Revisitation.

Well, with my AS exams behind me (for now...), it seems that I'll have more time to do other things now, even though I've been given a HUGE list of things that need doing around the house, as well as down my Mamgu's house, and her friends'. These "hobbles" range from weeding gardens to painting houses (inside and out) to re-/erecting out-houses and/or sheds. Good thing I enjoy mindless toil like that...
Anyway, I should have more time to do a few other things too, such as join a gym (which my parents and best [male] friend have managed to convince me to do), join the TA (which I haven't talked about with my family yet... A treat in store, to be sure), get a PAYING job, which I'm currently pursuing, and a few other dopey things. These range from assembling and painting all my Games Workshop models - which have sat in a cupboard for the last 18 months or so, on account of a lack of space on my desk to do anything with them - to learning Old Church Slavonic.

Anyway... Work today was an eye-opener. We had a little (actually it was pretty big...) "Q&A" session, with everyone pitching questions to the group, and each having to answer every question. Ranging from nosey, to strange to downright perverse, we had a good laugh for about an hour, until it was time to clock-off.

I've gone right off Cardiff as a place, as I realised today.
I normally love Cardiff, and IKEA too, but today... I jsut felt like jumping off something tall.
Seriously.
I've been feeling weird for ages, and I'm booked to go and see a psychiatrist soon.
I WON'T go chucking myself off tall things, I promise - I'd bounce and break something, knowing my luck. However, I do often feel as if I wish everything would just... GO AWAY, I suppose. I've always been a fan of just sitting quietly, on my own and in the twighlight/dark, and when these moods engulf me, I want to revert to that semi-fugal state of peace and tranquility, and... ALONE-ness, I guess.

Sorry for being a depressing prat. It was unintended, I promise.

I hope you're studiously ignoring the World Cup, as I'm doing my best to do. Even so, I think there's one round-robin text that deserves a place on a blog - even one as poxy as this.
"A world-eminent scientist is conducting cutting-edge research on men with small penises. To help his number-collecting, he has asked less-well-endowed men to identify themselves by placing flags on their cars.
The flags should depict a blood-red cross on a snow-white background."
Made me laugh, anyway.

End.

Trinity College, Cambridge's Robinson History Essay Prize

I've finally finished my entry for the above competition, and I've decided to post the essay here.

Enjoy :-

“The history of religion should only be written by the irreligious” - Discuss

Irreligion is defined as the absence of, indifference towards, and/or hostility towards religion.

Contextually, this may mean anything from antireligion, atheism or agnosticism, to scepticism, secular humanism or free-thought. Although these six branches of irreligion vary widely in their ‘beliefs’ – from the pseudo-militantism and totalitarian bent of antireligion, to the logical and moral stance of secular humanism – they all share common ground in their rejection of, and resistance to, religion – whether organised and dogmatic, metaphysical and scholarly, or meditative and esoteric.

However, does the irreligious’ uninvolvement in religion, independence from religion, and impartiality towards religion make them the only reliable religious historians, and therefore the only people who should be allowed to write about the history of religion?

On the one hand, it may be argued that this should not be the case, simply because the irreligious are not impartial, however much this is believed to be the case.

As stated by René Descartes, the fact and act of thinking leads to the conclusion that the thinker exists. However, the act of thinking also leads to the formation of opinion.

By analytically studying and documenting the history of religion, the historian thinks – even an irreligious historian – thus creating opinion. The presence of opinion makes impartiality an impossibility, therefore any history of religion written by the irreligious is no more – nor any less – valid, accurate, or believable than any written by the religious.

Also to be considered is the fact that certain among the irreligious would like to bring an end to religion.

Of personal acquaintance is an individual, who defines themself as an ‘antireligious sceptic’, and whom believes that religion is the primary cause of many of life’s ills, such as the spread and expansion to pandemic proportions of sexually-transmitted infections and diseases, gender-related oppression and political-doctrine enforcement (i.e. “It is the Divine’s will that it be so.”). Evidently, one would not expect any account of religious history presented by this individual to be reliable.

This individual, and others of their persuasion, would undoubtedly use their writing of a religious history to display their own opinions of various historical events, and attempt to persuade others to share their opinions. These opinions may be as harmless and mundane as that one should only practice religion when it is convenient, and fit it around their lives, as opposed to vice versa, or as extreme and potentially harmful as antireligiously-inspired attempts on religious figures’ lives, or even on the lives of ordinary people of a religious persuasion.

These facts evidently refute the possibility of an unbiased historical account.

Another point that disagrees with the statement that only the irreligious ought to write religious history is the fact that they may be involved with religion, in one capacity or another, and to a greater or lesser extent.

The (in)famous irreligionist Professor Richard Dawkins, whom some may – quite justifiably – describe as the arch-irreligionist, is well known as a result of his arguing against the need for religion by attempting (and it must be conceded, often succeeding) to undermine religion. He seizes every opportunity to snipe at religion, for example stating that the terrorist atrocities of 9-11 were proof that any and all religion is a bad idea (“...11^th September...revealed faith is not harmless nonsense, it can be lethally dangerous nonsense...”), even though it is only a minority amongst the religions that support such horrendous acts of violence. In his 1991 essay, “Viruses of the Mind”, Professor Dawkins claims that religions, especially those based on faith (i.e. belief that is non-evident), are among the world’s great evils. He also compares religion to the smallpox virus (Variola vera) – estimated to have caused around 400 million deaths – the only difference being that religion is harder to eradicate (the World Health Organisation certifies the eradication of V. vera in 1979).

Yet this man describes himself as a ‘cultural Christian’, on account of spending the majority of his life in England and the USA, which can quite confidently be described as ‘Christian countries’. This man, who attacks, ridicules and vilifies religion at every turn, was the subject of (in his own words) “...a normal, Anglican upbringing...”. This means that Professor Dawkins was involved with religion, and still is by identifying himself as even a cultural Christian. Christian influences will still ring true in his life, as Western cultures (and hence cultural Christianity) are, by and large, influenced by Christianity.

What right would this man have to write on religious history? Would it not be fair to say that he would have no more right – and should  have no more right – than a religious individual to write on religious history? Is it not  true that he would display – however unintentionally, or otherwise – an equally subjective and opinionated point of view as a religious individual?

A case in point is the suppression of any and all forms of religion during the Marxist-Leninist Stalinist regime in Russia and the USSR. During the period between 1922 and the death of Stalin in 1953, all religions were actively oppressed by the state, with the ultimate goal being the eventual suppression of all religion in Russia and the USSR. The religious oppression restarted in 1957, under Brezhnev, and continued until the mid-1970s.

This irreligious (specifically atheist) suppression of religion shows that the irreligious can show an enormous bias against religion – occasionally even going as far as happened in Russia, with the murder of almost 50 Russian Orthodox bishops, and nearly 2,000 Russian Orthodox priests.

These points all contribute to the opinion that an irreligious historian – however unbiased towards, unjudgemental towards or unallied with religion they may be, or claim to be – has no more, nor any less, right to write on religious history. Their account could be said to be no more, nor any less, right than any written by a religious individual.

However, what of religion’s – ANY religion’s – belief that only that particular God (by any name), gods (however many), or even just its beliefs (if it has no gods) are the only genuine ones?

