Chocolating

I’m just delaying things by writing this blog. The plan for this evening was 1) Beard trimming, 2) C.V. written, 3) Sending job apps, and finally 4) Packing for a bit of a Scottish adventure. Christmas TV this year has been amply seductive and I think I am well on the way to getting piles. Scales out and it wasn’t surprising to find that once again this incredibly healthy diet of chocolate and chocolate has meant I am a few pounds lighter. Every year this happens and once again reminds me I have no idea how my body works. To the naked eye, however, it looks like I have stretch marks, so it all balances out.

I really wish ‘motivation’ were my middle name. Sadly it’s Samuel, but the upside is that it means ‘God has Heard’, so I’m quietly confident my middle name will work out better in the long run. Whilst on this subject, it’s really interesting to find out what a name means, and with Google right there ready to help, it’s a pretty quick process. Its not just names that are interesting, I’ve just invested £2.99 in ‘A Guide to Queens English’…and…I bet you didn’t know this: There is a difference between Can’t and Cant.

 Can't is a contraction of cannot. Cant has a number of different meanings, including a slope or slant, or a kind of slang or jargon spoken by a particular group of people. Plus "Canting arms" is a coat-of-arms that represents meaning of the bearer's surname.

Procrastination has numerous connections with Christmas. Loafing, trifling, chocolating all act as perfectly suitable synonyms. Ok I made up the last one. You see, if I didn’t procrastinate, I wouldn’t be able to teach you all this useful stuff!

Start over syndrome

It's the end of 2010, the most productive year for me it's seems. Lots of changes- too numerous to talk about individually. One cannot forget, however, the nothing less than miraculous re-engagement I was blessed to receive with my employment- after taking a spontaneous 4 month holiday!

So being surrounded, once again, by social workers I realise it's a whole different world. Being part of said world certainly doesn't mean one knows all the 'lingo' (but that's because it wouldn't surprise me if half of it is made up by each individual worker, and if you pieced it all together you would get a whole new language- a language consisting of mental history and public policy at least. Quite appropriate for most of current western society).

The phrase 'start over syndrome' popped up today, and it would be selfish to withhold it from those who don't have the pleasure to indulge in this rigmarole daily. It's used to identify a child who is unable to achieve a-step-up-the-ladder because of a failure by services to communicate and therefore never gain any significant ground and change.

Its not all as meaningless as I make out as you can tell- forgive me for giving an unsympathetic air. But it all reminded me about the phrase 'new years resolution' and it struck me that a 'Fresh start' seems to be the tag line to every new so-called positive venture and yet I wonder if thats what mr & mrs average need.

What I need is to do is climb that hill I see everyday when I open my blinds in the office at work. It's not new, but I'm pretty sure I've not experienced everything about it just by seeing it and enjoying it's beauty. It's definitely got be experienced before it's visual beauty just becomes a bit bla and i forget it had any majesty in the first place. So that's what I'm going to do this weekend. Skip church. Skip responsibilities. Enjoy my hill.

And then, once doing that, I'm going to go to Scotland and ill find a bigger hill. That will cover both Christmas and New years day. Wonderful.

Protest

I think it's safe to say that, more often than not, I make some shocking decisions. One of which was the decision to hop the fence of a piece of university property, run toward at least 30police officers who were surrounding an occupied building, and end up in a&e with a haematoma after being struck by a stray baton. All in the name of a peaceful protest. 

Consequences always outway the benefits in these kind of things, I have found. I only had to be exposed to some real injustice in the form of a film (called 'precious') and a first hand intervention with an abuser at work to realise that the throbbing pain in my leg could have had much more significance. The only hope I now cling to is that my children might be interested to find out that their dad was a revolutionary, in the most bazaar of senses, for a less that revolutionary cause. 

The upside to this literal pain in the leg, is that I now have an excuse to hobble around, go out for lunch everyday, repeat the same old heroic story in repetition and just generally act like a pensioner. I even made a formal complaint at work about the continuously 'out of order' lift. After all one just can't work in these conditions! 

