... that you were proud of yourself? Properly 'wow, I'm actually pretty
awesome aren't I?' proud.
I'd typed out a message to my friend Vicky (whom I visited in Berlin not too
long ago), bemoaning all the stuff I've gotten myself into and how relentlessly
busy I've become- partially to block out my fear of the future, partially
because of the 'just say yes' policy I've come to loosely adopt in order to
stop myself from being the social recluse I once was. I was just internally reflecting upon
how I must be some kind of idiot to take on so much, when Vicky's reply popped
up.
'I know you don't mean it but .... stop making me feel
bad! I feel so lazy...'
I blinked. Lazy? Vicky? 'Mate', I thought to myself, 'You
up and went to Germany for two years just like that to teach English, having
known no-one in the country beforehand, became really proficient at German as a
language itself, you're teaching yourself Russian now- successfully for such a
difficult language, too- and you're also about to go to Peru to learn
Spanish and travel!'
It's funny isn't it, the way we perceive ourselves? It made
me realise how I'm just as guilty of ignoring my good points as anyone else
(except for maybe two of my friends, who are unusually exceptional- especially
for a couple of fellow Brits- at recognising their own amazingness; I say this
with no guile).
I, like anyone else, suffer from that horrible, mean little
thing called Envy. I envy Vicky, for doing what I've always wanted to do and
travelling by herself to discover the world, carving out her own path by her
own terms, whereas I'm too cowardly. I envy Lucia, who goes on trips away with
their friendship groups in Birmingham that are too awkward for me to join in
on, being in a different city. I envy Toria, who makes friends so easily, and
keeps them. I envy all my friends who have their own houses while I'm a City
Statistic still living with my parents, trying to save for an elusive place in
London. And let's not even go into the envy I feel for people I don't even
know.
If, up until just now, you'd have asked me when the last
time I felt proud of myself was, I'd probably have replied '2006.' Now I know
how ridiculous this is.
This isn't a brag post; I won't list the things I've found
to be proud of for myself. But I have found some, all the same. The thing to
remember is not to be the best of everything- that's impossible, and few even
get to be the best at anything- but to be the best at being yourself.
Cliché, but no less true now than
when you were told this in nursery.
It's pretty much impossible to see ourselves the way other
people do. The best guide we can have is to try and understand the way our
friends see us: after all, surely they wouldn't be our friends if we were as
ineffective and silly as we thought we were, right? I know I'm proud of my
friends, and know that they're all amazing people with their own amazing
qualities. Logically, it stands to reason that the feeling is mutual.
So
if ever any of you have a 'God, why am I so useless?' moment (as we all have,
sometimes), remember how your friends see you, and know that even if you can't
understand it yourself, your friends admire and respect you for a reason.
Saturday, 27 July 2013
Sunday, 21 July 2013
Jim Beryl: A Salute to One Cool Dude
The orchestra triumphantly belted out the last few notes of the final movement of Shostakovitch's Symphony No. 10 in E minor, and the Royal Albert Hall exhaled and let rip an awed, enthusiastic round of applause. The themes in that particular symphony are rather dark and intense at times, and the oppressive tension is very noticeable in the music, even if the listener isn't aware of the political significance of it 71at the time of its composition. Nevertheless, the ending of the final movement seems to release all of that tension at once in a frantic controlled chaos, leaving all listeners breathless and ever so slightly relieved. It's a fantastic piece of music.
My friend Min Hwee leaned in to shout over the audience's applause to express how impressed she was with how strong the percussion section of the orchestra was. I shouted back in agreement.
"You know, it made me think of Mr Beryl," she shouted.
"Who?" I shouted back.
"Mr Beryl! You know, the percussion teacher?"
I did indeed remember. Mr Beryl: glasses, smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a wizard on the drum kit; in his late fifties when I left school, probably mid-sixties by now.
"Oh, Mr Beryl! How come?" I asked.
Min Hwee blinked. "Well, you know," she said slowly, "how he passed away..."
Min Hwee tailed off and looked mildly horrified: I hadn't known. I had frozen mid-clap, and I think my face openly showed my shock.
I learned that he'd been diagnosed with cancer, and had been battling it for just a few months after diagnosis before he died. Apparently he'd been teaching almost right up until the end.
Jim Beryl: not a big man, but larger than life even so. Always full of fun and enthusiasm.
School wasn't an easy experience for me to begin with. It took quite a few years for me to figure out who I was and where I fit in, by which time I was already doing my GCSEs. By Sixth Form and A-Levels, I practically lived in the music school, taking part in the vast majority of music groups in some shape or form. One of the things I found myself in during Sixth Form was Percussion Ensemble, which was headed by Mr Beryl, the percussion music teacher. I enjoyed myself immensely in all of the music groups I took part in, but Percussion Ensemble was 'pure fun' because it was the only group in which I played instruments that I wasn't formally studying.
I became one of a few unofficial members of Percussion Ensemble during the biennial music school tour, as the ensemble needed a few more people to play who were also going on tour. We unofficial members picked tuned percussion up quite quickly, having already had solid musical backgrounds, and my two favourite instruments in the ensemble became the marimba and the vibraphone, partially because of the similar layout to the piano (my main instrument), and partially because I loved the sounds they made. In any case, I've always associated Percussion Ensemble (along with the whole of the music department) with the time I stopped dreading school, and began to love being there.
