A Sassenach Soliloquy

Moving on...

2005-09-18T13:28:00.000+01:00

As is clear, pressures on my time have prevented this blog from flowering. I want to recommence blogging, but it seems best to right this one off, and start again. Hence, if you wish to catch up on my existence, I can now be found at Diary of a PhD. student.

Life eh? I love it.

2005-03-22T21:26:00.000Z

I'm just back from a couple of hours with new hobby: swing dancing. After a few beginners lessons, today I moved up to the improvers class, and discovered that I can do this.

I used to do salsa, but haven't had a lesson for years. I always found it tough though; the rewards were excellent, but I always found the lessons taxing. This evening was different; fun and relaxing, and both those things because it was - can I say this? - easy. Not easy, you understand, but no so challenging that the fun was removed until it was mastered, as was the way with salsa.

And it all just fits in with how life is going at the moment. On several occasions recently I've gone to bed sad that the day is over: sleeping might be nice, but it's dull compared to life. The essays I'm building are fascinating, and I feel good about what I'm writing. Frisbee remains fun, and my diet and lifestyle and healthy and feelgood. I'm in love. Unknown and exciting adventures await me at the end of this degree, and next week, on the date of my eponymous birthday, I'm feeding my travel bug, and heading to Spain for a few days.

When life is not so good, I want to be reminded that life can feel this way.

Lifting my head from the page

2005-03-17T20:38:00.001Z

Wow, where did that go? Semester is almost at an end. Those miserable months of January and February have never gone so fast.

That'll be love, of course. Spending time with T. is great, but I fear we're turning into exactly the sort of couple I always despised - people who rarely go out and spend time with their friends. I must make more effort.

Otherwise, little to report at present, except that the PhD application is in, my first semester marks were excellent and my head is currently buried in books about historical linguistics, memes, theories of language evolution, evolutionary psychology and beauty. Therefore I fear that a return to regular blogging is some way away yet, though I'll give it a try. Watch this space.

Back to school

2005-01-10T10:24:00.000Z

Ok, semester has started and thus my brief return to blogging is finished before I'm even back in the habit. Hey hum. The degree is more important I'm afraid.

Anyway, it's been an emotional weekend but one which I shouldn't blog about just now. It's had a happy outcome though, and one which should leave T. and I's relationship the stronger for it.

And with that I'm signing off until there are some hot cross buns in the shops and the wind has stopped blowing in Edinburgh. Bye for now.

"How will I blog this?"

2005-01-05T21:04:00.000Z

It's still the Christmas break - the new semester starts on Monday - and so I'm still blogging until then. But I have to remind myself to do it; I have to remind myself that I have a blog and that I want to keep it updated. I've enjoyed rereading stuff from Verona and no doubt the same will apply to now, particularly so the more time ticks by. Yet it wasn't always thus. In fact, the reason I mention reminding myself is because it never has been an issue before; previously The Blog has always been in mind and, once I'd started it, day-to-day occurances quickly became thought triggers for blog updates.

The break I took during last semester - and that I will take again this semester - has removed that sense of "How might I blog about this?" from my day-to-day life. I'm not sure how I feel about this; on the one hand that half a mind on how you could describe an event often makes the event itself more, say, humourous, but equally it perhaps helps to remove oneself from the immediate reality of the event, which is something best avoided.

I'll miss having the blog while I'm studying, but it's certainly for the best; the fewer distractions the better. But otherwise I'm very much looking forward to getting back into it. I'm rested and remotivated, and the coming months have a lot for me to be excited about.

"..your application... has been successful..."

2005-01-04T21:27:00.000Z

Back in November we received an email:

"The League of European Research Universities is holding a conference on 'The Credibility of the European Project' for students from the League’s members... During a 4-day forum, selected students from the above universities will discuss some of Europe’s current challenges. Together with leaders in the fields of politics, academia and business they will share their vision on the future of Europe. Discussions will be organised around the following subthemes:

1. The European project is not restricted by geographical boundaries.
2. The European Union faces a change in comparative advantages.
3. Thanks to its Constitution, Europe is finally a true state.

Funding towards the costs of travel will be provided by The University of Edinburgh: accommodation and meals will be provided by Bright... This is a highly prestigious conference. The resulting conclusions will be published and will be presented to the European Commission..."

I applied - for which I had to write a 500ish word essay - and then, recently, I received this:

"Congratulations! I am writing to inform you that your application to participate in next year's Bright Conference in Leuven, Belgium has been successful. You will be one of twenty postgraduate students attending this conference..."

Can't wait.

