Category: Not Games

#oneaday, Day 53: Mr Motivation

Motivation is a curious beast. And it's not a case of either "having it" or "not having it", there are many complex factors involved. And sometimes, apparently, blind chance.

Take today. I got my ass soundly kicked by a boss in Final Fantasy XIII (which I am enjoying a lot so a big middle finger to all of you who hate it) so instead of swearing profusely and trying again, I swore profusely, turned off the PS3, said to myself (silently, because saying it out loud with no-one else nearby would just be weird) "I'm going to go and run 10km now," and then went and ran 10km. I'd say "just like that" but it took over an hour and a half, and anything over a couple of minutes is automatically disqualified from "just like that" status.

Anyway, casual bragging that I've achieved my goal of running 10K aside, I find that sudden bursts of motivation like that happen at the strangest of times… and it's very difficult to force them. Impossible, in fact. They're a spur-of-the-moment, impulsive sort of thing… which makes it rather inconvenient when you actually need some motivation to do something.

Part of the issue is, of course, prior successes. My running has been a slow but sure upward slope of little victories, one step at a time, and so that has provided ample motivation to continue and keep pushing myself to the next milestone, no pun intended. Contrast this with the jobhunting, on the other hand, which has been a string of ignorance, incompetence and idiocy—none of which was my fault—and it's understandable how I may be feeling a little disheartened on that particular front. Still, I am cracking on with it and have yet another bunch of applications in now. It remains to be seen if anything will come of these ones. Some of them, again, are even relevant to what I want to do, though the pay is all over the place. I'm kind of taking the opinion now that any money coming in is better than no money, particularly if the job in the question offers a potentially good "foot in the door" for other Good Things. Which at least one of the things I've applied for does.

So we shall see. But it has been a long time since I've felt that same surge of motivation for the jobhunting than I have for the running. Perhaps it's because of the difference between something I want to do and something I have to do. No-one likes feeling obliged to do things—given the opportunity, most people would rather be able to stay in bed as long as they like and then spend their days doing any combination of eating pies, playing video games, watching TV, staring at the Internet, wandering through fields of flowers, driving expensive cars very fast, wanking, listening to music, smashing Justin Bieber albums over the heads of people they don't like very much, giving and/or receiving oral sex, smoking weed, drawing pictures and eating Lindor chocolates—and so anything that you need to do that gets in the way of doing those things that you want is automatically parsed by your brain as being an inconvenience.

Perhaps I just need to want to find a job more. For that to happen, though, I need to spot the Awesomest Job Ever That Is A Complete Shoe-In For My Appointment And That No-One Else Will Ever Apply For.

What's that? AwesomeTech are looking for a "Playing Final Fantasy In Bed Technician Called Pete" for £50,000 a year? I'm so there.

Sigh. A man can dream, huh?

#oneaday, Day 52: Desperately Seeking Perfection

The modern age brings with it many benefits. The ability to communicate with anyone in the world at any time (so long as they're not asleep). The ability to express one's creativity in a broader range of media than ever before. The ability to acquire pornography to cater to any and all fetishes. And, of course, more ways for people you want to avoid to track you down and "see how you are".

The downside of all this, though, is that everyone always seems to feel the need to constantly be reinventing themselves. It's a particular problem when it comes to popular websites such as Facebook and Twitter. Someone, somewhere decides that it's really important that sites have particular features in place, and some poor sod of a programmer out there has to implement said features. Then when said poor sod has implemented said features, everyone whinges and moans that it's "worse than it used to be" and "shit now" and blah blah blah and conveniently forgets that said services are, in fact, free and the owners of them are perfectly within their rights to do what they want with them, however stupid some of those moves might be.

But why does this happen? It's seen as "necessary" to constantly update and reinvent to "stay competitive". Why? It usually ends up doing more damage than good, because as we've seen on many, many occasions in the past, People Hate Change and will react in somewhat inflammatory, stroppy manners.