Min Hwee and I reminisced about the time Mr Beryl got a little carried away during a school concert: during a section of music where there was supposed to be a pause, he kept on playing the drum kit with gusto before realising that it was time to stop. Mr Mitchell (the conductor/ head of the music department, and also another well-liked teacher) shot him a exasperated look, which was met with a not-quite-sheepish-enough grin- giving the rest of us the giggles as we tried to remain professional and continue with the concert.
That guy had an amazing sense of humour. He was an incredible musician in his own right, his enthusiasm for music was infectious, and he was a great inspiration to many a pupil. If there's any justice in the world, I'd like to think he's up there jamming with Sir Patrick Moore.
My heartfelt condolences to his family. I was deeply saddened by the news, even if it is old news for some. To the man himself: thank you for being such an awesome teacher, even though I wasn't directly a pupil of yours, and thank you for giving me one more much-need reason to love school.
My friend Min Hwee leaned in to shout over the audience's applause to express how impressed she was with how strong the percussion section of the orchestra was. I shouted back in agreement.
"You know, it made me think of Mr Beryl," she shouted.
"Who?" I shouted back.
"Mr Beryl! You know, the percussion teacher?"
I did indeed remember. Mr Beryl: glasses, smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a wizard on the drum kit; in his late fifties when I left school, probably mid-sixties by now.
"Oh, Mr Beryl! How come?" I asked.
Min Hwee blinked. "Well, you know," she said slowly, "how he passed away..."
Min Hwee tailed off and looked mildly horrified: I hadn't known. I had frozen mid-clap, and I think my face openly showed my shock.
I learned that he'd been diagnosed with cancer, and had been battling it for just a few months after diagnosis before he died. Apparently he'd been teaching almost right up until the end.
Jim Beryl: not a big man, but larger than life even so. Always full of fun and enthusiasm.
School wasn't an easy experience for me to begin with. It took quite a few years for me to figure out who I was and where I fit in, by which time I was already doing my GCSEs. By Sixth Form and A-Levels, I practically lived in the music school, taking part in the vast majority of music groups in some shape or form. One of the things I found myself in during Sixth Form was Percussion Ensemble, which was headed by Mr Beryl, the percussion music teacher. I enjoyed myself immensely in all of the music groups I took part in, but Percussion Ensemble was 'pure fun' because it was the only group in which I played instruments that I wasn't formally studying.
I became one of a few unofficial members of Percussion Ensemble during the biennial music school tour, as the ensemble needed a few more people to play who were also going on tour. We unofficial members picked tuned percussion up quite quickly, having already had solid musical backgrounds, and my two favourite instruments in the ensemble became the marimba and the vibraphone, partially because of the similar layout to the piano (my main instrument), and partially because I loved the sounds they made. In any case, I've always associated Percussion Ensemble (along with the whole of the music department) with the time I stopped dreading school, and began to love being there.
Min Hwee and I reminisced about the time Mr Beryl got a little carried away during a school concert: during a section of music where there was supposed to be a pause, he kept on playing the drum kit with gusto before realising that it was time to stop. Mr Mitchell (the conductor/ head of the music department, and also another well-liked teacher) shot him a exasperated look, which was met with a not-quite-sheepish-enough grin- giving the rest of us the giggles as we tried to remain professional and continue with the concert.
That guy had an amazing sense of humour. He was an incredible musician in his own right, his enthusiasm for music was infectious, and he was a great inspiration to many a pupil. If there's any justice in the world, I'd like to think he's up there jamming with Sir Patrick Moore.
My heartfelt condolences to his family. I was deeply saddened by the news, even if it is old news for some. To the man himself: thank you for being such an awesome teacher, even though I wasn't directly a pupil of yours, and thank you for giving me one more much-need reason to love school.
Friday, 12 July 2013
In Which Tash Takes a Day Off
Well alright, most of the day off- but it's as close to a full day off as I've had in quite a while.
I've been very, very busy. I work full-time, manage five blogs altogether which involves a lot of baking, photoing and editing, writing and Going Out and Doing Stuff, I have a regular exercise routine, still occasionally try to keep up with music, and I have a very active social life from making sure I give my time to as many friends as possible. One of the downsides of being so busy all the time is that friends have gotten used to having to book me up to two months in advance, but at least my friends are also very understanding.
Recently I've been doing some voluntary online work for the up-and-coming Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium (London's very first cat café), which is super-exciting! Of course it's been a challenge to juggle the mad amount of stuff I already do, but I'm so happy to be able to be part of it in some way, although it does mean that time management has become a fine art.
Which is why maybe it's a bit sad that having a relaxing day is novel enough for me to write about it in The Wacky World of a Weird Girl. In fact, I'm writing this right now as a break before I get back to work.
I booked a day off work today, originally because a friend was coming down from Birmingham to visit, but then she had to go to a medic's function (she's a doctor). I decided to keep the day off instead of cancelling it, because I suddenly realised that actually, I really do need a day to myself.
So this morning after a mini lie-in (but not too much because I prefer being productive), I got up, and started the day by visiting a café I'd always wanted to try out for breakfast (reviewed in one of my other blogs).
