The Reunion

It has been a few weeks since I saw London, and longer since I had any time to enjoy the great city, so this weekend was a welcome break. Plus a tremendous chance to get as drunk as possible for one night only.

Saturday saw the AIS London reunion, an annual event which I've previously missed due to prior commitments and performances, also living in York didn't help matters. However, having been once I can safely say I will be making every attempt to return in the future. A free two-course meal and an open bar lead to my being pleasently full and more than a little inebriated. The company wasn't too bad either, the youngest attendees had finished school after Richard and I had finished university, and the oldest of the bunch had graduated before I had reached high school. A nice mix and some very interesting conversation about old friends, current affairs, and the future of the school.

One thing I felt overwhelmingly this weekend was a sort of homesickness. Not for London as such, but for weekends with friends, for pub lunches, for spontaneous artsy outings, basically for having irregular working hours and a location which allows freedom for activity during spare time. Not that I'm not enjoying this job, I'm just looking forward to being back on my own schedule.

Toilet Blogging

In today's society, I don't think anyone should be able to put their hand on their heart and say, 'I have never used my phone whilst on the John.' Mainly because I don't understand why it should such be a shameful activity?

Throughout history people have been bored whilst doing their business. In WW1, they sat around and played cards. Newspapers, magazines and books are a staple in many household lavs, to the point where there are books specifically published for bathroom reading. And so, with a lengthy and somewhat overly informative introduction out of the way, I find myself blogging on the bog.

But enough of the scenery, today marks my last day in London before I head off on my travels tomorrow at lunchtime. For those unfamiliar with my current travel plans, they are as follows: York until Sunday, then Ayr for a couple of weeks, then hopping, skipping and jumping around the Isles performing to school groups and possibly more. I've already rabbited on about saying goodbye and how much I'll miss it all and how excited I am, so now the metaphorical TimeCompass© is pointing me forward. To the future!

Echoes of 'the future' are heard around the room as glassware noisily clatters together.

Thank you. Now obviously as far as I can guess a great deal of the next six months will be spent outside of Ol' Smokey, so this particular blog becomes a little obsolete. As such, I shall be creating a new blog! With blackjack and hookers tales from my various towns and trips, sure to entice, astound, amaze and astonish! Now I've just got to pick my colour scheme...

(Click here for the new blog, minions!)

Like A Rolling Stone

Sorting my clothes into my 'coming with me' bag and my 'going into a friend's loft' bags, I get a certain sense of déjà vu. It feels like I was doing this very recently.. then I look around my room and realize I was only doing this recently. I've lived in this room for barely three months and back everything goes into boxes and bags.. at this rate I honestly wonder why I unpack anything ever.

Not that I'm unhappy, on the contrary, this is the most excited I've been whilst packing up all this stuff.. but for a moment the future is on hold and the present demands procrastination. So the past draws my thoughts back to June of last year.

At that time I was just throwing everything into bags, moving in with Charlotte for a few weeks while I prepared to move properly all the way here to London town. It was a busy time. Moving it all to hers was the easy bit. Then I had to sort some of it into storage, sort what I could into transportable bags, and leave some tokens behind with her. It was emotional. It was difficult. Not just for the two of us, but for me and the whole city. I was leaving behind my four years of independence, my university, my job, my house, my friends, even my bear. (For those who were not aware, I have a teddy called Snail, who had been with me since I was 8 years old, and currently sleeps next to Charlotte, watching over her for me. He's the only one I would trust to do so.)

Above all the job was the hardest to leave. Don't misunderstand me, leaving Charlotte was hellish but I knew we would see each other regularly, and we do. Leaving a job I'd held for over two years, though, leaving that warm, safe environment, that was worse than leaving home. That's me leaving behind financial stability and security, opportunities in Theatre I'd only dreamed of having before, and people who truly cared for and supported each other. The leaving party they threw for me was one of the best nights I've ever had.

But everything changes. And if you've heard my life story, you'll understand that staying still isn't something I'm very good at. So here I am, a year and a bit later, packing my things to leave London (for a while, anyway), and again it's the job that's going to be hardest to say goodbye to.

