides. However, sqabbles were later put aside due to a medical emergency, whic hwas well handled by all, but superbly so by Barbra. Her already fairly good standing in my estimations has shot up by several gazillion points after her selfless alturisim today. Needless to day, ther world is a better place for people like Barbra.

My brothers are away to Greenock this weekend due to some scout thingmiebob, tha the house is massivly peaceful and stress-free. If what I feel now is any indication of the liberation of Uni, then by god, I'm going to love it.

Tomorrow I'm going to reformat the computer, so if I should fail to back some crucial driver and the machine goes kaput, you will be able to guess why I'm not posting anymore.

Also, inside information for life: When sprey-painting, use a bin liner or similar polythene sheet in the place of newspaper for masking purposes. you can leave the painted object on it for as long as you like without fear ripped paper cementing itself to your otherwise fine paint job.
ADDENDUM:
Just found out that The Handosome Family (the best band in existance) are touring the UK again in November, Must book tickets.

Over the past few months, one name above all else has been a constant source of irritation. The name? Prince William.
In EVERY conversation I have with aquaintances (Not friends. I talk about meaningful things with them), the topic of conversation comes quickly round to which university I am going to in September. This university is St. Andrews.

The person I am talking to will then invariably say something along the following lines: "Oh, well! You'll be down there with Prince William then!"
EVERY SINGLE PERSON.

It's vaugely original for the first 10 times you hear it, but from then on it's just plain depressing to realise that Prince William is the only thing that crosses people's minds when the name "St. Andrews" is mentions. Couple this with my devout disdain for the royal family and you can guess the recepie for disaster that follows.

So, in conclusion, if you barely know me, and wish to stike up a conversation with me, DON'T.
I am at the point where I am now making no attempt to disguise a very tired grimace.


In other news, at the time of writing, I have now gone 27 hours without sleep. Fun.

And today's subject of hate is: The DSA's ridiculous hazard perception test. A bit af a small niggle here, as they never make it clear enough as to what you should be clicking at, or if you should just click generally. Can't have been that bad, though, as I passed that section.

I failed the multiple choice by 2 marks. 2 MARKS!

Anyway, I have discovered that the Matrix Reloaded gets better with a repeated viewing. There's just so much to take in in one sitting. Still don't like Agent Smith though, or the first 20 minutes. And also, what happened to Tank? He survives to the end of the first film, but is said to be dead (or at least missing) by his sister ("I lost two brothers to that ship"). Holy inconsistencies, Batman!

Another thing I've noticed is that everyone who enters Forbidden Planet (comic/sci-fi shop) becomes VERY quite and looks VERY embarrased to be there. Poor, poor people. Revel in your geekyness! Start loud conversations about you ideas for an Aquaman vs. The Catwoman crossover, Curl up in a corner and weep uncontrollably over the last episode of Buffy, quote copious amounts of gobbledegook concering obscure Tolkien novels or that new Anime theme sone you learned phonetically last week! But for God's sake, do SOMETHING! You're making it so dreary in there!

Going diving tonight with all my own stuff! Yays!
I am also, for reasons that are too long and demented to go into here, going to boil a Frilled Shark's head this afternoon.

And Finally: (UPDATE) After much consultation and meditiation, it can be confirmed that Yoko Kanno's soundtrack to Stand Alone Complex is indeed one of the best albums ever made. Huzzah!

Well, that was one weekend that I'm VERY glad is over.

On Saturday I awoke faily early, expecting my parents to actually deliver on thier oft-used phrase "we'll have to leave by 9". This has never been the case in any other instances in which the phrase has been used and I've no idea why I actually chose to believe it this time. The truth is that my parents have a terminal allergy to doing ANYTHING within a set time frame, causing them to be completely late for absolutly everything in thier lives, regardless of its importance.

Once actually IN Aberdeen (at around 1 in the afternoon), we bagan the long, painful and psychologically scarring process of clothes shopping with my parents. I hate clothes, ergo I hate clothes shopping; therefore my parents seek to drag the whole affair out for as long as is humanly possible (we're talking several hours here) whilst continually grabbing things off racks that THEY would like me to wear, seemingly oblivios to the fact that: 1. I am an independant entity that is capable of making his own decisisons outwith the bracket of their continual stuggle for familial power; 2. The item of clothing they are holding in thier hands is just one of many laboured over by some poor sod in Kuala Lumpur who works 20 hours a day in some damp-ridden concrete box and recieves about 20 pence as reward whilst the CEO of the coropration owning the said Malaysian factory is lighting his fifth Havanan cigar with a $100 bill, and; 3. The item of clothing looks like a unholy marriage of dog's dirt and Colgate. Oh yes, I had such fun then...

There were some great musical acts playing outside Marks and Spencer that day, Including a peruvian band who were playing some excellent Andean music. I got thier CD. Pretty damned good, it is.