I LOVE going into London just after the morning rush hour on a weekday. It's so quiet! I sat outside the café with my coffee and breakfast, and for the first time in months I felt truly relaxed. Note that I don't mean happy- I've been very happy indeed- but it was the first time in a long time I actually sat back in peace and quiet, did nothing and didn't feel guilty about doing nothing. I sat slowly sipping my coffee and nibbling my cake until it was all gone, and sat watching the world go by just for a little longer before I reluctantly got up and continued with my day.
Even though I was reluctant to shift myself from my relaxed spot, I knew I'd enjoy myself at my next destination: Camden Town, one of my favourite places in London. Also another great place to be during those few hours between breakfast and lunch on a weekday.
Camden Town on the weekend- and even during lunchtime on a weekday- is always absolutely rammed. It's a trendy place to be for all ages, is a popular tourist destination, and is just an overall cool place to be. This morning I got the chance to walk around at my leisure, discover new nooks and crannies without being squeezed out of the way by more people, and actually be able to look around without my vision being blocked by bodies.
Whilst I was there, I bought a cup of tea from Yumchaa, and sat on the balcony outside which overlooks the canal and the Camden Lock West Yard world food market. There was still an hour to go before people would start trickling in for lunch, and it was bliss. There was one funny moment when a couple of French tourists walked past me, sitting with my cup of tea, and one said something to her friend like 'Ah, le typique anglaise!', gesturing towards me in a way which she obviously thought was subtle. Yes, yes, we do love our tea here. And I do understand a bit of French, lady.
Sitting there after Relaxation Time Stage 1 earlier in the morning, in view of the canal and the smells of food from all around the world wafting from the market below, colourful bunting for the coming evening's music festival billowing in the gentle wind, with tea in my teacup and a little more left in the teapot- it was zen. There was even a resident friendly kitty cat to play with: perfect.
I was quite sad to leave when lunchtime hit and the zen was broken by the oncoming crowds of people- but I was able to leave my quiet spot outside the tea shop knowing that there was more fun stuff to do, even if relaxation time was over. I had lunch, and headed off home to do continue with work before making dinner for the family.
This weekend I'm back to my old tricks, going out to meet friends and baking and blogging and going to events, and soon the memory of being totally 'at ease' will fade- but one thing I will remember to do is take time off for myself more often: sometimes it feels like I'm so busy making time for other people that I forget to make time for myself. Don't get me wrong: I choose to be busy. It's a way of life I enjoy. However, sometimes I need to be reminded that I need switching-off time to recharge (even if it's only once every two months). I can't wait to be able to have another day off where I can sit with a cup or tea with my favourite place almost all to myself, and literally do nothing else but drink tea, sit and watch the world around me.
In the meantime, I'll try to hang on to that memory of the feeling of zen for as long as possible, before the business of tomorrow and the day after sweep it away.
Anyway. Back to work.
I've been very, very busy. I work full-time, manage five blogs altogether which involves a lot of baking, photoing and editing, writing and Going Out and Doing Stuff, I have a regular exercise routine, still occasionally try to keep up with music, and I have a very active social life from making sure I give my time to as many friends as possible. One of the downsides of being so busy all the time is that friends have gotten used to having to book me up to two months in advance, but at least my friends are also very understanding.
Recently I've been doing some voluntary online work for the up-and-coming Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium (London's very first cat café), which is super-exciting! Of course it's been a challenge to juggle the mad amount of stuff I already do, but I'm so happy to be able to be part of it in some way, although it does mean that time management has become a fine art.
Which is why maybe it's a bit sad that having a relaxing day is novel enough for me to write about it in The Wacky World of a Weird Girl. In fact, I'm writing this right now as a break before I get back to work.
I booked a day off work today, originally because a friend was coming down from Birmingham to visit, but then she had to go to a medic's function (she's a doctor). I decided to keep the day off instead of cancelling it, because I suddenly realised that actually, I really do need a day to myself.
So this morning after a mini lie-in (but not too much because I prefer being productive), I got up, and started the day by visiting a café I'd always wanted to try out for breakfast (reviewed in one of my other blogs).
I LOVE going into London just after the morning rush hour on a weekday. It's so quiet! I sat outside the café with my coffee and breakfast, and for the first time in months I felt truly relaxed. Note that I don't mean happy- I've been very happy indeed- but it was the first time in a long time I actually sat back in peace and quiet, did nothing and didn't feel guilty about doing nothing. I sat slowly sipping my coffee and nibbling my cake until it was all gone, and sat watching the world go by just for a little longer before I reluctantly got up and continued with my day.
Even though I was reluctant to shift myself from my relaxed spot, I knew I'd enjoy myself at my next destination: Camden Town, one of my favourite places in London. Also another great place to be during those few hours between breakfast and lunch on a weekday.
Camden Town on the weekend- and even during lunchtime on a weekday- is always absolutely rammed. It's a trendy place to be for all ages, is a popular tourist destination, and is just an overall cool place to be. This morning I got the chance to walk around at my leisure, discover new nooks and crannies without being squeezed out of the way by more people, and actually be able to look around without my vision being blocked by bodies.
Whilst I was there, I bought a cup of tea from Yumchaa, and sat on the balcony outside which overlooks the canal and the Camden Lock West Yard world food market. There was still an hour to go before people would start trickling in for lunch, and it was bliss. There was one funny moment when a couple of French tourists walked past me, sitting with my cup of tea, and one said something to her friend like 'Ah, le typique anglaise!', gesturing towards me in a way which she obviously thought was subtle. Yes, yes, we do love our tea here. And I do understand a bit of French, lady.
