Won’t you come home, Bill Bailey, won’t you come home?

I love the West Wing.  I love it like I love waking up and realising I don’t have to get up for three hours, like I love a hot shower at the end of a long day, like I love… every other thing I love in my pathetic and limited life!  I admire the writing more than I admire anything of my own creation [and I admire my own work more often than I dare admit - today's ramble an obvious exception!] and a lot of things of others’ creation, and I’ve learnt more from it this year than I’ve learnt from reading newspapers or law textbooks.   This declaration of love is nothing new and won’t come as a surprise to anyone.  I wax lyrical about it more than I do about my longer televisual loves of Doctor Who or Life on Mars and I wish I could be half as clever as its creators or its characters.  I would quite happily marry Josh Lyman, Will Bailey or Toby Ziegler and realise quite how tragic that sounds.   I watched 3 seasons in less than 2 months on my return from China and given the time I would spend a week watching the whole 7 seasons again [which, incidentally, would mean approximately 3 hours sleep a night] .  In short, I’m quite fond of it.  You will probably know this, although perhaps not the extent of it!

HOWEVER, [it had to come sooner or later!] it has let me down a few times.  Admittedly, I can count the times on one hand but, although off the top of my head I can’t remember any other instances whereby my love has wavered, the scars remain.   One of the times is fresh though, because it only just occurred.  [Half an hour ago, as it's on in the background right now "helping" me get this practice coursework done].  I noticed… AN ERROR!  The jpeg below encapsulates my pain. 

Again, knowing me as you undoubtedly do, I’m sure you will understand the issue at hand.  I am shocked and disappointed and actually a little saddened.  When I’ve done some more work I intend to investigate and see if there is any trace of remorse from the writers, or any explanation.  Perhaps, after all, we should give the benefit of the doubt, and mark this down as an intentional error.  Maybe they’re not just being stereotypical Americans… Maybe.  I hope.  My faith is strong!

Don’t kid yourself, and don’t fool yourself

Something else from the archives I stumbled across today.  Genuinely forgot writing this one, but it fills the lacuna between the four month ramble and the nine month ramble quite neatly…

 

A little under two months ago, I sat here and typed about perhaps the most revolutionary four months of my adult life. Interesting turn of phrase there, seeing as I rarely view myself as an adult and I certainly don’t know what my “adult life” equates to! I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much, to me or anyone else: I’m not being graded here for fluidity, thank the Lord. Anyway, I’m digressing – just by way of a change. What I was trying to reference is the passing of six months with the olde True Blue Council (only True Blue for the past month, mind).

It would be fair to say that the past two months have perhaps been greater still in the revolutionary stakes than the preceding four. I find myself in the position now where I have two forms to fill in that will effectively seal my fate for the near future. On the one hand, I have an offer on a two year law conversion course which, upon sending them a cheque for £200 and a ‘certified copy’ of my degree certificate, is signed, sealed and delivered, and commences in October. On the other hand is a commitment that could be for substantially more than two years or, equally, somewhat less time: that of a ‘permanent’ job. Both of these are big steps for me, and both of these I’m dubious about. In terms of the job I know that I’m selling myself short, taking the easy option and potentially setting myself up for a fall.  With regards to the course, I’m well aware that I’m leaping into something fairly blindly and, although I’ve done a LOT of thinking about it for the past 3-4 months, I’m not entirely sure it’s the route I want to take my life in.  It’s more a case of it being:-

a)    a career
b)    a rather interesting career
c)     an area I’ve already dipped a toe into
d)    a respectable career with potentially substantial rewards; monetary and personal
e)    a stopgap/back-up measure to the ongoing writing dream
f)     the flavour of the month (or half-year, as the case may be)

What worries me is not that I might fail at this law game but more that I might change my mind about it. I’ve had many mental forays into careers in the past, at one point I even seriously considered teaching, but for the past few years, whilst at uni and since leaving, I’ve been almost entirely clueless. The same fantastic ideas remained, of writing novels or working in TV or drafting eloquent and intellectual pieces for The Guardian, but in terms of real solid career plans and progression I’ve always been lacking.  I have considered law before, even while still at sixth form I contemplated it as a degree choice, but was most definitely not ready to commit to it.  I feel that my education in the area has advanced somewhat since, however, and do fully acknowledge that the “skills” (and neuroses) I possess could well set me in good stead for a successful career in the legal profession.  Pah, I feel like I’m regurgitating my GDL personal statement now.  That was a far superior document though, in the end: much less sarcastic and much more thoroughly thought through. Try saying that out loud three times fast!

 

And unfinished it remains, it would seem, based on the lack of finality there.

ruining (sic.) the world

That is all.

