Make No Mistake, I Smell That Smell...

It seems that once again, 'children gone missing' fever has gripped the nation. Don't get me wrong, its a complete tragedy, and I feel great sorrow for the family of Madeleine McCann, who went missing in Portugal several weeks ago. What does irritate me, is the way the news networks respond to stories like this.

I love my news, scandalous or scientific, political or propaganda, educational or entertainment; if something's happening, I like to read about it. The thing here is, nothing is happening. The girl is missing, the parents are distraught, yet we keep getting reminded of it every time we buy a paper/watch telly/surf the internets. The same thing happened a few years ago with Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, every day - no news, front page. It's depressing. We know people are going through hell, yet the networks feel compelled to plaster a father in tears. What are they trying to accomplish, except for making me feel like shit.

Moving swiftly onwards. I'm gonna be 21 in a few days. I've not decided if I'm actually going to do anything worthwhile to celebrate the occasion, on account of being a poor student with finals on the horizon. Chances are, when I graduate I'm going to be looking for a Shrewsbury based job of some description, so if any influential employers are reading this, and are not immediately repulsed by my perception of today's front page, then feel free to reply.

N.B. In reply to 'Anonymous' who wrote "GOD STOP TALKING" last year. Fuck off and die.

Stupid People

From BBC:

Social networks Bebo and MySpace were the two most searched for terms of 2006 using Google's search engine.

It pisses me off how stupid these people are. Who the fuck searches for myspace and bebo when their respective URLs are Bebo.com and MySpace.com. Retards.

Update.

Been a while since last post, I put it down to either a frantic few months, or maybe my idleness. You decide. I should make a premium rate phone line that you should all ring in to vote for, then (as is the trend these days) once I've made enough money say 'fuck you' and not do what I said I was going to do. Big Brother anyone?

As the avid fans, who regularly sit at their screens hammering refresh on this site, will tell you, I found my way into the third year, which - although shocking - inevitably means my summer break is over, and the so called 'final sprint' to the finish line is drawing near. A friend has informed me, that I do in fact already possess a degree, albiet not an honours. I'll need to check on that, before I begin insisting people address me as James Maiden BA.

Looks like I have a (Scottish!?) girlfriend these days, which brings happiness to me, although long-distance stuff is like someone stabbing me in the spleen with a corkscrew, but its all worth it. Apparently you can live without a spleen. So I spend the last 6 weeks of summer corrupting her, as well as loading myself up with debt/booze/epics (groan).

It's midday, and in 2h15m I need to attend a physics lecture, regarding science and society, which is very interesting. I have also not eaten today.

I am going to try and make sure that I update this more often.

Trains, Maps, BBQs, Tents, and Pixels.

I've not updated this In a while, and excluding the past 9 days, this was justifiably so. As said in the previous post, my string of Wednesday night boozing sessions has come to a crashing halt, for the reasons above, but more importantly because I can't afford them. What the last 9 days have offered, is a fantastic pair of events, which have cost relatively nothing for the enjoyment gained.

The first of which was driven entirely by curiosity. A while ago members of my WoW guild decided to have some kind of meeting/BBQ in Bristol. I didn't really feel like I was part of the 'inner circle' of the guild (as many of them had met before) but I thought "aaw fuck it" and decided to go. I've never really met anybody off the internet before, and I was curious about everybody who would be attending. About a week before, one of the guildies (named Steve) offered to provide strongbow on my behalf as I was traveling a much further distance than he was.

So I turned up at Bristol Temple Meads, having received a call from Steve saying he would be 'in the cafe, near the entrance'. I go to the cafe and there is nobody there. I then notice about 3 other cafes offering various cuisines. I think 'bollocks to this' as I don't even know what this guy looks like. I wait for him to ring again (he's using a payphone) and tell him that I am waiting outside WHSmiths with a copy of today's Guardian. He arrives, and we have a coke. It's not long until we're picked up by a couple of other people and driven to the venue.

The thing about meeting people you've spoken too but never seen is exactly that: You've Never Seen Them. Therefore, when I take my seat in the garden, enjoying the sweet, sweltering sun, I have no idea who anyone is. It's only slowly, as people begin to talk and get relaxed that I can slowly identify my peers. The day carries on, and much meeting and greeting ensues. Alcohol is by no means short in supply, with a large bucket stocked to the brim with various beverages and a healthy portion of ice. Given the heavy Cider drinking contingent present, kicking back in the baking heat with an ice cold Strongbow seems to be the dish of the day.