This isn't to say that all change is bad, of course. Not at all. Genuine changes that benefit someone's experience are to be applauded. New ideas that are experimented with should be treated with a "well, let's try this" attitude rather than the outright hostility we get right now. But change for change's sake when something already works just fine? That, right there, is the reason that we get aforementioned hostility. People just want a bit of stability, and when they feel they've got it and the rug is pulled out from under them, it's sort of understandable that they kick off a bit. Not always handled in the best way (in fact, usually handled in the style of a stroppy 8-year old) but at least a little bit understandable.

Combine stroppiness with the anonymity of the Internet and you get some ugly scenes indeed. It's a fast-paced world we live in these days, and some might argue it really doesn't need to be quite so fast-paced. It'd be nice to be able to slow down a bit, enjoy the view and only fix things when they break.

But nah, that's never going to happen. Everyone has to be the Very Best, to strive towards the "perfect" experience, the criteria for which seem to change on an hourly basis. And striving for perfection means having the techie types constantly at work with their hammers and nails and bits of code. A permanent state of construction. The eternal beta.

One day the Internet might be finished. But I don't see it happening just yet.

#oneaday, Day 51: Litmus Test Your Friendships

Congratulations on your acquisition of one or more friends! To get the most out of your new acquaintances, you may find it necessary to perform one or more simple diagnostic checks to ensure that these people are, in fact, your friends and not just "people you know" whom you see occasionally. Interpersonal compatibility is a complicated issue and there is no guarantee of 100% compatibility between you and any friend(s) you may have acquired recently, particularly if said friend(s) were acquired via a third party.

Some of these tests may not be compatible with your own personal social interaction algorithms, in which case you may feel free to omit them. If you end up omitting all of the below tests, then you may wish to consider upgrading your interpersonal software to the new "Lighten The Fuck Up" edition to ensure normal functioning in society.

Test 1: The Quotation Test

To perform this test, first ensure you are in a social interaction scenario with your new friend(s) and the background volume is set to a level where you may be heard.

As an optional safety measure, you may wish to preface this test with the statement "have you seen [insert name of favourite movie/TV show here]?"

Performing the test is a simple matter of quoting your favourite scene, including impersonations of the actors/actresses if your vocal communication facility is up to the task.

Success criteria include: laughter, quoting another line, finishing the lines with you, rolling on the floor laughing, applause, eternal adulation.

Failure criteria include: blank looks, expressions of confusion, the word "what?", awkward silences where there should be laughter.

Safety note: overzealous performance of this test may lead to people regarding you as "the quote person" and reconsidering inviting you out to social occasions on the grounds that you're unable to hold a conversation without Blackadder quotes.

Test 2: The "Name That Tune" Test

A prerequisite for this test is a certain amount of self-confidence and/or alcohol. Assuming these conditions have been met, you may commence the performance of this test by bursting into a song of your choice, the sillier the better.

Success criteria include: joining in with the song, harmonising with the song, adding percussion parts to the song.

Failure criteria include: confused expressions, sudden claims that they have a "thing" to "do", walking 20 feet behind you in the street.

Safety note: if you are in a social environment where bursting into song is frowned upon, such as a library or the quiet bit of a classical concert, consider performing this test when the environment is more appropriate.

Test 3: The "Compound Swear-Word" Test

In order to perform this test, steer the conversation towards something that really, really pisses you off, preferably a person or agency which gets your goat and makes you want to throw things. When the time comes in the conversation to say exactly what you think of your ex-boyfriend/tax inspector/boss/co-worker/weird guy you see on the bus every day touching himself, refer to them by making up a compound swear word.

For added safety, you may wish to prepare a suitable bank of compound swear words in advance. Examples include: "cockwipe", "dicksplash", "creamdick", "felch-monkey", "knob-jockey", "cock-custard", "fucknut", "twatbag", "bellwodge", "cretinous cum-gullet", "insatiable scat-licker" or "cuntishly twat-faced bellend-arsepipe".

