#oneaday Day 106: A Wealth of Useless Knowledge

The above comic isn’t actually that far from the truth. (I remembered the code from Another World but had to look up the Ultima Underworld II spell. I at least remembered that “ylem” was one of the runes, however.) All this leads me to the conclusion that our brains are clearly wired up all wrong, and we need some sort of GMail Labs-style multiple inbox feature in order to appropriately prioritise the things that enter our brain and the things that we can safely delete when there’s something very important to remember, such as girlfriends’ birthdays. (November 19. I sacrificed the cheat code for Sonic 2 to make way for this information.)

I’m not sure if everyone else’s brain works in this way or if it’s just a side-effect of being a massive nerd. But most people have something that they’re extremely interested in, and will remember all sorts of useless facts about to bore their friends with down the pub. If you’re lucky, you’ll be friends with people who also know useless facts. If you’re unlucky, you’ll have all this knowledge squirrelled away with no-one to share it with—which is why the Internet exists, of course. And if you’re particularly unlucky, you’ll be friends with someone who’s an even bigger nerd than you and is fond of correcting you every time you slightly misquote Ghostbusters. (Seriously. Fuck that guy.)

But I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. Imagine how dull life would be if the only things wedged into your long term memory were your unique taxpayer reference number, your national insurance number, every password you’ve ever used and the sites they work for, and those arbitrary user IDs online banks insist on you using rather than allowing you to pick your own ID that you might be able to remember. And, of course, your car’s MOT expiration date. (Sometime in August. I think.)

No. I’d much rather have cool stuff lodged in my brain that I can surprise and delight people with. (I have nerdy friends who find the fact I can remember Lester Chaykin’s keycode from Another World immensely amusing… possibly at my expense, but I don’t care at this point. Embrace who you are, I say.) Cool stuff in your brain allows you to become An Authority on a subject. And being An Authority is fun, because it means people come and ask you stuff about things you’re interested in. It’s like having people respect you and your opinions.

And sure, not everyone necessarily understands why you’re so obsessive about Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Final Fantasy/Dungeons and Dragons/the collected interactive works of Jane Jensen/Minecraft/Twilight/Formula 1/porn stars of the 1980s/the board game Agricola. But it’s important to you, and it gives you something to explore when you haven’t got anything better to do—and something with which to bond with like-minded people via the Internet (or even real life if you’re very, very lucky.)

It must be kind of sad to not have anything to obsess over. Do those people have any fun?

#oneaday, Day 31: Looking Back Through a Lens

I love photos. In one of my many houses at university, I had a whole corridor whose walls were papered with photographs I’d taken throughout the course of the previous year. It may well have looked a bit serial killer-ish, but I liked it (until I took them all down shortly before moving out and discovered the wall behind was actually damp and mouldy—thanks a lot, scumbag landlord) and it provided a nice visual record of what had gone on.

This was in the days before digital cameras were particularly widespread, of course, so these were actual photos on actual paper. I took a lot of photos, but there was still no way it’d be possible to take as many as you can with today’s cameras. That meant that each captured memory had to be just so, and there was no going back to try again; you caught it, or you missed it. Simple as that.

Of course, nowadays, it’s much easier to capture and keep a memory, assuming you don’t do something ridiculous to your computer like take it into the bath with you. But that doesn’t mean photos lose any of their impact, or the memories contained therein. I’ll bet I can take a random selection of photos from my iPhoto library and be able to explain each and every one of them.

In fact, let’s do just that. I’ll give you ten, just so we’re not here all night. Hold on, I’ll be right back.

So without further ado, here we go.

Would you look at that? We went and got a nice one to begin with. This is the wedding day (obviously) of my friends Rob and Rachel. Instead of confetti, they had bubbles. It was awesome, and we all ate a lot of food and got quite drunk. Fact: Rob and Rachel were one of the first couples I knew who got together at university and are still going strong today. I salute you, you lovely pair.

