Crikey - of all the ways to go! In other news, here is the second (and final) part of my Colorado Duology: The following day, disaster struck - it was raining! I had planned to go back to the Glenwood canyon, hire a bike, and cycle the entire 18 mile length, before driving to my next hotel (in a place called Gunnison) via Aspen, but I didn’t really fancy it in the wet! I didn’t know what to do, and I remember sitting in my car in the hotel parking lot for about 30 minutes, trying to work out what I could do with myself. In the end, I headed west, more out of hope than expectation! I had originally planned to drive to Grand Junction, to see what the place was like. However, when I got there, the rain had cleared a little, and although there were heavy clouds in the east, I could see a smattering of blue sky in the west. I ate at a McDonalds (this type of food became quite a regular experience in the latter part of my Colorado adventure!) and decided that I’d follow the blue sky, into Utah! I planned to drive to just past the Utah state line, and then turn around and head back to Gunnison - this was simply so I could say that I’d been to Utah!
However, as I drove further west, the sky became bluer and bluer until eventually I found myself out in the desert, in perfect weather. I looked back east, and could see the heavy dark cloud, and decided that I may as well make a day of it, and drive to Moab, through the Arches National Monument! And so I did, and I’m really glad I made this decision. The scenery was… well, it was the sort of thing I’ve seen on TV, but have never experienced in real life. Orange canyons, arches and pillars, with the sun beating down, and the occasional abandoned trailer. The weather became hot, and I had to dig around for some sunblock. I drove along a river, through the Canyons, to Moab, stopping to take photos every mile or two. It was a lovely day. I reached Moab at around 5pm, and began to realise that I had a long drive ahead of me to get back to Gunnison; I was slightly worried the hotel office would be closed for the night, and so my only interaction with the people of Moab was a quick stop at a petrol station. Then, it was a quick 30 mile drive north to get onto the I70 Eastbound (there was a scenic drive back east, but I had no time!) and then a long drive east. I was aware that Moab was the most westerly point of my trip, and that from here on in, I was driving closer and closer back to Denver, and the end of my trip. This was a little saddening, although not for my bank balance! I drove back into the remnants of rain in Colorado, and saw the most stunning double rainbow I’ve ever seen - it was absolutely neon bright, and I desperately wanted a photograph. Unfortunately, by the time I found somewhere to pull over, it was over… a real shame!
Apart from a quick stop at a McDonalds (it was the only place I could find along the road, honest!) for a rest break, meal, and sat-nav tuning (I had told the sat-nav to take me to Gunnison, but had not specified the exact hotel address) I drove solidly for at least 4 hours, perhaps more. Toward the end of the drive, I was racing through blackness on either side.. it was kind of strange, as I knew I was driving through a really scenic stretch of road, but I couldn’t see a thing! I probably drove slightly faster than I ought, given that I was climbing up into the mountains again, but I really didn’t want to spend the night in my car! As it was, I reached my hotel (another Rodeway Inn, which was better than the previous one, and cost only half as much!) just before 10pm, and was relieved to get my key! The hotel was really nice, and I was very impressed, especially given the price! It also had wireless internet, which I used along with the road atlas I had been given in Boulder to find a hotel for my final night in Colorado. I wanted somewhere close to Denver, but not actually in the city (I wanted a quieter place that didn’t cost too much). Alas, everywhere in the Denver environs seemed a little pricey; I eventually booked a La Quinta Inn (I’ve stayed at quite a few - nothing special, but reliable) in Colorado Springs.
After I checked out of the Rodeway Inn, I decided that I was going to spend some time at the Black Canyon of Gunnison - it sounded spectacular, and I was curious to see the road I had driven through in the dark (I had to head back the way I came for around 25 miles before I reached the Canyon entrance). This was another decision I’m really glad I made. The drive was nice (lots of trees and also the Blue Mesa national storage area - or reservoir to English people) and the canyon was stunning. I was a little surprised I had to pay to get in (I think it was $20), but it was worth it (and my ticket was valid for a week!) The canyon is called the Black Canyon as it’s so narrow and high that sunlight doesn’t really reach the bottom; I really wanted to stand there and look up at the towering cliffs, but time was an issue, so I just did the drive along the top. This consists of a road that runs along a section of the canyon, with (incredibly) scenic stops every few hundred yards.
