How do I work? (Do I work?!)

Quickie

After the post-literary socio-deconstruction of my last two posts, this one shall be the equivalent of your starter for ten. Imagine I’m on Mastermind, it might make it funny

 

And with me in the studio tonight, we have Mr Hector Benjamin Roddan, Student. And your hobbies include Doctor Who, student radio, Doctor Who and the Labour Party. For your specialist subject, you have chosen stress and other immunochemical reactions…. Starting now.

Q1. What …

A: Aaargh!

Time for bed I think.

Strange Dreams

OK, those of you who know me well are probably aware that my subconscious is a dark and seedy place, filled with all sorts of nightmarish iconoclasms (that’s not a word, but its not stopping me). However, I think I may have reached a new level of “odd” last night. First of all, I was playing football – ordinary enough, you might think, dear reader. Except for the fact that this is me; probably the most footballophobic individual on the planet.

Second of all, the “pitch” (I always presumed this was a musical term, but I am assured by the dedicated team of experts in this blog’s research team) varied in size from – about the size of a living room, to a yawning plain stretching to the horizon and populated by large, vegetarian dinosaurs. The third thing – and feel free to write back if you spot any sign of megalomaniacal symptoms here – was that, whenever I was scoring or in goal (don’t ask) the pitch was really tiny so I was really good, but when I wasn’t doing either, it was huge (I don’t know what you call non-goalees or non-scorers in football and, to be frank, wikipedia is a long long number of clicks away!)

This all seems straightforward. Except that this football match, all 27.45 minutes of it (they’d changed the rules because otherwise the grass would get hurt), was to decide the 2010 General Election, and therefore I was playing on Team Labour, alongside various luminaries of the Party – including (for the record) Robin Cook, Tony Blair and various members of Cardiff Labour Students. Random.com

All very well. This dream is perfectly logical – playing a competitive team sport to resolve the next General Election on a football field of varying scope and size is quite a surprisingly profound metaphor, especially given it was entirely configured whilst asleep. 

But alas, the whole theory goes tits up (as it were) when you notice that the entire opposition are composed of garden gnomes in yellow and blue checked shirts and braces.

Weird^2

Writers block is an absolute bugger. Whatever you are trying to write, you get to a certain point and either realise you’ve repeated yourself or that the English language isn’t entirely flexible enough to say exactly what you want to say (And yes, me blaming the language almost certainly is one of those ‘bad workmen always blame their tools’ moments). I’ve tried all sorts – distractions, breaks, planograms, spider diagrams, brainstorms, walks in the park, music, no music, radio, no radio, silence, cooking, fire alarms (unintentionally), reorganising, rereading, rewriting out, writing other things… You get the idea.

I’ve run out of distractions so it looks like I just have to write. The thing that annoys me is that in this thing I’m writing (I get a little bit paranoid about giving too much away) I know that three years ago (yes, I write slowly — no, it’s not a haiku, its a bit longer), this particular point got me stuck for August through November. The main problem – as you can probably guess by the fact I’m revisiting the same issue – is that I was never really happy with the fudge of the situation which I’d acheived on the previous attempt.

So I’m back in a weirdly similar position after three years. Working on the same (ACCURSED) chapter, playing with the same characters, just before enrollment day, on the evening of the Freshers party in an empty house. OK, the past and future don’t naturally parallel each other much on a deeper level – on the previous occasion, I decided that it was a good idea to get entirely bladdered and then lost in the Freshers party, then drink gin neat out of a mug because I didn’t own any tonic. But a parallel is a parallel, and enough of a parallel to get that doo-doo-doo-doo-dooo moment going in my brain. 

All cures for writer’s block welcomed.

Its been a really long time…

OK, I haven’t posted for a long LONG time. That makes me a bad person in every possible respect (well apart from a few, like being a Nazi dictator or liking tennis). This post should steer away from the controversial as much as possible (and no, at this point, I’ve no idea what I’m actually posting about yet).