I hate that word, and can only apologise, but the song makes some good points.  You’ll see.

How can I show you, I’m glad I got to know you?

Going to be a bit retrospective again here… Honestly, this Jetski gal, if she’s not being a rambler she’s being a… retrospector. [Copyright pending on that made up word!] I’ve literally just noticed, having glanced back at blog entries, it’s nine months today since I started my job.  Anyone who knows me at all will know that a thought like that can’t be passed by without some sort of internal monologue.  And why not turn it into an external monologue?! [Answers on a postcard please children.]

Not surprisingly, life is quite a bit different to nine months ago and even at my most perverse I can’t say it’s worse!  A year ago I was quite happily bumbling along doing very little; the odd few hours or day helping out at school, lots of sleep and watching TV, even more moping about at all hours of night and listening to music, a little bit of a social life but very little money, and even the occasional job application or jobsite perusal.   A little over 9 months ago I booked a flight to China, for a holiday, predominantly to see Bec.  [And while we're on the subject, seeing as this began life as a travel blog, I never put any photos from the trip on here, so here's a slideshow affair!]  Anyway, digression aside, going to China meant paying for China, which meant cutting the faffing and actually getting a job. 

One fateful day, 9 months and 3 days ago to be precise , I was doing the usual half-hearted jobhunting around town, bumped into a friend and thought “screw it, I’ll wander with him instead”, and did so, until coming upon and debating entering and finally venturing into a recruitment agency. The rest, as they say, is history. It’s very modern history, yet it doesn’t feel it, it feels like a lifetime ago, cliched though it is. If we’re going to go down that line though, I guess in effect that was a different life – recent graduate, unemployment, etc etc…

Life changed at any rate, from that Monday forth.  A temping job that was meant to line the holiday coffers somehow  turned into a post-holiday temp job [still shocks me I was wanted back, truth be told] and ultimately, almost 7 months after starting, became a “permanent” one – and I use that term loosely…  and here I am, carrying on. 

When I think of the past year, as with any period of life, I think of the people who have affected it: shaped it, even.

My short career has thus far been punctuated with several new-found friendships and several goodbyes to add to the endless succession. [Thanks Moz.]  In my current mournful mood, it is to those that I turn now.  Typically enough, 3 of the people I befriended the most over the 9 months have moved on.  Although other friendships have developed in their stead, the allies of mine are dwindling.  Bizarrely the most recent departure [still very recent so I can hardly *miss* him yet] has rocked me the most.  I’ve never been one for conventional friendships but this is one that ranks up there with the most unintended, most unexpected. It took a while to get going but I found a firm ally and, I would certainly like to think, one was found in me.  It was my erstwhile companion himself who pointed out, more than once, that I was probably making all the wrong acquaintances and going in with the entirely wrong attitude.  Yet if I hadn’t adopted the cynical, upstartesque attitude we’d not have got on half as well [if at all] and arguably without the sage words of his, and others, I wouldn’t have lasted half as long in the job.  Conversely, the sage advice of more recent weeks leaned towards not bearing it out half as long as he…… So many halves, so little sense. 
A lot of thought has been given to these matters over the past 2 weeks following a couple of exchanges and, combined with certain other issues and emotions arising from work life, I’ve been on a grand evaluative expedition.  Can’t/shan’t/won’t elaborate here but suffice to say the old bean gave me food for thought and I’m flattered and humbled and touched beyond belief by the apparent regard and concern for me.  I was trying to find a way to articulate it to a friend the other day quite how and why I was so grateful and sentimental about it but it fell flat on its face.  It’s very hard to express.

I’ve lost whatever point it was I wanted to make.  Missing my ‘friend’ perhaps. It’s been a very up-down seesawing kind of month of work with all sorts of issues, after the first 3 weeks of September having been very encouraging. ‘Job Satisfaction’ was “discussed” today in a meeting and it was flagged up quite how much it helps every now and then to get a little bit of recognition and appreciation. Despite chewing my lip red raw and grinding my teeth through most of the meeting, that bit did resonate with me.  I know it’s something I reflected on here not too long ago but, to reiterate, a kind word or an acknowledgment of some extraordinary effort is, ultimately, what gets me through.  Whether it’s a playful, slightly sarcastic, “you brighten our day Lauren!” or a slightly cringeworthy “you’re an asset to the team!”, it genuinely steels the soul of an insecure wreck!  It’s part of what’s defined the past 9 months that I have established this unprecedented persona which enables me to flatter with one hand and sting with the other; to come across as cocky and over-competent whilst (hopefully) maintaining friendly approachableness.  Sometimes it feels as though I’ve struck upon a perfect balance of subservience and pretentiousness and when it’s going well I can sing and dance and joke and play with the best of them.  The problem lies with the times whereupon instead I tut and mope and stomp and scowl better than the rest! It begs the question, is there such a thing as a happy medium??  [I would wager the happy medium is when I'm left alone (OK by myself, remember?) and am not wound up in either manner, but unfortunately those particular instances are rare, and all too short-lived.]  But then, who wants to be average anyway?!  I’ve always been one to swing between the extremes [university academics aside, where it was always "just good enough"]