I made a point of stopping at (almost) every lookout point, and took a million photos (not literally). The weather was wonderful, and I felt quite lucky to have somehow escaped the rain of the previous day. I didn’t leave until after 2pm, and decided to drive a little bit further east to Montrose to grab some food. Here, at the Wendy’s restaurant (at least it wasn’t McDonalds!) I actually got talking to a really friendly member of staff, who was very impressed at my Englishness - apparently they don’t get many British people in Montrose! It was then time to say my goodbyes to Montrose, and head back west, along the same road to Gunnison that I’d raced through the night before. I was acutely aware that even though I was going to drive straight to Colorado Springs (going through but not stopping at Canon City, where I had originally planned to see the Royal Gorge Bridge), I would yet again be pressed for time. I drove through many small places, as well as the Gunnison National Forest, where I stopped (despite my time concerns) to take photos – the views were spectacular, and the road was slightly scarey (a huge drop right next to my car, with no barrier in places!).
The drive took quite a while – several hours, and it was night before I found myself driving on the highway heading into Colorado Springs. After so many days of small towns and countryside, it was a bit of a shock to find myself back in a large city. Roads and traffic were everywhere, and I’m glad I had the sat-nav to guide me. I checked into the La Quinta with little issue, and had a little rest. I eventually left my room at 10pm, hoping to find some food. I fancied a pizza, but after driving to several places in Colorado Springs, it became apparent that nearly everywhere was closed! It seemed odd that a city as big as Colorado Springs had so few restaurants open later. In the end – and very predictably – I found a McDonalds. Even this seemed to be closed, but a chance conversation with a member of staff having a smoke outside revealed that the drive-in section of the store was still open. With little choice, I drove in. When I got back to the hotel, I found that the meal was only luke warm, but I was grateful I’d managed to find anywhere! And so to bed, as Pepys would say, and onto the last day of my visit to Colorado.
I let myself have a bit of a lie-in in the morning, well aware that I had a long day ahead of me. For the final day of my trip, my plan was simple: drive to Denver, visit the Museum of Nature and Science, and then head to the airport. Things went smoothly enough; Denver seemed busier than I remembered it, but I found the museum without too much trouble. Inside, I opted to pay extra to see an exhibition on the Titanic, as well as an IMAX film about an expedition there, filmed by James Cameron in 2001.
I wandered around the museum, first visiting the precious stones/gems exhibit, which I remembered that I only fleetingly got to see during my last trip to the museum, in early 2002. Afterwards, I walked around the animal exhibits, had lunch (a very poor and predictable burger and fries meal), saw the film (it was pretty good, although slightly dumbed-down and “Disnified”, which wasn’t surprising given that Disney were involved in the production. The film showed a submarine expedition to the wreck of the titanic, but instead of showing solely the footage of the wreck, kept trying to throw in some “human interest” filler in the form of facial reactions to the images, etc. etc.), went through the exhibit (pretty good – it featured loads of artifacts recovered from the ship, including a section of the hull), and then had to leave. I informed my car (one should always talk to one’s car!) that we were about to go on our final road trip together, and headed for the airport. I dropped the car off at the Budget Car Rental place, caught the shuttle to the airport, checked in (not getting an exit row seat, which annoyed me immensely, as I arrived over 3 hours before the flight took off… apparently you can get an exit row seat through online check-in with BA these days), wandered around the departures area for a few hours, and flew to London.
Shall I mention the hassle of international travel? Probably not in much detail. Suffice to say that I had to endure a long flight to London (after having had a full day in Denver) with no sleep, had to wait around in London Heathrow for several hours, fly to Manchester, get my bags, find a train to Leeds, then wait in Leeds for a train to my house. A long end to the trip!
And that was that. I arrived back home safe and sound, with the knowledge that I had over a week to relax (excluding time at work) before my next big trip – this time to China!
I’m currently writing this from a hotel room in Seattle; sorry I’ve been quiet, but I’ve been working here all week, and was in Beijing all of last week! This entry is part one of two about my recent trip to Colorado, and was written over a period of several days (in a consulate office, on a plane, in a hotel room, etc!) in multiple countries!