At about 4:00pm we arrived at the County Hotel in Stonehaven in preparation for our (shudder) family renunion. I had a very stuffy room upstairs, that mercifully was all mine. That was untill I had to pick up my brother Stuart from the train in Stonehaven. The format of the reunion went as such:

Move into function suite, where a few relative you recognise mingle with ones that you have never seen before.
Attempt to converse with said "never seen before" relatives only to be met with ambivilent silences
Avoid very young relatives as they career about the place like speed addled retards chasing after a dumptruckfull of mars bars
Gather round to rituallistically stare at the ceiledh band as they set up
Cringe as your inebriate father cocks up all your well planned jokes as he tries to recount the speech he stupidly accepted to make a week ago knowing full well that HE had no intention to write anything after he comes to you to write it for him.
Pretend to like your newfound relatives
Pretend to like your familiar relatives
Pretend to like yourself for even agreeing to this
Learn that the Orcadian Strip the Willow is specifically designed to inflict Grievous Bodily Harm upon all those who participate in it.
And that Isolation is much more prefierable to family, despite their assurance to the contrary.

On Sunday I arrived back (eventually) to attend what I was told was World Oceans Day at the aquarium. It then transpired that ther person who had told me this had made a mistake and that it was actuallty NEXT Sunday that was world oceans day. This is a trifle annoying when you come to work dressed as a pirate, as I was told to dress for the occasion. Th guilty party was made to buy me an ice cream.

THis week I will accquire a BCD and some weights for my belt. I will then have my full SCUBA kit. Hopefully spending a good few hours under the surface will hep me forget the existance of family. I hope..

And fainally, Yoko Kanno's sountrack to Stand Alone Complex may well be one of the best albums EVER MADE.

Adieu.

As the man from Banzai would say: "It AAAALL OOOOVER!!!"

It was a very subdued day, with all the teachers I knew holding back thier emotions, as was I , to an extent. You can only brush so much aside with one-liners. Could anything else really be expected, at the end of the day? It's weird as such a huge commitment just comes to and end with scribbles on paper. I won't be forgetting the past six years in a hurry (some things more than others), but I am more than ready to embrace a future that's been all too bloody long in coming. If nothing more, my academy days have solidly defined the person I will become in future. Some of that is good, some bad. I leared that I could write pretty damned well there. I learned that I could act. I learnd what I really want to do with my life. As my biology teacher said to me today, "It's been an... Experience".

I'll drink to that. Here's to you, Banff Academy, and all that you have done for me and inflicted upon me.

Slainte.

Exams: 2 down, 1 to go.

Drama tomorrow, then that's it. C'est Finissent.
No more school.

It's actually quite a hard thought to take in properly: the gravity of all its implications haven't had time to work on me yet. It'll come in time, I suppose. After the break for exam leave, coupled with visits downcounty to Uni and gandparents, I'm beginning to clock on to what's really important to my life, formostly my future life. Banff, in comparison, seems like small potatoes; Small minded people, dull town, Deveron FM. It's all quite depressing, and I'll definitly be glad to be rid of all of it.

Of course, I'll miss friends and the (scant) good times here, but the sheer mass of possibilitys and wide horizons my future is offering up is NOT something to be shyed away from, despite efforts of life to try and convince me otherwise. Like Saturday's upcoming Scott family reuniuon. (should that be ruination?)
I really no not like my family. Most I've never met, and the rest are idiots, psychotics and drug addicts who claim thier jam session group are "shit hot". It's very true that the 21st centuary family unit is made up of friends, not relatives. I could never meet another Scott relative ever again, and it honestly would never mean any odds to me.

Anyway, I really should learn more about the Cell Cycle and human physiology for the next time an exam comes round. Ah well the exam was a good trial run for ones in future.

I also am resolved to get a banjo as soon as possible so I can learn to play it. It had become an essential target for me now.


Interesting music for today:
Mixing Scottish fiddle with Tenor Jazz Sax and Cuban Son (on piano)
Very odd. Very Catchy. Very, Very Good.

Well, I decided to start a journal.

Seems like a good time to start, what with me starting a new beginning to the next phase in my life, namely leaving school and working untill Uni starts.
So here I am.


Well, yesterday I say the Matrix Reloaded, and.... well... I'm not sure quite what to make of it.
I didn't like the script, which was a MESS of dialoge, and the Zion scenes, were, well... just ridiculous, to be ohnest. The directors seemed to try to trump LotR there, and it just felt very silly, losing that edge of gritty credibility that the first one had.
Even Agent Smith seemed to have had loast something, that hard edge, and was now a figure of fun, whilch is just, well, daft! I mean, AGENT SMITH! The big ol' badass from Matrix, is no more than a (rapidly multiplying) clown now.

And all that pseudo philosophic gubbins that made the first film stand out just spiralled out of control. And the less said about Keanu Reeves, the better.
But the action sequences were very, very, VERY good. Especially the freeway scene. WOW. See it it for that, if nothing else. Which really, for this film, there is.



On a totally unrelated note, Inuit thoat singing is at once facinating, hilarious and terrifying. Go out and buy the Rough Guide To Canada CD to find out for yourself. Or talk to a throat singing Inuit. One will cost you a tenner. Can you guess which?