Aha. There are actually two separate stories behind this one. The guy in white makeup is, I believe, a chap called James Gaynor, who was starring alongside me in a production of Marivaux’s L’Epreuve, also known as A Test of Character. He was playing a character called Frontin, I was playing a character called Lucidor. Lucidor was in love with a girl called Angelique, who was played by a most lovely lady named Sarah, but there was a long and complicated plot involving Frontin pretending to court her on Lucidor’s behalf and it all got a bit French.

As for the mobile phone and the text on it: the mobile phone was mine at the time (Nokia REPRESENT), “sonicfunkstars” was the name of the fake band I made music under (using Sony’s ACID Music software and approximately 24 CDs of samples, most of which I probably never used) and “txtr’s thumb” was the name of my second album. Interestingly (not really), “sonicfunkstars” is still my Xbox LIVE ID, and it’s one of the only places on the Internet where I’m not “angryjedi” or some variant thereof. The other is YouTube.

(Exclusive: I found the title track from said album. It used to irritate the fuck out of anyone with a Nokia phone. You’ll see why.)

Ah yes. I can tell you exactly what is going on here. This is during my second year at university. The location is my friend Chris’ bedroom. Under the desk is Sam, who is drunk, and spent most of the night seeing what tiny spaces he could contort himself into.

Lying on the floor is Steph, who is reading a book—possibly Bridget Jones’ Diary. In the background is her erstwhile boyfriend Brett, my most enduring memory of whom is when he burst in the front door of Steph’s house, furious that “someone’s drawn knobs all over my car”. Someone had indeed drawn knobs in the snow that was all over his car, and Sam and I naturally knew absolutely nothing about it.

But that was not the occasion in this photo. No. This was simply a social gathering at Chris’ house—Sam, Steph and I were all flatmates in the first year, so we often took the opportunity to hang out together. We’d “lost” a couple of flatmates along the way to other social groups, but we’d stuck together for a lot of the time.

One of whom was the rather magnificent Beki, seen pictured here with Sam, again. This photo was taken on our hall of residence bar’s “70s Night”, a night where only the six of us from Flat A33, Hartley Grove Halls, Southampton, made the effort to dress up. Sam is wearing a woman’s shirt.

Whizz forward to last year, and we have a picture of a game of Scotland Yard in progress, one of the very few games I’m aware of that provide you with a hat as part of its components. Pictured is Tom. Not pictured is Sam. And me. Obviously.

This Post-It space invader adorned the front wall of Ruffian Games’ studios in Dundee. Obviously a little light relief after getting Crackdown 2 out the door.

Back in time to the first year at university again, we see here the midst of Operation Shopping Trolley, our attempts to stealthily remove the shopping trolley that had inexplicably appeared in our flat overnight. “Inexplicably” as in for once it wasn’t one of us who had brought it up. Notice the cunning ninja disguises Sam and I have adopted.

This is Dungeonquest, one of either the best or worst games ever created depending on your outlook. It’s a game where you have an approximately 23% chance of survival (they tell you this in the instruction booklet), and is almost completely determined by blind luck. Combat is resolved almost literally by rock-paper-scissors… except here it’s slash-mighty blow-leap aside. I was astonished to discover that they have actually remade this monstrosity. I was also quite tempted to pick up a copy, but that would be a very silly idea.

To this date, this is still the most literary piece of graffiti I’ve ever seen, found on the back of the cubicle door in the gents’ toilets in The Hobbit pub, Southampton. The whole door was something to behold; there were full-on conversations and slagging matches going on between various wall-writers, an excerpt of which you can see here. Theatre Studies was repeatedly accused of gayness. A bit rich coming from people hanging out in gents’ toilets.

And why don’t we end with this one, then? This offensive masterpiece was produced by the cast of Southampton “Rattlesnake!” Theatre Group’s production of Alan Ayckbourn’s Round and Round The Garden whilst finishing off rehearsals prior to taking the show to the Edinburgh Fringe. We’d all gone a little bit stir crazy by then, and so we took to lite-vandalising the whiteboards in the lecture theatre where we’d been rehearsing. (“Lite” because you could just rub it off. But we did leave it there for the lecturer to discover in the morning.)