The day after is a headfuck. I am pretty messed up in the head, thanks to a Tequila Vodka Redbull before my accompanied sleep. What messes me up even further is the prospect of a Sunday train journey home. Anyone who uses trains often will let you know that Sunday is not a day you want to be traveling large distances. Track repairs mean that even the easy 1 change journeys like, say, Bristol Temple Meads to Shrewsbury, take you round the houses, from Newport, to Leominster, Craven Arms, Ludlow, the bloody works. Including trips on 3 trains and a bloody coach. I spend the entire time with my head in my hands. Only to come home to, surprise surprise, a third BBQ (Kelly cooked up a stormer for bacon the Sunday morn :) ).

The following few days are fairly uneventful, on Tuesday afternoon however, Alex suggests we go camping. I can't be arsed and suggest that we go on Wednesday. We get Callum on board and we decide that a cheap 3 day break would be awesome. Destination Tywyn (Wales). We arrive on the Wednesday night and decide (like Tidus) that we need fire. A quick scouring of the rocky beach that our campsite overlooks turns up little fuel, so Callum asks nicely and ninja's wood off some Irish family who is hosting a party at the site. We know it's a party because the ugly kids were wearing those stupid hats. Eitherway, It burns, and there is much rejoicing. We are also treated to a delicious BBQ that night, four for the week, plus another the next morning, five.

As we watch the fire burn, we notice there are flashes of lightning way out to sea. This occurs about 2 hours after I receive a text message that storms are predicted. Brilliant. We go to sleep at about half one. It rains. The next day is beachday, and although the three of us are the only people on the beach (it's cloudy and windy), we get into our shorts and run fearlessly into the sea. After the beach, we go and get more BBQ-able foods and wood. That nights fire was better still, and burned longer and harder thanks to the efforts of myself and Callum, who prepped a fantastic log for it (long story). The sixth and seventh BBQ's cam that night, and the following morning, before our eventual return to the salops.

In other news, I am officially broke, having my card humiliatingly rejected at the train station, meaning I was unable to attend Phil's 21st birthday celebrations. Many apologies mate, I will do anything I can to make it up to you.

High's and Lows.

Wednesday Nights

As I'm sure I've posted in the past, the best nights out in Shrewsbury happen on a Wednesday. The most hardcore of fans will notice that this post is being brought to you on a Thursday morning. Given the topic, one would hope that you would arrive at the not-so-difficult conclusion that this post follows one of the above, 'manic' nights out.

For those not aware of how it works, a typical Wednesday always kicks off at someone's house, and thankfully for me, my buddy Callum (or Camull) lives fairly close, definitely within a distance that one could heartily throw a stone. When myself, Hames, Callum and Alex had met up, we begin the trek towards the town centre, stopping at any choice watering holes on the way in. The combination of venues usually changes, from past experiences (for example) we steered clear of the Nagshead because of a certain fuckwit who we saw in there last week, but substituted it for a beverage in the Yorkshire House (which was woefully quiet, yet still cosy).

After visiting venues of your choice, 98% of times you're going to end up in the Shrewsbury Hotel. It's a spoons, so everyone congregates there. This allows for optimum Salop-Head absorption, in a similar way to the Alveoli in a Mammals lung. Usually the choice is simple from that step, cut and run (go home), or Roll with the punches and go to a club. (Speaking of Rolling with the Punches, it is important to note that thusfar I have jabbed Callum twice in the the stomach in reply to 'your fat jokes' without complaint).

In the above paragraph I write 'go to a club', as if there is a choice. Note well (or Nota Bene for the cultured reader) that there is, in fact no element of choice involved in deciding the clubbing venue. You're going to end up in Liquid - simple as that.

Not being much of a clubber, and hanging out with people of the same mindset, our time in Liquid is usually spend doing 'laps' around the circular dancefloor, trying to find people whilst casually browsing the gant on offer.

It is here that things start to get fruity, whilst chatting to a particular girl, and continuing the banter between us, Callum produces a lighter from seemingly nowhere, and ignites it beneath my nose. For those who are unaware (or haven't seen Episode III, Hair + Fire = No Hair + Nasty Smell). So I am a bit pissed off about the whole thing, as my brain fills with the smell of burning nasal hair and my nose stings. During my rant to him, I mention that he should keep his 'fucking dick under control' and stop 'trying to impress'. Later I realise that although the beer was talking for the most part, that seems to have hit deep, I ponder this for a few minutes and about a half hour later, it's time to go home. He tells me that of the four (?) times I jabbed him in the stomach, they all really hurt. I wonder why he didn't tell me to stop.