Christianity’s stance against non-Christians has historically been shown to have been intolerant, to say the least. From the Jews’ confinement to the ghettoes of Elizabethan England, to the merciless slaughter of thousands of captured ‘heathen’ Saracens during the Crusades, to the blinkered torture, mutilation and execution – by various imaginative means – of the Cathars (and not a few ‘tainted’ Christians) during the Albigensian Crusade, to the oppression and militaristic brutality towards South Americans by the Spanish Conquistadores in the 16^th and 17^th centuries. Massacres – some on such a scale that the label ‘genocide’ may perhaps be a more accurate one – have often been carried out by Christians. Srebrenica is a perfect example – the barbarous slaying on 8,000 (officially, although the true figure is believed to be much higher) Bosnian Muslim males of all ages by soldiers of the Bosnian-Serb army. This was the army of an Orthodox Christian nation.

Another unarguably more famous instance of genocide was the Holocaust – the calculated, cold-blooded and industrial slaughter of over 6,000,000 Jews at the hands of the Nazi regime. Germany was (and still is) a constitutionally Christian country.

 Less widely known is the fact that around 500,000 homosexuals, astrologers, gypsies, philosophers and Russian Orthodox priests were also murdered. Even less widely know than that is the fact that these killings were all but blessed by the then Pope Pius XII. To say that his Holiness was in collusion with Hitler and his Nazis over the matter of these killings would be extremely unjust. However, what would be true to say would be that Pius was well aware of these killings, yet did nothing to attempt to stop them – not even to chastise the perpetrators.

An example of more intricate and intimate conflict is the one in Northern Ireland. This is ultimately a conflict between Protestantism and Catholicism – both branches of Christianity – over the ownership of Northern Ireland. Although having developed to be a political struggle, which stemmed from the invasion of (Catholic) Ireland by (Protestant [Puritan]) Oliver Cromwell, the conflict started earlier, with clashes between Protestantism and Catholicism. The political allegiances of individuals was remarkable in that one set of political ideals seemed to sit perfectly with the religious ideals of the Protestants, and another with the religious ideals of the Catholics. Indeed, it would not be wrong to say that each set of political ideologies was shaped and influenced first and foremost by religion. The political battlefield was merely an extension of the religious conflict between Protestantism and Catholicism.

This aside, the important question is this – could an historical account of Catholicism written by a Protestant be trusted? Equally, could an historical account of Protestantism by a Catholic be trusted? Another facet of this point is as follows – would an historical account of Catholicism written by a Catholic be reliable? Would an historical account of Protestantism written by a Protestant be reliable?

The simple answer is no. Each branch of Christianity would seek to glorify their own achievements, and vilify the other’s, even to the extent of lying – whether about their own religion, or the other.

Another scenario is the Israeli/Arab conflict, which is ongoing to this day. The same questions may be asked of these two religions as may be asked of Protestantism and Catholicism – namely, would any religious history of one or the other, written by one or the other, be reliable?

Again, the simple answer is no. Each religion is at the other’s throat, and would seize the opportunity to aggrandise their own beliefs, whilst seeking to cast aspersions on the other’s.

Taking this matter to the next level, we must attempt to envisage what opinions religious figureheads would have of other religions.

Would the man now known as Jesus Christ – repeatedly implied to have been the ‘King of the Jews’ – give an unbiased account of Christianity’s history, were he alive today?  Could he be trusted to give unbiased historical accounts of other religions, such as Zoroastrianism (a Persian, transcendental, pseudo-philosophical religion), Jainism (an Indian, pacifist, philosophical religion) or Islam – perceived as modern Christianity’s greatest ‘foe’?

Islam and Christianity are constantly at loggerheads with each other. Each attempts to influence, outmanoeuvre and – ultimately – cease the other’s existence, whether by religious activism, philosophical debate, or even military action.

By the same token as Jesus’ bias, would it not also be justifiable to suppose that Islam’s greatest prophet, Muhammad, would also be biased towards other religions? Might he not attempt to emphasise the negative aspects of the history of, for example, animism (the belief that souls exist not only in humans, but also in animals, plants, thunder etc.), whilst extolling the virtues and glories of Islam?

To focus solely on Abrahamic figureheads would be entirely unjust. Siddhattha Gotama (Buddhism), Guru Nanak (Sikhism) and Pantojali (author of “Yoga Sutras”, an important Hindu text) might also be susceptible to the same bias. This shows, as do the preciously listed points, that the religious would be incapable of writing a wholly unbiased account of their own religion, nor of any other, and would therefore have no more – nor less – right than the irreligious to be the sole writers of religious history.

An interesting topic is that of Saloth Sar.

A Communist Cambodian politician – latterly warlord and dictator – he raised a Communist army called the Khmer Rouge (“Red Khmer [the name for ethnic Cambodians]), and took control of Cambodia in a series of conflicts with the Cambodian government, culminating in the capture of Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s Capital, by the Khmer Rouge on April 17^th, 1975. Saloth Sar took the nome de guerre Pol Pot (from Politique Potentielle [Political Potential] – a phrase used to describe him by the Chinese leadership). He became “Citizen No. 1”, renamed Cambodia “Democratic Kampuchea”, and ‘reset’ the calendar to “Year Zero”.

Aside from these things, proscriptions were widespread. Among those listed to be killed were academics (lawyers, doctors, etc.), those who wore spectacles (perceived as a sign of intelligence, which the State found threatening) and the religious, specifically religious personnel such as priests.

Even though Pol Pot had been raised in a country which was (and still is) predominantly Buddhist (90% + being Buddhists of one form or another) community and country, he followed few – if any – of the tenets of the Buddhist faith. Chief amongst these are pacifism, and the belief that to harm a person or thing is a fundamentally bad thing. He culled Christians, Muslims, Hindus and the aforementioned Buddhists alike, and with equal aplomb.

Would this man have been a trustworthy documenter of religious history? Would he not have merely stated that they were each as false as the others, without in fact bothering to research them, or to present different aspects of the different religions in a fair, unbiased way?

Yet again, the simple answer is no, even though the man was a combination of religious and antireligious sentiments. He meditated, and apparently prayed to Buddha at times, and yet felt not a hint of remorse or guilt when ordering the deaths of members of the priesthood – educated “enemies of the State”.

Such a paradoxical man would not be a reliable source, and therefore would have no more right – nor any less – than any of the irreligious, nor any of the religious, to write on religious history, simply because he did not truly care for, nor about, religion.

In conclusion, it is impossible to state that the history of religion should only be written by the irreligious. Equally as impossible to state is that the history of religion should only be written by the religious. Neither is it possible to state that the history of religion should only be written by paradoxical individuals such as Saloth Sar (Pol Pot).

None are free of bias. None are free of prejudice. None are free of opinion.

Without opinion, the presentation of cold, hard fact would be unimaginably dull. Debate – whether moral, historical or philosophical – is one of the most stimulating things to human minds, and it may be true to say that without opinion we would not necessarily be human.

Therefore, the only truly accurate way of compiling a religious history would be to combine the writings of the irreligious, the religious and the paradoxical, and to form that most important of things from the facts as they are presented from all different angles and perspectives  – a personal opinion.

End.

A little worried...

Well.
Fat bastard that I am, I've just discovered that I'm too fat - waist-wise - to join the TA, or the RA, and my BMI's too high.
Apparently, the maximum waist size is 37", and the maximum BMI is 32.
I'm above these. Not hugely, but enough.
"Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fatty, fat, fat," to quote The Producers.