Look closely and you’ll see a selection of details; Pac-Man re-imagined to become Sonic the Hedgehog eating shit, some stickpeople having a threesome, some anagrams, a victim’s eye view of the Ku Klux Klan looking down on someone they’ve just thrown down a well, an out-of-context stage direction from the play made to sound dirty just by the simple addition of “just the way I like it” and my excellent drawing of the entire cast of the show, except me, because while I was quite happy to draw all the others I didn’t feel confident drawing myself. Also, BUTTOCKS.

There you go. Proof that I have an incredible memory for silly crap. And proof that even if you’ve forgotten me, I probably haven’t forgotten you.

#oneaday, Day 15: Regression

I’m of the firm belief that you should never apologise for something you’ve written, particularly during something like a #oneaday challenge, because it comes from the heart. It comes from within you, reflects what you’re actually feeling or thinking about and is, basically, something that shows who you are and what you’re thinking. That sort of makes sense.

To clarify: I have been drinking quite a bit and as such this post may not be the most coherent thing in the world. But I make not apologies for this as drinking is fun, in moderation.

To whit, I went out with an old friend tonight; my friend Woody, who is someone I went to school with. I didn’t get to know him, really, until I got into Sixth Form, when we spent a lot of time each lunchtime playing Uno, eating cheese and bacon baguettes and playing a bit more Uno. But since that time, we’ve stayed in touch and occasionally gone out to get a bit drunk.

Tonight was one such occasion. I haven’t had the opportunity to go out and get pissed for quite some time. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. The last time I went out to get pissed was New Year’s Eve, during which time I managed to drink a lot and somehow spectacularly failed to get drunk whatsoever. This may have been something to do with the amount of Kinect gaming that took place during that time. Dance Central, it seems, is a suitable antidote to drinking.

Tonight, though, was another matter. Plied with Sambuca and beer prior to going out to the delightful pubs of Cambourne (imaginatively named due to its geographical proximity to both Cambridge and Bourne), we drank quite a bit and reminisced about the good old days.

As you get older, the opportunities to do something along these lines get more and more infrequent, so it’s worth taking them when you can. Because sometimes, there’s nothing better than sitting down with a good friend, chatting about days gone by, remembering times you’d got intoxicated on substances of your choice and the silly things that had occurred as a result of said intoxication.

Woody, incidentally, is someone who has managed to remain all but invisible to the Internet, which is something of an achievement in this day and age. But you might say that makes the memories I have with him all the more precious, as the only record of his existence I have these days are the few photos I have of him now. Most of which involve being drunk.

The UK has a drinking problem, it’s clear from just walking down any big city high street on a Friday night. But sometimes, just sometimes, it’s nice to spend some time with a friend getting off your tits and having a good laugh about days gone by.

That’s what happened tonight. And I hope it happens more often.

#oneaday, Day 290: Ever Onward

Something that someone told me recently (yay for specifics) has stuck with me. That something was the phrase “you don’t stop knowing someone when you’re not with them any more”. Those perhaps weren’t the exact words, but the sentiment stands. And it’s true, whatever the context of you not being with that person any more is. It doesn’t have to be a romantic thing. It could simply be a friendship thing.

I have two examples in mind here. Just recently, I had the good fortune to be reunited with a buddy from school with whom I’d kept in idle contact with—the occasional Facebook comment or tweet—but hadn’t seen face-to-face since the time he visited me during my first year of university, got roaringly drunk with me and then proceeded to assist me in the consumption of a pound of Tesco Value mild cheddar cheese at about 3 in the morning. Actually, there was an incident subsequent to that which involved several people vomiting out of the window of a house onto the corrugated plastic roof of what passed for a “conservatory” in student accommodation. But the cheese incident is the one that remains fresh in my memory.

Said incident was at least ten years ago now, but when we met up in the village pub for a pint and a chat it was like that time had ceased to exist—or at least didn’t matter. We hadn’t seen each other for ages, and yet suddenly we were back to talking about the word “COCK!”, driving in search of “old man pubs” and ending up in the local Tesco garage’s forecourt at 2 in the morning eating pre-packed sandwiches because the nearest club (15 miles away) was shit and/or full, and the old man pubs in question were either shut or had vanished into some sort of rural space-time anomaly. It was, to say the least, awesome. Not all reunions go this way, and I’m sure there are plenty of people I was at school with who are completely different people now. But then I have no idea where they are now, so a reunion is unlikely anyway.