Granted I'm coming back to work over my Christmas break, and yes I'll be there again for the long term in February, but still. I'll miss 'em. And I've been assured that I'll be missed too. And that's nice, I suppose, because if people don't miss you while you're gone, then you probably didn't do much good whilst you were there.

There's some food for thought, minions. Eat up.

Le Grand Escape

Chapter 1

In which Adam attempts to leave the country,

tries his hand at vlogging,

and speaks some French.

Yes, minions, this is my first (and likely only) foray into the mystical world of video-blogs. So grab a snack, crack open that beer you've been looking for an excuse to drink, stick on your headphones, and enjoy yourself.

The Icy Grip Of Charity Fads

On Sunday the 24th of August, I was nominated by Richard Bayton for the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge.

On Monday the 25th of August, I was nominated again by Marianne Roman.

On Tuesday 26th of August, at approximately 11:40am, I subjected my body to previously unfath levels of incredible discomfort as 20+ litres of iced water was poured, dropped and thrown over me. Here's that video one more time.

Did you enjoy that? I didn't. At all. Honestly it was a horrible experience. But I've managed to raise a fair bit of money for my chosen charities, and I have a few theories as to why this particular challenge works incredibly well:

Schadenfreude

Humans love laughing at one another's misfortune, and what could be more unfortunate than being drowned in water which typically reaches temperatures more than 30℃ below the human body's core temperature? Schadenfreude, like any feel-good, laughter-inducing activity, releases dopamine into the brain, making the viewer feel better overall. In this state of elation they are more likely to be generous.

Respect

This ties in strongly with the above, but there is a difference between laughing at someone falling off a horse, and watching someone being persecuted for their beliefs. Rather a stark contrast, I know, but think of it this way: these are not random events, people (such as myself) are consciously choosing to put themselves through extreme physical discomfort and even pain in order to raise awareness of this disease and the surrounding campaign. That kind of strength of belief demands respect, and as we can see easily by looking at political systems worldwide, people are likely to support someone they respect. This means people will continue to accept the challenge.

I was going to add a third point in here, but after consideration it seemed to similar to the previous two. Also Blogger keeps refusing to save my edits and I'm getting fed up of re-writing psychosomatic theories.

Minions, if you haven't yet researched ALS (MND), then do so. It is one of millions of worthy causes out there, but most importantly it is the one cause which is currently making a serious effort to raise global awareness. Give generously, and look out for a future video related to this post.

I Called The Law But The.. Law Did Nothing.

So last night I arrived at my flats after a particularly gruelling and dull shift and noticed something a mite peculiar:

Two figures were hunched over a scooter which is always chained up in the car park. The first thing that struck me as odd was that I'd only ever seen a woman use the scooter. I had to quite literally walk directly up to them as the scooter is parked next to the entry gate. I actually had to ask one of them if I could get passed - he looked like I'd just pulled a gun on him. This probably should have been my second warning signal, but I was tired and the music from a party across the road was booming - I was imagining how long it might keep me awake for.

As I ascended the steps I thought again about the two youths bent over the scooter and my brain registered a small warning light which had begun to blink in my subconscious. I decided to try and capture whatever was happening on camera in case this was, indeed, something illegal and I would need to present evidence to a jury (my imagination runs far quicker than my actual brain..), but as I was trying to find the zoom function on my camera (still struggling with that one) they both bolted. This all seemed very odd so I called 101 (this is the police non-emergency number in case anyone is unaware. It comes with a handy greeting explaining that if the call is about an emergency, that the caller should hang up and dial 999. You know, to stop all of those mugging victims and heart attacks from clogging up the line dedicated to ASBOs and missing cats.)

The operator took the details and asked for the registration of the vehicle in question, which gave me a chance to examine the bike further. It turns out the would-be master criminals had stolen the battery, which I informed the coppers of, and I was told that an officer would follow up on the report within the next 60 minutes.

