A Little Bit Of Wisdom In Every Box...

Gogledd Cymru

2010-03-11T11:22:00.000Z

I'm going out tomorrow so I'm writing this post today so it will appear tomorrow so to you it will appear today and I will have written this yesterday.

I am going for a walk in the moutains with a lovely friend in Snowdonia somewhere. We have the most wonderful days in the hills. We love a good walk with a bit of a scramble and although we normally plan a nice sensible walk we always end up going on a bit of an adventure. A few weeks ago we planned to go for tea in Conwy and ended up doing a several hour walk on the hills behind the town. We planned to walk to a little ruin above Penmaenmawr once and ended up doing an epic trek through the snow and wind to the top of Drum.

Wales is so beautiful and exciting. I even love the drive along the North Wales coast on the A55. You pass places with the most wonderful names: Penmaenmawr, Llanfairfechan, Dwygyfylchi, Ffynonngroyw, Rhostrehwfa and of course Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyndrobwllllantisiliogogogoch.

That's enough for today. I'm off to my friends for tea now...in Rhosllanerchrugog.

Story time

2010-03-10T23:06:00.003Z

I've been at work experience this week with a judge. Of course court is terrifying to those who are there for a hearing but I absolutely love the atmosphere and protocols and tension surrounding a court room as an onlooker.

The judge I do work experience with is a fantastic story-teller and I thought I would repeat for you a few of his stories.

A defendant, claiming that his diary contained evidence of his alibi, when asked to produce it for the court presented a diary for the year completely blank apart from the day in question when he 'went shopping'. "It wasn't a very busy year for you was it?", queried the cross-examiner!

In another case, a diary used as evidence was a much more meticulously filled-in book which did seem to show that the defendant was not where the criminal in question was on the day in question. Later on in the case, as the judge absent-mindedly flicked through the diary his eyes came across the words 'Went to rob them today but had no luck. Will try again next week'! The defendant's pleas were quickly altered.

A recent case in another town involved a man who tried to deny murdering and burying his lover until the police found the spot where the body was buried saved, under favourites, in his Sat Nav!

A tasty snack

2010-03-09T18:30:00.005Z

It was always a bit of a mystery to me why Sam and I are friends as he is a far more interesting and civilized person than I am, but it has become apparent to me recently that he humours me in the hope of hearing the next embarrassing saga from the life of Carolyn.

There is a kid at the church we both used to go to who takes great delight in telling one particular story about me, or at least bringing it up so I have to attempt to explain myself to the people around. “Carolyn eats socks” he shouts and then runs away: let me explain.

A number of years ago I was camping with friends. Someone put a Custard Cream on the barbeque and then someone put a tiny bit of someone’s sock on the Custard Cream. Someone else bet I wouldn’t eat it. I did. But these things happen and we learn from our mistakes, you might think. The problem is that they don't to most people and I didn’t.

Fast forward two years...and I am leading a kids camp. One night the other leaders of this camp, who had heard the aforementioned sock-eating story, presented me with a sock (which they had been baking in the oven all day) and challenged me to eat it…in front of about 50 intrigued/bemused/delighted children.

I ate a few bites of said baked-sock…and threw it up 5 minutes later. I don’t think a scientific name for this particular eating disorder has been assigned yet but I imagine when it is there will only be one person they could possibly name it after.

And that, I think, is why Sam is my friend.

I go to a gig

2010-03-09T18:27:00.004Z

I don't really like music. I don't really dislike it either. I guess you'd say I'm indifferent to the whole thing. I could be in a room with music playing for hours and not really be aware of it.

I do, however, enjoy other people's enthusiasm for music and every now and again I will catch a bit of this. This happened to me with Dave Matthews Band. And on Sunday night I went with a friend to see them live.

The drummer was out of this world - he did several drum solos one of which lasted a good ten minutes, which on physical fitness alone is incredible, but the fact that I managed to not get bored of 10 minutes of a man hitting things is truly amazing.
There was an enormous black man - dressed all in black who looked like someone from security that had sneaked on stage - with an amazing voice and who played the trumpet superbly.
There was a massive, tall, buff guy with dreadlocks who played the violin unlike I have heard or seen it played before.
And then there was Dave Matthews and his phenomenaly talented friend Tim Reynolds on guitar playing like they were bang smack in the middle of the eighties.