The other example I have in mind is something I wrote about way back on Day 106; the idea of crystallised memories. I probably didn’t coin this term but it’s one I’m particularly fond of: the idea that inanimate objects can possess memories and trigger powerful emotional responses simply by their presence. A crystallised memory can be a tiny thing, like a dirty penny you find in the depths of your coat pocket. Perhaps you remember how it got so dirty. Or where you found it. Or what you were doing when you dropped it into your pocket.

Alternatively, as the case may be, a crystallised memory could be a whole city. Cities are places that are full of life, constantly on the move, changing, morphing, filling with people during the day and evaporating them in the dead of night. But some things don’t change amidst all the chaos—pretty amazing in itself, when you think about it—and those are the things which hold powerful emotional responses, powerful memories, senses of nostalgia, whatever it is you want to call it.

Sometimes, these things which have remained constant amidst the chaos of the daily tsunami of people that pass by them are enough to remind you of something or someone important, something that is, at times, long-forgotten. Tiny little memories which, at the time, seemed inconsequential, unimportant. And yet they are the ones which remained most vivid. A river that you once saw a hundred rubber ducks racing along. A swinging teashop sign and the delicious delights found within. The low beam that you bang your head on as you clamber into an “authentic” old pub.

Sometimes you see all those things again and they cause you pain. They remind you of what once was and what is now no longer.

And sometimes you see all those things again and they bring comfort. They still remind you of what once was and what is now no longer. But something, somewhere, causes the negativity and the pain to slip away and you’re left with those things that you should cling onto, the crystals that shine the brightest, the ones which glitter eternally.

Time heals all wounds, they say. But the good stuff that all the blood and pus and “discharge” from the wounds hides? (That was gross. Sorry.) That sticks around a whole lot longer.

#oneaday, Day 270: Go Go Gadget, uhh, Gadget

I love gadgets. Anyone who knows me in “real life” will not be surprised by this revelation. But I’m always impressed by quite how much we can do with various little portable implements these days. And even not quite so recently, too.

The most recent mind-blowing moment I had was during this last week when I had my little expedition to the woods. I was standing in the middle of a forest with absolutely no trace of civilisation except a little crude wooden bench by the side of the muddy path. And somehow I had better mobile signal than I do in the house I’m sitting right now. So, without thinking, I popped out my iPhone and fired up eBuddy to say hello to my buddy Chris in California. He responded back and we had a nice discussion about music.

Let’s just think about that a minute. I was in the middle of a wood in Cambridgeshire, England. Chris was somewhere in sunny California. And yet there we were, chatting away like this was a perfectly normal thing to do. That’s awesome.

One of my favourite gadget moments, though, was a good few years back now. I was up in Edinburgh at the Fringe with the Southampton University Theatre Group, or “Rattlesnake!” as we’d inexplicably decided to call ourselves. At the time, I had somehow managed to end up with the responsibility of keeping the Theatre Group website up to date. I’d prepared a special Edinburgh page and everything, and I decided that it would be pretty awesome to keep an online diary. The concept of “blogging” was but a pipe dream for all but the biggest nerds (even bigger than me) at this point. And doing so via a mobile device was absolutely out of the question.

I did, however, have my Palm Tungsten with me, to date my second-favourite gadget after my iPhone. You could play Shining Force on it, for heaven’s sake. That’s awesome, if beside the point. No, the reason my Palm came in handy was that I could type up my diary entries into the Notes application on it and then use the handily-provided SD card (32MB!) to transfer said material to a computer in the conveniently-located Internet café we found one day.

