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...
Thursday, August 28, 2003
Saturday, August 23, 2003
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
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
Monday, August 11, 2003
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...
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...
Thursday, August 07, 2003
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 04, 2003
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.
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.
Friday, August 01, 2003
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...
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...