But the best bit? They were having an insane amount of fun up there. It was like being invited to watch a load of super-enthusiastic teenagers jam in their Dad's garage, but in a big theatre with lots of flashy lights and they are all well beyond teenagerdom. I felt like I became a geeky music fan for the night...and I loved it.

Meet the babysitter.

2010-03-08T21:51:00.002Z

Hello. May I introduce myself? My name is Carolyn and I am a friend of ALBOWIEB’s. I started blogging a few weeks ago with a bit of encouragement from Sam. Next thing I know I’m babysitting his blog. I want to write about things that I don’t think Sam would. Sadly this means, because of his post on Saturday, my fascinating anecdote about sock sorting is out of bounds.

But the subject of being outside – and happy at the same time - is very much safe. Sam doesn’t like going outside. A few of us took him for a little walk there once and he still moans about it to this day. I love being outside whether it’s walking, climbing, swimming, sunbathing, working, drinking tea... whatever I do, I’m much happier if I’m outside breathing fresh air. However, being a law student, I have spent the last few weeks cooped up studying for exams.

So, it was with great delight that I spent a day on the beach in the sun on Saturday. We even had a barbeque and I managed to get slightly sunburnt. I think a wonderful part of being British is our insistence on pretending it’s a glorious summer’s day when it is most definitely not.

I enjoy it a lot. Sam would not.

I go away for a few days.

2010-03-07T20:34:00.000Z

I'm off tomorrow. Until Saturday. Like, not here. I'm doing something really fun as well, but I'm not going to tell you about it. Radio silence.

I think I've arranged for a replacement, but I'm not quite sure.

So post-a-day - finished. My steam has run out by this point anyway - January was great, February was fun, but March just isn't coping. In order to write about stuff, you need to do some stuff. I'm off to do some stuff this week, which oddly enough revolves around the world of writing about stuff anyway.

So be kind to the locum and rest easy, chums. There's more wisdom in this box yet.

It's Saturday (still).

2010-03-06T23:57:00.000Z

I was just in bed and realised that I'd nothing for today. I'm going to sneak this one in under the line. The most interesting things that happened to me today? I made a rice pudding (secret: plenty of grated nutmeg, a pinch of cinnamon and a snifter of chilli flakes just to wake the palette up) and sorted my socks out. I hate sorting my socks out, it's a pain. You have to go through each one and match it up with any one of the other socks until you've whittled them all down and you have a load left that don't belong anywhere and you hide them in a cupboard. I'd put this off for so long I've just stuffed 42 pairs of socks in my drawer.

Fun times. Who says Saturdays need to be boring, eh?

Anna gonna let you finish, but Beyonce had some great videos this year.

2010-03-05T08:36:00.003Z

Those naughty podcasting boys have been harassing Anna from IKEA (especially Ben, who I think must fancy her a bit, they've been spending an awful lot of time together), so I thought I would get in touch just to smooth things over with her, make sure she was alright.

Sam: I just wanted to apologise for Ben. And Angry. And Cliff.

Anna: If you want affordable solutions for better living, you are at the right place.

Sam: They're terribly funny and they mean well, but I do fear that people could get hurt in their unstoppable podcast juggernaut. Fame goes to your head, like.

Anna: All of IKEA's products are made to the highest standards, including myself.

Sam: I don't know what you're trying to tell me there.

Anna: Please describe to me your query about IKEA products and/or services?

Sam: I just wanted to know if we were OK, you know? You weren't offended by their antics? I can see that you're a woman who takes her job seriously - home furnishings are no laughing matter.

Anna: I'm fine, thank you for asking.

Sam: Oh, good. Do you have any tealights?

Anna: Here you will find the Scented Candles Subcategory.

Sam: Fairly useless, but I also wanted to know what IKEA put in those meatballs?

Anna: Welcome to the IKEA Swedish Shop! Here you can pick up some of our world-famous meatballs!