One may ask why I didn’t just type said diary entries straight into the computers. Well, the advantage of doing it on the Palm was that I could write things as they happened. I could write a rehearsal report. I could write what we were up to in the park. I could write about flyering the Royal Mile. The Frankenstein pub. (AMAZING) Being on top of Arthur’s Seat drinking sake as the sun rose. (DOUBLEPLUSAMAZING)

Sure, I could have written about these things after the fact. But the immediacy of being able to write about it there and then was pretty damn cool. Each new generation of gadgets makes this sort of thing easier and easier to do. And while it has its downsides—the sea of people filming concerts on their mobile phones instead of actually watching the damn things being one—on the whole I think it’s really great to be able to share life’s exciting little moments (or, in the case of some of you out there, the details of your latest bowel movements) with people that you care about it. Of course some of this is vanity. But the other side of it is being able to share things with people that you don’t get to hang out with as often as you like.

So gadgets are awesome. For everyone. Not just nerds.

#oneaday, Day 263: Original Sound Track

Music provides an emotional connection to memories. It can trigger memories, feelings and responses. Many people associate certain pieces of music with particular times in their lives. And, depending on your interests, these pieces of music can be from a variety of sources. They could be movie soundtracks. Pieces of music you’ve played yourself. The music that was playing when something awesome or terrible happened.

Or they might be video game soundtracks. Game soundtracks are quite unique in a way in that their technology has evolved very quickly. So rather than evolving over the course of hundreds of years like classical music, they evolved very distinct identities with each new generation of hardware, roughly a decade at a time. Today, we’re in a peculiar situation where we have game soundtracks that are, at times, indistinguishable from movie soundtracks. But at the same time, we also are getting game soundtracks that deliberately hearken back to the distinctive sounds of the past. Which is confusing. But awesome.

So I thought I’d share a few pieces of music that I’ve enjoyed over the years. And, where applicable, if I can remember (and if they’re not too embarrassing) the memory that’s attached to them.

The Atari ST had a deeply, deeply terrible soundchip, especially when compared to its technically superior rival, the Commodore Amiga. That didn’t stop a variety of composers such as Alistair Brimble trying their best to compose catchy tunes. I don’t have a particular memory associated with this piece of music (besides playing Fantasy World Dizzy, that is) but this piece of music was oddly memorable. I’m not sure why, because it’s not a spectacularly good piece of music. But it had that “hook”.

Starfox/Starwing had a very distinctive soundtrack. The synth sounds used throughout coupled with the reasonably-convincing electric guitar sounds were actually far better than most of the stuff that the N64’s execrable sound chip belched out. This piece of music in particular stuck with me. I remember playing Starfox/wing with headphones on in the lounge and getting told to be quiet because I was finding it all a bit exciting and going “Whooa!” a lot. C’mon. The first time you do that corkscrew descent to the surface of Venom? That was awesome.

I’m not afraid to admit I cried like a girl when (OMG SPOILER) Aeris/th died. I bought Final Fantasy VII specifically because my brother had said it was the first time a lot of people had felt genuine emotion from a video game. I wasn’t disappointed. Aeris/th’s death may be something of a cliché now. But at the time, what happened to her was shocking.

Silent Hill 2 is a game that’s stuck with me for many years. Its powerful imagery, heartbreaking story and excellent theme song are partly to blame for this. The fact that I was so captivated by the story that I played through about 95% of it in one night is probably more to blame for this. I associate this piece of music with staying up that night, and also feel an emotional connection to it which I’m buggered if I can actually describe.

Not a game soundtrack, but Speed’s score became my job interview soundtrack for a while. It was good driving music, so I’d listen to it on the way there and, assuming it hadn’t all gone horribly wrong, on the way back too. Added a bit of drama to the commute if nothing else.

You might have forgotten about the 2204355 Dancing Chicken Man by now, but I certainly haven’t. Why? Because the music on that video is now inextricably tied to my last weeks in Southampton. I was sitting up late one night contemplating the futility of existence (as you do) when SnakeLinkSonic posted a tweet which simply read “I CAN’T STOP WATCHING” and included a link to the original Flash animation that started all this nonsense off. The animation and the music made me laugh so much at I time when I was feeling so utterly terrible that I can’t help but have it stuck in my mind. It reminds me of the days counting down until I’d have to leave and make a fresh start… a fresh start which I’m not sure has quite happened yet.