Career planning

2005-01-02T19:57:00.000Z

I have a week before the new semester starts. I have some things that need doing, and hopefully T. and I will get to spend a couple of days on one of the highland islands. Perhaps the most important of those things I have to do is think, hard, about the project I’ll do in the summer, and about my PhD proposals. Funding deadlines begin to loom as soon as the 1st February.

Yet I have no idea as yet. The course that should focus my mind – The origins and subsequent evolution of language – is run during this semester, so I’ll only be a few weeks into it by the time I have to have finished my applications. And our unassessed evolution of language seminars are also this semester. Does the deadline really need to be so soon?

I don’t have to do a PhD, of course. However I’d like to; it’d be fascinating, an obviously good thing to have on the cv and would mean three more years in a great town. But, more importantly, it fits into the career plan that I’ve begun to create and shape in the past two years or so. The job I really want (not to mention giving me three more years to find/create it) is to popularise Science on TV.

Why? Well, it’d be fun for a start, and should provide a healthy income, and that’s the fundamentals taken care of. But there are many other reasons that make it The Job For Me, and they fit into two broad categories: because it’d be rewarding, and because I think it’s important. Those reasons are not, of course, unrelated. And perhaps there’s a third category of reason: I reckon I’d be bloody good at it.

Science, and what Scientists do, is grossly misunderstood by the public and often misrepresented by the media. The basics, like the Scientific Method, are little known despite their simplicity. For example, many people think that ideas somehow get promoted from theory to fact, and don’t appreciate that every idea in Science is there for the shooting; nothing is sacred.

The problem, I think, starts in the classroom. What we teach is not Science, but other people’s Science: We only replicate what has gone before and is known. Did your Science teachers ever ask you to form a hypothesis before the experiement? Probably not, and even if so, did you understand why they asked? If so, you’re either extremely lucky (to have such a rare teacher) or a natural scientist (in which case you already know all this).

And I’m sure it can be made appealing. For example, a few weeks ago I was watching the excellent new food program Full On Food (BBC2, 8pm, Wednesdays) and Heston Blumenthal was on. If you don’t know who he is, go and google his name. He’s head chef and owner of The Fat Duck, a restaurant that possesses a rare three Michelin stars. And one of the reasons he has those stars is the outstanding originality of his food. Salmon infused with liquorice, anyone? How about bacon-and-egg ice-cream? He produces these dishes after much scientific work: He forms hypotheses about what is happening when we eat, tests his hypotheses and produces dishes that exploit that understanding. He is a Scientist, and a successful one at that. Why isn’t there a Science show exploiting such a sexy – and proper – use of Science? There should be (in fact, I think that the format of Full On Food could easily be adapted for a Science show), and I have the energy, passion, knowledge, good looks and communication skills necessary to present it.

Now, do you have any friends who work for the BBC? Can you put me in touch?

Tumbling into love...

2005-01-01T11:24:00.000Z

Yesterday morning, on the train back up to Edinburgh, I received a phone call from one of my coursemates: "Hey, we're all going to Hogmanay and we've got a spare ticket. Wanna come?". I guess so.

It was fun, although the evening its fair share of the usual NYE pressure (read 'stress' for some) of a dozen half-drunk people's desire to be in the same place as each other but also within a crowd of many. The atmosphere was good and, at times, I thought, rather romantic.

At one point, shortly after the fireworks, I noticed one particular couple: He was carrying her in both arms, with her arms around his neck and the two of them entwined in a kiss. Amongst all the noise and tens of thousands of others, to bear witness to this personal moment touched me, and I found myself wanting the same, with she replaced by T. and he replaced by me.

T. was, unfortuantely, in London; she has many friends there she hasn't seen since she came to Edinburgh. And so I found myself in what was, for me at least, a rather unusual situation: I was surrounded by pretty women - on the one night and in the one place that snogging strangers was de rigeur - yet I wasn't single. And so after years of chosen singledom, I now chose otherwise.

But my instincts and, yes, talents in the field of chasing pretty girls are well-honed, and part of me wanted to take advantage of that. But choosing not to wasn't self-discipline. Put simply, I wanted those other women to be T.: I missed her. Can we, then, distinguish thus: To desire women is part of being male, but to learn that real pleasure lies with one particular woman is part of being a man?

Cheap thrills

2004-12-26T18:19:00.000Z

Shopping for Christmas stuff a few days ago with T. we wandered around a few trendy stores in Covent Garden where t-shirts cost £30. Why so much? It's not hard to find a funky, equally well-made t-shirt in a charity or second-hand store, so why pay these silly prices? "Because...", I guessed, "..fashion represents an easy way for people with no style to look good".

You don't have to think much on the high-street; the marketeers who group consumers and channel their product accordingly do all the thinking for you. As a customer you just have to identify the shops that have targeted you as their core audience.

