Friday, 28. November 2008, 13:36:58
So this is...almost...it. So close now, so very very close...
In 5893* seconds I depart my place of work, turn left leaving the building, walk through the mulit-storey car park to the concourse and into the train station to await the train that will take me to Edinburgh where I will catch the flight that will magically transport me...to Paris.
It's been a long time coming, and I'm not talking about the enormous amount of work I've had to do this week to get ready for it (although I will - at length - if anyone is interested). No, it's been on my mental To Do list for at least three years now; always a 'nice idea', never a reality. But thanks to the pushing and prodding of people closest to me, Debbie and others, I got off my large buttocks and organised it. And now it's happening.
It feels almost like a dream. A proper dream, of the kind you have during sleep, rather than one of those ultra-important goals people are supposed to chase in their lives, although I suppose it's become one of those too in recent months. To be doing this at all feels so completely unreal, as if it was never meant to happen to me. 33 years living comfortably within the confines of [relatively] small geographical areas and suddenly I'm about to smash through the boundaries and step into another land, another freakin' culture. How awesome is that? 
It's overwhelming. I've already admitted to a few doses of panic, and these only intensified as the the time drew nearer and nearer and details still needed to be finalised. So much to do, so little time to do it. But hey, it's done, or as near-as-dammit. Only an hour now to go (which I'm obviously using to write this, may the Gods of Commerce forgive me). 61 minutes. 60...
I just want to give a last big Thank You to everyone who helped over the last two weeks. Anyone who gave me an idea, gave the gift of their experiences, loaned me odds and ends, or even just listened to me bitch about work and/or the things I still needed to organise - THANK YOU (A huge shout has to go out to Debbie, without whom this trip would probably never have materialised. Love you, babe). I realise I've been a pain in the butt, hopefully you'll be just as patient when I return laden with hours of holiday photographs that you MUST SEE. And for anyone who still reads this overly-indulgent personal tripe known colloquially as my 'blog', I'll have plenty to talk about and show you, too.
I'll be back Thursday-ish. Au revoiur, 'til we meet again...
Monday, 24. November 2008, 11:43:44
My first trip abroad approaches, excitement and apprehension furiously bitch-slapping each other in the war to be my strongest emotion:
So exciting - squeee!!!
vs
So much planning to do - aiiieee!!!
FIGHT!!!
I’ve only just made the arrangements for getting myself to Edinburgh and back, eschewing my usual dirt-cheap Megabus for the comfort, speed and convenience of an Open Return rail ticket; I was stressing a little about the plane being delayed and me then missing the bus and having to book another ticket at great expense, and the timing of it all...so spending that little bit more has neatly sidestepped my prospective descent into gibbering insanity.
The nice thing about travelling by rail is that it lets me spend a few hours in Edinburgh with my brother, Rory, who is graciously lending me his spare room overnight before my flight first thing on Saturday morning. I figure the best way to say thanks is beer and food in charming surroundings – ain’t I cute? 
Now, to the packing! So many fiddly little details to consider: camera and mobile phone need to be in full working order and able to charge in France – the cam needs a new battery, I think, in order to cope with the five million photgraphs demanded by a trip to Paris, while my chargers will need an adaptor for the alien 2-pin sockets they have on the continent. What clothes am I going to wear? My god, how much of it still needs ironed?? What liquids can I pack? (Hey, what about my contact lens solution?) What size of bag is suitable for hand luggage on the plane? How exactly does check-in work for international flights? Where do I get Euros from, and how much will I need to buy for five days? Will I need to clear some room on my visa for emergencies while I'm out there? Oh, And French! How about buying a small guidebook of handy phrases so I can avoid making a complete fool of myself shouting slowly at people in English? Do I have time to do a little study this week?
There’s a lot to do! 
The deadline is 2.30pm Friday. That’s the point of no return when I’m officially On Holiday and unable to change anything (much). I need to be ready. READY, dagnabbit!
Squeeee!! Aiieee!! Squeeee!! (etc...)
Saturday, 22. November 2008, 11:38:52
Friends, beer
As one ages, one's tolerance for the finer things in life undergoes a sad decline. It's a sobering Fact of Life that us thirty-somethings do not have the same energy or stamina of our twenty-something peers. Nights out on the town are more of a challenge than in days of yore; we tire faster and take longer to recover afterwards, a slightly depressing reminder of our fading mortality (for the deeper thinkers out there, the rest of you just carry on staring at the shiny things).