Basically, if there’s ever a game featuring me, and I have to face a boss at the end of Disc 1, I want this music to be playing.

Again, not a specific memory attached to this one, but the Split/Second score is awesome and oddly inspirational. As such, I’ve adopted it as my official Going For A Run soundtrack. And it really works.

Last of all, this piece also doesn’t have a specific memory attached to it (because I’m creating said memory right now), but it was introduced to me while I was writing this. (Thanks, Donna!) It’s a pair of Dulcimers, an instrument I knew of but don’t think I’d ever seen before. This piece is gorgeous; the sound of the instruments is full, resonant and has a sense of “purity” about it. I like it very much.

So there’s some music for you. Hmm. That post took rather longer to put together than I thought it would. Oh well! Good night. Tune in tomorrow for the next episode in the thrilling series of events that has been taking place at the top of each post. Have I really just killed myself off?

#oneaday, Day 261: Random Access Memories

It’s weird, the things you remember over time. Perhaps it’s just me. But I’ve found over time that I have a fantastic memory for completely pointless crap and yet I can quite easily forget the things I need to buy from the shop in the space between stepping out of the house and reaching said shop.

So I thought I’d share a few stupid memories today for no apparent reason. I have hundreds of these. So this topic may return at some point in the future. For today, I’m going to focus on memories from my childhood.

First up: the ad starting at 2:17 of this vid right here:

Phurnacite. I’m still not entirely sure what it is, or was. But I remember this advert freaking me the fuck out when I was little despite, I believe, only ever seeing it once. Watching it now, it’s completely laughable, overacted and utter nonsense. For the longest time, I couldn’t even remember it was something to do with cookers. I remembered the image of the “doctors” with the masks on, though, and the woman crying going “HOW WILL I FEED MY FAMILY?”

Why do I remember that? That holds absolutely no benefit to me whatsoever unless taking part in a particularly specialist pub quiz on the subject of TV adverts from Christmas 1989 that freaked me the fuck out.

On a related note, the magazine advert for Mindscape’s surgery-em-up game for the PC, Life and Death, also featured doctors in masks, bloodstained swabs and the like and also freaked me the fuck out. I have never been in hospital for an operation, and those adverts were the reason I was terrified of the prospect of ever having to do so. Disappointingly, Google Images has let me down on an actual picture of said advert. But it was in an issue of A.C.E. magazine. Which was 1) possibly the best multi-format magazine of all time, now sadly defunct and 2) the only games magazine I’m aware of that rated games out of 1,000.

At some other point during my childhood, another completely random memory I have is to do with visiting the chap who was my best friend at the time. We’d acquired some weird little toys called “Wiggly Gigglies” (yes, laugh it up, it was the 80s) and much to my chagrin, friend in question had acquired a glow-in-the-dark one. I was fascinated by the idea of a glow-in-the-dark anything at the time, so one or both of us decided that it would be a really fantastic idea to lock ourselves in his airing cupboard to see that luminousness at work. Unfortunately, the airing cupboard wasn’t really big enough to even fit two kids inside, so I ended up shutting two of my fingers in the door and it really fucking hurt. It didn’t break them or anything, but they were bleeding a bit. I went home shortly afterwards, and resolved never to do two things: touch a Wiggly Giggly again, and shut myself in an airing cupboard again.

In that case, the pain is probably the trigger to the memory. But as I kid, I hurt myself quite a bit—kids will be kids and all that. It’s strange how that incident in particular sticks in my mind.

Let’s cap this off with a third memory. What I like to call The Great Injustice. It was lunchtime at primary school, and I was enjoying a game with a girl called Anna with whom I had something of an off-on-off-on friendship in that way primary school kids do. Particularly kids of the opposite sex.

I forget the exact details of said game, but it involved swordfighting. Or rather, stick-fighting. Our school field had a number of big trees on it, and they often dropped decent-size sticks that were great for mock swordfights. And so it was that Anna and I were staging some sort of battle for some reason. It was fun. Lunchtime ended and we went inside.