I’m going to give up rambling again now.  For a change [ ] I feel I’ve made no real points.  Truth is I daren’t be too explicit or too bitchy, coward that I am.  Still not entirely got to grips with the idea of writing stuff that people can see.  No idea why I bother, with that in mind.  Creating some kind of record that will last beyond the job, beyond my predilection to write about things and perhaps beyond my inevitable internment in the loony bin…

I shall finish with a quotation from T.S. Eliot which is broadly relevant to whatever points I was trying to make, and facetiously relevant to my current standing:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; 
Am an attendant lord, one that will do 
To swell a progress, start a scene or two, 
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, 
Deferential, glad to be of use,        
Politic, cautious, and meticulous; 
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; 
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— 
Almost, at times, the Fool. 
 
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled.

[Still working on the rolled trousers but it's only a matter of time!]

Adieu.

God help me some days…

Bla bla bla background background context context chatter chatter flirt flirt ENTER LEO!

The point to the video is the final line: the typical dry Leo, the perfect delivery from the late, great John Spencer (R.I.P.) and most of all the actual words. Lately, more and more by the day, I can completely relate to the sentiment: indeed I think I’ve said it a fair few times.

Today, in case it’s not obvious, was one of those days. I wish I could compare my workplace to the west wing of the White House, particularly the fictional one as featured above, but in terms of work and personnel it’s obviously very far off! However, as I guess is typical of any working environment or any environment at all, there are similiarities, there are the same silly issues and the fucking bureaucracy and the bitching and the gossip… and most of all there’s the outward despair at times at the behaviour of colleagues. Herein I sympathise with Leo in the clip.

I want to rant.  I really really want to rant and rave at someone and for somebody to empathise and understand, but I can’t pick a target. Rather, I can’t bring myself to force that kind of tirade on anyone in particular. Henceforth I’m venting a little bit of spleen here and subliminally blatantly advertising the update so that someone might read it and… empathise  

“This might surprise you, but, I find I’m ok by myself” – something else often quoted (although not for the past 3 weeks or so…).  I’m bitter and I’m twisted and I’m cynical and pessimistic and hateful but, seriously, leave me the hell alone.  It’s all fine and dandy.  Nobody needs ‘managing’ or instructing and it’s really really not worth the stress!

KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON!

I know it’s dangerous territory to venture on to considering my position (“at the bottom of the food chain” as I put it earlier) but jeeeeez.  It’s so very frustrating to see the flaws and know better and know the answers and notice the mistakes and not be able to pipe up and sort it out.   Discussed this earlier with a colleague of mine, in sketchy terms, to say the least, who, not surprisingly, could relate and understand my position… but the outcome of it wasn’t entirely positive!  He advised (and it’s advice I didn’t really need but do perhaps need to remember more often) that it was all fine and good to think these things, but to be very careful about voicing them.  As I said, that’s nothing new to me and I told him as such, but it’s somewhat reassuring to have another voice backing it up.  Had some choice words on trust too.  Within that environment, as he pointed out, it’s vital to be wary of who you’re talking to and, as I pointed out, who they’re talking to.   All a little bit MI5/X-Files, but the basic upshot is “trust noone”, certainly nobody but yourself.  It did make me think though, and there are only one or two people there whom I trust unequivocally…  and to be honest I have very little foundation even for that, beyond instinct… but that’s not something to explore so publicly [although, as already established, nobody reads this!]

When chatting to somebody else today, I think I was far too open about my thoughts and feelings and my irritation.  And although I know it was safe, in that particular instance, the words of the former fella made me a little cautious after the event.  I know I can’t make a difference as yet, if ever, and, although I bit my lip more times today than I care to remember, I think I need to hold back a bit more and a bit better.  Something from a few months ago brought it home that you never know when Big Brother is watching - or, more importantly, listening – and I have to behave.  I have yet another new ally in despair though, which helps, and I’ve done a stellar job already of spreading the bitterness……

Still, always look on the bright side of life!  Today was a shitter, for reasons I daren’t go into just in case, but tomorrow is another day, and although I’m not optimistic about it, it’s not a write-off yet.  PMA, as Nick used to tell me…  Perhaps cynicism, sarcasm, bitterness and pessimism isn’t such a winning combination after all!  I’ve mellowed a helluva lot in the past 5 hours.  When on the way home earlier, thinking over what I’d liked to have been moaning about, this rant was going to be very vehement and volatile (ain’t alliteration amazing?) but now tiredness and enhanced perspective have overtaken it and made this very tame.  Which is probably for the best, seeing as this can be found by googling my surname (as pointed out to me by an amused and bemused sister recently, but that’s a topic for a different discussion) and seen by the wrong eyes it could be very damaging.  Meh. 