So it's always nice when a night slips through that bucks the trend.
My good friend Deborah enjoyed her 26th birthday last week but failed to celebrate it in any significant way. So last night, her friend, colleague and fully-paid-up Frenchman, Alain, held a soiree back at his rather impressive batchelor pad and shoe-horned her belated celebration into the proceedings, cake and all. On the guest list were a random and eclectic collection of Aberdeen University's continental contingent; two beautiful French ladies: two lively German girls: one larger-than-life German male: one Scots student of Herring Penises and her Brussels-born fiance: one unlawfully* handsome and charming male of indeterminate origin and staggering linguistic capability...and yours truly. 
I arrived late to the party - not fashionably (Fashion and I ceased communicating years ago), just rather later than intended due to my getting my own close friend and colleague, Suzanne, curiously more inebriated than I'd ever seen her. Suzanne had bravely accepted my offer to keep me company in town while I killed an hour or two waiting for the party to start, but her empty stomach was not best prepared for a full bottle of red wine flowing smoothly over her deliriously happy taste buds.
Once again my reputation as a Corrupter of Innocents (
) had emerged from the abyssal darknesses of my character, but I was happy to learn later that she arrived home safe and well...and had promptly fallen in her bath (as relayed to me via the medium of text at ohmygodgobacktosleep O'clock this morning).
Moving on, with much-needed rapidity...
I arrived in deepest, darkest Tillydrone - one of Aberdeen's wilder, less-civilised suburbs - by the good graces of one of our fair city's genial taxi-herders, the bus services looking less than convenient at only 8pm. Alain's place was a mere hop, skip and a jump from where I was dropped off, sparing me the potential nightmare of hunting, alone, in such a notorious neighbourhood. People have died for less.
No, seriously.
As to the party itself, what can be said that won't have been said about every other party in existence? We drank, we ate, we laughed, we mocked, we danced, the girls straightened Alain's unruly-but-rogueish blonde hair...
Allo. Je m'appelle Alain, and I love ze UK ladeez...call moi?
until, as individuals, we felt we could do no more and headed home to our nice, warm beds. I heard the call around 2am, and walked home - for my own home was a mere fifteen minutes away - in the driving, billowing snow:
Peaceful, tranquil, not as cold as it looked...
I'm sorry, didn't I mention that? Yes, November 21st saw the first strains of winter beginning to arrive in North East Scotland as Aberdeen was blanketed by a carpet of crisp snowfall which affected us not a jot, contrasted amusingly with our foppish English counterparts for whom a few flakes scattered here and there heralds the grinding, panicked halt of civilisation itself. 
A Good Night, then. One that amused me, entertained me, and re-affirmed my ability to drink quantities of alcohol serious enough to damage younger friends, while remaining personable and intelligent company. Here's to growing old gracefully. 
* * * * * * * * *
*The Laws of Ego generally require that members of my gender better-looking and more socially-adept than I are killed on sight. Somehow this one was permitted to live leading me to suspect I may be mellowing in my old age...Bah! 
Friday, 14. November 2008, 11:56:08
Thursday, 6. November 2008, 14:17:45
An indication of how much I use my mobile phone: the £20 call credit I got with the phone on the 26th August has only just run out today...9 weeks and 4 days later.
This cheapness pleases my thrifty soul. As does Virgin texting me to say I now have Free texts [to all UK networks] all weekend thanks to my top-up! Hurrah!
Wednesday, 5. November 2008, 09:23:52
So that's it. It's finally over. Only the so-called 'Honeymoon period' to endure now before the world can sleep soundly without millions of Americans obsessing over the names 'McCain', 'Palin', 'Paul', 'Biden'...although I suspect there will be some adoration forthcoming for the name 'Obama' for some time to come.
My sincerest congratulations, President Obama. Now please don't screw the world up any more than your Republican counterparts have done over the last eight horrible years.
Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy to see Obama in the top job. I'm also ECSTATIC to see his predecessor leave (I can't even bring myself to type his name). But I'm old enough and savvy enough not to get swept along in the tide of hyperbole and rhetoric spewing froth from Obama supporters in veritable torrents. He's decidely NOT the second coming, folks. And just because he's ticking demographic boxes that presidents don't usually tick DOESN'T mean he's not a politician at the core. As tonight's timely Guy Fawkes celebration reminds us, politicians are most definitely not to be trusted:
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
Or as popular wisdom has it - Guy Fawkes was the only person who went into Government knowing what he was doing. (I'm trying not to see Obama's ascension on this date as some kind of omen...
)
Personally, I believe that the distinction between Republican and Democrat is only a few atoms thick, and all too easily breached by the application of large sums of money (Google the terms 'Republicrat' or 'Demolican' to find others of a similar opinion). Obama, therefore, may only represent a different colour of collar on the same ruling-class dog we all know and despise. Cynicism aside, he must be applauded for his commendably honourable campaign, in stark contrast to McCain and even his Democratic (and I use the word here loosely) opponent Hilary Clinton, who both apparently, and as it turns out erroneously, believed that treating Truth as a dangerous abstraction was the path to power. In my opinion Obama has it all to prove to live up to even a fraction of his much-touted, and admittedly encouraging, potential. But hey, at least he's able to say the word 'Nuclear' properly. We're already better off than we were yesterday. 
Time, as always, will tell. 
Sunday, 2. November 2008, 11:16:02
In Modern Western societies, it is difficult not to let the hustle and bustle of day-to-day existence dominate your mental landscape. Staying on top of your daily affairs in a given week usually requires a significant amount of time spent doing, deciding, planning and organising, which makes it very difficult, and therefore extremely important, to give your hard-working little brains time to simply...go where they will. Like any engine if you work it too hard it will, over time, degrade and possibly even fail. For me, walking to and from work is the best time to give my mind the playtime it needs to stay healthy.
Take today, for instance.
Stepping out my door this morning revealed a lovely, bright, crisp November day awaiting my pleasure so, woolly-hatted and leather gloved in the crisp cold air, I begin my walk, falling easily into a speed and rythym ingrained into my muscle memory over countless similar journeys. My mind, easily bored with nothing to distract it, jumped at the chance to wander...
...onto the topic of regret. More accurately, a specific regret.
I'm quite an analytical person, with a good memory, so I'm quite used to little mental sojourns through my past. I tend to be quite critical, too: once this served as a tool for self-improvement, now more often than not it's a purely theoretical exercise that provides fodder for future decision making.
Today we were considering a particular time in my past when I upset someone, leading to the loss of a few people I considered friends. Painful still, but less so each time I revisit it, especially since I've gained a few very helpful insights from it in the years since: this , I believe, is called Learning.
This occupied the whole 45 minutes of my walk as I thought in and around the topic, considering, extrapolating and, yes, even revising - for what would a reminiscence be without at least imagining how the mistake could have been avoided. As soon as I reached my destination, however, my mind very quickly reverted to planning the day ahead of me...though the experience has left an imprint on me, touching on my emotions as it did.
Regrets are funny things, aren't they? Without making mistakes we don't seem to learn as easily (or at all, in my case ). But without our mistakes, we would be different people. I think I would be a different person (possibly colder, more arrogant, less empathetic...), yet I've learned to love and accept who I am, the person my experiences have helped me become. So shouldn't we really be celebrating them? Those concentrated flashpoints in our lives when we erred, emotions ran high and relations with others changed accordingly? Odd, then, that I should have any regrets at all.
I regret upsetting the person alluded to above. Deeply enough to carry the pain of it for the rest of my life, I fear. But there are other regrets, too, of different kinds. I regret not being bolder when challenges faced me, such as my cringeworthy response to the bullying I suffered througout my school life, or in my early romantic encounters when I responded awkwardly to certain approaches. I regret certain decisions that time proved to be the wrong ones. I regret, I feel bad for those times I failed myself and others...but for me this seems healthy and proper to do so and I can't seem to work out if this contradiction is a good thing or not.
I know the common wisdom is to have No Regrets by the time you reach your death-bed, hell it's practically a mantra these days, but my thought for today is that consdering how important getting things wrong is, what kind of life would it be, what kind of person would you be, if you had no regrets to speak of during your last moments of life?
WIDGETIZE