When I got home that evening, I got absolutely bollocked. Turns out my mother had been wandering past the school field at the time we’d been playing our game, at a point when I’d evidently been “winning”. As a result, I found myself in a lot of trouble for “hitting a girl with a stick”. And no amount of protestation could convince my parents that it had, in fact, been just a game, and if you talked to Anna she would back up my story. Because, after all, who believes the screeches that come out of the mouth of an eight-year old when they’re in trouble?

Hmm. These aren’t terribly positive memories, are they? Perhaps I should make more of an effort to remember things that didn’t freak me out or make me incandescent with an eight-year old’s rage!

#oneaday, Day 234: Dear Friends

You’ll surely excuse the enthusiastic gushing and emotion that is shortly to follow. You’ll hopefully agree that it is justified by the time I’m done. I might be funny tomorrow. If I’ve had any sleep. Otherwise I’ll just be grumpy. “No change there then,” I hear you say.

As has hopefully been made abundantly clear by now, I am leaving Southampton very shortly. Some might say “imminently”. Specifically, on Friday. The vast majority of my stuff was taken away yesterday, meaning I’m currently ensconced in a hollow shell of a house that is but a shadow of what it once was, which was in turn a shadow of what it once was prior to that. But now’s not the time for such thoughts.

Today was intended to be a day of tidying up final bits and cleaning up. And indeed it has; I’ve packed up, tidied up and hoovered the bedroom and study, with more to be done later this evening. But today has also been a time to see friends, some of whom I haven’t had the chance to see for some time, and some of whom weren’t able to make it out on Friday for drinking and WUBWUBWUB.

So I spent the morning overcaffeinating myself with a “cafe crawl” alongside Ben “xoorox” Willmott (with accompaniment from Mike “Sex Panther” Porter in the first coffee shop) and then getting on with a bit of Java-fueled tidying. Having not slept terribly well last night, the experience of exhaustion coupled with hyperactivity was… curious, to say the least.

Just as Ben and I were parting ways, I ran into the very fine and lovely Elana “dollydaydream” Moylette (second from right in the header image, fact fans) who has been a great and wonderful friend over the last few years, ever since I trained the crap out of her at our local Apple Store. She was very keen for me to catch up with her later, and that’s what I’ve just done.

I’ve got to say, I am 100% glad I did. I am now the proud owner of possibly the best gift anyone has ever got me (and I got a Super NES one Christmas) – a beautifully-made scrapbook/photo album full of wonderful memories. It’s something that will be utterly irreplaceable in years to come, and evidence that however I might be feeling about the circumstances surrounding my departure from here, I’ve touched the lives of a whole bunch of people, and they, too, have enriched my life.

While it sucks balls that I am leaving, I’ve found it deeply touching that there are very obviously so many people out there who genuinely care about me, appreciate me for who I am and, above all, have helped me survive one of the most difficult periods of my life that I’ve ever been through.

So to all those people who’ve made it clear that I’m not going to be forgotten as soon as I drive off on Friday, thank you, from the very bottom of my heart. You are awesome, and I’ll never forget you or what you’ve done.

Hah. The comic I pre-prepared to go at the top of this post the other day seems rather flippant now. Still, there’s no arguing with The Robot.

#oneaday 214: You’re Not Tom Cruise

I’m not Doctor Who, you’re not Tom Cruise. So don’t even think about attempting to invent your own cocktails.

I say this as a result of a memorable evening one night at university, a good few years back now. It was one of those evenings where we had just decided it was vitally important to get as blind drunk as possible, as is often the wont of people at university. At least one member of our circle of friends was in possession of some of the more “creative” spirits and liqueurs available, so we pooled our resources in an attempt to create The Next Big Thing.

To be fair, given the evidence we’d discovered on how easy it is to make a putridly-coloured yet remarkably tasty cocktail, we had faith in our own abilities to produce something delicious.