Basically, its going to be a list of things that have got my goat lately (not a literal goat, my metaphorical goat):

Old news, I know, but the Islington Registrar story. Since when was religious belief a justifiable excuse for non-fulfillment of an employment contract? This is not a case – as the media liked to paint it – of one right against another (the right of a Christian registrar to not perform civil partnertships because she does not approve of homosexuals vs. the right of gay men and women to have civil partnerships) for several reasons:

• Religious conviction is an act of conscience, not an essential fact. It should thus not be considered of parallel status to equal rights based on non-discrimination against some essential aspect of an individual (go to iPlayer and watch John Barrowman’s BBC1 show last night if you want to quibble the whole nature-nurture argument!)
• Freedom of religion should not be used as a means of violating terms of employment – this would place employees and employers in a potentially ludicrous position when drawing up contracts of employment (yes, this is quite a slippery slope argument, but I feel it is justified by…)
• How come an individual wish such trenchant faith is employed as a registrar with a SECULAR council (sorry, couldn’t help capitalising that!) Surely she imagined some basic incompatibility between her faith and the secular character of civil administration in Islington?

Issue #2:

Things can only get better – I genuinely hoped/believed Labour would come out of the Glasgow East by-election with a reduced minority. Of course, this was ignoring both the huge international problems that are affecting the national economy, and the problematic local issues (aka Wendy Alexander) which have dogged Labour in Scotland. Brown is the most successful Chancellor this country has had since the Second World War and the  best person to lead this country through the current economic downturn.

All calls for a General Election are the same tired, hackneyed cliches from a power-hungry party that are still dogged by sleaze and corruption (both in Europe and Westminster) and lack any serious policy package for government beyond scoring cheap points identifying current problems (not mentioning any *cough* Conservatives).

An Apology

The previous blog has been edited for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I apologise for using the real name of my employer in a context which does not do justice to the brand’s image or the many fabulous people who work there. This has now been altered and I am sincerely apologetic for any trouble the previous entry may have caused.

However, since blogging is at base about freedom of speech, I have elected to edit out any details which identify my employer as opposed to removing the post entirely.

Furthermore, I would like to pay due credit to June and Tony who make working at OOOOO an enjoyable and rewarding experience on a day to day basis for all their employees.

Trailers…

Having just lost my most recent post in a RSCFAFS (Random Sudden Computer Freeze and Failure Situation), and given the fact that one can get a faster internet connection than this is one uses carrier pigeons, combined with the generally futile and impotent feeling generated by being unable to vent my spleen here (and the consequent calamities caused to friends and family), I thought it would be worthwhile writing a quick post about future posts. Since my brain has been exercised in so many directions recently (I say exercised, more of a light jog), there’s no way that even if I stay up all night I will have done all the things I’ve found vaguely interesting (VIFs if you will, see earlier posts) or generally bloggable justice. Thus, I propose a short list – for the record or the minutes as it were – of things I’ve thought about. If life goes to plan (and it never does), all these topics will be suitably blogged before the end of work in September, if not, this will serve as some sort of inane, pointless, facile and egocentric record of the goings-on inside my head.

So, here goes, a list (and we all love those!):

• The EU Constitution discussed. Something about Peter Mandelson and Sarkozy, tabloids and Europhobia.
• 42 Day detention discussed again, the moral issue and the unnecessary by-election
• Time, and the passage thereof. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun’ says the old saying, in that case, I feel like an arthritic mole in this job.
• Employment, productivity and studenthood. Speaks for itself, unnecessary navel-gazing aplenty.
• The Male Brain (for all you Simon Baron-Cohen fans), sexuality and homosexuality.
• Alcohol and its neat relationship with the working day.
• Management, little powers and spelling mistakes.
• An attempt to segue (I like that word) Habermas into Sartre.
• Degree results…
• The future considered…
• AAAAAAAAARGH!

So if all goes as swimmingly as the cod of fate that escapes being netted by the Birdseye trawler of doom (sorry Humph), all the above will be dealt with in my own imitable/inimicable (delete as appropriate) style for your enjoyment/revulsion. Plus if anything exciting happens in the news, I’ll be sure to be lurking cynically in the background muttering my liberal-socialist mumblings to myself like some sort of mumbling lurker.

The Mumbling Lurkers, now that sounds like a rock group.
Or maybe a paedophile ring…

Hmm…

Byee!