Final thing, and something I really could’ve done with today…. yesterday I got a little message that brightened my day, from a very unlikely source, and… well, it brightened my day!  A star in an otherwise cloudy sky, to borrow a phrase  ;)  It made me realise,  a little kindness goes a long way.  And genuine, sincere appreciation and gratitude, rare as it is, sometimes does make it worthwhile. 

How’s that for looking on the bright side?

The Graduate

Perusing the “Writing” folder on my laptop, I stumbled across this, written almost a year ago now.  Not particularly relevant anymore, a lot of things have changed in the past 11 months, but it’s interesting to read the thoughts of the time.  ‘Tis for me at least, and seeing as the chances of many other people reading this are fairly slim it’s probably safe to have it here as back-up and a potential point of interest.  (More likely I’ll direct certain individuals here and request feedback in which case, give feedback!!)

Anyway, the thoughts of Miss Lauren J. Adamiecki, 7th October, 2008, on being an undesirable History gradaute and all-round no-hoper!: -

“I am a graduate.  I attended a well-revered university for three years as an undergraduate in History (I won’t put its name to this as I wouldn’t wish to bring disgrace to its door) and gained an upper second class degree.

Supposedly thirty years ago or so those words meant something; it meant being desirable to employers, being respected in the workplace, perhaps even being a bit of ponce or an intellectual, but at least that’s an identity.  I feel less like an upper-second class citizen (how about that, creating a class system based on levels of graduates…) than a common prole.  I should be proud of my achievements.  Not everyone gets straight A-grades, or gets in to university, and even less people graduate at all, never mind doing it and narrowly missing a first.

So why isn’t it enough to get a job?  Why aren’t there suitors queuing up to get my name on their books?  Surely I’m a success, on some level?  True enough, I was never the most conscientious worker, despite somehow convincing all and sundry that I was throughout my education.  Never did I take it upon myself to really outdo myself, to challenge my preconceptions or step too far from my comfort zone.  This has perhaps held me back to some extent, a contentedness to ‘do the little things well’ – a product of a Catholic upbringing? – and to rely on my wit and intelligence to carry me through – a result of laziness, primarily.  Maybe I should have sacrificed my social life and become a bookworm or, rather than watching football and writing silly stories, I could have joined societies and written for the paper.

Maybe, perhaps, what if.  There’s no point to all that now.  Listing and dwelling on all my regrets is not going to help me get a job, to decide on a route through life.  People tell me I have to focus on my qualities; I have to learn to portray myself with confidence and esteem.  Unfortunately I’m mostly confident about my failures thus far.  Granted I have the capacity to be an egotistical little upstart, believing I deserve better than perhaps I truly do… but largely I’m just a pessimistic donkey.”

A necessary evil?

Courtesy of fellow temp Nick, from a few months ago, current.com brings you the following…

http://current.com/items/89804943_i-hate-temping.htm

Obviously not a personal hatred, but an amusing video nonetheless.

Irritated that wordpress and current don’t seem to want to combine to allow its embedding, but alas…

A Change is Gonna Come

I just realised I’m becoming a creature of habit and routine. 

Following a shower, at approximately the same time as yesterday’s, I sat on the bed in my towel, turned on the laptop, set an episode of The West Wing rolling and realised.  I did exactly the same yesterday.  In fact I’ve done the same little sequence many an evening previously.  I imagine I will continue to do so for some time to come too.  Only problem with that being that The West Wing is drawing to a close; I’m on episode 7 of series 6.  There’s 7 series in total and 22 episodes in each.  You do the sums, there’s not long to go.  Following an episode of said programme, possibly two if I’m feeling awake enough or particularly obsessive, I’ll do a bit of reading – either online or from a book, perhaps spend a further half hour or so online ‘conversing’ and ultimately wind up in bed some time between 11.30 and midnight.  Then it’s sleep time, then it’s reluctantly waking up at 6.15, then 6.30, then 6.45, then getting up at 7.  And then the daytime routine kicks in.  That’s bizarrely where most variety comes in, within the workplace, as it’s impossible to stick to a set routine in the ebb and flow of the place.  Even if I tried it I don’t think I’d succeed.  Anyway, 10 hours after leaving – give or take – I return home and then a rather usual, rather tedious, little pre-shower routine starts.  It’s almost worrying.