Colorado Part One:
(Written as I sit in the Chinese Consulate, in Manchester)
I’d hoped to write more about my travels in Colorado, but the trip was so exhausting that I didn’t manage anything! I’ll more or less sum things up below, though.
After I’d finished in the meeting I was involved in, my first port of call was a trip to the Boulder Mountain National Park. This involved driving up into the high hills that I’d been staring at for the five days I’d been in Boulder, wishing I was up amongst them. The weather was - as per usual - really nice, and I slowly ascended, stopping to take photos every few hundred yards (so it seemed!) The view of Boulder was fantastic, and the trees and rocks were like nothing I’d really seen before - very different from the type of landscape you get in the UK; at one point, I heard a deep grunting noise coming from the trees, which I assume belonged to a bear, but there was no real way of telling just how near or far away it was. The only things that slightly marred the day were the collection of irritating teenage kids who seemed to congregate in the (at least technically) quieter places in the park, and the small cloud - seemingly the only one in the sky - that seemed to blot out the sun for the best part of 45 minutes! I’m sure the shape of the mountains was somehow holding it in a central position.
The following day, I checked out of my hotel in Boulder, and my big adventure began! I had more or less planned out an itinerary with the help of a really nice couple I met in Boulder at the National Centre for Atmospheric Research (I find myself in the strangest places!), and my first port of call was the Rocky Mountains National Park. The drive there took a few hours, despite being quite close to Boulder, but the countryside was wonderful. When I arrived, I paid a quick trip to the visitor centre (to buy postcards and suchlike), and then drove up to a Park’n’Ride facility, from where I got a bus to Bear Lake. Bear Lake is a sub-alpine lake that’s at an elevation of around, oh, 8500 feet. The lake was clear, the weather was perfect, and mountains rose through the trees around the lake. It was absolutely beautiful there, and I was blown away. I could also feel the elevation - even though I’d partially acclimatised after several days in Boulder (at 5000 or so feet), I was still out of breath whenever I walked even a small distance. Despite this, I went on a trail, and climbed to Nymph lake and Dream Lake… I hadn’t expected them to be as impressive as Bear Lake, but they were - it was an absoultely stunning place. After all my hiking however, time was running out, as I needed to drive a lot further to my first hotel of the holiday, in a place called Grand Lake. I drove onwards, and as the road got higher, so the views became more and more amazing. And then… disaster struck. Well, a disaster for me, anyway - my camera broke. I’ve had that camera for almost 5 years, and despite being rather old technology, it took great photos. But now, the shutter was stuck, and so despite being in the most beautiful place I’d ever been, I was unable to take any photos. It really upset me! The road climbed, and peaked at around 12,000 feet. I actually got out of the car (it was cool, but warmer than I’d expected) and wandered around some of the alpine tundra (sticking to the trail!) at that elevation. It was beautiful, especially as the sky was dark blue and the sun was slowly going down. I then returned to my car, and drove along the rapidly darkening mountain trail, until eventually, I reached Grand Lake. I’m not sure what I expected, but Grand Lake seemed like a real wild west town - small, with boardwalks for pedestrians, and lots of small wooden shops along the main street. I checked into my hotel (a close call - I arrived at around 8:30pm, and the hotel office closed at 9pm for the night, which I hadn’t been aware of!) and then stood outside and looked at the town. Crickets were chirping, the stars were out, I could smell the woods surrounding the town, and I felt like I was… well, out in the Boonies! I walked through the town, avoiding drunken cowboys, and eventually found a Mexican restaurant open. The food wasn’t so good, but I got a free bottle of Corona after the waitress forgot part of my order, so all was good. I went back to my hotel room, and - after watching far too much of Court TV for my own good - I slept!