Success criteria for this test include: a moment of astonished silence followed by hysterical giggling and requests to repeat the compound swear word in the same irate tone of voice you originally uttered it.

Failure criteria for this test include: awkward, rather than astonished silence, frowns, tutting, slaps around the face either with or without the use of a haddock.

Test 4: The "Say The Funny Word Over And Over Again" Test

Performing this test requires that you have determined what your favourite word is. This may or may not be an obscenity, but it tends to work best with single-syllable rude words such as "cock".

To perform the test, utter the rude word in an exaggerated voice without explanation. Then repeat it a number of times.

Success criteria for this test include: people joining in with saying the word, laughter, recording of video evidence using mobile phones.

Failure criteria for this test include: invitations to leave, the arrival of psychiatric nurses.

Test 5: The "Failure Recovery" Test

In order to perform this test, think of the worst joke you have ever heard that never makes anyone laugh. It doesn't need to be offensive, but it sometimes works better if it does.

Utter the joke. Following the inevitable awkward silence, follow up with either the word "Anyway…" or an impersonation of howling wind and tumbleweed.

Success criteria for this test include: laughter at your own self-deprecation, a patronising pat on the head, a complete change of subject.

Failure criteria for this test include: requests to explain the joke in great detail, making it even less funnier than usual.

What next?

If you've successfully performed at least one of these tests, it is safe to assume that the people in whose company you are presently are, in fact, friends rather than people you just happen to be at the pub with.

If all tests have failed, it is extremely important that you fake a phone call and/or trip to the toilet but actually run for your life in the hope that you will never see these people ever again. You may also wish to contact technical support and attempt to install some more acceptable social graces into your personality.

Good luck out there!

#oneaday, Day 50: What Happens in Birmingham, Stays in Birmingham

Like a low-budget T-Pain, I'm on a bus. Well, technically a coach. The National Express of Divine Comedy fame, no less.

I'm on my way to Birmingham to meet up with Twittery-bloggy types @Bungiesgirl and @WhatGracieDid, which is all terribly exciting. Taking a previously-online-only friendship to that "next level" is always an exciting step, particularly if it means having a "mini-break" of sorts, to sound all Bridget Jones for a minute.

Birmingham has, on more than one occasion, been the venue for meetups such as this. In my years before Twitter, I used to contribute to the Times Education Supplement forums (and indeed met my wife there). Many active members of the TES community were in the area, so it was a good central place to meet.

One thing that always strikes me when going to places like Birmingham, though, is that I can't imagine them being seen as "tourist" destinations, even though I'm sure plenty do flock to places other than London every year. Think about when you're going on holiday—if you're having a city break abroad, you'll generally tell people that you're going to Paris or Rome or New York or Toronto or wherever and people will know where you're on about. I often wonder if people in other countries know any UK cities other than London.

"Oh yes," they'd say. "We're having our honeymoon in Birmingham."

Well, firstly, there's a marriage that's going to get off to a rough start, and secondly, it just sounds strange. What is it that makes cities such as San Francisco, Berlin or Milan so special that they're internationally known? Or is it just that living in a particular country causes you to take it for granted?

#oneaday, Day 48: RUN.

It's been a while since I talked about my exercise-related endeavours, so I figured why the hell not now? (You can, of course, follow my exercise-related Tumblr if you're that way inclined.)

Basically, it's going quite well. I've done two "long runs" of 8.25km now, which suggests that by the time May and the 10K I've signed up for comes around, I'll be ready to run that distance. It may be slowly and involve a lot of guttural grunting (particularly on hilly bits) but I should be able to at least do it. And why 8.25km? Well, convenience. I set out from my house in one direction, run down a country lane that seems to go on forever (2 miles), turn down a road and do a big loop around on a slightly less country laney country lane that also seems to go on forever before making one last turn onto another, marginally more country laney than the second country lane but less country laney than the first country lane country lane and ending up coming up the street my house is on from the other end. It shouldn't be too much difficulty to extend the route to 10K, but at the moment I'm pretty knackered by the time I get to this distance, so it'll be a case of extending it a bit at a time.