By the time I run out of episodes of The West Wing a lot of things may well have changed.  Coincidentally, the episode I just watched is called “A Change is Gonna Come”.  Or is that a coincidence?  Am I perhaps writing about this because subliminally that episode title has planted the idea of change in my mind?  Post hoc ergo propter hoc?  Or perhaps change is just in the air, and all these possibilities and questions are circling my brain and keeping me awake at night and keeping me from focusing fully on even the wonderful West Wing!  As I was saying, when The West Wing runs dry, I’ll have made steps – either forwards or backwards – and things will be on the way to changing.  I hope it’ll be for the better, but as of yet I don’t have a clue what direction I’ll be lurching towards.  I need something, someone perhaps(?), to force me into action, to stop all this thinking and questioning and actually conclude something for once.  I want to throw myself in at the deep end, but I’m bloody scared.  I want to be grown up, but I don’t feel ready for it.  Somebody give me a push, please?  Or, as a preferable option, maybe a lift?

Standing on the edge of tomorrow

Tomorrow – Tuesday, 19th May, 2009 – it will be the four-month anniversary of my starting work with the Council.  Granted within that time I’ve taken two and a half weeks off for a sojourn to the Far East so it’s not truly four months’ work, but datewise we’re there.  In many ways it feels much longer than that and yet the time has flown.  When accepting the position from Express I don’t think I expected I’d still be there four months later.  I certainly didn’t expect that I’d be wanting to stay there longer still…

Yet here I am, pretty much decided that I will presently apply for a permanent position, and finding it hard to imagine what might happen next if (or when) I don’t get said post.  I’m remarkably settled, perhaps dangerously so, and honestly daren’t allow myself to think about rejection and unemployment!  That’s mostly by the bye for now however; it’s out of my hands at the moment and indeed may continue to be until the last.  What has been occupying my mind this evening, since realising the date, is the past, not the future.  It’s been a fascinating journey already and I strongly believe I have grown up and changed a lot since January.  Being part of a proper work environment (albeit that quite how true to your regular work environment it is has been a topic of contention among certain colleagues for some time) helps one learn a lot about the world.  More specifically, it enables a greater understanding of how people work – not how they employ themselves, how they function!  I’ve found watching and analysing people infinitely fascinating for years, I suppose it could be attributable in some way to my constant, yet subconscious, lookout for good writing material and traits for characters.  The change from kids and teachers and students and lecturers to genuine professionals, proper grown-up, rounded individuals has, conversely, been less pronounced than one might imagine.  Certainly you expect social interaction and the like to have advanced somewhat from the playground to the workplace, but… on some basic level people are all the same!  It’s amazing to suss out the alliances, find the tensions, to note the marked difference in interaction from one person to the next.  It’s almost tempting to study psychology and sociology to try to better understand what motivates these things!

Anyway, I think that was quite a digression from what I’d been contemplating earlier.  What’s been on my mind this evening is more a question of my… development, for want of a better word.  A new letter from an old friend came today, commenting on the way in which we had both changed in the period between graduating in July and reuniting in China in April.  Whilst not much more than a passing remark, it did cause me to wonder: have I changed?  I’m pretty sure my outlook has been altered to some extent.  I spent most of university, and prior to that, as the perennial pessimist; likewise I was constantly failing to reach potential or work hard or give a toss!  Somehow the work has changed that.  Partly.  I’m still a pessimist at heart, or, as I choose to tell myself, a realist!  Equally I know I’m not currently reaching the potential that is balled up in me somewhere, but I have developed a genuine work ethic and I most definitely give a toss.  I have no idea why I find myself wanting to work, wanting to do things to the best of my ability and be constantly occupied in a gainful manner.  I don’t know what it is that has made me grow attached to the place and the work, and I don’t see why I should care whether they want to employ me or not.  I definitely don’t know if I’m doing the right thing by pursuing this course of action.  But then, how do people usually decide these things?  Why not find occupation via a spur-of-the-moment ascent into an agency; why not settle at the first place that’ll have you; why not follow the tide, get stuck in and ask questions later??  I can only imagine that’s how things work for many people.  Unless set on a specific job or career path, why not make the decision based on happenstance?  They may not be the best examples to follow, but I know that both of my parents fell upon their professions, such as they are.  Neither had designs on working in their respective sectors, neither really had grand schemes for which career ladders to erect and ascend.  They might argue that they wish they had: pursued some half-hearted dream or sought to be… something.  In a way I believe it was easier thirty years ago.  It wasn’t about getting a career, being “a” something; a doctor, a teacher, a lawyer, a corporate whore or an audit monkey.  You just got a job, because you had to.  I know that I’ve been spoilt in that respect.  It was never pressed upon me that a job was the be-all and end-all, I was never left wanting or needing my own income as a teenager and at the same time it was never a case of ‘pick a path at fourteen and ruthlessly pursue it by whatever means necessary’.  Sometimes I wish that had been the case, that I’d had to make a decision early on and that I’d had something specific to work towards.  Sometimes it feels that it would have been easier if I’d decided at school to be… an architect, for example, and had single-mindedly ploughed towards that end, rather than drifting and being unsure and ‘doing what I enjoy’. 