I awoke the next day, dropped off my room key, and wandered into Grand Lake. The previous night, the town had looked kind of intimidating, but on a glorious day, it looked like a really pleasant place, with far more tourists than I’d imagined would be there. I wandered into town, and managed to find a shop that sold disposable camera. I bought three (they were very cheap, and now that i have had their photos developed, I know why!). I then walked down to the Lake after which the town in named; again, it was fabulous. The sun sparkled along the water, surrounded by trees and hills. There were various boats out in the lake, and I later discovered you could hire one and pedal (or row, or even drive) out. I really wanted to do this, but there didn’t seem all that much point given that I was on my own, so instead, I returned to my car and headed onwards. My next port of call was Glenwood Springs, which would take most of the day to get to, but was a very scenic drive… I drove through Winter Park (stoppi,ng at a Subway, which was peaceful until a troupe of high-school kids from the Denver Christian School crashed the place) along the I70 Westbound, and passed through mountains and valleys covered with green, red, and yellow trees. I constantly wished I had my camera. At one point, I stopped at a picnic area, and spent probably 45 minutes walking through the trees, and listening to the sound of a river cascading far below me. The sheer beauty of the mountains left me so desperate for a proper camera, that I eventually gave in, and stopped at a Wal*Mart Supercentre (in a town whose name I forget at the moment) and bought a cheap but functional 5 megapixel digital camera.
At this point, I should probably mention that when considering buying a camera, megapixels are an almost pointless metric; you can have a 20 megapixel camera, but if the lens quality is poor, then it may as well be 2 megapixel. In the case of the cheap Sanyo camera I bought, its 5 megapixel images are far lower in quality than my (almost 5 year old) 3 megapixel Kodak, and the settings are much poorer (as far as I can see, the only control you have over exposure is a software-based exposure compensation facility, and the white balance and focussing are really not up to scratch). I say all this to excuse the fact that the photos I’m taking with this camera are not so good…. I hope to buy a proper (digital SLR) camera at some point in the next 6 or 7 months!
I continued my journey, and stopped again at the Glenwood Canyon. This is a really nice bike trail through… well, a canyon! The canyon is narrow, and the walls are pretty much vertical, while a river runs through the middle. It looked really nice, but light was falling, and I only had time to walk around half a mile along it, before I had to return to my car and drive into Glenwood Springs itself.
My hotel in Glenwood Springs was a Rodeway Inn; it was by far the most expensive room of my stay, due to the touristy nature of the place… I think $130 or so. The hotel was nice, and a real step up from my night in Grand Lake. I settled in, and after a little rest, headed out to get a meal. I had planned to go to a niceish restaurant, but it was dark, and I didn’t really want to drive all that far. I ended up eating in a Burger King a few miles down the road from the hotel; the only notable thing about the place were the number of mexican people there, both staff and customers. I think I was the only person in the whole place who spoke English as a first language! I didn’t think Colorado had many Spanish speakers, but I was obviously greatly mistaken.
(Written on a plane flying to Denver… I’m in Boulder now!)
It’s been ages since I last made a blog entry - things have been rather hectic. I’ve been to Paris, had a holiday that took in many parts of the UK, been to Edinburgh for a big conference, and I’ve just spent the last week at a conference in deepest Nottingham, presenting a paper, running three demos on a booth, and chairing one of the main sessions.
But Nottingham is over now, and I”m currently sitting on a plane, flying out to Denver, Colorado. This is so I can attend a meeting in Boulder; I’m hiring a car at Denver airport, and will be driving (for the first time in America and the first time using a car with Automatic transmission) to Boulder, before spending a few days driving to a couple of state parks in Colorado. Hopefully it’ll be a really great trip, although I’m a little nervous (I haven’t bothered booking any hotels yet for outside of Boulder, and I’m only about 90% sure of the rules of the road in America!).
My schedule is insane, and doesn’t get any better when I get back: I’m at home for a week, before I have to fly out to Beijing, China, for a conference. Then, when I’m done in China, I fly on to Seattle for another meeting (thus crossing the international dateline and circumnavigating the world by the time I arrive back) before heading home. I’m then at home for a whole two weeks before I fly out to the USA for the third time in two months: this time to Dallas, Texas. It’s crazy, and I’m slightly upset that I can’t claim frequent flyer miles for the second (China/USA) trip, due to having to take a really convoluted route across multiple airlines.
But that’s all background for now. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I’m going to be spending considerable time in both planes and airports over the next few months. Ah, airports - big, noisy, cosmopolitan, and utterly soulless - how I hate you! But airports have what I consider to be a really bemusing inherent juxtaposition; they are without soul, without real character, and bland to the point of cultural sterility, and yet they’re places of extreme emotion. Hang around in an arrivals lounge waiting for someone (as I have had to do), and you can’t help but notice the joy as people meet their family and friends. At the same time, if you’re anywhere near the departure lounge, it’s not hard to see the tears as people say their goodbyes.