Hence, I have decided upon an extreme regime to ensure that I'm closer to being able to join, and will hopefully be givven a little slack (no pun intended).

i. EAT LESS. MUCH, MUCH, MUCH LESS.
ii. DRINK MORE WATER. MUCH, MUCH, MUCH MORE.
iii. DO PUSH- AND SIT-UPS EVERY NIGHT (10 reps, 10 times each).
iv. DO WEIGHTS - 30MINS EVERY MORNING AND EVERY NIGHT, WITH 5kg WEIGHTS (15 reps, alternating sides, 10 times each).
v. I'm GOING to start swimming and cycling regularly too, when I can. However, since I need to ditch a pile of weight by the 9th of June (hopefully...), this probably won't have started by then.

I'm determined to do this, because I haven't really succeeded with anything in my life.

I hope your exams are going well, and that they continue to do so.

EXAM TERMINATION COUNT-DOWN - 15 DAYS TO GO.

End.

Delusional...

Why is it that I feel very SUMMERY, all of a sudden?
I mean, the weather's gotten nicer (well, apparently...), and the air is quite... Greasy, I suppose. Very thick, and sticky.
Ych.
But I've only done ONE exam, with SIX left to go. Even after those, I don't REALLY finish in college for another twenty or so days.
I can't even crack open the shorts like I used to a few years ago, because I sweat like a pig, and, frankly, sweat and light materials - actually, pretty much ANY materials... - don't mix too well.

Anyway... Ramble-rant over.

I found out today that it would be entirely possible for me to join the Medical Unit of the TA by Morfa Stadium, and STILL learn to drive a HGV (even though the timeframe is SERIOUSLY shot, thanks to my mother...), and someone I know quite well - and respect even more (he read Music at King's College, Cambridge...) is a member.
Plans are already underway to arrange some REAL organ practice over the holiday, which is pretty darn snazzy.

I've pretty much resigned myself to bad exam results. I have nobody to blame but myself - I've done NO work. Every time I've said I'm revising, it's a full-blown bloody lie.
I'll take it as it comes, I suppose, and live with the aftermath.

Anyway, I hope your exams are going/will go as well as any exams can.
The best of luck with them.

End.

SO angry...

Well. That WAS an unpleasant surprise.
Last night, I found out that my DEAREST, DARLING mother had changed the date of my driving-test from the 20th of June to the 22nd of July "because we may be busy shopping in Cardiff on the 20th of June".
Cheers, mam. Really.

This means that when I join the TA (which IS happening after the exams), I won't be able to attend a fast-track Class C driving course (to gain a fixed HGV licence in five days), or the consecutive Class C + E driving course (artic.).
Which means I won't be able to get a job in a haulage firm, for the holidays, and weekends thereafter.
Which means I won't have money.

Not impressed.
AT ALL.

On another (happier?) note, my exams FINALLY start tomorrow, with Chemistry 1.
About bloody time.
Roll on 9th of June.

End.

A lovely list...

So, with exams approaching like an unstoppable Alpine avalanche, I have decided to, err, "take a break from the hard slog of revision", and to comile a list of things I want to do by the time I return to college in September - A sort of miniature "Bucket List", if you will. Except I'm kind of hoping not to cross-off everything, and then keel over.
That WOULD be a shame.

Anyway, on to the list;

i. GET MY DRIVING (Class B) LICENCE - Hopefully, this will be done during Half-Term, but with parents as unpredictable as mine, who knows?

ii. Join the T.A. - I'm going to join one of two local branches of the Royal Logistics Corps, and learn to drive lorries. Eventually, this will enable me to accomplish point...

iii. GET A PAYING JOB - I love working in Morriston. I'd love it more if it was PAID work though. I'm going to try my darnadest to get a paying job. Maybe, if I can pass a Class C test (for lorries) before the end of the holidays, I can start doing that. I know a few haulage companies are looking for drivers to do weekend work...

iv. Learn EITHER Old Church Slavonic OR Church Slavonic - I'm just sad. Possibly one of the saddest people that ever existed.

v. Cycle the Taff Trail - Over 50 miles, from Brecon to Cardiff Bay (or mirrored, if you're a REAL rebel...), on a (rather buckled...) mountain-bike, with locking/popping knees, shot hips and a fucked back. And a spare tyre...
Should be fun.

vi. Get some SERIOUS organ-practice done - Do I REALLY need to explain?

Anyway...
EXAM COUNTDOWN: ELEVEN DAYS TO GO.
Ever heard the expression "touching cloth"?
That about describes me now...

I hope you're having a good week, and that any forthcoming exams of yours are making you brick as much as mine are making me.

End.

Anonymous respect, and powerlessness to help...

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I work in Morriston Hospital as a student volunteer. Today it was my turn to help run the information desk.
At about 11:20, after having sat through a pretty mundane few hours of doodling and card-playing, whilst directing the odd (no pun intended. Honest...) pensioner to various areas of the hospital, a fairly young man - early thirties at most - came to the desk.
Slurring, gesticulating and lurching as he was, we were fairly convinced that he was drunk, and had therefore to be dealt with "kid-gloves" on.
Until we noticed his clothes.
This man was wearing the active duty uniform of a Royal Marine Sergeant, replete with 60lb pack.
He was asking for the quickest way to get to the train-station, and was in evident pain, and struggled to speak as clearly as he could.
After informing him that he needed to catch a bus to get to the train-station, we made inquiries about him. It turns out that he'd been on an exercise on the Brecon Beacons, and had fallen and hit his head on some rocks. Airlifted to Morriston, he was left there for treatment, whilst his unit returned to Poole.
This was a man who'd fallen down a 25ft drop onto boulders the size of cars, who'd had a sliver of bone removed from his neck and whom could barely stand upright... This man was setting out for Poole, to rejoin his unit.
He'd discharged himself from the hospital, and we had uninteltionally facillitated his departure by giving him directions.
On hearing this, the other two volunteers with me were completely taken aback. I was too, but in a different way.
I had nothing but respect for this man, and for his strength - both physical and mental.

It really puts a new perspective on some of my reactions to the pettiest of things - and others' too.
He has inspired me.
He has my utmopst respect, and I hope he's ok, although I think it would take infinitely more to stop him.

Consider me humbled, to the extreme.

End.

Pondering.

Well, all good things come to an end.
Even the very best of them.
Crushed is pretty accurate when it comes to the description of how I'm feeling, and is empty.
However, I accept that I'm not the only one who has feelings, and wants and needs, and although all of mine were being met - not only that, but surpassed - I recognise that I may not have fulfilled all wants and needs.
Actually, I KNOW I didn't. After all, it is ME.
Therefore, I don't feel bitter or agitated, because I just want her to be happy.
If this is what it takes, then this is what it takes, and I'm good with it.

Anyway... Pondering...
Oh aye.
Recently, folk have taken to describing me - at various junctions - as boring, unfriendly and downright nasty.
Now I realise that I'm not the most interesting person ever. Nor am I always as friendly as I could/should be.
But I never realised  that these things are much worse than was apparent to me.
Point is, I can't do much about them.
I am me. I don't colour myself up with bright, fantastical and heady colours to make myself interesting. I'm not always the friendliest person, but I tend to try to be fairly amiable. If I fail, it's either that I'm in a bad mood, or that I actually don't like someone. If the former, sorry. If the latter, tough.
But NASTY? To be honset, I've never considered myself a nasty person. Occasionally mean, perhaps. Certainly one to hold a grudge (but only when justified). Sometimes bitter.
But I never thought some people just viewed me as downright unpleasant.