Hx

PS. In September, I may try something exciting with the blog to divide it into the various spheres of my life, but that’s for the future (basically an unnecessary hook to try to keep all the hallucinatory readers still reading…)

The Hour Is Near

It is coming. You can smell it on the breeze. The horror and the darkness and the dread. A fear so terrible that many wish themselves dead to avoid even a whiff of it. That’s right, the 20th Century Intellectual History exam is approaching. The ground shakes as it advances and my ears echo with the sound of drums, the drums of war.

Existentialism and Critical Theory stalk the city.

Will Cardiff ever be safe again?

Nuclear Reactions

It is practically the mantra of our time that the planet is going to hell in a handcart and we need to do something about this as a species quickly unless people want any of the following to occur: (a) the polar bear to disappear (b) the o-zone layer to disappear or (c) the Maldives to disappear.

This is of course a problem which would at best be dealt with by a world government. But since the earliest likely date for the establishment of a workable co-operative international organisation not riven by national or sectional interest is sometime after the o-zone layer has drowned, the polar bear has melted and the Maldives burnt up, it seems we are stuck with the current system of semi-co-operating nations trying (or trying not) to do their bit.

Britain is admittedly a very small country when it comes to any facile statistic such as the amount of atmosphere above it. It is larger when you consider the bits of continental shelf we own. It is larger again when you consider our contributions of CFCs, methane and general industrial junket into the atmosphere over the last three hundred years.

The current climate though is not just confused by the gradual process of planet slaughter which Western Europe has exported around the globe (sorry if I sound like a hippy but I’m trying to get into their mindset). Due in part to the increasing scarcity of minerals and other useful stuff, nations are starting to get prickly when it comes to sharing what they have with others (you only have to look at Eurovision 2008 to realise that. Hell, even Georgia gave Russia 12 points. I can imagine Mr Putin/Mendevev’s hand hovering over the gas taps as the votes came in!) We (collectively, globally, nationally and personally) are approaching what is probably the most serious energy crisis in recent centuries.

Given this backdrop, given the fact that even the evil nasty United States is moving away from its hardline opposition to global warming theories, the reactions of various green pressure groups to yesterday’s government announcements on fossil fuels and nuclear power seem odd.

I do not wish to get involved with all the pros and cons of nuclear fuels per se. What has got my goat (and indeed got my goat typing at a fair rate of knots), is the reaction of the Greenpeace spokesman, Friends of the Earth spokesman, the CPRE spokeswoman and a handful of other ethical souls during various news programmes last night (I don’t go out much) that (and here I paraphrase somewhat) “nuclear power is not the answer” to the energy crisis. In a nice piece of polly-parrot politics, this position which was incidentally repeated by the Lib Dems,almost word for word, presumably indicating they were too lazy to come up with a soundbite of their own. 

Certainly, as the government pointed out, nuclear power is a medium-term solution. Certainly, this sits uncomfortably next to pressuring North Sea Oil companies to squeeze the last bits of sludge out of the seabed. But what I do not precisely see is how this is “not the answer to today’s energy crisis.” Possibly if planning for the current (and almost certain to deepen) crisis had begun when the Lib Dems were last in power, the current problems would have been minimalised somewhat.

So, we have the interesting situation that, whatever their wonderful ethical principles, the green lobby has now left the planet completely. They are correct that we have been dependent on oil for too long. And certainly, they’re correct that governments of every colour across the world should have listened (and should be listening) to them for several decades longer than they have. The old political maxim that only environmental policy which effects productivity/the economy will be enacted has again been proved true.

But it is also worth observing that the current government is taking action to establish a reliable, long-term solution to the energy crisis. This has, as the old maxim says, come only at the point where the people feel the pinch. It is churlish in the extreme – whatever high principle is at stake – to argue that this is not the time for nuclear. We are faced economically, politically, globally and environmentally with the energy crisis. It would be nice to be able to fall back on green energy sources but these have been so hopelessly underfunded by successive governments that, for the most part, we are not in a position to provide a reliable, cost-effective solution. In the meantime, we have the technology, expertise and industry to support an expansion of nuclear power.