Today, the coldest day of the year (so far), was a day of basking in my blatant ignorance. My training labelled 'education for children in care' sounded like a sentence plucked from a lullaby with design to send a crowd to sleep. It wasn't long before I happily became aware that this was a serious, moving and challenging topic- for which I am dying to share with anyone who wants to buy me a coffee. In short, the way the education system is currently designed (by the traditional educationalists for a traditional education) not one person from a care background can get to university. Ah- because they can't afford it? No, far from. Merely because while everyone who has had a peaceful childhood has developed near enough perfectly from age 4 to 16 ready for college or sixth-forms, the child in care has a deficit of at least 2 years behind (in social, physical, emotional development). So whilst we suggest 'maths just isn't for them, let's get them on a vocational course' we don't see that in two years time they may turn out to be a maths genius!

Is it me, or has this entry turned into a bit of a protest in itself? It probably doesn't help that, since finishing Huxleys most famous book, I am too often being preoccupied by the wisdom in his own literary activism. 
Want to know what's playing on my might right now? O
  '...Is it any happiness or any comfort, to consider that we are our own? It may be thought so by the young and prosperous. These may think it a great thing to have everything, as they suppose, their own way–to depend on no one–to have to think of nothing out of sight, to be without the irksomeness of continual acknowledgment, continual prayer, continual reference of what they do to the will of another. But as time goes on, they, as all men, will find that independence was not made for man–that it is an unnatural state–will do for a while, but will not carry us on safely to the end …' 

There. I told you it was deep. Anyone got any books on comedy? 

[Quote taken from Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, chapter 17, p232]. 

How to stay optimistic when returning from paradise: A Guide

You may be surprised to know that the title relates to no specific story, and will not relate to a thought provoking entry on world peace. Nor am I on an incredibly high dose of anti-depressants (The only current medication for me is the odd hypo-allergenic capsule to combat my an intolerance to biological washing powder). No No. For this entry is purely egotistical and does nothing but update you on my return to Oxford.

In short: I completed my last travel-blog entry the day I arrived home. At that point I was still basking in the attention for which a tan in winter-time attracts. I hadn’t forgotten the beauty of the sights but I was conscious that home had some benefits as well. After a weekend with the grandma, who seems to delight in watching me consume my own weight in Marks and Sparks, I returned to Oxford 10 pounds heavier and with at least one extra chin. The tan had faded but instead I had the November 5^th fireworks to announce my arrival. As per usual, the middle to upper-class presentation was over priced and pathetic, and it was at this point where I realised how incredibly dull a quaint British town becomes when it’s only source of colour starts turning brown and falling off its twig.

I had two things to accomplish on my return to the ‘ford. With trusty sleeping bag in hand I committed to spend the first few weeks in Oxford simply couch hopping to save some cash. I also took the time to call my previous employer up and beg for my job back. This was easier than expected and I ended up with nothing short of a promotion. So three weeks later I find myself leading a pretty simple life. I haven’t got a house yet, but I have tales from three weeks worth of sleeping on floors, couches, blow up mattresses, and even the odd bed. And I have my job, which often makes me giggle from nine to five, every day.

So, it is with much garrulous excitement that I introduce you to my new blog. It comes even with a new colour and a new background for those visual/spatial learners (I’m such an inclusive thinker). And on what a day to start blogging! So much happening! The riots (occupiedoxford.org) are in Oxford, I’m very behind at filling out my work spreadsheets, I have a surge of romantic interests, I hit minus £800 on my bank balance, I’ve left my friends and sacrificed living with them for the sake of getting to work 15 minutes quicker and to polish it all off I’m feeling rather poorly probably due to sleeping on a mat in a cold damp living room, covered only by a flimsy Primark sheet.

I can’t wait to also introduce you to some of the populace I have had the pleasure to meet since coming back. (Pseudonyms will hopefully do the work of covering my tracks). After-all, I couldn’t have a blog all about me when I am surrounded by such entertaining characters.

But I’ll leave all that for blog two, and the rest. 

Enjoy being part of my life.