But buying - how shall we say? - independently, you have to think more. Lots of the stuff in markets and second-hand stores and charity stores and the back of your parent's wardrobe is, simply, rubbish. Or perhaps it doesn't work on you. You have to make judgments. You have to think, and have an eye for the aesthetic. But it's fun, isn't it? The joy of finding a real gem of a piece buried among all the crap far outweights the guilty pleasure of buying what you can't afford, consequences be damned. Just like learning to cook well actually reduces your food bill, then learning to dress well reduces your clothing bill. Fashion may cost too much, but style is cheap.

Happiness

2004-12-23T22:16:00.000Z

I promised to blog at Christmas, yet I've been back in London for 48 hours now, and semester finished almost a week ago. And nothing. I plead, as ever, busy-ness. (When I first wrote that it came out as business, but that wouldn't be right, would it?)

But I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm presently as happy as I've been for a long time: at least five years, and perhaps longer. My life stimulates me in all the best ways; intellectually, physically, culturally and, yes, sexually, to pick just some. To tease things out a little, dear reader, I'll talk about each of those in that order, thereby saving the salacious bits 'til last.

The MSc. is wide-ranging and fascinating; I have entered a exciting field. I'm working hard but enjoying that work and, as an older(ish) student, I take a more mature attitude to my study than I have previously; my time in other careers has taught me how to work. There are, inevitably, a few minor grumbles, but very little to fuss over. I have eight coursemates, and we have bonded collectively better than I could have hoped. Our academic backgrounds - Maths, Computer Science, Biology, Ecology, Anthropology, Linguistics, Modern Languages, Literature, Classics - are as many and wide as nationalities. Discussion and chat is varied and, often, vigorous, just as it should be.

I am exercising regularly. Some canoeing, but mostly more Ultimate. I have been training with both the student side and one of the non-student Edinburgh sides (a nice way to introduce balance to my life) and next month I will be attending trials for Fusion, the best side in Scotland and the fourth-ranked side in the UK. If I get through them it represents an outstanding opportunity to take my Ultimate skills to a higher level, and perhaps compete in the European Club Championships in the summer. The sport is fun, and I know that the endorphines it produces contribute to my present sunny outlook. Even better, we play in the park that's two minutes from my front door, and halfway between the flat and University. That's right: I walk five minutes across a park to Uni. No commuting for me, and I get to lunch at home too.

As everybody knows, Edinburgh and culture have a close marriage, and I wonder if perhaps I haven't made the best use of that yet. But what I have I've loved: outstanding pubs (that stay open 'til 1am), arty cinemas, good live music, cheap matinee theatre and great funk nights out. In the New Year I will add swing lessons to that list of experiences. Edinburgh will surely never tire of providing; I have simply to search for its treasures.

And then there's the sex. I had some in the first half of the semester, but the last two weeks have perhaps been amongst the most significant of my lovelife, ever. The girl in question is a coursemate. We didn't realise our mutual attraction to each other 'til the very end of term, which is something of a tragedy. But, like new lovers in perpetuum, we are making up for some imagined lost time. As I said to her last week, I feel something rather significant in my life starting. I've blogged before that I'm fussy with women, or least with those I get into relationships with. That remains true, and for the first time in a long time - perhaps ever - I feel like I've met someone from whom I can ask vitually no more. I hope I feel that way for a longtime to come.

So, the decision to go to Edinburgh was, unquestionably, the right one. I am happy, in the very best sense of the word, and that was true even before T. and I began our romance. Since I made the bold decision to quit my career and life in London nearly two years ago I have been rewarded with a series of life-affirming experiences and, I think, become an adult. In many senses Edinburgh feels like the culmination of that journey. So now it's onwards, onwards to the next big adventure.

Christmas is a comin'

2004-12-08T21:41:00.000Z

The semester is nearly over, and I will be blogging again soon. Suffice to say that I am tired, but very happy with life as a Sassenach.

I should also mention that I am writing this as a revision avoidance technique.

Service temporarily suspended

2004-10-22T10:54:00.000+01:00

Clearly I am busy, since I have not blogged for about ten days now, and before that entry for a week.

Life is very good; I am motivated and enjoying my studies. I'm playing lots of Ultimate and enjoying Edinburgh. In short, life is too busy to blog.

So service is to be suspended here until early December, when term ends. Some photos may go up, as finding some time to take some photos of Edinburgh is something of a priority at the moment, but, friends, I can't promise any writing for the time being.

So, enjoy your autumn, and I'll be back at Christmas time.

The trials of flathunting: #6 in a series of six

2004-10-10T20:40:00.000+01:00

Yep, that's right; I've moved into my new flat.