Apart from the wringing hands and declaring portentiously that this is “not the time for nuclear”, there have, in the current climate, been two even more laughable anti-nuclear reactions. The first is the “scary terrorists” argument. Since nuclear facilities are some of the most secure sites in the country precisely because of their devastating power, this seems unlikely. Statistically (normally, I would never use that word, but for now I am forced to), there have been no major terrorist attacks on nuclear power stations in Britain (or the rest of the world), unless you count the at times reprehensible practices of environmentalists.

The second argument comes in two strains. The Chernobyl strain, which embodies everything that is bad about slippery slope arguments, and the “public health” argument. Here, as with any relatively new technology, there are arguments on both sides. Yet given both the massive amount of research that has gone into the safety and containment of both nuclear complexes and the waste they produce and the sheer levels of NIMBYism which something as innocuous as a wind turbine can provoke, it seems to me at least fairly clear that the government will be going into these things exceptionally closer, if only for the cynical reasons of avoiding unfortunate headlines such as “Darling the baby-butcherer.”

We are in a position which is only going to get worse. The public are opposed to nuclear power just because it sounds a bit scary, yet they also come out in OUTRAGE if green energy generation is proposed near their home. You only have to see the objections which (to name a few) offshore wind-turbines, the Severn barrage and a small tidal hub off Hayle have provoked to get the gist.

Given the fact that many of our European neighbours (France, Germany to name but two) have invested much more in nuclear energy than Britain in order to provide energy security and have programmes which have met with a lot less controversy, I feel it is vital that we as a nation grow up and accept the role of nuclear energy in providing energy for the UK.

The government are faced with a stark choice. The public seem unlikely to accept massive investment in green energies, yet are complaining at rising fuel costs. It is the government’s role to be realists, to look at the bigger picture, and guarantee energy security and provision into the future. It is simply being unrealistic for the green lobby to object to nuclear in the current economic, international and environmental situation. 

Wake up and smell the roses, or is that uranium on the breeze, tree-hugger?

Gym, Palpitations, Question Time

Its a weird thing when the human body stops working, even for a bit. Whether its paralysis, blacking out or just that faintly uncomfortable dampness which suggests you’ve peed yourself (this joke prop. Peep Show), it is always somewhat disconcerting.

Whether it was the elation of getting a ticket for Question Time, the sheer body shock of attending the gym for the first time since Labour was ahead in the polls or the steroid inhaler I’m using, I don’t know. What I do know is me groaning over the bin outside the gym and twitching slightly probably wasn’t the best advertisement for the health benefits of said institution.

Vision is over-rated, or so the deaf say. I can report though that I have personally dramatically under-rated after experiencing piercing white lights, a burning sensation and things going blurry. The same goes for absence of nausea, absence of chest pain, absence of headache etc. Fully recovered, I feel perversely good for having an (albeit brief) encounter with illness, lack of health et al.

In light of this, I’m going to make myself a pizza (that was actually what NHS Direct advised). Looking forward to Question Time in the Armadillo (that sounds like a bestiality enquiry, but we won’t go there…)

Byee!

:-s

Crime and Punishment

Good evening and welcome to the news on Planet Hector:

• Bong! Crime revision notes completed!
• Bong! Crime revision itself not started!
• Bong! Hector’s Economy in turmoil!
• Bong! Trading standards object to the quality of pasty Hector ate this morning!
• Bong! In other news, it is raining and commentators are already saying that the summer is over.
• Bong! Transport delays predicted for tomorrow (as Hector is travelling)!
• Bong! Barbeque ‘looking less likely’, claim officials.

And that was the headlines, in other news…

Hec

Gay-tastic

The association between fashion and homosexuality is quite fascinating. I presume it originates in the various conflations of the term ‘gay’ over the last hundred or so years, stretching from ‘happy and jolly’, via a brief period as a synonym for ‘poofter’ to the currently modish slang term for ‘a bit shit’.

The clothing aspect is of great interest though. As someone who tends to view clothes more in terms of a nuclear explosion rather than a recipe (now check that out for a shit analogy), it sometimes intrigues me how fashion and style acts as a sort of implicit uniform for the wearer and observer. Hence, long black hair, baggy trousers and a hoodie with blood, guts and zombies tends to suggest a goth or metalhead. Similarly, ridiculously tight jeans, a baggy oversize, overpatterned hoodie and a militantly dyed fringe implies some association with emocore music. I could continue listing such similarities, not all musical – umbro, nike and the chav, or the power suit and the cocktail bar, for instance.