Would I be better off now?  Conceivably.  Would I be happier?  Who can tell.  Is it the ‘right’ way?  Is it proper to decide at three to be an actor and never consider the other options?  Is it appropriate even to ‘put all your eggs in one basket’ and invest years and thousands of pounds towards being a doctor, without any guarantee of success? 

Perhaps being a drifter and a dreamer and an indecisive, insecure, introspective idealist is the preferable option.  Maybe taking time, ‘wasting’ three years on a History degree and finally taking a cautious, semi-committed leap into a vocation at 22 off your own initiative and your own income actually is more sensible.  Effectively we’ll never know.  No one person can take both approaches and see both through to the end.  We can only hope that the route we take, whether by circumstance or design, reaches a profitable and positive destination.  Personally I’m glad there’s a long way to go before that final destination is even on the horizon, but where I’m standing now, looking pensively and carefully down the road, I’m sufficiently content to walk on at my own pondering pace.  I can do no more than thank all involved for helping me reach that status, and can only hope I’m on the right track.

 

Hmmmmmmmmmm…………..

The end

On to the final part of my travels, I’m going to ramble a little bit about the last three days in Beijing and the journeying home etc.  I think I mentioned the other day that we went out on the Friday night which was the first real night out of the trip, excluding the bizarre keep-away-from-the-hostel night in Tokyo.  That was fairly cool and not too drunken and I’m far too distracted by The West Wing right now to construct decent sentences!  This is, I believe, the series finale and as such some pretty big stuff is going down with the POTUS’s daughter… not a grand time to start writing a blog about something that happened a week ago.  But then, when is a good time?  “Ten past never?” to quote Ross from earlier today?

So, to Beijing.  We went much more for the tourist approach for this final stint.  On Saturday I embarked on a nice day.  I don’t mean it was a nice day, I mean I was challenged to be nice all day – to Tam and Lou at least!  In the morning, thankfully sans hangover for yours truly, Tam, Lou and I set out to the Summer Palace which looks like a lovely place and I can imagine it’s beautiful in the actual summer.  Alack, we managed to pick the smoggiest day of the year so far to visit, and also the day that half a million natives chose to visit! (I have no foundation for that figure whatsoever.)  With these two factors coming into play it made the trip less enjoyable than it could have been – as can be seen by the photos the smog look is not entirely attractive, and getting around when it’s so crowded isn’t exactly easy and stress-free either.  We did manage to find quite a secluded place by taking an off-road sort of path up a hill – warming up for the Great Wall! – where the views would have been magnificent if not for The Smog™!  After that little adventure we failed miserably to find a subway station and instead wound up in a taxi to the Olympic Village.  Once again, this was underwhelming largely due to the grey skies and dirty feel to the air.  By this point we were all getting a bit grumpy; grey is quite a downer when you’ve had sun for the main part of two weeks previous.  One can see how the stage for the Olympics could look impressive though – the “Bird’s Nest” stadium looks fairly cool from the outside even against the smoggy backdrop and the atmosphere around there must have been fantastic during the actual games.  Lou informed us that apparently in the run up to the Olympics they shut down a load of factories in Beijing so as to counter the smog issue and present an attractive and healthy front to the athletes and the viewing world.  I don’t know how true that is, but what I saw last week is a far cry from the nice scenes on the TV so it’s certainly feasible.