Conversation is pretty sparse on the way back, as the above girl decides to walk with us, and there is a bit of an atmosphere. I am feeling a bit bad about the entire exchange, as I feel it's a bit rough to accuse a mate of putting a bird before a buddy, when, he probably wasn't. The three of us end up sitting on a bench near our respective houses for ages. I really want to go and get warm, because I am only in a t-shirt and jeans, and its 4 in the morning. After the obvious chit-chat, we decide to call it a night, and the blatantly predictable "I'll walk you home" line comes out. I can't be fucked with it all, realising instantly that I had been an unwitting member of essentially verbal foreplay.

Feeling the hatchet should be buried once and for all, I decide to grab a jumper (and beanie) and wait on Callum's wall. Being (still) unemployed, I could happily stay up most of the night, so waiting another half an hour for him wouldn't really be a tricky one. As well as being especially worth it to get the air cleared.

Although the possibility had crossed my mind that he wouldn't be coming back alone, I doubted it would be the case, retrospectively, I am not really surprised. I was greeted by 'What the fuck are you doing here?' which was fairly obvious really, and I think my hurried sendoff was 'You're a crazy bastard'. Fantastic. Is it out of the realm of possibility that I wanted to speak to him about the events of the evening? Had the fact that he had no time to talk (due to present female company) prove that what we had tiffed about earlier was true?

Eitherway, I learned a thing or two about my friends that night, which is always a good thing. I probably won't be hitting town again soon for a while, as the cash cow has finally run dry. Can't say I'll really miss it.

Also, it is highly likely that some of the characters in the above fable will read it, and will probably trigger a less than affectionate response. Please refer to This Post for my reasons behind writing candidly about my friends and feelings, and if you feel discriminated against, check This Post for a dose of precendant.

In other news, My results arrived Wednesday, and I am happy to report that I passed my second year with a 2-2. Not bad considering I had put a remarkably poor amount of effort into it all. I guess a first is off the Cards next year, but a 2-1 is still definately within my grasp.

Hope you enjoyed the lengthy update.

I Need A Job

The problem with the Salops is such: If you don't want to work in some kind of Chilled Deserts production facility then you're almost out of luck when it comes to temporary work. I visited a pair of 'employment' agencies and basically they told me that in order to work somewhere that requires an IQ of above 85, or just cognative, non-reflex based movement, I would have needed extensive experience in the said field. So a cushty office job is out of the window for me at the moment, contingency plans are currently limited to Sainsbury's.

I did get a phone call this morning from the Worlds Largest Toy Superstore (N.B. The are not only the Largest Toy Superstore, also the largest toy selling venue - of any size, be it Small, Medium, Large, or indeed Super) asking me to work tomorrow 9-6. I'm not yet sure when the England game is, but I'll probably miss it, still it's a crisp £40 that I could really do with, and a full 9 hours of time to grovel for more.

I've been playing more guitar recently, given the free time that unemployment brings. I find myself tempted to buy a better one, but to be honest, my Squier is pretty adequate for my needs. On the sbuject of music, I read that old Thom Yorke is up to his usualy tricks, announcing that his newest song will be one of his 'angriest' yet.

I installed some fancy wireless internet thing on Saturday, it took about five minutes to do, and is fantastic. Mum is happy that there is no more cables lying around the Hall, Stairs and Landing. My signal strength is coming through at about 50% which is alright. Not experiencing any latency problems as of yet.

I was poking around on the BBC website and I looked at the 'In Pictures' highlights of the Queens 80th Birthday celeberations. Whilst looking through the pictures I discovered that Princess Eugenie (Picture Number 5 - On The Left) is indeed a hottie.

I've not been intentionally starting every paragraph (Bar One) with 'I'.

I Promise.

Picnic Day

In less than an hour, myself and a few friends are going to eat a picnic in a field. It's about time I got a job really, and I want to have money. THe last week or so has been good, I finally completed the 'must see' bands list by watching the Goo Goo Dolls in Birmingham. They were pretty good, although they played less old stuff and more (slightly dissapointing) new stuff.

The whole country has gone world cup crazy. All the chavs have their England flags on the cars n' stuff, there is even a section of the local spar that is full of England themed stuff.

It's so hot in Salops, I keep waking up because of the heat, and having really weird dreams. Last night's involved a really fancy casino, where everyone was wearing exactly the same shirt. Crazy huh. Some guy walked past me and angrily hit my on the back of the head. I remember then I dreamt about being a policeman, investigating a hit-and-run. My partner, some older bird, was crying all the time, we kept driving over the same bridge.

Not the most fruitful update, but then nothing has happened that could be considered out-of-the-ordinary or even remotely blogworthy. So you're stuck with my dreamy stories instead.