In all of these, the uber-fashionable, uber-gay style where literally every hair is in place seems odd. All the others imply a certain choice, or a personal validation of life experience. The businesswoman proudly having broken through the glass ceiling, yet maintaining her femininity for instance. Likewise, the perverse emo approach of dressing so different from the mainstream with all their eyeliner and fringe that they end up looking the same. Perhaps I’m in a minority, but validating something as essential as the mere fact of gender through fashion strikes me as somewhat odd.

Perhaps it emerges as a reaction to homophobia, or equally, gay pride and AIDs in the 1980s. Perhaps its as entirely normal as the chav, the powersuit or the emo’s eyeliner. Perhaps my finding it weird is just a reaction against some buried uber-gay aspect of myself (I get camper when I’m drunk, apparently). All these options sound valid – from the massive, social and cultural to the minutely idiosyncratic.

Yet I feel there may be some other explanation. And one which settles down neatly nearer the idiosyncratic end of the scale.

When getting dressed yesterday I had an existential crisis as to which pair of shoes went better with my outfit.

Oh dear.

xHx

It is the end, but the moment has been prepared for…

Always amazing how often one can shove a Doctor Who quote into everyday life, isn’t it? Particularly embarassing though to identify a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche, one of the greatest philosophical minds of the last two hundred years, as in fact being said by David Tennant’s Tenth incarnation of Doctor Who in the series two episode ‘The Satan Pit’.

Moving on from my this perfectly understandable misquote, the entirely apposite Dr Who quote that is the title of this post (from season 18 story ‘Logopolis’, for those of you who are interested) marks the fact that I have, for the last time ever (probably) left the European Studies building of Cardiff University. From now on, any ties between me and that illustrious venue – with its narrow yet ‘homely’ corridors, faint smell of antiseptic and lecture theatre at a persistent 90*C throughout the year – is at an end. Oh, how I will miss the intellectual rigour of falling asleep in a variety of classes in 2.18. Or suffering seminars and a hangover in the many cupboard sized seminar rooms and offices which proliferate in its environs. Or, indeed, the grouchy security man who takes it as a personal affront that you wish to enter without your ID card. I did wonder for a while if there was a secret nuclear bunker beneath Park Place given that EUROS is the only school which to my knowledge makes you show your ID card to gain admittance…

Of course, the above exposition may, dear reader, give the impression of some form of closure, completion and general pulling down of blinds against the harsh sun of my past association with the politics faculty. This is, however, a misconception of the highest order for one of the best reasons ever:

I still have exams.

 Byee!

An Ambivalent Post

This is dedication. I’m blogging when I have spent a twenty-four hour period out of contact with any IFs (see previous post, if you must). Therefore I want to create a relaxed, chilled out sort of feeling. The sort that says, OK, these are words and they’re on the page. But that’s not really important. You see, they’re kinda soothing, washing in and out of the mind on the swash and backwash of reading, like some sort of slowly surging tidal wave.

Possibly that wasn’t the most relaxing image. How about you imagine lava, rolling down a mountain, destroying everything in its path, but no, the lava is not superheated sludge from the Earth’s core. Its happiness, enlightenment and haziness all wrapped up in one wonderful (albeit superhot) continental shift of joy.

Maybe natural disasters don’t make the best analogies for a sense of calm. Or perhaps I’m just trying to subtly cover up the superhot elephant in the room (incidentally, its grey, but also superhot), which is that I still have a lot of work to do on my essay, and therefore this Weblog is, for the first time ever, genuinely being used as a procrastination tool. I should probably get back to the old sodomy,

Byee!