I may still be pretty slow, but I'm certainly pleased with my progress since I started towards the end of last year. Setting up some form of "structure" and quasi-reward mechanic has helped enormously. To begin with, this was the Couch 2 5K programme, that got me off my ass and moving in the first place. In the first week of that, I was exhausted by the time I'd been running for just a minute but gradually built up to being able to run for 30 minutes at a time. I started the Bridge 2 10K programme but the holiday period disrupted that somewhat. Rather than go back to that, I've simply been doing three runs a week—one pace-setting one of 5K or so, one "long" one (8.25K at the minute, that will eventually become 10K) and one interval training session (currently three sets of four lots of run fast 1 minute, run moderately 1 minute, repeat with 2 minutes of walking in between each set). I've been using the RunKeeper app on my phone to track my progress, and it's always pretty cool to see yourself make some sort of improvement, even if it's only a matter of seconds. Plus you can use it to draw penises on Google Maps if you get bored.

Alongside this, I've recently started using the 100 Pushups and 200 Situps apps for the iPhone. These are very simple apps, just recommending the number of reps you should do in each of five sets, but they're also effective in providing a bit of structure to your workouts. And structure is good; structure makes you feel like you're making progress, because you can tick things off (or gain points for them in EpicWin, which is another worthwhile motivational app for iPhones) and see at a glance how "well" you're doing.

While I doubt I'm ever going to be one of the skin-head tank-top wearing nutcases who frequent British gyms, it's good to know that I am making some progress, and I bet it's going to feel pretty damn special to complete that 10K in May.

You think it's awesome too, right? Sure you do. So you want to fling a few quid my way and sponsor me, don't you? Of course you do. And very gratefully received it is too.

#oneaday, Day 47: 6 Brit Comedies You Should Watch*

There's a specific breed of British comedy that's been around for a few years now that's a far cry from the "old school". Mostly, it can be recognised by the presence of any or all of the following people in the cast: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Mark Heap, Dylan Moran, Tamsin Greig, Richard Ayoade, Matt Berry, Kevin Eldon, Stephen Merchant. Yes, I know there are others, but the above-mentioned each have a number of different shows to their name with a considerable amount of crossover. Also, they're the only ones I can remember the names of without resorting to Googling.

Anyway. This specific breed of British comedy is quick-fire, clever and often quite surreal. As such, it doesn't appeal to everyone. There are some items on this list that Americans in particular find very difficult to fathom. And indeed some Brits find it quite hard to fathom, too. But I can highly recommend at least giving all of them a shot if you're not already familiar with them. And if you are already familiar with them, the UK-based people (and those who are clever at faking UK IP addresses) will probably be interested to know that all the Channel 4-based ones are available via YouTube.

So, onward then.

Spaced

It'd be remiss of me not to mention Spaced, probably the most accessible of all these shows, even though I'm pretty sure most people are very familiar with it by now. A tale of relatively normal people in circumstances that are frequently anything but normal, it's a stylish show crammed full of smileworthy cultural references and some truly wonderful character work. It put Simon Pegg and Nick Frost firmly on most people's radars, and is pretty much the reason Shaun of the Dead exists.

There are so many amazing scenes, but this has to be my favourite.

Black Books

Black Books is some gloriously surreal character-driven comedy based largely around the wonderful chemistry between Dylan Moran, Bill Bailey and Tamsin Greig. It's a simple show with some completely off-the-wall humour that is a little too much for some people. But it managed to hold its own for three seasons, which is pretty good going for a low-budget Brit comedy, even if our seasons are considerably, considerably shorter than an American season.