Shortly after arriving at university, we had all discovered the joy of the Juicy Lucy, a pint-based cocktail made up of a glug of vodka, a splash of Bols Blue, a bit of Taboo and then the remainder of the glass filled up with roughly half-and-half of orange juice and lemonade. The resultant glass of green liquid looks remarkably like what happens if you fill a pint glass with water and then squirt too much Fairy liquid into it. It also turns your poo green if you drink too much of it, a fact which several of us were unprepared for and thus spent a not-inconsiderable amount of time fretting the next day that we had some form of terrifying bum-cancer.

Alongside the Juicy Lucy was the even-simpler concoction dreamed up by our hall of residence’s bar on “Hawaiian Night” (a night when everyone was supposed to wear Hawaiian shirts, and they turned the heating up full)—the Passion Wagon. The Passion Wagon was, again, a pint-based cocktail consisting of a shot of Passoa (passion fruit liqueur) and a bottle of Reef. That’s it. It came out bright orange and tasted like Five Alive. It did not, to my knowledge, do anything unpleasant to the colour of one’s bodily fluids or waste matter.

So going on that evidence, we figured that making a cocktail was pretty much simply a case of finding things which might taste nice together and then combining them together in a glass. Also, that vodka, when added to any drink, immediately makes something “more alcoholic” without making it taste any different.

How wrong we were. The first mistake we made was forgetting that Baileys curdles quite easily. After creating a number of drinks that looked like someone had spunked in, we decided that we weren’t skilled enough to do that clever thing where you make the Baileys float on top. So we left that alone. For a while. Then we elected to try combining various different flavoured liqueurs together. The least (or most, depending on how you look at this) successful attempt was dubbed “The Brown Sauce”, owing to its resemblance in taste to HP Sauce. For the readers unfamiliar with the wonder of HP Sauce, it is good on a bacon sandwich. It is less good in liquid form and drunk.

Eventually we gave up and went back to staples like Archers and lemonade. We didn’t have another home-made cocktail night after that. We left it strictly to the professionals.

#oneaday, Day 193: Constants

Things that stay the same are supposedly boring. But they have their uses. And they don’t have to be boring at all. Look at great works of art, literature, music, whatever. They don’t change. They’re always the same. And yet people flock to see them, read them, listen to them year after year after year.

Things that stay the same can provide comfort and a sense of familiarity. Whether this is the discarded magazine that’s been sitting on the floor next to the bed for the last six months because you couldn’t be arsed to find a home for it, or the friend you went to school with, that sense of familiarity can help provide some kind of firm grounding, even when all else is chaos.

Back on Day 106, I used the term “crystallised memories” to describe static objects that had memories inexorably attached to them. In some senses, this is a similar concept. But the memories that are attached to the objects can change over time. Things that are constant stay, by their very nature, constant.

Take this evening. I went to visit a friend I was at school with. Although he’s got a house, is living with his girlfriend and came to the disturbing (to him) realisation that he’s been working the same job for ten years, he’s still the guy I went to school with. Perhaps not visually. But certainly in attitudes and behaviour. We get together, and we start acting like a couple of sixteen year old dickheads like no time whatsoever has passed. When in fact a significant proportion of both our respective lives has passed, with significant changes afoot for both of us.

We contacted another friend via Xbox LIVE while I was there. Again, a constant in terms of attitude, behaviour, character. It was like nothing had changed.

After I left my friend’s house, I went for a drive to the local supermarket to pick up a couple of things I needed. This drive, again, was comfortably familiar. Although there have been some minor changes to the road layout in a few places, for the most part, these were the roads I learned to drive on, so I know them like a thing you know the layout of really well.

This is good. This sort of thing makes the whole “moving on” thing that much more bearable. The idea of moving to a new city was somewhat appealing; but the idea of being alone there and not knowing anyone was not. Taking a step “backwards” and picking up where I left off with these people while at the same time rebuilding my life into the image I want it to go into? This is (hopefully) a good thing. We shall see, I guess.

My life, and that of a number of other people too, is all chaos and flux right now. I long for the time when everything settles down and I can just start enjoying myself. I hope it won’t be too long before that happens. Positive steps have been taken this week. So let’s hope those positive steps lead to full-on positivity.

Things can’t be that much worse than they have been. The needle has to swing the other way sometime. I’m hoping now (or at least “very soon”) is the time.