OK, perhaps I’ve lost a bet with myself…

That was it, dear reader*. I managed two days of consecutive blogging, even by my own piss-poor standards of regular contribution, that was actually really insanely bad. Frankly, I’m appalled with myself and would personally decapitate myself now as a sign of remorse were it not for the fact that I don’t want to get blood on my new laptop (did I mention it was a mac?). In theory, this post should be some sort of double-bill of updates from my roller-coaster adventure of my life. But we all know that it won’t be. Its likely to include the same drivel, half-baked jokes and meandering observations as previous posts. So, here it is, the latest declarations from the (not egocentric at all) World of Hector:

• The hangover storms predicted on last nights drinking forecast (imaginary) have not materialised, or at least rumours of their intensity have been vastly over-rated.
• The moratorium on Hector drinking was lifted for one night only last night.
• Speculations that Hector might attend the gym again in the near future have not been confirmed by any official sources.
• In other news, Hector has finished his sodomy essay (not fun) and watched Doctor Who (fun).

 

And, with that metaphor well and truly done to death and a potentially grimly stressful day looming like a fat person on the horizon and absolutely ruining the sunset, that was the News at 2:10pm and I’m Hector Roddan. (Apparently, anyway).

Goodbyeee!

I’ve just lost a bet with myself.

Here it is. The second post. It actually happened. Yes, writing this is exactly how much I don’t want to continue reading some gay book about buggery in Tudor England (and who would? Probably only some idiot who chose to write an essay about it…) I am up ridiculously early, and still fiddling with (did I mention I have a new mac?) In some ways this ruins the idea of the blog as a diary, journal or record of what is “going down” in my life (OK, I shouldn’t try to use any sort of cool slang. Even in inverted commas. Frankly, dear reader, even I’m appalled that I did that.)

The reason for this ‘up-ridiculously-early’-ness is twofold. One, my entirely pointless old laptop (see previous post… Wow! Isn’t it cool I can say that now) has finally been picked up and returned to that great workshop in the sky (Microlink PCs by any other name). And Two, it is surprising how reducing the blood-alcohol balance puts a spring in your step. That’s right – I’ve stopped drinking. Ish, anyway. Monday and Tuesday didn’t count.

I still like to think of myself as a moral person for (sort-of, ish) achieving this. Given that last term and over easter, I was averaging 42 units a week, cutting down to a total of 10 since Sunday makes me feel pretty damn good. Almost as if it was actually bad for you. Miracle, huh?

And if you were expecting some deep, moral or social message in the above, you may as well whistle for it.

Byeee!

Just another project to litter the decades… (oh and by the way, I have a new mac)

Its strange how a change in your life – however small – promotes other changes, ideas, even projects to emerge. So today, having finally been driven to change my laptop by the smoke coming out of it and its inability to do anything even slightly complicated, I paid a brief trip to town and bought a mac from the nice man in Morgan Arcade. I should clarify this was actually in a shop, he wasn’t just handing them out or something. Like a sort of very well-off Big Issue seller – Big Mac, get your Big Mac here… Or maybe a chicken burger. I feel that idea has got away from me somewhat. Anyway, did I mention I have a new mac? (Oh, I did, good.) Now where was I…

This is in fact my second – but hopefully first frequent blog. The previous one quickly degenerated into a series of in jokes, inane ramblings, pontifications and contemplations of my own mortality – and all at the tender age of eighteen. (And don’t ask how this one will be any different. For a start, I’m twenty now!) Anyway, that aforementioned venture into the Blogsphere, Blogspace, Blogamatic, whatever you wish to call it, was hosted on Bebo before it went Chavtastic, feel free to check it out if you, dear reader*, ever feel the need to indulge in unnecessary teenage angst.

Of course, the chances are that this Blogathon will be just as short lived as its predecessor. This is especially pertinent since I have a time-absorbing combination of exams, essays and general hubblah to deal with. But I guess a sense of futility, inertia and politeness forces me to somehow set out what I’m going to be blogging on about. This blog will feature, possibly:

Random musings and plots to take over the world.

Big projects and their inevitable failure.

Occasional techie geekness about how good my Mac is (did I mention I’ve bought a mac?)

A generally supercilious, arrogant and impertinent study of life around me.

Rants, moans, complaints and other expressions of political opinion.

Possibly poetry.

Umm…

 

So, dear reader*, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it. Or probably quite a bit more given how turgidly rambling the first (and probably last) post has been. Though it probably doesn’t matter since it is – in the words of Stephen Fry, in a film the name of which I’ve forgotten,

“Probably just another project with which I’ve littered the decades”

Be happy, have fun and sleep well.

 

Hector