Like Spaced, there are a ton of fantastic scenes to choose from, but it's difficult to beat this one.

Big Train

Big Train is a sketch-based show on which Pegg, Heap and many others had one of their first "big breaks". It almost defies description, such is the diversity of the sketches in which they engage. But it carries the cast's trademark surrealist humour, allowing you to escape into a land of pure nonsense.

Garth Merenghi's Darkplace

A great idea for a show, this. Darkplace is a fictional TV show presented with occasional talking-head segments from completely fictional writers and actors. The TV show itself is convincingly low-budget and awful—so much so that it's intentionally unintentionally hilarious—and the whole thing is a fantastic parody of the terrible crap that we see on our TV at times.

The IT Crowd

Another piece of genius small-scale character-driven comedy, this one has successfully made the transition across the pond for many people. Featuring a cast who are perfect comic foils for one another, a setting which most people can relate to and a variety of mundane-yet-hilarious situations, this has to be one of my favourite shows.

Green Wing

I've only just discovered this as I'll confess I didn't quite "get it" when it was first shown on TV, though this was probably largely due to the fact I only ever caught little bits of it. It's a heavily stylised show set in a hospital with very little discernible medical content, and one of the strangest casts of characters you'll ever see. I am now addicted to it

There. Enjoy. Should keep you busy for a little while.

* Unless you're American.**
** Maybe. Give them a chance at least.

#oneaday, Day 45: Melancholy

I realise in posting this I am directly contravening the excellent points made by the lovely Laura on her blog yesterday. But, well, you know how it is sometimes.

I'm not bemoaning the fact I'm single on Valentine's Day. This is nothing unusual—I spent the vast majority of my formative V-days single, so much so that it's easy to ignore that particular fact right now, were it not for the fact that this day (and the ones immediately following it) hold rather more personal significance for me than just reminding me that last year I wasn't single.

No, this particular part of the year was when we "met" online. Again, probably nothing unusual for many couples these days. But the context in which we met means that there are permanent digital and physical records of how our meeting came about. And by that I mean there are newspaper articles. Newspaper articles. Granted, they were articles from a specialist professional (teaching, not prostitution) newspaper with a relatively limited UK-based circulation, but still newspaper articles, regardless, and ones which I still have tucked away somewhere. They're not things I want to throw away. They're part of my history, the story that led me to this (depressing) point I'm at now.

It's curious how these things go in cycles. Nothingness begat words on a page that became a real person whom I loved… and back again, for specific reasons on both our parts that have ceased to matter right now. Only it's not back again; it's not back to how things were before it ever happened. The details of exactly how it "is"? Well, that's for me to know; while the lead-up to all this may have led me to where I am now, it's not the only thing that bothers me, and arguably not even the most important thing on my mind at this time. I'm not even sure I know what the most important thing is to me right now.

It's a strange situation to be in. Some days I feel I have it all figured out and can move on—or at least try to, what with all the many obstacles life keeps throwing in my way; others I either can't or don't want to deal with it; others still I'm incapable of coping with anything and just want to hide. I don't have an answer, and I suspect there isn't one—short of letting things happen as and when the Fates decide it's "time", that is. Because all the effort I put in to making things right for myself (because I think I have earned the right to be completely selfish and I will fight anyone who says otherwise with sticks and hammers) keeps getting thrown in my face and contributing to The Pile, which hasn't got any smaller since Day 170 of last year.

This isn't whining self-pity—well, it is, but it's not, so shush—it's frustration at the fact that I'm trapped and stifled in a situation I don't want to be in with what feels like very little control over how I can get out of it. My fate is in the hands of people I don't know who seemingly want nothing to do with me despite my best efforts to make myself look awesome in a variety of different ways. I am grateful to the few people who have taken my awesomeness on faith and given me the opportunity to prove myself over the past year. It's a start. But it remains to be seen if that's the "right" route, as at the minute, it's not enough to survive with.