It just proves that people's opinions of you can vary wildly from your of yourself.

Well, this has been a pretty shit blog post, and you have my apologies.

N.B. - Exam Countdown Timer inidcates 24 days until my first "real" exam.
Golly. How fun.

End.

Music, but not USEFUL music, and a job...

Last night, I attended the opera Tosca with my father. Aside from the fact that the theater was TOO DAMN WARM, the seats were TOO DAMN SMALL, and the ice-cream was TOO DAMN EXPENSIVE, it was magnificent, as is everything touched by the operatic genius ot the WNO company.
But whilst I spent three hours in a very musical environment, I STILL haven't finished my second AS composition... Or my first, for that matter... Neither have I finished learning my second piece for my practical examination.
Which is in a fortnight...
Oh dear.

And the job...
If ever you die/injure yourself/fancy something diverting to do, drop in to the Information Desk in the reception area of Morriston Hospital (or Wards A - V... Dispensing liquid refreshment...), and you'll find me there. Don't worry. I'll take good care of you... In the administrative sense, of course.
Being a "Student Volunteer" (oh aye... NON-PAYING job... See how benificent I am?), we're not even allowed the plump patients' pillows. It sucks.
But it's a foot in the door, which may lead to my being able to body-slam the damn portal open, to get a paying job. Also, it's a damn good thing to put on your CV, and I can get an employer's reference if ever I apply for other jobs.
Plus it makes me feel pretty snazzy on the inside, to be helping people, even in little ways, like finding where their relatives are in the hospital, booking appointements for people, and directing them to various places.

Anyway, enough of my declamatory saintliness (which I'm pretty shure should be an oxymoron...).
I hope you've all had a goood Easter holiday, and that you're all anticipating the re-attendence of school with the same degree of trepidation of myself.
I don't like to suffer alone, you see...

SUCH A TRUE SAINT, to share the suffering.

End.

Peed myself with excitement...

Me.
Llandaff.
Organ.
Two hours.
Alone.

JIZZ.

End.

Peeing myself with excitement...

So. New organ in Llandaff Cathedral. First played (other than for calibration) last night.
Guess who's going to play it on Wednesday.
*screams with anticipation*

End.

So many things...

So... Another music course (or BAND-CAMP, as its detractors are fond of calling this particular one...) over. Another weekend of excitement gone for a year. A step up to Principal Tuba and a Dixie solo for little old me (CHRIST knows how...).
Explosions. Yes. MULTIPLE. Big ones, too.
Mr. Massochi's scalp-shaving antics, and the threat of his being sacked for shaving elsewhere (not without a little encouragement from the more boistrous brass-players, myself included, it has to me admitted...).
My falling backwards out of a second-floor window, whilst desperately clutching a Pot-Noodle, after being hit in the 'nads by a ball.
JUST GENERAL ENJOYMENT.
I seriously reccomend that everyone attend at least ONE Music-Service course during their lifetime.

I've had an idea for the Music-Service too...
Next year, if I've got my HGV or LGV license, I could drive all the shite around, without the need to hire numerous vans.
Gotta join the TA first though, which won't happen until AFTER the exams...
FIFTY-TWO DAYS TO GO BEFORE THEY START!!
*trembles*

Anyway...
If anyone knows a farm that needs help, please let me know.
Err...
If anyone know a brass band looking for an Eb (BBb possible) tubist, please let me know.
Umm...
If anyone knows how to make money quickly and LEGALLY, please let me know. QUICKLY...

Well...
That's about it, I think.
Sorry to bore you again.
I've got some poems and song-lyrics I've been working on, so maybe I'll post them here at some point.

Have a good week.

End.

The RSM, and a realisation or two...

The RSM (or Royal Society of Medicine, as I had to remind a certain Miss Brown...) is located at No. 1 Wimpole Street, London. It was founded on 22nd May, 1805.
On Wednesday, it was my destination.
Getting up at 05:30 to catch the 07:16 train from Port Talbot was a doddle, seeing as I'd been awake most of the night with cramping legs, and chest-pains.
The train-journey itself was tolerable, mostly because I toddled off to the "Buffet-Car" (so-named, methinks, because of the poorly-sealed windows and doors, and the inescapeable swaying of the carriage), and bought three espressos in rapid succession, and stuffed a bacon and egg roll.
I stayed there for most of the journey, thereby avoiding having to sit next to my father.

The train arrived at Paddington around five minutes ahead of its scheduled arrivel-time of 10:01, hence giving us a good thirty minutes to get to the RSM. Catching the Tube meant we got there at 10:20, ten minutes before the start of the conference I was to attend there.
Having arrived, my father toddled off to amble around London until 17:30. I walked to the lecture theatre, where all 300 chairs were eventually filled.
By noisy, irreverent, foul-mouthed, Cockney Asians. My FAVOURITE type of person.
Apart from the ostracisation I "suffered" on account of being Welsh, the day went smoothly, with eloquent lecturer after eloquent lecturer, each painting a vivid picture of the possible life each of us sixth-formers might lead if we decided to enter the medical profession. Each was useful in his or her own way, and I garnered much information from the day.

After three tea-breaks (during wich I downed another five cups of coffee) and lunch (which went disastrously wrong when my divine Moroccan Lamb Tagine decided to slither its way from my plate, to my jumper), I was ready for anything when my father collected me.
Under interrogation on the WALK back to Paddington (See? I'm NOT lazy...), we decided to have dinner at Garfunkels, which is just around the corner from the train-station.
Apart from the fact that my supposedly "Authentic" Irish Stew was served with panini ("Sure and beggorah!!"), and my father's gammon lacked the traditional accompaniment of egg and pineapple, the meal was delicious, and we were both soon rolling into Paddington on our engorged stomachs.

Having managed to catch the 19:25 train, my father promptly fell asleep, leaving me three hours of peace, during which I would finish my book (The Eye in the Door, by Pat Barker, part of a thoroughly gripping series which I suggest you read without delay), and listen to the various ecclectic artists on my backup MP3-player (my iPod having died during the previous week). These included Taylor Swift, BFMV, Green Day, The Tallis Scholars, Geofrey Tristram and Trivium, amongst others.

Arriving at Port Talbot at 22:25, we managed to drive home by 11:15, at which point we were both interrogated by my mother, during which it emerged that my father had spent much of the day in bookshops, and walking around St. Thomas's Hospital (not a misspelling, I assure you), which is his old medical school.
After this, my parents went to bed, whilst I stayed down (or up...), watching horror films on low-budget channels, and throughly enjoying life, with a dog and a block of cheese by my side.

Thursday was my Dead Day. Deafness in one ear, severe cramps and spasms in my legs, hips and back caused by the cramped conditions on the train on the return journey, and a thumping headache made it blatantly obvious that I was not destined for college that day, even though this would mean copying-up two days' work, as opposed to one.

Friday was better. Milked of blood by the Welsh Blood Service, I felt as if I had done my good deed of the day (which are regularly forgotten, trust me...). I managed also to either copy-up, or lay the foundations for copying-up, once I have borrowed someone's file.
Last night/this morning, I stayed up watching a film called Hostage (well worth a look, by the way) until 02:30. Even with a pint of cider meandering its way through my body, I didn't get to sleep until gone 05:00.