Sitting there after Relaxation Time Stage 1 earlier in the morning, in view of the canal and the smells of food from all around the world wafting from the market below, colourful bunting for the coming evening's music festival billowing in the gentle wind, with tea in my teacup and a little more left in the teapot- it was zen. There was even a resident friendly kitty cat to play with: perfect.
I was quite sad to leave when lunchtime hit and the zen was broken by the oncoming crowds of people- but I was able to leave my quiet spot outside the tea shop knowing that there was more fun stuff to do, even if relaxation time was over. I had lunch, and headed off home to do continue with work before making dinner for the family.
This weekend I'm back to my old tricks, going out to meet friends and baking and blogging and going to events, and soon the memory of being totally 'at ease' will fade- but one thing I will remember to do is take time off for myself more often: sometimes it feels like I'm so busy making time for other people that I forget to make time for myself. Don't get me wrong: I choose to be busy. It's a way of life I enjoy. However, sometimes I need to be reminded that I need switching-off time to recharge (even if it's only once every two months). I can't wait to be able to have another day off where I can sit with a cup or tea with my favourite place almost all to myself, and literally do nothing else but drink tea, sit and watch the world around me.
In the meantime, I'll try to hang on to that memory of the feeling of zen for as long as possible, before the business of tomorrow and the day after sweep it away.
Anyway. Back to work.
Monday, 8 July 2013
In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment: Part 3- Conclusion
Bloody hell you know how I was bragging about running two miles a little while ago? I thought I was pretty hardcore doing it when it was 22 degrees out. Even more hardcore when I did it in the rain. I just went out in 28 degrees C skin-spitroasting-sun weather and only managed a mile and a half before feeling like a dehydrated jellyfish. Utter fail.
Anyway, yesterday. It was alright! At least I felt happy enough, the guy was indeed fun to talk to as I'd suspected and the hour in the coffee shop before I had to go meet my friend Jules went pretty fast. I made the mistake of choosing a size Massive coffee after a week's coffee prohibition though and spent the whole hour trying to act as little like I was about to be sick and then pass out as possible, but I think I covered it quite well. I think. I've discovered that I have a weird automatic response to feeling slightly awkward in new social situations: shaking people's hands way too often. It's weirdly overly formal, I've got to stop that. In any case, it was fun hearing a bit about what it's like to be on the guy-end of speed dating and the like.
So he texted me his email a little while after, which I guess means I didn't weird him out too much. His email address does have '1337' in it though so there's a small chance I might have been trolled (if you don't know the significance of 1337, look up 'leetspeak' and then bear in mind it has the same trendiness as 'YOLO' nowadays), but that's just me being a smidge overly analytical. Other than that, I didn't spontaneously combust into flames of embarrassment and shame, and neither did he, so I'd mark that as a pretty successful interaction between two human beings, even if that's the last I hear from Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon. Therefore I close this experiment on myself, and anything related to this experiment that may or may not happen afterwards will just be put down to Life. Or possibly Irony. Most likely a bit of both.
Oh, and although I failed at running in the heat today, my training is definitely paying off: when I realised that I'd left my phone in the coffee shop whilst I was waiting for Jules, I sprinted a whole 300 metres back to the coffee shop, where my phone was thankfully waiting for me, and then 300 metres back again to meet my friend on time. It was 30 degrees out. Win. Although the sudden caffeine spike may have helped...
~Fin~
Anyway, yesterday. It was alright! At least I felt happy enough, the guy was indeed fun to talk to as I'd suspected and the hour in the coffee shop before I had to go meet my friend Jules went pretty fast. I made the mistake of choosing a size Massive coffee after a week's coffee prohibition though and spent the whole hour trying to act as little like I was about to be sick and then pass out as possible, but I think I covered it quite well. I think. I've discovered that I have a weird automatic response to feeling slightly awkward in new social situations: shaking people's hands way too often. It's weirdly overly formal, I've got to stop that. In any case, it was fun hearing a bit about what it's like to be on the guy-end of speed dating and the like.
So he texted me his email a little while after, which I guess means I didn't weird him out too much. His email address does have '1337' in it though so there's a small chance I might have been trolled (if you don't know the significance of 1337, look up 'leetspeak' and then bear in mind it has the same trendiness as 'YOLO' nowadays), but that's just me being a smidge overly analytical. Other than that, I didn't spontaneously combust into flames of embarrassment and shame, and neither did he, so I'd mark that as a pretty successful interaction between two human beings, even if that's the last I hear from Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon. Therefore I close this experiment on myself, and anything related to this experiment that may or may not happen afterwards will just be put down to Life. Or possibly Irony. Most likely a bit of both.
Oh, and although I failed at running in the heat today, my training is definitely paying off: when I realised that I'd left my phone in the coffee shop whilst I was waiting for Jules, I sprinted a whole 300 metres back to the coffee shop, where my phone was thankfully waiting for me, and then 300 metres back again to meet my friend on time. It was 30 degrees out. Win. Although the sudden caffeine spike may have helped...
~Fin~
Thursday, 4 July 2013
In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment: Part 2
(Or rather the experiment has concluded and now the consequences commence).