Four weeks ago I described my criteria. This is what I wrote:

Perfect: Large double-room, kitchen not seperate from living area, wooden floors, bike storage, broadband; one or two non-smoking flatmates, non-British flatmates, female flatmates, late-20s or early-30s flatmates; close to Uni, good greengrocers down the road, good fishmongers down the road, good off-license (Oddbins) down the road, good pub around the corner.

Acceptable: Medium-sized room with one-and-a-half-person-bed, kitchen not a box, carpets, bike allowed in room or in hall, good internet connection at Uni; one or two considerate smokers as flatmates, British flatmates, male flatmates, early-20s flatmates; a 15-minute cycle from Uni, good greengrocers on the cycle to Uni, a fishmonger somewhere nearby, respectable off-license down the road, good pub ten minutes away.

So, how does the place shape up?

Large double-room? Medium-sized double. Kitchen and living area the same? Yes. Wooden floors? Some laminated, some carpet. Bike storage? Yes. Broadband? Yes. One or two flatmates? Yes, one. Non-smoking? Yes. Non-British? No. Female? No. Late-200s or early 30s? No, but he seems mature for his 23 years. Close to Uni? Oh yes: six minutes door-to-door, a short walk across the park where we play Ultimate. Good greengrocers? Yes, three (!). Good fishmongers? Yes, two. Good off-license? Yes. Good pub? Of course: this is Edinburgh. In fact, the row of shops just down the road is the best local row of shops I think I've ever seen, and just another reason I'm really happy with the place.

Life continues to be good.

"..especially when somebody as cute as you's around"

2004-10-06T17:31:00.000+01:00

I found myself having a boogie last night. One of our gang was a girl, J., and there was another J., this one a guy, who fancies the first J.

So there's me, enjoying myself on the dancefloor (of a very nice intimate little bar-cum-club with a middle-eastern flavour, and sofas and beds everywhere) when J. (the girl) starts - how do you describe it? - rubbing herself up and down my body. (That sounds odd, and I just mean the usual knees-between-knees, rhythmic up-and-down movement.)

"What about J..." I ask, "..he'll get jealous y'know."

She rolls her eyes; "Ah, but he doesn't understand I'm not into this whole 'exclusivity' thing at the moment". There's a pause in the conversation, which she chooses to break herself; "..especially when somebody as cute as you's around".

It's nice having your ego massaged.

The trials of flathunting: #5 in a series of envy

2004-09-27T11:57:00.000+01:00

A fellow postgraduate student and now friend of mine found, the day before I arrived here, a gorgeous on George Square; that is, on the square where all of my study takes place, next to the Meadows where everybody plays frisbee and in the middle of town.

I went to two house-parties over the weekend, and both were in stunning flats with giant rooms.

I want my home.

(I think I have one, but it is subject to a few things, and I don't want to bore you with the details nor raise my own hopes too much.)

Oh goody - another session of theist-bashing...

2004-09-24T16:24:00.000+01:00

I don't normally post external links up here, but I'm going to make an exception today, because this should be compulsory reading for everybody. Ever.

Random thoughts about life in Edinburgh so far

2004-09-23T11:31:00.000+01:00

1) Academia and academics are, generally, hopelessly unprofessional.
2) Edinburgh is beautiful, and the architecture interesting (photos to follow soon).
3) Normally ethical and friendly people become bastards when flats are up for rent.
4) There are lots and lots of foreign students in the department (perhaps 80%); this is a good thing...
5) ..but how those of them who don't have excellent English skills expect to survive is beyond me: advanced has two syllables, not three, and nobody at that level of English should be making such a mistake.
6) Most people think evolution is a synonym for change. It isn't.
7) The weather here may, on the whole, be terrible, but it is at least interesting and this is, I venture, better than weeks of anonomous grey.
8) All female 20-year-olds look fantastic. It is effortless. Equally it is tragic that such beauty evaporates. Even worse is when they encourage that deteriation by drinking and/or eating too much.

In what other context would you pay to be lectured?

2004-09-22T17:31:00.000+01:00

My first degree was in Mathematics. That meant lectures were spoon-fed to us. By its nature, Maths necessitates lectures and lecture notes being structured, and written down. Some lecturers took this to extremes, literally writing, over the course of ten weeks, a small book on the subject on the board for us to copy down. However barmy that may be, the other extreme - talking, digressing, illustrating but not structuring - was far worse. There was just one example of such an approach at Sussex, and marks for his courses were consistently poor. As ever, the best exponents struck a balance between these extremes.

So my first archeology lecture, and my first experience of having to concentrate and take my own notes was a new experience. Clearly its a skill I'll have to learn quickly. I think I did fine this morning, but throughout I couldn't help think what an archaic form of 'teaching' this was: he talks, and we listen. Was this what school was like 80 years ago?