This afternoon, as of about 13:05, was spent in the company of the delectable Ab, until about 16:55. Even though I was a complete tosser (the consequence of a morning spent with two parents incessantly screaming vitriol in both of my ears), I thoroughly enjoyed, and hope that she did too.

As to the realisations alluded to in the title of this blog...;
i. I suddenly feel a massive force of attraction towards veterinary medicine.
ii. I'm going to leave home as soon as possible.
iii. I'm going to stop listening to the malignancy of certain individuals, as it does me no good at all, and consequently does those I love no good at all.
iv. Mothers' Day is just another excuse to be made to feel bad about your inadequacies as a person in general, and a son. And this is the case even though MD is TOMORROW...

Anyway, this blog has been infernally boring (as per norm), so I'll wrap it up here, save for this little marketing plug:-

WATCH "A BAND FOR BRITAIN" ON BBC2 AT 21:00 ON MONDAY NIGHT, OR ELSE!

End.

Leaving.

Well... It's what I WANT to do. But, loathe as I am to say it, I can't. I'm still ENTIRELY dependent on my parents. If I left, and cut all ties, I'd have to bum off the State, and I HATE the thought of doing that.
I want to just... Get away. I'd settle for a boarding school, to be honest.
I feel as if I can never be me whilst toiling under the yoke of guilt bestowed upon me by my parents. Always so keen to point out when they make an effort for me (which, to be fair, is frequently), they seem to ignore things I do for them.
They can't even tell when they're actually really hurting me.
I don't have a real outlet. This blog's ok... Abi's amazing. But I can't convey how I feel. I try. I try so hard that, sometimes, I feel as if I've finally managed to at least bring MYSELF to terms with it, but to no avail.

I NEED TO LEAVE.
But there are things and people I don't want to leave.
Pets. Loved ones.
And truth be told, I don't want to end up an uneducated moron, sitting on the scrapheap of life.

Maybe going abroad for a few months would work. Voluntary work.
I told Ab about this earlier.
I've been looking into working in an orphanage in Cambodia.
It's a way to get the hell away from things I want to escape, and a hell of a good thing to put on a CV.
Plus I'd be making a huge difference.
Only problem is, I need about £5,500 to go for four months.
Anyone got a piggybank I can raid, by any chance?



On a completely disparate topic, I'd just like to thank Frau Hammett for a delicious casserole, Herr Hammett for some light-relief, and Fraulein Hammett Junior for... Well. Being Fraulein Hammett Junior.
And for making me feel like the most amazing guy alive.
I love you, FHJ.

End.

A boiling pot. A seething mass. A red mist.

Temper.
Anger.
Rage.

Most people can get irritated quite easily, to varying degrees. For instance, whilst one person might find a third party's tuneless whistling to be nothing of any matter, another person might ask them to stop. If this person were sufficiently annoyed, they might ask harshly.
Another example is people's reactions when they are, for instance, hit accidentally by balls whilst walking across a busy schoolyard. One person might shrug it off, and pass the ball back to the culprit, whilst another might shout at them.

I, however, go further than this.
Much, much further.

I wouldn't say that an ACTUAL red mist descends across my vision, but it IS true to say that I generally seethe inside, unually quietly, but that occassionally I boil over.
The consequences are frightening.
I have hospitalised with broken bones at least five people who have annoyed me - true, they had either physically injured me, or attempted to, but I still overreacted. Having heard the mantra "turn the other cheek, and just walk away" since I was a mere babe-in-arms, I should adhere to it.
But I don't. At all.

I get angry at the pettiest of things:-
Blown lightbulbs.
Out-of-tune musical instruments.
Marks on my glasses.
Self-aggrandisers,
Bad drivers.
People who write with pens in books.

I also get angry at things which I should listen to, and usually just accept, namely criticisms of myself.

My temper is so bad that my parents now refuse to take me to practice my driving.
They're actually scared of what might happen if I got angry.

And to be honest, so am I.
It's actually quite depressing. I WANT to change. I'd do ANYTHING.
But nothing I try helps.
Breathing slowly? Pffft...
Counting to ten? I get lost after six.
Clenching and unclenching my hands repeatedly? Just gets me worked up.

I'm angry (irony much?) that I'm not allowed to drive, yes...
But I'm more worried than anything else.

I don't want to hurt anyone.
Least of all those I love.
But the potential is there. And it scares me.

Anyway.
On a lighter note, I command you all to buy two things, a.s.a.p. :-
i. The book "Musicophilia : Tales of Music and the Brain", by Olive Sacks. It's a wonderfully written study of some people's musical obsessions, and the effects (and affects) that music can have on people. Informative, occasionally funny, and definitely well-written, it's a book for everyone to read, THAT everyone SHOULD read.
ii. The CD "The Art of Motion", by Andy McKee. A stunning guitarist, and an amazing composer to boot, this CD is one of the best of the modern bunch of acoustic-guitarists available.

I've more or less had it decided for me that I'm not going for an organ scholarship.
I don't know whether I'll LISTEN to the decrees or not... But I know what familial opinion is.
I also know that mine differs.
WILDLY.

Anyhow, I hope you're all keeping well, and that you enjoyed your half-term, whatever you did.

COUNTDOWN TO EXAM INITIATION BEGINS NOW - 87 DAYS TO GO.
Scary, no?

End.

Blood. Surgery. Medicine, A dream...

This morning, I had to reacquaint myself with my old Strade routine, i.e.- Get up at 06:25, eat breakfast and attach a caffeine IV by 07:00, have a cold shower by 07:15, get dressed and leave the house byt 07:30. It was a fair bit easier than I was expecting it to be, to be honest. But I was born a morning person.
Come to think about it, I was also born a night person too, but that's another matter...
Actually... I tend to go to sleep in the MORNING, and wake up in the MORNING, so I suppose I really am a MORNING person...
Anyway.

The purpose of my "early" rising was work experience.
To be more accurate, Orthopaedic work experience.
I met Mr. Price, a consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon, at 08:00, and shadowed him and his team as they made their ward-round of the patients under their care.
These patients were a diverse lot. One was a 17-years-old female drug addict, who was on Methodone, to try and cure her of her habit, but had relapsed. When she attempted to inject a dose of Heroin into her system, using a vein in her right arm, the vein had collapsed, leading to the dose being deposited subcutaneously. This had led to the development of a cyst, full of pus and fluid (including residual Heroin). The cyst had to be incised, drained and padded, and the patient will require a lengthy course of antibiotics to insure against infection of the wound, which is left open to prevent bacterial culture.
Another patient was a 73-years-old male, who was in the habit of falling. Previously, he had been admitted with skeletal bruising to his left side, but was admitted yesterday with a broken left shoulder, and a broken hip. As the swelling surrounding both injuries was still quite new, it was impossible to take him to theater, but hopefully I'll be able to observe his operations tomorrow.
There were several other patients too, but it was after seeing them all on the wards that the REAL fun started...

I was led upstairs to the Operating Theatre block.
Here, I was directed to the changing-rooms, handed surgery-blues (THE most ill-fitting clothes ever invented, but I still FELT like the coolest guy alive...), and told to wait in the Surgeon's Mess (their canteen/common room area). After about five minutes, Mr. Price's pupil, a friendly Polak called Peter, called me through to the O.T.
Told to stand in a certain place, I then observed an operation to close a 4"x7"x2" wound to a 14-years-old's right knee, and a bone-graft and hip-repair operation on an 89-years-old female (see link below).