Sam: Yes, but what are they made of?

Anna: For which product would you like to know what kind of materials it is made from?

Sam: Meatballs.

Anna: Welcome to the IKEA Swedish Shop! Here you can pick up some of our world-famous meatballs!

Sam: FFS. Are they made of people? I have theories.

Anna: For which product would you like to know what kind of materials it is made from?

Sam: Alright, I take it back. Those boys can do whatever they like to you.

Anna: I'm fine, thank you for asking.

Sam: I didn't.

Defcon Blah.

2010-03-04T22:45:00.000Z

Isn't it exciting to see the sun? It might still be chuffing cold outside, but to feel the warmth of the sun's rays melting away the last grips of winter on your soul. Having said that it will probably snow again next week. I think my soul might manage another frost, but any more than that and my petals will wilt.

I think there's only so far I can go with this analogy. I don't think I come out of it altogether well.

But I am still in the same state as yesterday - a good sleep didn't cure the problem, so we're up to Defcon 2. What does defcon even mean? The Americans love their stupid acronyms for stuff. Like NORAD, or FAQ or USA. Interesting Wikipedia does it again - perhaps I'm naive, but it gets the basics across for me. Defcon stands for Defence Readiness Condition. So it should be DefRedCon, but then it starts to sound more and more like people who are fans of both Def Leppard and Simply Red and have no place to show their affection but a small hotel function room in Las Vegas where they all wear bizarre fancy dress and have name badges. Apparently Defcon 1 has never been reached and Defcon 2 hasn't been reached since the Cuban Missile Crisis. Obviously Jack Kennedy couldn't defeat the level boss and get to the end of the game. The last time Defcon 3 was reached was during September 11 - this is heady stuff. I think it's easy to get blasé about mounting Defcons when you watch as much action television as I do.

Anyway. I started that last paragraph intending to say simply that I shall have to improve my readiness and carry a notepad at all times. This is how we are going to defeat the Big Bad Block.

Stuck. For. Words.

2010-03-03T23:06:00.000Z

So I'm like yeah all up in your face and that. I'm really stuck for things to write about, you know. I can hardly think of anything witty to put into 140 characters, let alone the several hundred words that one might be need to string together in order to form a coherent blog post. Although coherent is mainly aspirational these days.

I've lost my mojo, wherever it came from. This, this now, this thing that I'm doing, this post - it's like torture. It's like pulling teeth. It's not coming out, where a post just writes itself, I see something and then I write about it. Maybe I'm not seeing enough, or I'm seeing things and not really seeing them. Whatever, the juices, they floweth not.

I had a good run there through January and February - some good stuff if I do say so myself. In all humility I put some cracking material out there into the cybernetical ether. Maybe I should have hung back, kept some for myself - posted every other day. Is this it for the rest of my life? I just started working for a Swedish furniture giant. Part-time job, get some cashflow flowing. Should that be my thing now? Oh Lord, won't you get me a job testing a Mercedes-Benz (in order to review and then publish said piece, non?)...

Mind those fingers.

2010-03-02T19:57:00.001Z

Feed me
Originally uploaded by ALBOWIEB

2010-03-01T09:21:00.000Z

My mum has been given a Wii for her birthday. Although the family is precisely 5 year behind the rest of the world, they are determined to make up for it in communal mii-building sessions, lots of bowling and other dangerous activities that are going to result in the loss of life and ornament. Suddenly there has been a transformation from sedate tea-sippers watching NCIS to a bunch of vicious arm-waving competitive loons with eyes on the prize. Except there isn't one.

This is all bad news for the family television. Mainly with regard to my watching it. Like one of those string-backed fast-forwarded shots of some suitably-twee bit of British countryside you see on building society adverts, with the clouds speeding by and the lights going up and down, up and down - this is how I see the world of television passing relentlessly by in my absence. For a while now I have been recording things onto a hard drive for later viewing. Little did I know that 'later viewing' now means 'when I'm 43'.

I'm planning a move to from GMT to Pacific Time Zone - it's the only way I'll be able to keep up with the world.

On wonkiness.