Although clearly knowledgeable and reasonably personable and approachable, our lecturer did not seem a teacher. His passion for the material did not come through, and neither did any motivation to teach. I understand that for many faculty lecturing is a necessary evil done to gain access to the time, money and environment needed to conduct their research. However for me, and many others, this is a place of learning; but where is the teaching that accompanies that?

This raises many questions about the nature of Universities, and subsequently the way in which they are funded. I am a paying customer of Edinburgh University, and as such I am entitled to expect a certain quality of teaching. Yet no doubt little teaching training goes on here, just as it doesn't in higher education institutions nationwide. But can we, as customers (with top-up fees now a reality, undergraduates fall into that category too), influence the market? I fear not, since the product we're buying - education - isn't the same as the product our future employers will look for, namely a degree from a prestigious institution. What that means is that, for example, Oxbridge (and, to only a slightly lesser extent universities like Edinburgh) can continue to charge the highest rates whilst not delivering the highest quality of education, since their brand will ensure a future employers interest. It would take a generation - at least - of poor teaching to erode that brand, and similarly it will take many years of outstanding teaching to put, say, Luton on the employer's radar. The playing field of this open-market is not a level one, and whilst it remains so bored faculty will continue to give boring lectures to bored students. My motivation levels are inevitably high at the moment, so that's not me - yet - but it could be, and given the financial price I'm paying for being here, I think I'm entitled to expect a little better.

The trials of flathunting: #4 in a series of men behaving badly

2004-09-21T19:26:00.000+01:00

It's too boring to go into, but just remember people are bastards, especially when they are about to become your landlord. Back to square one.

Everything else is sunny though, and I can't wait to start the archeology course tomorrow morning.

I love life

2004-09-19T19:02:00.000+01:00

My course will be fascinating. This semester I will spend time with faculty in archeology, economics, biology, linguistics and philosophy, all in relation to the evolution of language. Next semester will see computational modelling, computer science and more linguistics, amongst others. I cannot wait to start, and I feel ready and able. My course mates - there are 12 of us - seem nice, and I've made other friends; some from elsewhere in the department and others from frisbee and canoeing, both of which I've already done.

In fact, I haven't felt this alive since my time in Barcelona 18 months ago. However that was the negative energy of escape being channelled in a constructive way; a good thing, but different from the positive, forward-looking and future-focused energy I have now: for the first time in my life I have proper direction and I understand why I'm doing what I am. I expect, imminently, to be fulfilled in what I'm doing, and with a healthy array of friends and hobbies around me. Edinburgh is treating me well, and I am a happy man.

Why Edinburgh University is not like South-East Asia

2004-09-16T16:18:00.000+01:00

This is a remarkable University. I have been through the entire registration and matriculation process, including registering with the library, my department and two sports clubs, and I have not had to provide a single passport-sized photo to anybody. Incredible.

The trials of flathunting: #3 in a series that's making me think about housing issues

2004-09-15T00:01:00.000+01:00

When I was writing about Berlin earlier this summer I said that England - and by extension, in this case, Britain was "..a population that doesn’t know how to live in cities". I also pointed out that "Flats are considered a poor man’s choice..." and these ideas are now firmly entrenched in my mind after wandering around another British city and some of its flats.

Fed on a diet of mythical British ideals, we insist - and I make no apology for repeating this - on living in houses with gardens. Rather than designing and developing flats we instead build compromised houses. The distinction is one of the perception of living styles. Houses, with their seperate living, dining, cooking and sleeping rooms retain echos of a timeless Britain, when our genteel company would accompany us to the dining room where dinner would be served (by servants?). The ritual is repeated after the feast upon return to the living area, and is mimicked by all stratas of society; how often have you heard the phrase "Shall we adjourn..."? British flats are built in this mould, with walls continuing to seperate our cooking, eating, living and sleeping, as if each were a seperate life. Yet the reality is, moreso today than ever, that these activities are increasingly mixed, and the distinctions between them blurred. The architecture of apartments should recognise this, creating imaginative yet viable ways of making maximum use of the space; with their necessarily reduced area, flats are not well-served by walls, and even less so by other trappings of the British man's house: hallways and baths, corridors and porches. Indeed, even the balcony is treated as a miniture - compromised - garden, and is often stuffed with plant trays or other garden ornaments.

Our refusal to release our grip on our rural dream stiffles original use of our urban spaces. Our instinctive conservative nature places high emphasis on private initiative, and distrusts public institutions. This means that we place our lived identities in the institution of the house, which remains the default housing choice. However by doing so we necessarily reject, at least to some degree, the immediate locality (in contrast, it's interesting to note, to many continental Europeans; indeed, the Spanish word barrio, meaning area or suburb, but yet neither of those words exactly, doesn't have a direct translation into English).