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/da/RightFemurIV.JPG

Rather than collapse (as many present in the O.T. evidently expected me to...), I kept moving in for a closer look, and firing questions at the surgeons and the supporting team.

I left after this operation, as my bola was a-calling, and thereafter got picked up to go home (which I where I am now).
I'm going back tomorrow, and hopefully will be able to sit in on more operations, and see more of the ward-rounds.

If this blog has so far sounded like a really bad personal-statement, my sincerest apologies to you all. I'm just recording everything I saw for posterity, and to show my admiration for the skill of the people involved in these operations.

On a different note...
I just want to apologise to Abi, for being such a shit to her.
I don't know why I was, but I know I SHOULDN'T have been.
So I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart.

I love you, Ab.

End.

The fourteenth, but not the last.

Well, first of all, to yesterday.
One word to describe it.
Amazing.
Swansea and cinema with the Lady Hammett (who should TECHNICALLY be the Maiden Hammett... :P). I would advise everyone to go and see "Edge of Darkness", but to pay more attention to it than I did... (A)
Afterwards, whilst wandering slightly aimlessly around Swansea whilst waiting for the bus home, we entered WH Smiths, on a quest for a "Mr. Moses Notebook", which had to "be really, really pretty", as Ab put it.
Whilst there, we bumped into Cat-Face and her man-friend. This devolved into total anarchy, and the taking-over of Swansea by Sophie's epic shoes.
We eventually got onto a bus (which was a non-conformist bus, which had a scary drivier whom I bravely approached for information pertaining to its route and timetable...), and had a hilarious ride home, apart from the stabbing and burning pains in my chest, but these subsided after about 15mins.

The only downer on the whole day was the fact that Papi Hammett turned up almost an hour earlier than he'd said, and several hours earlier than myself and my other half would have liked. It was, to say the least, an interruption...

As a by-note, I would recommend that everyone go out - RIGHT NOW - and purchase a pair of "EXSPECT" earphones. The pretty ones, with eleven different coulour end-caps (completely pointless, I know, but it's the kind of gimmick that imemdiately attracts me to something).
The have some of the best bass-drivers I've ever had the pleasure of inserting.
The make me jizz. End of.
BUY BUY BUY. NOW NOW NOW.
They're only £10 in His Master's Voice now, but HURRY!! ONLY WHILST STOCKS LAST!!

As to the title... It's a cold, hard fact. I couldn't think of a decent name, so I essentially LABELLED it.
Apologies.
But, as a matter of fact, it does refer to yesterday, quite well...

End.

Dumbstruck amazement.

I must be honest. I haven't liked ALL the presents I've ever received.
I have received things (e.g. an umbrella, a packet of pencils, a ring-binder, etc.) that have, quite frankly, left me stone cold. I mean, who wouldn't prefer to have a new CD, or a good book, or a video-game?
Still, on these occassions, I have maintained a sense of decorum. I have profusely thanked the giver, whomsoever they may have been, and at least seen the LOGIC behind the present, if not actually WANTED it.
However, I was stunned by the reaction of someone last night, whose birthday is today, and whose present I gave to her last night.
Instead of thanking me for getting her the new Priests (whom I was under the impression she LOVED...) CD, I instead got "Oh, I hope it's not all hymns... Great...".
I was astonished. Money had been spent, and the effort taken to buy the damn CD, and the thought of getting someone something they (supposedly) would very much enjoy. But it was met with no so much as a VENEER of thanks.
I'm not asking for it to actually be appreciated. I wouldn't mind. "Oh... Well, I'm not a huge fan of hymns, and I think this'll be quite similar to the first album... But thank you anyway" would have sufficed.
But no. It wasn't to be.
Now I am DESPERATELY trawling the internet (specifically Amazon and iTunes), trying to find something that will be met with the SLIGHTEST degree of approval.
I think I'll fail. I always do.
But at least my conscience is clear.

Off on a seperate tangent now...
I'm surprised that my driving is coming along so nicely.
Having been used to driving tractors, I understood the THEORY of driving better than PRACTICAL driving. I used to treat cars like tractors, and swing them out for junctions, and trundle along in a high gear, at low revs. Which is perfect for maximum possible torque when driving a tractor.
But bloody useless when trying to pull away quickly from a junction in a car.
Although I do occassionally lapse, and incur the wrath (EVER so mildly, to be fair) of my instructor, he says I'm coming along amazingly well.
Soon, I should be ready to take my practical test.
APPARENTLY...
PERSONALLY, I'd like at least another month of practice.
Just to be safe.
But I have to be honest, and say that I'm pretty chuffed with myself.

And another tangent...
I'm amazed how easy it is to UNDERSTAND work, but not to REMEMBER it.
Yesterday morning, I had a mock Chemistry AS exam. I did NOT revise, as I wanted to see what I knew, and therefore what I need to CONCENTRATE on.
Apparently, I've scraped a pass. Therefore, it seems pretty obvious that what I know doesn't amount to much.
But, according to the head of Chemistry in Gorseinon, it's obvious that I understand the work, having read my answers. However, it's ALSO obvious that I didn't revise, and therefore don't remember it.
But I'm determined to pass my AS levels with sodding flying colours, so I'm going to start pulling my finger out (not LITERALLY, of course...), and revising now and then.

I'm also looking for a new bass-guitar, and possibly a double-bass.
And a new guitar.
If any of you who read this know someone/somewhere who/which can sell me a jazz bass-guitar, or a hollowbody guitar, I'd be very greatful to you. The same applies to the double-bass issue, although, being a TAD more specialized, I don't expect many results on that front.

Anyway, thank you for reading.
Goodness knows WHY you do... You must have infernally boring lives.
But thank you anyway.
I hope your week, so far, is going well.

End.

Two old men made my day yesterday. A young lady made it today.

Maybe that wasn't the best way to describe what happened yesterday... Ah well. I'm going to explain anyway, so it'll become clear.

Yesterday morning, I got to my bus-stop at 08:45, which is early. But it didn't matter, because the bus didn't come. I therefore trudged down to Bont, by about 09:25, having waited (in vain) for the college bus to come, to catch the service bus. Which had left at 09:15. But no matter, as there was another one due at 09:55.
Which didn't turn up.
I was terefore forced to wait until 10:58 for the next one, and it was during this time that I got talking to two old gentlemen who had the same issue as myself.
It turned out that one of them was a tubist, and a double-bassist, and had been the Band-Leader of the Band of the Regiment of Wales. The other was a pianist, heavily into jazz. He owned 4,000+ vinyl singles, and countless vinyl albums, and being a collector, was IMMENSELY knowledgeable about big-bands through the ages.
Needless to say, I immediately hit it off with both men. The hour flew by, far too quickly for my liking. It had improved my day tremendously though, and I kept smiling as I thought about the conversation during the day. Before, I had never thought I'd meet someone who knew who Tommy Dorsey was, liked Bill Haley BEFORE The Comets, and knew Whistling Rufus.
I think the reason I enjoyed so much was the fact that neither of them spoke DOWN to me (although, both being at least 8" shorter than me, it would be impossible in any way other than the metaphorical anyway...). This is my problem with adults, expecially the older generations. We must respect THEM, but can never be respected BY them.
Or so it SEEMED, at least until yesterday.

Now today...
Ab got into Wells.
Need I say more?
It's made me burst with excitement for her, and with pride in her. Even though all I did was tell her to do her best.
After a pretty crappy day, hearing the wonderful news MADE my day.