Having said that, Saturday was the only truly smoggy awful day we had while in China.  Xi’an looked a bit manky at times and Sunday wasn’t too pretty either, but we had more clear days than we did bad, particularly the final Monday which was lovely.  Eurgh I’m detailing the weather.  How terribly British of me… Anyway, to revitalise from the smog day on Saturday we went for a nice gluttonous dinner in the Western-y area of Beijing city centre (“Let’s Burger!” was the name of the place, and burger we did – though I’m not sure how burger can be a verb…) followed by manicures and foot massages.  That’s far from my usual way of spending an evening but every now and then it’s quite nice to be lazy and fat and indulgent… Certainly that’s the official party line for now, and not that I was just following the crowd rather than fending for myself in a busy Chinese market!  After the indulgence it was early(ish) to bed in order to wake up at 6am on Sunday and journey out to the Great Wall.  My overall analysis of “Nice Day” was that it was a success, but niceness is really not something I want to adopt full-time!  As I said the other day, I think I’m going to make it a monthly event, following on from the one in early March – which again, I think I succeeded admirably with.  Perhaps I’m not the best person to judge that as I think I’m always the epitome of sweetness and light.  Nah, I didn’t even type that with a straight face!  I’m loud and proud about my cruel, deadpan, sarcastic, dry, acerbic, harsh, rude, bordering-on-offensive “sense of humour” – and you know I’m not alone!  I’ve all but established I’m actually just boring without it, so to Hell with dull, nice Lauren.

Ahem.  That was quite the digression!  The Great Wall of China – heard of it?  It’s quite famous apparently!  Basically there’s this lengthy stretch of wall (4000 miles?), which I’m sure I could remember some exciting facts about if I wanted to, that was essentially supposed to protect the kingdom of China or something.  I’m such an impressive History graduate…  Regardless of what it’s purported to have done it makes a darn good attraction and provides some stunning views.  As a feat of engineering alone it’s incredible; it wasn’t even built as one construction originally apparently, the watchtowers *I think* predate most of the wall as I guess originally they served the greater purpose.  Thankfully this is not a history lesson (anyone still think I should consider teaching?) so I shall proceed to explore my own minimal experience of the site.  Without wanting to disappoint anyone, I’ll firstly confess that we did not walk the entire length!  I’m duly ashamed.  Three hours scrambling up steep steps and down rubble slopes was quite sufficient though thank ye, and the voyage culminated in a descent over the river on some form of zip wire mechanism.  It took two and a half hours to drive out there from Lou’s place in Beijing and we were freezing on arrival so purchased some rather fetching “I Climbed the Great Wall” jumpers.  I can’t speak for Tam or Lou here but, snug and useful as mine is, I don’t think it’s ever going to leave the house again!  They were a Godsend though for certain periods during the day and the photos demonstrate quite how cool we did look…  If the jumpers were a gift from God (and at £4 apiece somebody was certainly gifting us something), the panda hat was a gift from the God of Comedy!  What possessed Louise to buy it we will never know, but it served as a fantastic mood-lifter and motivator and once again plays a pivotal role in some rather hilarious photos as well as giving us something to laugh at incessantly.  It’s probably one of those “you had to be there” things but by my troth dear sirs, it was the best use of £2 ever.  At the end of the walk a lady on one of the stalls saw Lou still sporting it and grabbed something from the back of her shop – it was only a bloody wolf hat!  I really wanted that wolf hat in that moment… but alas the woman was not going to match the marvellous price of the panda and we moved on. 

In summary the Great Wall was a worthy experience.  As walls go it’s great enough I guess.  Despite my ‘humorous’ comment of “this wall ain’t so great” whilst out of breath and in pain at one of the many peaks, it is quite… great.  I’m certainly glad we went; not only can I now say – and advertise on an oversized grey jumper – “I’ve climbed the Great Wall”, but I can also consider myself privileged to have surveyed some impressive views and taken some lovely photos and… well, make people jealous that I’ve seen first-hand something many will only ever see on TV – or from space, if they’re lucky!   Once again after this venture we succumbed to a large meal (Chinese this time, aptly enough!) following massages intending to stave off the agony we were promised as a result of the wall climb.  It actually seemed to work too, I fully promote the idea of sports massages, and if I ever do any sort of sport again in my life I’ll probably indulge in them more often. 