Consequently, through politicians responding to the electorate's interests, we instigate the neglect of our public spaces, and especially our communal town squares. But these places are the centre-pieces of urban living which, it is worth emphasising, is the lifestyle that most of us live in 2004, and will continue to do so. As long as we continue to build walls and halls in houses with gardens we will continue to experience urban living miserably (numerous surveys continue to tell us that urbanites are unsatisfied with their quality-of-life) and urban spaces as dangerous. Yet so often we travel abroad and bathe in marvellous piazzas and plazas and long for the same back home.

A living manifesto for the 21st century should recognise that, within our towns and cities, we must dispense with attempting to live an unimaginative, sterile rural fantasy. That dream remains healthy in the place where it grew and continues to thrive: the countryside. However it should have no place in the town-planning of the 21st century. Instead we should make our urban environments something to enjoy by embracing their vibrancy and creativity, and putting that flair to productive use. And we should begin by recycling that very idea, and directing its energies exactly at where it came from: society's building blocks, housing.

More More More

2004-09-14T09:22:00.000+01:00

The flat I'm temporarily staying in has cable TV. (I nearly put '..the rare luxury of...' in that last sentence, before realising that 300 channels of crap is not a luxury but something that wastes your time when it would be better employed sleeping.) So last night I found myself flicking through the various music channels and I discovered that the beautiful Rachel Stevens has realeased a cover of the disco classic More More More. (Don't you just love the way the lyric "How d'yer like it? How d'yer like it?" rolls off the tongue like a wheel down a hill? Fantastic.)

Now, we all know that covers are rubbish. Mostly they are little more than a direct copy, marketed to the auidience of the day: Atomic Kitten can rot in hell for, well, lots of reasons, but in this particular instance for taking advantage of the Bangles' class and popyfying (Is that a real word? How do you spell it?) Eternal Flame, amongst others.

I actually have more time for artists (Why do we have to use that word for these people? Most of them are nothing but glorified manekins.) that desicrate a track, for at least they've tried to do something new and, hopefully, original, even if they fail. In this respect The Kittens did a lot better with Tide Is High (they even got it right, turning it into bone-fide quality pop); it's a pity they lose all credit for that for basing their careers on pop-covers: sooner or later one of them had to come good. Paul Weller has just done a cover of Thinking Of You by Sister Sledge, and truly given the song new life; he's not tried to improve a classic baseline but instead has gone acoustic, slowed it down and, in his own words, "..tried to bring the song out a bit more". It works.

Back to Ms. Stevens. She's done something new with More x3, adding a pacier beat and making use of that layered technique so popular in dance music; a technique that probably has a technical name but which I'm too much of a musical philistine to know what that name is. You'll just have to make do with the pub definition: y'know-that-one-where-the-track-is-faded-and-muffled-like-at-a-club-and-then-suddenly-it-becomes-crisp-and-clear.

What do I think? It's ok, but, like most of today's pop, it looks bland when compared to its predecesor. But y'know what? I don't care. It still sounds like disco, and no doubt I'll find myself in some trashy bar over the next few weeks when it's played and I'll be first up there, pretending I'm listening to the original and dancing with my imagined disco girlfriend. Anything which teaches today's youth that disco is the purest and only true form of pop is good, and if just a few hear it and search out the original then that's good enough for me: More More More.

The trials of flathunting: #2 in a series that is already too long

2004-09-13T20:57:00.000+01:00

Flat-hunting is rubbish, isn't it? We always forget how bloody boring it is.

It should be easy. But instead... oh, it makes me angry. I won't bore you with the stories, except to ask: Why do some people not tell you the whole story - crucial pieces of information - until you're at the flat, like they're thinking that once you're there that information may no longer put you off?

But frisbee people are great. I'm writing this from a nice flat that belongs to a frisbee player I didn't even know until the weekend just passed, when I played on a team with him. Super weekend it was too.

Food matters

2004-09-10T13:10:00.000+01:00

Flicking through the paper today I came across a couple of articles about food, and they reminded me how much I'm looking forward to cooking in my own flat again. Although, obviously, I cooked in Verona, I only had two hobs and the variety of produce available in Italy is not good, even if the quality is excellent. A good greengrocer and fishmonger near to my future home in Edinburgh, and a proper kitchen, will go a long way to making me happy.