I love you, Ab.


Well... So concludes another boringly pointless, pointlessly boring blog.
And Ab? Happy to be mentioned this time? You silly girl...

End.

In retrospect.

There are many things I wish I'd done when I was younger.
Listening to my parents when it came to practicing is one. Another is that I wish I'd played more rugby.
On the other hand, there are many things I wish I HADN'T done.
One of these is give up trumpet. Another is let myself be an emotional dartboard.

Things I've done and experienced recently will also probably fall under one or t'other of these catagories.
I'm going to give classifying them a go.
I suppose this is suspicion, but meh.

i. Meet Sophie - This is definitely one for the positives. She's a charming, hilariously twisted and confident young woman whom I very much like.

ii. Flunk my Xmas mocks - A bit of an ambiguous one, this. On the one hand, if I'd learned my work, I'd be able to focus solely on the new stuff for a while.
On the other, at least I now know where my knowledge is patchy (and let me tell you, it's patchier than a knitted quilt...).

iii. Discover Divna - One of the better ones. This woman is in possession of an haunting voice, which is (obviously, otherwise she wouldn't be doing it...) ideally suited to the material she sings, which is largely Byzantine chant, and Orthodox church-music.
Of course, it helps that I am a huge fan of Orthodox music.
And that she's quite attractive...

iv. Discover Basso Profundo music - AMAZING. NO MORE NEEDS TO BE SAID, APART FROM "LOOK IT UP, NOW".

v. Realise that my eyesight has further deteriorated - Not much to say really, other than that there isn't much to deteriorate on...
This is one of the less good things of late.

vi. Finish (apart from a few textural and performance changes) my first AS Music composition - I (possibly rather foolishly) decided that I was going to special. Instead of composing in the style of a more studied period (Baroque, Classical or Romantic), I elected to do my first composition in the style of the Renaissance period.
WHICH HAS VERY LITTLE CONNECTION WITH LATER PERIODS, OTHER THAN THAT IT'S A COLLECTION OF NOTES.
As time wore on, and September slowly ground into October, which suddenly became January, I started to panic. I had a piece, but I personally didn't think it was very good. So I started a new one.
Which I have just finished.
Which I DO like.
Rather a lot.
I feel quite paternal about it, if I'm honest. It's developed from a flash of what might pass as inspiration, during a Chemistry lecture, into 85 bars of what I consider to be possibly the best music I have composed, and I've done a fair bit.

vii. Realise that, if I DO try for an organ scholarship, I have less than eight months to prepare.
I am currently attempting to find a church, with a decent organ, that will let me practice.
Currently, I'm failing dismally, as everywhere seems to have either NO organ, an ELECTRIC organ (*vomits*), or won't let a mere secularist, such as myself, play.

Ah well.
Apologies yet AGAIN for the boredom-factor present in my blogs.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you're having a pleasant week.

End.

A matter of confidence and ability.

I was approached today by the tutor in Gorseinon who is responsible for medical applications. She let me know about a "taster-day" that is being held in Cardiff Medical School next month, for which I am grateful to her. She also told me about the lecture in the Royal Society of Medicine in March, which I am DEFINITELY going to. She asked me about work-experience, and if I have any lined-up as well.
I was ALSO approached today by the lecturer who is in charge of Oxbridge applications. She talked to me about which colleges appeal to me, and why. She also asked what subjects I'll be carrying on with for my A-levels next year.

I just have the one question;
Why is everyone so sure I'm cut-out for great things, when I struggle to wipe my own nose without poking my eyes out?

I just don't see it.
Of course, the academic posturing, the social status, and the sheer respect that would come with doing a medical course, or attending Oxbrige (let alone doing the former in the latter...) appeals to me. HUGELY.
But...
I just don't see myself getting there. The amount of competition for spaces is RIDICULOUS. After Veterinary Medicine, Medicine is the most competitive university course. After frittering away my GCSE grades with my stupid, over-confident, lackadaisical attitude, I really want to do well in my AS- and A-levels. I sort of HAVE to in order to get anywhere, but we'll leave that for now.
I want to please. That's all I want is to please, and to make happy. I want to prove to those that have faith in me that it isn't misplaced, even though I'm quite certain it is.

My problems are laziness, and a lack of self-belief.
The former I have already begun to combat by doing work in advance, revising what has been done in lectures, and researching things in more detail than is strictly required.
The latter, on the other hand, is proving beyond my abilities to alter. I just hope that by doing more work, I'll feel more confident in what I know, which will lead to me having more confidence in myself.

Ah well. Now I've said that, time to move on.
The plans...
i. My first plan is what anyone with half a brain would plan to do. It entails getting the grades I need at AS, then applying to the four allowed choices for medicine, with music as my (backup) fifth choice. Then, I need to be accepted by any of those medical schools, and get the grades stated in my offer.
Obviously, that's what would happen in an ideal world.

However, as this world is far removed from the ideal, my other plan is as follows;

ii. Get the grades I need at AS. Apply to the four allowed choices (with music as a backup, again). GET REJECTED.
I would then take a year out (what might be called a year 14). During this year, I would do the following;
a. Practice the organ. This is in the hope that I might get accepted for an organ scholarship to Oxbridge. The REMOTE hope and chance, but a hope and a chance nonetheless.
b. Attempt to get work on the NHS. I'm going to do this anyway, but it would be ESPECIALLY important if I had to take this year out.
c. Having joined the TA (which I AM going to do...), train as a medic. Just first aid and the like, but it's all experience. Also... I might try to get mobilised. However, this is something I'm going to have to discuss with Abi before I even think about it any further, so I'll forget that for now.
Also, as a TA member, I'm going to try to get a HGV and a PCV licence. Just because they'd be pretty cool to have.

After doing these things, I would apply again for medicine after the year, and I would hopefully get accepted, as the extra experience should count rather a great deal in my favour.

Anyway, this has been an INCREDIBLY boring blog for you so far, and you have my sincerest apologies.
I'll write something less self-centered now.

Until last week, I had no idea what a comic genius Spike Milligan was. I would THOROUGHLY reccomend everyone read his six-part trilogy (the irony is intentional...) of war-memoirs, as they give an insight into the formation of one of the greatest sources of cynical comedy EVER.
Anyone looking for a pick-me-up needs to watch The Producers. Preferably the 2006 remake. The original is fabulous, but the newer version is absolutely STUNNING. I suppose it illustrates my temperament though. Any musical comedy, ranging from the delights of Mozart's Magic Flute, to Mel Brooks' The Producers, and I'm there, raring to watch it. Make it something heavier, like Wagner's Die Walkyrie, or Les Miserables, and I'll still APPRECIATE them, but I won't ENJOY them as much. Maybe it proves I'm frivolous? I don't know... What I DO know is that I appreciate a damn good comedy, with some awe-inspiring music, to some intricately woven, kaleidoscopic epic, which is, in a word, DULL.
Listen to Brad Paisley. Don't question. Just do it.

Well, to finish, I'll just say that I hope everything's alright with everyone, and that you're all having a good week so far.

End.

The future, and whatever it may hold.