2010-02-28T19:19:00.002Z

I've just been on the phone to Carolyn for a wee chat, we were talking about her blog. The cheeky minx is thinking about throwing in the towel after five minutes (kids these days, they really lack application), so I was throwing some sage advice her way (not too much, balance it out with salt and pepper - I think she's making stuffing) as well as some blog advice.

I even think I may have said something about being able to write about the handles on my wardrobe, which she then challenged me to. I've decided I can't be bothered, though - they're not that interesting, it has to be said. If I'm honest, examining them in any kind of detail actually quite upsets me as the handles on all four wardrobe doors are set at different heights. Whilst flatpacks might have democratised cheap designer furniture for the masses, there are still some drawbacks to self-assembly - wonky handles would be fairly high on my list. Or of varying height, if I was really bad at doing lists.

Handles are interesting in many ways. They are designed by their very nature to be unobtrusive, not to stick out. Except that they really should stick out or otherwise you couldn't open whatever it is they were attached to. I suppose if they didn't stick out you could argue that they were, in fact, not handles but just something useless stuck on a door.

Now doors...there's an interesting thing, if only I could be bothered.

On Expenses

2010-02-27T19:00:00.001Z

I only just managed to watch On Expenses, the BBC4 one-off drama about the expenses scandal - which seemed less about the expenses scandal and more about doing a hatchet job on Speaker Martin.

I suppose in more ways than most I'm closer to the political classes under attack than the indignant members of the public, whipped up into a froth-mouthed frenzy by chequebook journalists. I was in parliament whilst the latter part of the business was playing out, I had the great privilege of watching the hustings for the current Speaker from the Gallery. I didn't recognise any of the locations the programme makers purported to be in the Palace and there was something truly odd about the Chamber itself.

For sure there were some heinous indiscretions by MPs who should have known much better, and it has been healthy to expunge the sense of entitlement that had crept in over the years. It was deeply ironic that the biggest scandal to rock Parliament in generations came under Labour stewardship - the party that rode the crest of an anti-sleaze wave to historic victory.

I think the Telegraph were largely wrong irresponsible in their coverage of the issue - there was a timetable for publication of the expense figures that really should have been respected to save unnecessary embarrassment. I don't think wrongdoers should have been protected, but the whole thing made a mockery of an entire political generation, the effects of which will be felt for even longer. In taking the opportunity of this drama to reinforce an image of offensive ineptitude the makers have lent a false patina to history that will only prolong the healing.

A thing.

2010-02-27T07:04:00.000Z

Well of course, with today being today I would be remiss if I did not wish my sainted, blessed mother a very happy birthday.

Because it's her birthday, which I imagine you understood from the previous sentence but I thought I should clarify just to be on the safe side.

Happy birthday mum. (She's old.)

I hold my breath.

2010-02-26T22:16:00.000Z

I'm not really keen on beards. I was walking down the street earlier and as I overtook a dawdlingly obstructive fellow pedestrian along the kerb I realised after a short while that I was holding my breath. It was only at this point that I realised that I hold my breath when walking near people that look like they might be smelly.

If I'm honest, dear reader, in Coventry, I should have passed out by now.

And this is my thought for today.

I must confess I am paralysed with fear at the thought of being busy all weekend and not having prepared anything for ALBOWIEB to consume. For as soon as the post-a-day thing is broken that will be it, I'll put all the weight back on. It's been a good run, these 8 weeks, unprecedented in the whole of blogdom. At least in my house.

Can you believe we're 8 weeks into 2010 already? That's 15% of the year gone already. Vanished. Disappeared. Passed and never to return. That is my other thought for the day. You lucky reader you.

Puke and that.

2010-02-25T23:15:00.000Z

I just don't have a lot to write about today, I'm afraid. I got some work in today - which was due in tomorrow! I am actually brilliant. I found out this week that there are actually classifications for masters-level study. I'd assumed that you either got an MA or you didn't - which means I'm going to have to alter my 51% strategy.