I've asked my parents why they insist on buying supermarket food, and, like most, they trot out the convenience argument. Then, reading those articles today, I was reminded how difficult it can be in this country to be serious about food. Friends call me fussy when I'm prepared to criticise a restaurant; others call me a food snob when I say I can't cook anything decent if you buy all your 'fresh' ingredients from the supermarket. The only conclusions I can draw from this is that most people really can't taste the difference (Sorry for nicking your phrase Sainsbury's; what's worse is that I usually can taste the difference, and your stuff normally fares worse).

But an individual is, obviously, free not to take their food seriously if they wish. What angers me is the abuse one gets for doing so: 'pretentious', 'fussy', 'ponce', 'snob', just to pick a few. This is wrong. If a Spaniard, say, (and I'm deliberately not picking France or Italy - where food is taken even more seriously - for this example) were to approach the fishmonger in their local supermarket with a question, they'd walk out if fishmonger couldn't answer. But here on our island we choose not to demand proper food but instead packaging that tells us what's good. And rather than expecting proper service we bashfully accept some spotty A-level student who doesn't know what cleaning a fish actually is, let alone how you do it. But what's worse is that trying to buck that trend results in abuse: don't rock the boat Thom, we're customers and you'll upset the restauranteurs. The logic is backwards.

These thoughts chipped away in my mind, and began to echo something I was ranting to friends about recently: we - the British - don't value intelectuallism. We prefer our pragmatic common sense and trusting our instincts. This certainly has its merits - it's a major reason why we've never been swamped by isms - but need it come at the expense of ideas? Articulate informed rants are normally greeted with "In your opinion", swiftly followed by that great excuse for intellectual laziness: "Everybody's entitled to their opinion". But it's not good enough to just sit on your 'opinions'. C'mon, I think: tell me why I'm wrong. Unfortunately trying to raise the level of conversation will, in most circles, result in derisory calls of 'pretentious' or, maybe, 'ponce'. Sound familiar?

Does this refusal to engage with depth in the most important facets of human life - food, drink (that food paragraph could easily have been written about wine too), ideas - go further? Politics? Possibly, and if so we have a chilling view of where that leads: in the US politics today personality is, nakedly, a far more important quality than a coherent ideological vision. Many here think we're increasingly going down that road too. Yet an electorate that chooses not to engage seriously with the subject matter but instead to trust its instincts gets the politicians it deserves; similarly a populace that chooses not to take food seriously gets the diet it deserves; and a society that spurns intellectualism gets the base media it deserves. Thus increasingly, and with regret, I wonder if here - Great Britain - is not my natural home. Edinburgh may be my last hurrah.

A fresh eye

2004-09-08T13:09:00.000+01:00

That's one thing you need to take good pictures, I think. I want to get some pictures of London, but nothing seems suitably dramatic. Obviously that's nonsense - to pick just one example, the bank of the Thames is possibly the world's finest architectural showcase - but I grew up here, and so nothing is new: it's hard to see what is interesting or different.

But I tried yesterday. Here's one:

The trials of flathunting: #1 in a series of hopefully not very many

2004-09-05T20:59:00.000+01:00

Perfect: Large double-room, kitchen not seperate from living area, wooden floors, bike storage, broadband; one or two non-smoking flatmates, non-British flatmates, female flatmates, late-20s or early-30s flatmates; close to Uni, good greengrocers down the road, good fishmongers down the road, good off-license (Oddbins) down the road, good pub around the corner.

Acceptable: Medium-sized room with one-and-a-half-person-bed, kitchen not a box, carpets, bike allowed in room or in hall, good internet connection at Uni; one or two considerate smokers as flatmates, British flatmates, male flatmates, early-20s flatmates; a 15-minute cycle from Uni, good greengrocers on the cycle to Uni, a fishmonger somewhere nearby, respectable off-license down the road, good pub ten minutes away.

Unacceptable: Box room, box kitchen, peeling carpets, no bikes, no good internet in my life; three or more flatmates, heavy smokers, Daily Mail readers, 'lads', teenaged flatmates; suburbia, Tesco as only local food supplier, dodgy off-license acting as a front for the local drug den, Wetherspoons as the local.

I actually don't think that finding all of that top list is too much to ask; can anybody help?

"You want to kiss me? Are you drunk?"

2004-09-04T21:34:00.000+01:00

It’s been a busy and fun week: Frisbee on Tuesday, Edward Hopper and proper beer on Wednesday, live Jazz on Thursday and drinking and dancing with students on Friday. It’s the sort of week I like, especially when I’m enjoying the day job at the same time. Pity it doesn’t pay well.

I was particularly pleased I went to see the Hopper exhibition at Tate Modern on Wednesday. It was very enjoyable, and, I think, the first time I realised how much a collective body of work can be (far) more than the sum of its parts. Credit to the curator.