So I mentioned that as a result of speed dating I friend-matched two people, and one sent me a message: Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon, the one who seemed like an almost polar opposite to me interests-wise but still seemed fun. Part of his message read:
"You're very different to most people I meet // and I like that."
This made me laugh out loud- I thought it summed my efforts of the evening up pretty well! Part of my reply was:
"I got the impression that I'm very different to most people other people meet on Saturday, haha."
In short, we're meeting up on Sunday morning in town for coffee (no euphemism, literally coffee), which works out quite well because I'm meeting another friend for lunch in the same area after. So if he turns out to be a crazy person (and let's face it, we all know that between me and anyone I'm the most likely to be the crazy person...), I'll be in a very busy area with a friend nearby.
It's kind of a weird situation for me to be in. When I make friends it's purely 'organic' and happens gradually. In this case, it's more like 'Hey, I think we should be friends! Let's meet up at this designated time and place and try to be friends even more!' Of course, put like that, it sounds like an unusual situation for anyone to be in.
I guess the experiment's now on me, then. Let's see how a Socially Awkward Penguin like myself copes out of her comfort zone, shall we?
Haha that's ridiculous, a Socially Awkward Penguin has no comfort zone.
I'm screwed.
So I mentioned that as a result of speed dating I friend-matched two people, and one sent me a message: Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon, the one who seemed like an almost polar opposite to me interests-wise but still seemed fun. Part of his message read:
"You're very different to most people I meet // and I like that."
This made me laugh out loud- I thought it summed my efforts of the evening up pretty well! Part of my reply was:
"I got the impression that I'm very different to most people other people meet on Saturday, haha."
In short, we're meeting up on Sunday morning in town for coffee (no euphemism, literally coffee), which works out quite well because I'm meeting another friend for lunch in the same area after. So if he turns out to be a crazy person (and let's face it, we all know that between me and anyone I'm the most likely to be the crazy person...), I'll be in a very busy area with a friend nearby.
It's kind of a weird situation for me to be in. When I make friends it's purely 'organic' and happens gradually. In this case, it's more like 'Hey, I think we should be friends! Let's meet up at this designated time and place and try to be friends even more!' Of course, put like that, it sounds like an unusual situation for anyone to be in.
I guess the experiment's now on me, then. Let's see how a Socially Awkward Penguin like myself copes out of her comfort zone, shall we?
Haha that's ridiculous, a Socially Awkward Penguin has no comfort zone.
I'm screwed.
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
I Crashed My Car- Part 2
Remember when I crashed my car about six weeks ago? A few unbelievable things have happened since then.
Firstly, the insurance's garage assured me that my old car was going to be written off, in the end (this was why I went ahead and bought a new one). They suddenly called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that my car was in the process of being repaired.
What.
The day before yesterday saw the return of my old car 弟弟. I can't say I wasn't glad to see him again, but now I'm stuck with two cars. I re-transferred the insurance to my old car, since it has a personalised numberplate and air conditioning, and I'll have to try and sell on poor 妹妹, the new car. Again: what a faff. At least insurance waived the transfer cost because of all the trouble they and the garage caused me.
The second unbelievable thing happened today was I got a call from insurance saying that the lady I crashed into had decided to take out an injury claim.
WHAT.
I described her in my last post as 'absolutely lovely'. I might have to take that back. She and her son were fine! I talked to her for about half an hour In fact, when I took the cupcakes round the day after the crash, whilst I was already (genuinely) suffering from whiplash and concussion, they were both still fine when I was chatting to them- chipper, even. Now after over a month has passed she's claiming injury. My dad mentioned that the last time he was involved in a car crash that wasn't his fault, he got hounded by claim companies left right and centre, encouraging him to make a claim when he was fine. Dad stoutly refused. Apparently this lady got caught up by them.
A small, mean part of me kind of wishes that I hadn't made those cupcakes, now.
Firstly, the insurance's garage assured me that my old car was going to be written off, in the end (this was why I went ahead and bought a new one). They suddenly called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me that my car was in the process of being repaired.
What.
The day before yesterday saw the return of my old car 弟弟. I can't say I wasn't glad to see him again, but now I'm stuck with two cars. I re-transferred the insurance to my old car, since it has a personalised numberplate and air conditioning, and I'll have to try and sell on poor 妹妹, the new car. Again: what a faff. At least insurance waived the transfer cost because of all the trouble they and the garage caused me.
The second unbelievable thing happened today was I got a call from insurance saying that the lady I crashed into had decided to take out an injury claim.
WHAT.
I described her in my last post as 'absolutely lovely'. I might have to take that back. She and her son were fine! I talked to her for about half an hour In fact, when I took the cupcakes round the day after the crash, whilst I was already (genuinely) suffering from whiplash and concussion, they were both still fine when I was chatting to them- chipper, even. Now after over a month has passed she's claiming injury. My dad mentioned that the last time he was involved in a car crash that wasn't his fault, he got hounded by claim companies left right and centre, encouraging him to make a claim when he was fine. Dad stoutly refused. Apparently this lady got caught up by them.
A small, mean part of me kind of wishes that I hadn't made those cupcakes, now.
Monday, 1 July 2013
In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment
Or more to the point, in which I go speed dating.
You heard me.
A couple of weeks ago two colleagues and I were talking about the merits of being single, and somehow we got onto the topic of how to flirt. None of us could decide on how to define flirting exactly, so as a joke we Googled 'flirting workshop'. We actually found one! Only they cost over £200 for a day course.