There was a lot of vomit on my walk into lectures yesterday. I didn't know whether perhaps it had just accumulated by being preserved underneath all the snow and ice, or whether there was a big party in Coventry or an Iranian national holiday or something. It was odd. Puke all over the place. Going down Far Gosford Street (I've never found Near Gosford Street - it seems like a redundant mouthful to me) I was beginning to resemble a Spring lamb frolicking about with all the hopping and scotching from one clear patch of pavement to another.

Tonight's walk I can hardly remember. I was lost in thought, but I can hardly remember that either. A wasted half hour, really. Thursday's lectures are quite thinky, which I find physically exhausting. I'm quite a shallow person, so anything beyond gossip is taxing, it requires a substantial physical effort. If the Daily Mail website were to use the Harvard referencing system I would have been much better prepared for this year of academic redux.

A revelation.

2010-02-24T07:49:00.000Z

My dad has these light brown shoes that he likes. I call them his Skip Shoes. He got them from a skip.

He actually wears shoes that he found when he was walking down the street and saw them in a skip. In my mind's eye he's probably barefoot when he finds them.

All very well - I can sit in quiet (not so quiet) judgement at his strange lifestyle choices, but it turns out he collects other things. Like glasses. Skip Glasses. Our kitchen cupboards are apparently populated by glasses that my dad has found in the street. I have been drinking from abandoned hives of germs and beasts and matter, found in the road and brought back to our house.

It's like we're a sanctuary for crap that people don't want. I feel a knot in my gut. That's 8 months of accumulated ill-health.

Throw something away?! Never.

2010-02-23T18:52:00.001Z

Another Formspring question, you lucky people. The lines are still open...

If you had to throw away either your TV or your computer, which would you choose?

Oh no! Who's going to make me throw away my telly or my computer? I love watching the television and I really do love using my computer to connect with the world. What's even worse is that we're using a computer downstairs as a DVD player and digital recorder. Losing one of those will seriously harm the other.

I could probably manage without the television more than I could the computer - I do crave the interaction with the outside world that you can't get through, say, Ceefax.

On the other hand, I do enjoy watching programmes (I suppose I could just get the DVDs and watch them on my remaining computer...) and I can get my emails on my phone, which would ease the loss of the computer.

I think I'd throw away the TV - especially seeing as I can catch up with most of my favourite programmes over the internet anyway...but please don't make me do it.

A pre-life crisis relapse.

2010-02-22T22:00:00.000Z

Normally it does of course take me a long time to get through all of my Valentine's Day correspondence - I told everyone to donate to charity this year instead, and the Unmarried Christians In Their Late 20s Hospice was only too glad of the help. I had ulterior motives, of course - because I'm going to end up their in but a short matter of time. Because it's BARELY 3 MONTHS UNTIL I TURN 26. This is old - it actually official. Because at 26 you cease to qualify for any kind of discount with the words 'student' and 'young person' in them. I will officially be an adult. A single adult. A single adult who still lives with his parents. In our society I couldn't get any worse unless I was a 60-year-old woman with lots of cats.

So, to recap - approaching my late 20s, hopelessly unmarried singleton, living with my parents, don't have a job.

I often speak of my pre-life crisis and people often ask me what on earth I'm talking about. Well, this is it. Personally I blame society, for parading an endless array of successful 19-year-olds about the place, forcing me into a series of educational upgrades because everyone else is doing the same thing, filling my head with ideas of limitless potential which becomes extremely limited when it comes to realisation.

I feel like I should give up before I've begun, because there are always younger, more attractive, smarter, harder-working, richer and more attractive people being churned out of wherever to fill my place. I'm nestled on the top of a slag heap of forgotten generations, pondering my options whilst they dissolve in my hands. I should point out at this point that on the axis of dramatic versus depressed I am firmly on the side of the former.

But that's only going to last while I'm still getting my discounts...

Another haircut.

2010-02-21T09:07:00.000Z

I went to get my hair cut the other day. A rich seam of blogging, if you're me. For some masochistic reason I went to the place down the road that has no pride. Actually I know why I went - I'm too lazy to go somewhere acceptable and too cheap to go somewhere good. I put up with shit because it's at the end of my road. I can see for an instant why people put up with dead-end relationships - although my hair issues have nothing to do with a lack of self-confidence and my not having taken education seriously enough to overcome me a lack of direction. It's mainly just the laziness and the cheapness.

