Tuesday, 24 January 2012

career change, age nineteen

Guess what? I'm 19.
Guess what else? That means I have huge changes of heart every five minutes at the drop of a hat.
And guess what else? I don't want to work for charities any more. At least not long term - definitely for a few years after Uni. But it's hard work and you need a a strong will and psyche. The reason I was into the charities idea is the travelling and the doing stuff while travelling rather than just gazing out of a hotel window. And that's definitely the WRONG reason to go into charity work.
So forget that.
My newest career aspiration: I want to work in TV.
No wait come back I'm not kidding.
I used to want to be a writer but that's dead and I'm happy with that. I don't want to be a writer, or an actor, or a composer. None of that creative stuff.
I don't want to be a produces or an executive - no petty politics, please, and no money handling. I've not got the smooth slick charm.
Director? Get it away from me. I would be the worst director in history. I haven't got that kind of vision. I haven't got that kind of natural authority.
I'm good at holding a clipboard. I'm good at juggling schedules and making sure everything happens on time. At the right place. With the right people.
I want to be - wait for it - an assistant director!
You know when you watch the behind-the-scenes, the making-of, the doctor who confidential? And you know how you watch it to see the actors being silly and mucking up their lines? I know I do. But then you know that scurrier, the one with a slightly haunted look in their eye and a desperate smile on their face because that's the only way to destress? The one with a headset and a clipboard and a pen and a parka?
That's me please.

Friday, 20 January 2012


I’ve spent hours eating a box of fair trade chocolates, reading stories about life and love on the internet, going through my old photos of Orkney and allowing myself to be immersed in the television show Sherlock. It’s the perfect way to spend a Friday, and I am so chilled out. Never mind the fact that my to do list reads “do vocab, Ch 12 Norwegian, 1 hr Icelandic, plan Effi Briest essay, book flights, tune guitar, read Gregorius, return form, finish translation, develop film, buy lip balm, type up lecture notes”. Never mind that, internet. I literally forgot that list, until I awoke from my stupor to the sound of my neighbour’s friends knocking on his door, giggling loudly.
Half of Oxford is out right now, drenched in alcohol and sweat and adrenaline.
Not me.
Tonight, I get my fix elsewhere.
I’ve been to India in the last hours, to the 1890s, and to the mind of a young gay man. I like my Friday evenings.

Monday, 16 January 2012

the beautiful things in life

An idea has been nagging me – the idea that you can’t complain about your life not being beautiful. You have to find the beauty, in fact, you have to fucking fight for it –  beauty, just like love, or thrills, or success, or happiness, is something you do not get for nothing.
So here it is.
a hand-decorated envelope
0022       0032
this is where I’ve taken Africa with me
film camera
the tourists on the tower and the rising smoke

Monday, 9 January 2012

looking through a filter

My extraordinarily cool friend Ellie recently posted some atmospheric, chic, old school, Hipstamatic iPhone photos of a lovely evening within beautiful Bristol. I love hipstamatic and instagram and all those fancy iPhone gadgets to make photos grainy and stainy and beautifully feathered with stories.
I however do not have an iPhone. But instead of lamenting my state of affairs – oh poor me, first world problems, no iPhone?!?!?! – I went out on the internet and found pixlr-o-matic. Well, you’ll know what’s coming next.
And you’d be right. PHOTO SPAM TIME.
P1030095       P1030095 (Dean)
P1030098 (Anne)
P1030103       P1030103 (Julia)
P1030122       P1030122 (Sophia)
P1030123 (Aladin)