I hadn't heard anything (apart from the relentless partying from across the road) after an hour and a half so I called to make a noise complaint and check on the status of the report. I was informed that a) they couldn't do anything about the noise as this was the council's duty and then b) an officer had inspected the vehicle and found no problems. I was amazed. Had the burglars been suddenly struck by crippling guilt and compassion? Had they merely replaced the panel to cover their tracks? I didn't know. I was tired and there was loud music playing and them damned kids were out on the street and I felt about 50.

However opportunity, as is her way, knocks at the most convenient and odd times. And often in really awkward ways. This was one of her crowning moments. She let two wasps into my room whilst I was on the phone. That bitch. I hate wasps. But how to get rid of them? Far to agile for the ok' glass and paper trick, much to painful to smack between the palms.. what's that? In the kitchen you say? Raid, eh? That'll do it! And it did, although the raid seemed about as old as I felt so the 'kills in seconds' promise was rather hopeful. What actually happened was the damned thing flew around my room in a frenzy then dive bombed my bed. And then managed to roll onto the floor. And under my discarded trousers. Although at this point it didn't matter as the ol' cup n' paper trick worked just fine.

I decided to eject the offending, slowly dying insects out of the front door for fear of inviting their friends in should I open the window. This then gave me a completely valid excuse to descend the three flights of stairs and walk across the car park to examine the apparently fine scooter. Which was as I'd last seen it: battery missing, gaping hole in the footboard. The Met Police really shining there. So I did the sensible thing, and the only appropriate thing to do at 4am. I left a note. It went along the lines of this...

Hi, my name's Adam and I didn't do this. But I did see it happen and reported it to the police. Here's the call reference and my number in case I can be of any more use. Sorry about all this.

Apparently this was well-received, as I spoke to her this evening as she wanted to thank me for leaving the note, apparently not many people would have done this. We also discussed how desperate someone must be to steal a moped battery, an item which sells brand new for under £30. London, eh?

Let this be a lesson, minions: always leave a note when you witness a crime. A small act can make a big difference.

July's Special: Rainbows!

I feel as it approaches the end of July I should keep up to date with my monthly blog posting. And in all honesty, plenty has happened since my last post.

I had a birthday, which was delightful. I celebrated over the course of about a week, starting with a weekend away with Charlotte at a spa somewhere near a power station in the Midlands.. that's all I remember really, but the stay was excellent. Food included, spa facilities included, and I even treated myself to a massage (t'was my birthday after all). The day before my birthday I had dinner with Richard and James at Camden's Blues Bar (excellent food, I highly recommend the beef ribs). On the day itself I celebrated by hosting a charity pub quiz at work, which was met with great enthusiasm and general good feelings. I also saw Sarah as she joined me for a drink after the quiztivities. I'm sure I did some other things but this was a month ago so forgive my memory.

No sooner had that passed then it became July and as if by magic (or careful planning on my part) my mother and Charlotte arrived in London for a week of tourism and relaxation. Both of the aforementioned happened in abundance, with a sprinkling of stress in the form of a very important envelope I recovered from my previous accommodation. Said envelope contained some important documents with the instructions to fill in, sign, and return by special delivery to 've receive d no more than 5 days after the initial postmark. I was already 3 days late. Frantically I scribbled with one hand whilst searching for a nearby post office with the other. I made it just as the counter staff were discussing closing (they even turned away people who joined the queue after me) and all was well with the world.

One of the highlights of having a parent visit you in your home city is the ability to go out on the town. In our case, a West End show. This time, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels at The Savoy ("The Savoy!" Mother exclaimed, "we're seeing a musical at The Savoy Theatre! How wonderful!"). The show was excellent, a true call back to music hall classics of a bygone era, featuring some excellent acting and singing by an all-star cast. I would highly recommend it if you can get discounted tickets (ours were down from £115 to £40 each. Well, it is The Savoy!)

After that July has sort of just trundled along. Oh, other than the obvious joy of going to York for Sam's surprise party, an excellent affair arranged by very clever Holly saw us hiding in closets and airing cupboards awaiting a very confused Sam, wondering aloud why his living room had been cleaned and decorated. We spent most of the weekend playing Mario Kart on Sam's new WiiU. By the end of it I was actually doing quite well! Except on Rainbow Road..

Everybody hates Rainbow Road...