And this all leads to a vicious cycle. Each fresh new rejection makes it more and more difficult to summon up the energy to keep fighting. Because it is a battle, it is a struggle, and one which some days I wonder if it's possible to win.

The only thing I am grateful for out of this whole mess is the many new friends I've had the opportunity to make that I may never have come into contact with otherwise. I am grateful for their help and support and I wouldn't want to be without them.

Life and love send you up many streets, blind alleys and shit creeks without a map. I still don't know where I'll end up, or how. And the next person who says "well, life would be boring otherwise" in response will get a serious Number 10-Grade punch in the face. I want a boring life. I want to be able to get up in the morning, go to work, earn enough money to survive by myself and buy the occasional nice thing. I want to be with someone who is right for me, who understands and appreciates me, my talents and my life. And I want to be able to go to bed at night and just sleep rather than lying awake staring at the ceiling in the darkness boiling with anxieties.

I'll leave you with this.

#oneaday, Day 43: Got any ID?

Little Johnny wants to buy a copy of acclaimed and excessively popular (some might say cultish) Lovecraftian multiplayer FPS Call of Cthuty: Black Arts and heads down to his local GAME. There, he attempts to procure a copy of said game—which has a big shiny red BBFC "18" certificate on it—with the pocket money he's saved up. Little Johnny is eleven years old and doesn't have any ID, fake or otherwise. The cashier at GAME refuses to serve him. Little Johnny goes home and cries, and Xbox LIVE is safe from another squeaky-voiced pipsqueak for another day.

Well done, GAME, correct response.

Little Johnny returns to GAME with his mother, who doesn't know much about video games. He has convinced her that he "needs" this game in order to fit in with all the cool kids, who are all playing it for 37 hours a day, some of whom have already Ascended and are going around the levelling system again, only this time with brand new Elder Powers to choose from. His mother picks up the game, barely gives it a second glance, asks the cashier for it with Little Johnny standing right there, and the cashier doesn't question this at all. Little Johnny's mother hands him his shiny new game, he shouts "FUCK YEAH!" and runs out of the shop giggling.

No, GAME. Bad GAME. Incorrect response.

Bigger Johnny (no relation) wants to buy a copy of acclaimed and excessively popular (some might say cultish) Lovecraftian multiplayer FPS Call of Cthuty: Black Arts and heads down to his local GAME. There, he attempts to procure a copy of said game—which has a big shiny red BBFC 18 certificate on it—with his credit card. He is 19, after all. He gives the "If you're lucky enough to look under 21…" sign on the counter a brief glance but decides that the bum-fluff he's managed to grow on his chin will ensure he won't have to worry about ID—which is good, because he's forgotten to bring it. He is incorrect in his assumption, as the cashier asks him for ID and he is unable to provide it. He leaves the shop empty-handed, but with his bank account forty quid better off than it would have been.

Well done, GAME, correct response.

Bigger Johnny's mum just happens to be Mary "Queen of Shops" Porta, supposed shopping "guru" who is on the tellybox frequently whingeing at shop-owners about how rubbish they are. She is outraged at the way GAME have treated her darling son and tells him all sorts of things about how he should have demanded to see the manager, then promptly gets on the phone, shouts at them, gets hung up on and then demands to speak to the CEO of the entire company. In public. On Twitter. CEO promptly deflects her with his PR human shield… and the matter is still ongoing at the time of writing.

This latter part actually happened today, albeit with a 15-rated game and a 17-year old son who attempted to use his 16+ Oyster Card as valid ID for GAME staff to check his age. They refused—and good on them, frankly, for upholding a law which is all too often flouted by retailers more concerned with making a quick buck than actually ensuring inappropriate content doesn't get into the hands of kids. Mary Queen of Shops, however, was furious, though it's not entirely clear what grounds she has to complain. Here are some of her tweets on the subject:

You'll notice her casual dismissal of the ratings system as "we are not talking drink". Apparently some retail laws really are worth more than others to our Mary. She is also heavily focused on the ID issue, though implies that there was some non-specific "rotten attitude" from the store in question. When asked about this by one Twitter user, however, her only response was this:

No mention of what the "more to it than that" was. She hasn't said anything since, at the time of writing.