Two hundred smackeroos of my hard-earned cash to learn how to flirt? Seriously?
Anyway, one thing led to another and we ended up agreeing it would be jolly good fun if we signed up for speed dating, which happened a couple of nights ago, on Saturday night. In the end neither of my colleagues made it, one having never actually gotten around to booking and the other having to go to a friend's wedding. Thankfully (really, really thankfully) I found a couple of other people to go with instead.
Off we trotted to the bar, making sure we were intentionally ten minutes late to avoid being the first ones there. Of course, we were the first ones there. I was rather amused and more than slightly worried that the doormen (or rather doorladies) began to ask for our IDs, but then told us not to worry and go straight in and downstairs to the event bar when they realised we were there for the speed dating event.
So if we're just here to down booze we need to be ID-ed, but if we're here to meet a bunch of random strangers whilst downing booze at the same time it's a-okay? Huh.
Even though we were the first to the scene, we were very quickly followed by more ladies ("What did I tell you? The girls always arrive first," I heard one say to her friend). Soon enough the place was full: twenty girls, eighteen guys (because two guys hadchickened out failed to turn up). It was a relatively small room, and to my slight discomfort I realised that dates would be sitting side-by-side on sofas rather than face-to-face like an interview. Scratch that, I'm not sure which is worse. Anyway, the rules were that girls stayed where they were and guys rotated, often having to squeeze onto the sofas by sliding past the fixed tables (I was particularly glad I didn't have to move as I'm not known for my natural poise and grace).
The bell rang. Off we went: four minutes per person and *DINGDINGDING*, time to move on to the next.
Speed dating is surprisingly exhausting, even if you're a talkative person. As a writer, I'm quite contented to sit for hours on end and type or scrawl, and as for the quality of my writing- I've been told I could convince anyone to do anything, on paper. Talking... not so much. Some people are blessed with a silver tongue- mine's more like one of those roll-up party horns. As a result, when I talk- especially about the things I'm interested about- I think I sound rather manic.
Combine manic speed-talking with a whole load of wild hand gestures and an increasingly shrill voice as I struggled to compete with the growing din of a large crowd with booming club music in a small room, and you'll get a general feel for how I was coming off.
Combine this with my unbridled geekiness, then, well...
I joked with some other friends that I wasn't worried about meeting weirdos: I'D be the weirdo. I joked that there would be guys going home later that night, going back to their mates and saying "Yeah... there was this one really crazy girl there..." By the time I left, I really felt like I'd completed my own prophecy. The confident guys either humoured me or, in one case, acted physically repelled by me (although the latter wasn't much liked by my friends either because of his slightly arrogant air), and the shy guys were overwhelmed by me.
Without further ado, here were some of the most memorable moments of the evening on my end.
The Good:
One guy asked me what the most exciting thing I'd done in the last couple of years was (I replied I went to Go Ape). This was a nice change from the 'so what do you do?' or 'is this your first time speed dating?' questions I'd been asked. As the minutes went by the subject of me once doing a lot of battle reenactment came up, and I was impressed that he actually asked what century reenactment my group did and what kind of sword I had. I asked him what TV and books he liked, and just as he replied 'Game of Thrones' the bell went *DINGDINGDING* before I had a chance to enthuse. Ah well- such is the nature of speed dating. I scribbled 'Paddy- Game if Thrones' hurriedly as a prompt on my 'score sheet'.
As soon as this other guy sat down, I decided to ask him what the most geeky thing about him was. To my puzzlement and amusement, he stared at me, blinked and suddenly replied "You know what, screw this. I'm liking your blue dress and black cardi thingy combo." I laughed and said thanks, but I still expected him to answer the question. When I asked him what he did, he only replied "All in good time." As our conversation progressed it became very apparent that there were very few geeky bones in this guy's body, and he even asked me "So would you force any unsuspecting boyfriend into wearing a costume to Comicon with you?" (My answer was of course not- one man's cosplay is another man's form of cruel and unusual punishment). The bell went *DINGDINGDING*, and just as he got up he shot back in my direction, "And to answer your earlier question I work in finance." "Oh! I'm sorry" I said, and thankfully he laughed. I scribbled 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon' down.
The Bad:
The arrogant guy- as he slid across the sofa, I joked at how they could have picked better seating arrangements for a bunch of strangers meeting each other for the first time, wanting to make the best impression. I wasn't expecting the single raised eyebrow I got, paired with a very chilly, "Actually, I thought I did that rather well." I laughed as if he were joking, but he just continued to stare ever so slightly down his nose at me and repeated, " Wouldn't you say I did that well?" I rolled my eyes and said something like 'fine then'. We ended up talking about food for the rest of the few minutes left (at least food is something I can talk about), with him mentioning one of these fancy places that has no menu and me struggling to remember the name of one of my favourite Malaysian restaurants as he boredly stared at me as I struggled. It was a rather long four minutes. At least my friends all had a similar experience. To be honest, he was acting like actually being there made him sick. You know what the craziest thing is? The friend he came with happened to be Game Of Thrones Paddy.
When one guy asked me if I'd been speed dating before and I said no, he countered with, "You have such a lovely, innocent face for someone who lies so well!" I covered my discomfort by a show of obvious mock-offence.