Monday was the final day for me and Tam and as afore-mentioned we were blessed with a warm and sunny one.  Lou was at work so Tam and I went out to Tian’amen Square and the Forbidden City on our own, but we had arranged to meet the Bec there.  Following on from our visit she decided to come up to Beijing for a few days and so spent the best part of Monday with us.   As you may know, the square is like the embodiment of Communist China.  It includes the building where Mao’s body is preserved and on display 5 mornings a week, if one is so inclined to queue for hours to traipse past a dead dictator.  Not really my thing, but it’s not open on Mondays even if we had been tempted!  After meeting Bec we wandered around a bit, looked at a few statues and memorials and marvelled at the row of huge red flags rippling in the wind.  Commie Bec was particularly impressed but I was also more moved than you’d know from the pictures Tam took! (links to follow)  Bec then ran off for a bit to check in to her hostel, leaving me and Tam to take in the Forbidden City.  I really was quite uninspired by the Forbidden City.  The concept of it is pretty remarkable, the fact that entry to this entire city was… forbidden!  Ditto there were some fascinating snippets of info both in our guidebook and around the buildings – we were particularly disturbed by the thought of the Emperor having 2000 concubines, most of whom were aged between 14 and 17.  The mind boggles, but I’d really rather it didn’t…  In reality though it all struck me as a bit samey.  The buildings looked good and the size of it is unexpected but for whatever reason I wasn’t as awestruck as I feel I should have been.  It might have contributed that I was quite hungry and hot and had a headache but I was, I guess, underwhelmed.  If I was underwhelmed by the place itself, that’s nothing next to my feelings for the “milk tea” that Tam and I bought in the cute coffee shop within the city walls.  From perusing the menu milk tea seemed the most likely to resemble good old fashioned British builders’ tea, but by God it was far from that!  The milk part was on the money at least, but it was the most bizarre, sickly sweet, cold drink I’ve encountered (at least of the non-alcoholic variety) with these strange, round, black lumps in of… I don’t know what.  Bec seemed to think when we told her afterwards that they were some sort of fruit but they tasted of nothing and had a bizarre gooey texture.  Needless to say neither of us ate too many of those.  Again, there is a particularly unattractive photograph of yours truly showing disapproval.

After the Forbidden City we met up with both Bec and Lou in front of the “benevolent” Mao portrait.  Once again this seemed to be a photo op for several Chinese tourists, which frankly was quite embarrassing.  The worst was the bloke who brazenly took a photograph of me and Tam sat on the edge of a flowerbed thing without asking or even engaging eye contact!  I know I’ve already said it, but I just don’t get it!!  The four of us went off for dinner, all-you-can-eat-and-drink Teppanyaki (for about £17 apiece).  Bec and I were almost ashamed with the gluttony of it all.  It was quality food too, all cooked at our table by this fella who couldn’t have been much over 20, if at all.  To get that kind of service and standard in England I can imagine you’d be paying considerably more than £17!  Still, nice to enjoy the luxuries from time to time.  And it was very nice to share my final night there with Bec.  The two of us sat, chomping on raw salmon and tuna and freshly grilled steak and lamb, and reflected.  A year ago you never would have imagined Lobster and Hermit chowing down at a highbrow Beijing establishment – it’s so very far away from demolishing pizza on a street corner in Liverpool at 3am on a Winter’s night.  It’s funny quite how much things can change, and that too was contemplated, over fish-flavoured baked banana and parma violet-flavoured ice cream!

Despite that final, somewhat pensive but very enjoyable, night I have yet to reflect much on the trip as a whole.  And I think that’s still to come.  It might be easier with the benefit of hindsight, and a week or back at NCC under my belt, to evaluate it properly.  I rather doubt, as ever, that there’ll be any interest in reading such an account, but nonetheless as and when it is writen, so shall it be published. 

Finally, the travelling back home was quite a hardship.  The flight from Beijing to Paris seemed to drag on for an indeterminable amount of time, albeit punctuated with moments of humour, primarily provided by Benoit.  While still in Beijing airport an air crew walked past us, speaking in French.  Tamzin for some reason decided to declare that the guy who was talking (due to being French) had better be on our plane, as he seemed like a good trustworthy Frenchman!  I have no idea what was the matter with her at this point.  I didn’t see who she was talking about and let it slide, until we got on the plane and she saw the man again and pointed him out to me.  At this point (apparently I wasn’t entirely in my right mind either) I boldly decided that his name should and must be Benoit, and so it stuck.  From then on every time the poor man walked past us or did… anything of a stewardesque nature, Tam and I either got fits of giggles or elaborated on the story of Benoit, the French flight attendant.  For the record, the pilot was titled Phillippe and another of the male attendants was christened Rene.  Insanity was obviously prevalent during that flight, but we sure as hell needed something to keep us going through the ten hours and the cold air and the scant selection of films.  (An episode of iPodded West Wing helped too, as did finishing off The Time Traveler’s Wife.)

I’m half-tempted to rant about the shocking state of Paris Charles de Gaulle airport, and take off on my patriotic spiel I was concocting on the final leg of the flight from Paris to Birmingham… but I think those two things combined would result in my sounding rather xenophobic and/or nationalist… and coupled with my unenthused response to Communism Central in Beijing, I’d be in danger of having BNP membership forms sent to my house.  So I’ll stop for now!  But the patriotic rant at least is certainly still in the pipeline.  All good practice for when I’m a speechwriter of the ilk of Toby and Sam and our latest friend Will (West Wing reference, I apologise) as per one of the many fleeting job aspirations currently in circulation! 

Signing off before I fall off the chair…