Now, I've talked about this topic a number of times. Censorship is a bad thing; but the refusal to sell age-restricted products to minors is not censorship. It's ensuring that people have access to age-appropriate material—a law which would mostly work were it not for the stupid loophole most retailers use to avoid difficult conversations where they'll happily sell the game to a parent even if it is very, very obviously on behalf of a child who is standing right there.

I don't for a second believe Fox News' nonsense that games cause rape, violence and AIDS. But I do believe that "mature" content should be kept out of the hands of minors until they're old enough to deal with it appropriately and not run around shouting "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" in the middle of the street. (Which they genuinely used to do in sunny Southampton.) Foot-stamping and attitude from people like Mary here doesn't achieve anything except devalue the law every time it's circumvented. If her son wanted to buy the game—which he was quite entitled to do if he had one of the forms of ID that everywhere else in the world accepts and not an Oyster card which no-one has ever* accepted as valid ID—then he should have gone prepared. And when he got turned away, his initial reaction should not be to speak to the manager as Mary seems to think it should be. It should be to shrug, accept the fact that he done messed up, like, go home, get his ID and then try again.

But no; the customer is always right, after all. Even when they're clearly wrong. You have my sympathies, retail types. I remember all too well what it was like.

* And if they did, they shouldn't have. FACT.

#oneaday, Day 42: The Hangover

It's been a while since a truly drunken night, and as I commented in one of my favourite posts of last year, it's important to take stock of your situation the day after in order to ensure that no lasting damage has been done to yourself, your friendships, your relationships, your internal organs or the bathroom in the place where you were living or staying at the time.

Last night was what we shall politely call "a heavy night". The reasons for said night out are either unimportant or possibly under embargo right now, so let's just say that there was me; a group of people from whole other countries; lots of free-flowing alcohol, mostly in the form of Kamikaze shots or Jameson's and ginger beer, which seemed to become the "official drink" of the evening (I initially judged the first one as disgusting but it either grew on me or I stopped caring after the first one. I forget which.); a basement bar called Roppongi; some girls in very tight dresses including one with a very 80s haircut and her friend who was still dressed up but looked like she had made less of an over-the-top "conscious effort" and was consequently far more attractive; and… well, I don't think I need to go on—surely all the ingredients for a great night are already there.

I managed to conduct myself with an appropriate degree of decorum, however, and found myself on more than one occasion confronted with some very pleasant company who were probably mostly using me as an excuse to get away from some somewhat more lecherous company but at least did me the courtesy of seeming interested in the things I had to say. I can remember their names and everything. See, perfect gentleman, me. (Well, all right. There's one I can't quite remember the name of. But I'm not convinced I ever knew it in the first place, so I think we can let me off on that count. Also it was very noisy, and I was very drunk.)

The basement location of aforementioned bar precluded any possibility of drunk livetweeting the evening, which is probably for the best. It also prevented drunk texting and phoning, also probably for the best, though I can't recall a time I've ever actually phoned anyone when drunk. (People phone me, though. The words "Lana no sleep!" and the sounds of the person in question frantically scrabbling at their front door attempting to get in and failing still haunt me to this day.) I am occasionally guilty of the odd drunken text, however, as that previous post will attest.

In fact, the whole evening was thoroughly pleasant—no-one got into a fight, no one pissed anyone else off (or if they did, the one who was pissed off hid it well) and no-one made too much of a fool of themselves. Everyone made it back to their respective sleeping quarters safely with no "unexpected guests". And no-one was sick.