The Mad:
That'd be me, then. Aside from mentioning I owned my own chain mail, lost two years of my life to World of Warcraft and have been to London Comicon dressed in Stark Trek uniform, I also occasionally asked "What would you rather be: a pineapple or a papaya?" Curiously everyone I asked answered pineapple, and everyone said it was because of their hair. I also asked "Star Wars or Star Trek?" on one occasion.
The Interesting:
One guy's English wasn't particularly polished, and it turned out that he came from a small village in Italy and had moved to London to seek his fortune as an artist (or rather seek a career- few ever make a fortune in art). Not quite believing him I asked him questions like what was his favourite medium, period of style and favourite artists, and to my astonishment he was totally genuine. I didn't put him down as a 'Yes' or a 'Friend', but all the same when I wished him well in the city at the end of the four minutes, I meant it wholeheartedly.
So would I do it again? Maybe. Not in a long while- it was more a novelty and a fun night out for me, and I certainly didn't expect to meet any knights in shining armour. They say speed dating is a numbers game, but I never was that great at probability in maths.
Anyway, there are several major flaws to speed dating, the major one in my opinion being the time limit. Sure it's handy if you get someone you don't get on with, but what about people like Game of Thrones guy? There were a few more like him, like a slightly shy-er guy who I found out when we had just seconds to go that he played jazz piano (interesting to me, being a qualified pianist), and another even shy-er guy who was just beginning to come out of his shell before he had to move on.
The second biggest flaw is more of a personal one: I'm a geek girl. I'm pretty niche. Even worse, by a lot of 'geek guy' standards I'm not 'geeky enough' (sod them, is what I say). Speed dating events in my age range are often for city professionals who are more into sports than sci-fi. So I can't really win. All I can do is do what I do best, and be myself as hard as I possibly can.
One question I really wanted to ask people but never got around to was, "What do you enjoy most about being single?" I could give a whole list of reasons why I love being single- which is probably why I only ticked the 'Friend' box on my score sheet for some of the guys, and no 'Yes'es for dating. Dating and boyfriends can wait- I'm too busy geeking out.
So. After the event you go home, and in the next couple of days enter in your ticks online to see if anyone has matched up with you. Did I get any friend matches afterwards? Well, I've just gotten around to checking and yes, I have two: one is the shy-er guy, and the other, most amusingly, is 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon'. 'Game If Thrones Paddy' has yet to input his scores.
I did find 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon' quite fun though, and thought we'd probably actually get on rather well despite the culture difference (or else it would have been rather silly for me to tick 'Friend' if I didn't mean it, wouldn't it?). In fact, halfway through writing this I got a pop-up email alert telling me that he's sent me a message. I haven't read it yet- it's way past my bedtime and my brain has already made as much social interaction as it can take for a few days. I'll take a look and maybe reply tomorrow. This could be entertaining...
You heard me.
A couple of weeks ago two colleagues and I were talking about the merits of being single, and somehow we got onto the topic of how to flirt. None of us could decide on how to define flirting exactly, so as a joke we Googled 'flirting workshop'. We actually found one! Only they cost over £200 for a day course.
Two hundred smackeroos of my hard-earned cash to learn how to flirt? Seriously?
Anyway, one thing led to another and we ended up agreeing it would be jolly good fun if we signed up for speed dating, which happened a couple of nights ago, on Saturday night. In the end neither of my colleagues made it, one having never actually gotten around to booking and the other having to go to a friend's wedding. Thankfully (really, really thankfully) I found a couple of other people to go with instead.
Off we trotted to the bar, making sure we were intentionally ten minutes late to avoid being the first ones there. Of course, we were the first ones there. I was rather amused and more than slightly worried that the doormen (or rather doorladies) began to ask for our IDs, but then told us not to worry and go straight in and downstairs to the event bar when they realised we were there for the speed dating event.
So if we're just here to down booze we need to be ID-ed, but if we're here to meet a bunch of random strangers whilst downing booze at the same time it's a-okay? Huh.
Even though we were the first to the scene, we were very quickly followed by more ladies ("What did I tell you? The girls always arrive first," I heard one say to her friend). Soon enough the place was full: twenty girls, eighteen guys (because two guys had
The bell rang. Off we went: four minutes per person and *DINGDINGDING*, time to move on to the next.
Speed dating is surprisingly exhausting, even if you're a talkative person. As a writer, I'm quite contented to sit for hours on end and type or scrawl, and as for the quality of my writing- I've been told I could convince anyone to do anything, on paper. Talking... not so much. Some people are blessed with a silver tongue- mine's more like one of those roll-up party horns. As a result, when I talk- especially about the things I'm interested about- I think I sound rather manic.
Combine manic speed-talking with a whole load of wild hand gestures and an increasingly shrill voice as I struggled to compete with the growing din of a large crowd with booming club music in a small room, and you'll get a general feel for how I was coming off.
Combine this with my unbridled geekiness, then, well...
I joked with some other friends that I wasn't worried about meeting weirdos: I'D be the weirdo. I joked that there would be guys going home later that night, going back to their mates and saying "Yeah... there was this one really crazy girl there..." By the time I left, I really felt like I'd completed my own prophecy. The confident guys either humoured me or, in one case, acted physically repelled by me (although the latter wasn't much liked by my friends either because of his slightly arrogant air), and the shy guys were overwhelmed by me.
Without further ado, here were some of the most memorable moments of the evening on my end.