It's odd.
I haven't yet sat even my AS-levels, and yet for the last year and a bit, I've been obsessively grooming university profiles, to see which catch my fancy. To be wholly honest, my choices tend to be based on architecture. Consequently, topping the list (with most attractive to me first) are Cambridge (the older colleges), Edinburgh, Oxford (the older colleges) and St. Andrew's.
All of these are universities that offer Medical courses. If I'm truthful, I've ONLY looked at universities that offer Medicine, because they tend to be better thought of.
Anyway, I know where I want to apply to - even college-specific in Oxbridge - but what happens AFTER is what baffles me...

I may apply to do medicine.
Assuming any of these Red-Brick establishments want me (and it's a pretty big assumption), and assuming I attain the required grades (yet another MAMMOTH assumption), what would I do after?
I could always go and work for the NHS. It's what most Medical graduates do.
But I find the armed forces to be quite attractive.
There's something about the thought of being called "Doc" by various people, junior or senior to myself, and viewed as the dashing, heroic lifesaver, that's quite appealing to my vanity.
It also sounds pretty damn interesting, and exciting.
The Royal Army Medical Corps is the body exherting the largest pull upon myself at the minute, although I don't know why.

Then again, I may do Music.
Now, not being amazing gifted in the performance department (and that's NOT an innuendo...), I mean the theory side of Music. Again, I'd probably pick places based on their architecture, and where the best organs are located, and the best churches. Cambridge (perhaps unsurprisingly) tops the list once more.
But what would I do after a Music degree?
I could teach. But I hate children.
I could lecture. But you can't do that until you've taught. Which brings us back to the previous problem of hating children.
My other option under consideration is to join the Corps of Army Music.
Here, as a member of one of twenty-two bands, I'd be able to perform often, and on a variety of instruments. I even know the band I'd want to join - The Band of the Blues and Royals. I'm an animal-lover, and being a constituent-part of a mounted band would be utterly amazing.
The uniform's also pretty snazzy.
The Band of H. M.'s Royal Marines would be my other choice, even though it's not a part of the CoAM. Simply because they are gods.
In either of these organisations, joining with a BMus would mean I'd start in a high-ranking position, instead of joining, and then working to earn my degree whilst there, like most of the band-members.

Another career I considered for a while was Actuary, which is more or less a licence to print money.
However, that was kicked rather smartly into touch by the fact that the word "Mathematics" will be missing from my A-level profile. I (rather foolishly) chose Physics over it, and have lived to regret it ever since (see my previous blog for more details...).

Ah well. I suppose that, as long as I work hard, things will sort themselves out.
I have a vague semblence of an outline of an idea of a plan of what I think I might possibly maybe want to do.
Not very concrete, to be honest, but it's a plan nonetheless.

I don't exactly know what the point of this blog was, or is, apart from possibly just being me putting the plan down in print.
Whatever, thank you for reading.

End.

I wonder if it'll keep up...

So, the end of the second day of a new year draws closer, and the third's beginning also draws closer(OBVIOUSLY...), and a few things have occurred to me:-

i. I've actually been nice today. Not once have I raised my voice, had a voice raised at me, or had any tussling, verbal or otherwise, with anyone. I'm actually quite proud of myself.
I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions, but I have been making a conscious effort lately, and it seems to be paying off. Next to have my efforts concentrated upon will be my girth, but it's gonna take a LOT of effort to do the same to it as I've done to my attitude. I'm ready for it though. I need to be relatively fit for one of my career fallbacks to be viable...

ii. I'm not at all looking forwards to going back to college. I know that generally nobody admits to being eager to go back to work/education/"the daily grind", but I always genuinely DID. I don't know what's happenned. What I DO know is that college is... Difficult for me. I'm finding it hard to get along with people, because of untrue rumours that were spread about me. I'm finding the work difficult too. I've always enjoyed a challenge, even going so far as to do things that hadn't been covered in lessons. No more though. These days I just about scrape through with passes, as opposed to being in the top percentile of my year-group.
I don't like it.
But I just don't think I'm cut out for it...
I want to be a doctor. I HIGHLY doubt that's ever going to happen. I'm just not... BRIGHT enough. I'm willing to do the work necessary for it, and I'm not struggling with Chemistry, Biology or Music. But Physics...
You need at least 2.5 Science subjects to be considered for entry to medical school. That's 2 Science A-Levels, and a Science AS. Maths instead of Physics is an option I'm now ruing not having taken. I can do the Biology. I can do the Chemistry. But I'm gradually being forced to admit that Physics may put a bigger dent in my plans than I can afford.

iii. I'm actually not that fussed about driving.
Oh, of course I can't wait to be able to take MYSELF places, instead of having to impose, and rely upon others. I also look foward to being able to go where I want, when I want, without having to get the go-ahead for a lift first.
But the independence will be limited. I know this, because I know my parents.
Every time I'd say "I'm just going out", or "I'm going to _____, see you later", I'd be forbidden/lectured/shouted at. Also usually warned "Not to show off, because the insurance is sky-high without you crashing the thing trying to impress people".
To be frank, it's depressing how little faith I've found is placed in me, and how big-headed people think I have the capacity to be.
I wanted to be able to drive myself to the Bands course in March, if I'd passed my test. But no. Instead, I have to impose upon my father to get me there a day earlier than he did last year, and no doubt be yelled at in the process.
I want to be wholly independent.
Now.
But driving isn't going to bring that closer until independence comes in even more ways.

iv. I've accepted that mine is strange mind. Things which fill some with joy, fill myself with dread (see the Xmas referrences in my previous blog), and other things that fill some with dread, fill myself with joy (essays...).
But I'm slowly having to admit that I'm... Wrong.
Some of the things I think... Some of the things I feel... Some of the things I want to do...
If I were to publicise these, I would be referred to a psychiatrist.
I don't want to be like this. I know it makes others feel bad, even though they don't admit it.
I AM trying to change. It's just... Difficult.

Finally,
v. I wouldn't be here without Abi.
Hiding her away, as if I was ashamed of her, was wrong of me. COMPLETELY wrong. I feel ashamed to my very marrrow of having done it.
But I just didn't want things to change. I didn't want to have to let her go.
Now that everything's above board, my life HAS changed, but not in the ways I was scared it would.
I haven't been forbidden from seeing her, as I was told I would be "forbidden from seeing any girl I managed to convince to go out with me".
I've felt less stressed, having to hide her very existence away, for fear of it being discovered.
I think we've seen eachother more since I "came out" about her than we did before, even though "since" has only been several weeks, and "before" was nearly seven months. I feel bad about the times I've denied us, just because I was too afraid of taking a chance.
How wrong I was, because things now are amazing.
I can talk freely about her, sing her praises, answer questions about her, put up with teasing about her, promise to meet up with her without worrying I won't be able to carry the promise through...
She really has completed me. She has saved me from myself so many times. She has made me see people in general (whom I have a hard time trusting for various reasons) in a different light, and has allowed old wounds to heal to such an extent that it almost seems they'd never existed.
I just want to thank her, for being the most amazing young woman anybody could ever ask to know.
I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again anyway;
I love her. Completely.

Well, that's it, basically. Boring for you, probably beyond even the wildest comprehension, but I had to write (well, type... Ok... Now shut up) it out, just to acknowledge everything.
I'm glad I've done it.
Even if it DOES mean you'll come after me with pitch-forks, flaming torches and a lynch-mob for wasting your time...

One last thing, before I go.
If this seems like a "sad", "negative" or "depressive" post, my apologies. It isn't meant to be.
It's just me coming to terms with some things, recognising others, and stating even more.
It's a positive blog, although I am prepared to admit that it may not look that way at first.

End.