Until this morning, of course, when the hangover came. I can't speak for my companions but if they felt anything like I did when I woke up at 8am after about 5 hours' sleep, I sincerely pity them for having to be up, about and ready to be driven to the airport.

The trouble with a hangover is it takes time for you to work out its severity. When lying down, you might be able to judge that Today Will Not Be A Good Day. Standing up is the next text, as is attempting to walk to the bathroom. Breakfast offers an additional challenge, carrying the risk of your stomach going "AHHH. NO MORE. SRSLY" when confronted with… well, anything, really.

And all the while your brain is going through a constant cycle of thinking "Please don't be sick. I won't be sick if I don't think about being sick. But trying really hard not to think about being sick is making me wonder if I'm actually feeling sick. And wondering if I'm actually feeling sick is making me think about how far it would go from here to actually being sick, and if I can make it to the toilet if I do suddenly feel sick. And oh. I feel sick. BLAAAARF."

Sometimes you can overcome these urges, of course. It would be ungentlemanly of me to reveal whether or not I succeeded in this, however. You'll have to make your own mind up.

#oneaday, Day 41: Hotel Dusk, Dawn and Day

I love hotels. I'm not sure what it is about them, but if I have the opportunity to stay in a hotel, I always enjoy it. Perhaps it's just the novelty value of "living" and sleeping somewhere different for a little while. Perhaps it's the whole "being waited on" thing. Perhaps it's the incessant politeness of the staff, even if you're staying at a relatively low-key establishment. (Well, usually.)

I imagine that staying in a hotel semi-permanently in a sort of Alan Partridge manner would quickly get tiresome, but I do know that I certainly never tire of short breaks where I get to have a little place all to myself in relative privacy.

I think part of the appeal is wondering what goes on behind closed doors. The somewhat juvenile side of most people would probably be listening out for people having sex and giggling like an idiot, but it's not just about catching people doing the dirty.  Who are the people behind those doors? Why are they here? What possible reason brought them to the same place that you happened to be at the same time? Is there some dark purpose at work? Should you go and talk to them? (Probably not. And if you do, steer clear of the term "dark purpose" as it tends to freak people out.)

Another part of the appeal is the simple opportunity to sleep somewhere else. Your own bed sometimes gets boring. And while most beds follow the same sort of structure (flat bit to lie on, possibly with something to stop your head falling off at one end should you inadvertently decapitate yourself in the night) it's remarkable how different some beds can feel from one another.

Take the bed in the hotel I'm currently in, for example. It's pretty comfortable, and a lot "springier" than I'm used to. I got to sleep last night at a reasonable time and woke up early feeling pretty refreshed. Compare and contrast with my bed at home, in which I suffer from terrible insomnia and typically wake up some time around noon, possibly having woken up once around 7am, been unable to move except to text or tweet and then promptly passed out again. Is it just the bed that does this? Or is it other environmental factors? Probably a combination of all of them.

I look around a hotel room and it often makes me wonder about other guests. Are there other people staying in this hotel long enough to make actually using all the drawers and wardrobe space worthwhile? This specific one has bookshelves; does anyone turn up to a hotel with enough books to necessitate the use of bookshelves, particularly in this age of the Kindlenookreadotron? And why are hotels one of the few places left in the world that still have CRT TVs?

My delight at hotels even extends to virtual depictions of them. I vividly recall by far my favourite level of Duke Nukem 3D being the hotel level. And I enjoyed Hotel Dusk on DS a great deal, for obvious reasons. No One Lives Forever had an excellent hotel level that involved some very precarious rooftop sneaking, and although I still haven't got around to beating Gabriel Knight 3, its initial setting of a hotel was appealing, even in all its low-poly anti-glory.

So hotels are great. A home away from home, surrounded by strangers. A place where you can be whoever you want to be for a few days, and no-one will know any different from the day you check in to the time you check out.

Just remember to hang the thing on the door if you're planning on getting naked and the maids are doing their rounds, huh?