There were two women in there doing nothing this time, as opposed to the usual one. The smell I recognised - of vegetable oil and failure. I could spot the one who brings chips back at lunchtime from two doors down. The haircut - perfunctory. Kicked off with the standard 'not working today?' designed to masquerade as a feeble attempt at small talk, but designed to see whether you get the DSS rate. At this point I always throw in something about lectures and a hardluck story about having an essay due in just to ram home the message that I expect £1.50 off the ticket price at the end of the scalping.

We continue in pained silence, I turn down gel and then I go home, to trim the bits they've missed with a pair of kitchen scissors. And life goes on.

Swans and that.

2010-02-20T14:16:00.001Z

Odd one out
Originally uploaded by ALBOWIEB

A room with a view.

2010-02-20T08:46:00.000Z

What would be your ideal view out of your 'office' window?

I've been very lucky with offices so far - in Wales I had the most wonderful view of trees and one side of the valley that Bangor is nuzzled into, looking up at the main university building at the top.

In London the office looked out over the Thames, the London Eye, the aquarium - the most glorious and distracting view in the entire world. To have worked in the Palace of Westminster is magical enough, but a view was just too much.

What would be my ideal view? Something equally inspirational, distracting, busy. I'd love to work in a tower in a huge city, or have a house in the countryside where I could write and look out over an inspiring landscape.

It might be aiming high, but what can I say? You always set your price a little higher knowing you're going to get a little lower...

This question was asked at my Formspring page - what would you like to know, eh?

A distressing semi-colon.

2010-02-19T19:06:00.000Z

I guess I've always hoped that someone at some point in your life will tell you the secret of getting stuff into a simmering pan of water without taking flesh off your forearm. But that's life, isn't it - a searing row of disappointments. Just joking - I love cooking really. I used to lie awake at night worrying about whether anyone at school would ever teach me how to pay taxes or get gas delivered to your house through whatever complex and nefarious magical purposes they do that. But no - they just leave you to it.

We had snow yesterday - most inconvenient, but hardly a snowpocalypse. More of a distressing semi-colon in the sentence of my week. It started falling, as weather is wont to do, but I put it down to youthful hi-jinks, I never thought it would settle down. Suddenly there's two inches on the ground and my shoes are wet, I'm walking to my lecture and cars are slipping about all over the place, like equatorial entrants in the figure skating. I never got what was so great about Cool Runnings - they didn't win.

The worst part of the snow was the recriminations - I had it on good authority (the local BBC website) that the buses in Coventry had been cancelled because of the minor inclemency and mum was on her way back from a wee jaunt to London. As she walked into town from the train station to get some money from a cashpoint the bus she wanted sailed by. Well, how was I to know? Cold just isn't my thing.

Sticking my awe in.

2010-02-19T11:42:00.001Z

Another good question here. The answers I'm posting here are my first reactions to the ones I've found on my Formspring page - the others I think I've answered fairly adequately, but there's something about this one I'm going to have to ponder. I think I've got the gist, but I'd like to be able to phrase it without sounding like such a twat. More soon, if I find a way...another great question, though.

Who are you in awe of?

I don't know if I'm capable of awe - I'm in awe of God and I'm in awe of the world - all the big stuff. But people? Not so much.

I think the great qualities that inspire awe in people trigger jealousy, drive, ambition in me. I'm antagonised by greatness, rather than left in awe by it. I don't have any real heroes or people who inspire me - not like Mandela motivated a generation, or the Spice Girls inspired women to...oh, wait.

I exist in tension - I have this strange mix of arrogance, self-confidence and crippling self-doubt - I would describe myself as being much like a teenage Hitler. I see great things and feel inspired to do the same, or imagine that I could.

Awe seems to me to be almost a weakness - where you're left paralysed by wondrousness. God - he shouldn't have anything but...people, on the other hand, meh. This isn't to be confused with a lack of respect, which I try not to have - but at the end of the day, even Barack Obama still has to shit on a toilet.

This question was asked at my Formspring page - what would you like to know, eh?