The Good:
One guy asked me what the most exciting thing I'd done in the last couple of years was (I replied I went to Go Ape). This was a nice change from the 'so what do you do?' or 'is this your first time speed dating?' questions I'd been asked. As the minutes went by the subject of me once doing a lot of battle reenactment came up, and I was impressed that he actually asked what century reenactment my group did and what kind of sword I had. I asked him what TV and books he liked, and just as he replied 'Game of Thrones' the bell went *DINGDINGDING* before I had a chance to enthuse. Ah well- such is the nature of speed dating. I scribbled 'Paddy- Game if Thrones' hurriedly as a prompt on my 'score sheet'.
As soon as this other guy sat down, I decided to ask him what the most geeky thing about him was. To my puzzlement and amusement, he stared at me, blinked and suddenly replied "You know what, screw this. I'm liking your blue dress and black cardi thingy combo." I laughed and said thanks, but I still expected him to answer the question. When I asked him what he did, he only replied "All in good time." As our conversation progressed it became very apparent that there were very few geeky bones in this guy's body, and he even asked me "So would you force any unsuspecting boyfriend into wearing a costume to Comicon with you?" (My answer was of course not- one man's cosplay is another man's form of cruel and unusual punishment). The bell went *DINGDINGDING*, and just as he got up he shot back in my direction, "And to answer your earlier question I work in finance." "Oh! I'm sorry" I said, and thankfully he laughed. I scribbled 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon' down.
The Bad:
The arrogant guy- as he slid across the sofa, I joked at how they could have picked better seating arrangements for a bunch of strangers meeting each other for the first time, wanting to make the best impression. I wasn't expecting the single raised eyebrow I got, paired with a very chilly, "Actually, I thought I did that rather well." I laughed as if he were joking, but he just continued to stare ever so slightly down his nose at me and repeated, " Wouldn't you say I did that well?" I rolled my eyes and said something like 'fine then'. We ended up talking about food for the rest of the few minutes left (at least food is something I can talk about), with him mentioning one of these fancy places that has no menu and me struggling to remember the name of one of my favourite Malaysian restaurants as he boredly stared at me as I struggled. It was a rather long four minutes. At least my friends all had a similar experience. To be honest, he was acting like actually being there made him sick. You know what the craziest thing is? The friend he came with happened to be Game Of Thrones Paddy.
When one guy asked me if I'd been speed dating before and I said no, he countered with, "You have such a lovely, innocent face for someone who lies so well!" I covered my discomfort by a show of obvious mock-offence.
The Mad:
That'd be me, then. Aside from mentioning I owned my own chain mail, lost two years of my life to World of Warcraft and have been to London Comicon dressed in Stark Trek uniform, I also occasionally asked "What would you rather be: a pineapple or a papaya?" Curiously everyone I asked answered pineapple, and everyone said it was because of their hair. I also asked "Star Wars or Star Trek?" on one occasion.
The Interesting:
One guy's English wasn't particularly polished, and it turned out that he came from a small village in Italy and had moved to London to seek his fortune as an artist (or rather seek a career- few ever make a fortune in art). Not quite believing him I asked him questions like what was his favourite medium, period of style and favourite artists, and to my astonishment he was totally genuine. I didn't put him down as a 'Yes' or a 'Friend', but all the same when I wished him well in the city at the end of the four minutes, I meant it wholeheartedly.
So would I do it again? Maybe. Not in a long while- it was more a novelty and a fun night out for me, and I certainly didn't expect to meet any knights in shining armour. They say speed dating is a numbers game, but I never was that great at probability in maths.
Anyway, there are several major flaws to speed dating, the major one in my opinion being the time limit. Sure it's handy if you get someone you don't get on with, but what about people like Game of Thrones guy? There were a few more like him, like a slightly shy-er guy who I found out when we had just seconds to go that he played jazz piano (interesting to me, being a qualified pianist), and another even shy-er guy who was just beginning to come out of his shell before he had to move on.
The second biggest flaw is more of a personal one: I'm a geek girl. I'm pretty niche. Even worse, by a lot of 'geek guy' standards I'm not 'geeky enough' (sod them, is what I say). Speed dating events in my age range are often for city professionals who are more into sports than sci-fi. So I can't really win. All I can do is do what I do best, and be myself as hard as I possibly can.
One question I really wanted to ask people but never got around to was, "What do you enjoy most about being single?" I could give a whole list of reasons why I love being single- which is probably why I only ticked the 'Friend' box on my score sheet for some of the guys, and no 'Yes'es for dating. Dating and boyfriends can wait- I'm too busy geeking out.
So. After the event you go home, and in the next couple of days enter in your ticks online to see if anyone has matched up with you. Did I get any friend matches afterwards? Well, I've just gotten around to checking and yes, I have two: one is the shy-er guy, and the other, most amusingly, is 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon'. 'Game If Thrones Paddy' has yet to input his scores.
I did find 'Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon' quite fun though, and thought we'd probably actually get on rather well despite the culture difference (or else it would have been rather silly for me to tick 'Friend' if I didn't mean it, wouldn't it?). In fact, halfway through writing this I got a pop-up email alert telling me that he's sent me a message. I haven't read it yet- it's way past my bedtime and my brain has already made as much social interaction as it can take for a few days. I'll take a look and maybe reply tomorrow. This could be entertaining...
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