I’ve viewed Hoppers in the past, most recently just a few weeks ago in Berlin, and, like everybody else, I’ve always taken away a sense of isolation and independence. They’ve always seemed decidedly, almost fiercely, neutral, with no perojative comment attached to the lives and the society depicted. However, as I proceeded through the exhibition those common themes articulated themselves; where previously an personal reading of a given piece was possible, it became clear - through the repeated strands - that the characters are suffering: from existential angst, from purposelessness, from emptyness and from isolation. These notions, and Hoppers representations and metaphors of them, became well established as the chronologically-arranged exhibition progressed. And then, in the later works, Hopper stripped his pieces down to their minimal, largely symbolic elements, and appreciation of that work would have been largely impossible without what had gone before. Excellent stuff.

Down from high culture, yesterday evening I went to a well-known chain of pubs-with-a-dancefloor in Soho with the students. It reminded me of my undergraduate days when I loved the tacky fun of those places, and I had fun this time too. The biggest difference was that I had no urge – indeed, didn’t want – to drink. But I was still asked “Are you drunk?”, and that’s the second time a girl has asked me that when – sober – I’ve gone to kiss her. Would you believe me if I said I was only doing it in the name of social research? For the record, what I found out is that it is true: Japenese girls really are very shy.

There's always someone in a faster car

2004-08-30T00:01:00.000+01:00

Last autumn, shortly after I started this blog, I entered the Guardian’s Blog competition. I didn’t win (you’d have known about it if I did). Belle De Jour did.

You may have heard of Belle De Jour. She is a high-class London prostitute, whose tales have earnt her a large online following, a book deal, and, if a recent entry is anything to go by, a film may follow. She has been writing her blog as long as I have been writing mine: a little less than one year.

She can write, no doubt, but no better than many of us. What she does have that is different, however, is a story, and a door into a world that fascinates many. And, presumably, a fine figure.

This generates feelings in me that I’m not proud of: envy. Not furious, rebel-against-the-system anger or anything approaching it, but certainly a bitterness that what differentiates her success from my imminent poverty is simply her body: no doubt she will not be short of cash, if she isn’t already. Meanwhile I’m gambling all my savings to live in poverty and self-fund a year at University.

You might be screaming one of several replies at the screen right now: “But she’s a whore! She shags strangers for a living! She has no dignity!” or “But money isn’t important; you’re doing what you want to do” or maybe “You’re not unlucky yourself, y’know, simply being able to fund that year”. There are several variations on those themes. And they’re all right, but - and this is the point - that doesn’t, if one is honest, mean one doesn’t experience negative emotions when faced with somebody with more luck than oneself. I can see that, and thus hate the fact that I feel as I do.

What is resentful is something that sections of humanity have grappled with for eons: somebody else's qualities being better rewarded than one's own, financially at least. (I recognise that my case is trivial in comparison to many (most) others, but that doesn't negate how I feel.) You can reply that my intellectual stimulation is a greater professional reward, but we are all different, and she clearly enjoys her job. I may feel that there are fewer things better than a true lightbulb-over-the-head, jump-out-of-the-bath-in-excitement-and-wonder moment, but she could quite easily reply that, as far she’s concerned, there’s nowt better than giving a man an orgasm. And it’d be hard to argue. So, if she is stimulated (no pun intended) by her profession, and me by mine, and we are both talented in our chosen fields, why should she be better financially rewarded than me? Especially given that I would put that money to purposeful use.

Of course, she’s by far the only person I can ask that question about: there are countless talentless nobodys in the public eye (and elsewhere) earning healthy incomes; enough, in some instances, to mean they’ll never have to worry about money again. But with each of those individuals I can, as we all do, character assassinate them in my own mind if I wish, and thus easily comfort myself that I don’t want their lot. But, crucially, I can’t do that with Belle De Jour: it's clever marketing to choose, when word of her blog started to hit the mainstream, to remain anonymous and hence retain control of her own publicity. She is wholly in control of what we know about her.

Enough. I write about this not because it keeps me up at night or that I feel particularly angry about it, but because it helps me understand what bitterness feels like as an adult. I’m lucky - as anybody reading this is - to live in the historical environs that I do, and even in that context I’m still amongst the luckiest. But some are luckier. As the Beautiful South (and many others have expressed in similar ways) once said: “There’s always someone in a faster car”.

A New Beginning

2004-08-29T18:23:00.000+01:00

So, here we are: in less than a fortnight I move to Edinburgh.

So the blog needed a new name, obviously, and this seemed a perfect opportunity to redesign the whole site. The An Englishman in Verona site will remain up, and the photos will stay there. However I am planning to add some sort of gallery to this site, to make all the photos easily available.

Otherwise, I hope you like the new template.