Similarily, when you get through security and out to the departure gates, the air of utter transience is all around you. I spent almost five hours in London Heathrow today, waiting for my connecting flight, and as I strolled up and down the long terminal building, I couldn’t help but wonder where all the people around me were heading. Here we were, walking by each other, shopping, eating, chatting… but in a few hours, we would all literally be in seperate corners of the world. Everyone in the terminal I was in was on an international flight… some to Seattle, some to Dubai, some to Melbourne, some to Denver… it was like a speeded up version of University (without the fun) - you’d see people around, and then they’d be gone, and other groups of people would arrive. “All transitory, passing always” - and all within such an utterly sterile environment.
Anyway, I think that’s more or less enough for this one entry. Denver (and my sporty Hyundai Sonata) beckons in, oh, around seven hours time; it’s been more than five years since my last trip here, but I remember it very well. It’ll be quite strange this time around, for many reasons….
I was walking along the other day, minding my own business as I went about my urbane and pointless existence, when a strange word popped into my head. “Yolanda”, it said. It was really strange, as I suddenly felt convinced that I knew this word very well, and that I’d known it for a long time. I couldn’t for the life of me remember why, though.
It continued to bug me even when I got home. There was only one possible course of action: I fired up the interwebs, and searched for meaning. And lo, the meaning became evident. It’s the name of an old Amiga game, from back in 1990. I don’t remember ever playing it, but crikey - the name is almost etched into my head. I must’ve at least read a review or something! What I don’t quite understand is why I suddenly remembered it, after all these years. I blame it on all the chocolate I’ve been consuming recently. I am a greedy pig.
In other news, I received a newspaper from my local council recently. It’s called “The Citizen”, and in a banner right at the top is the phrase: “wakefield: a fast improving council”. Why doesn’t that fill me with confidence? It’s almost as though they are hinting that the council is currently not very good, although of course I am sure that my local government is completely competent in every way. Never believe anything you read in Private Eye. No, not for a minute.
My local council is, of course, the same local council that won an award on b3ta.co.uk for having the most phallic-looking logo in the country. Or something. See if you can see why.
The weather was fantastic for large periods of the bank holiday weekend, and I was getting really fed up with the thought of spending the whole time indoors. Thankfully, an opportunity arose for me to spend the day in the Yorkshire Dales - specifically, at Malhamdale.
Malhamdale is where Bill Bryson (the rubbish Chancellor of Durham University) used to live; thankfully he doesn’t now, so the chances of me bumping into him and telling him exactly why he wasn’t as good a Chancellor as Peter Ustinov were low.
It was a beautiful day, though. Rolling green hills, soaring limestone cliffs, ancient waterfalls, lush vegetation, and lots of lambs and sheep, all under an azure sky. The sun was burning down on us for the whole day, and it was a good thing I remembered to take my sun block with me.
I’ve uploaded some photos onto my fancy Flickr page, although I will upload a slightly more detailed set onto my website in due course. You should take a look, if you’re interested in the countryside and suchlike. It’s one of the best parts of the Dales.
After spending my whole day in the sun, it is perhaps no surprise that I have spent many subsequent hours of the holiday sat at my computer, actually working. It sounds dull, but I get a sick pleasure from programming, and have now made my own google map! But no one else can see it. It’s a secret. It contains confidential UK Census data, and if I showed it to you, I would get sent to prison!
The way your hair hangs down it hides away your face
It’s been ages since I last updated; I actually feel quite bad about it. I suppose it’s a combination of procrastination on my part, combined with a slight feeling of being overwhelmed by all the things I really should write about and haven’t yet.
For you it’s perfect, but it seems like such a waste
I could talk about my weekend in London, or my housewarming party, or my various attempts at decorating, or the Unfortunate Cashback Incident at Morrisons, or the Idlewild gig. I could belatedly post photos from my trip to London before Christmas, my time in Orlando, the trip to Kelvedon Hatch, random signs in shops taken with my camera phone. But once I write or post one of these things, I feel like I will be obliged to write and post about the rest. And I feel rather overwhelmed at the thought of that. I also am getting into a slight tizzy about what content I post on LJ, what content I post on my website blog, and what goes on my (neglected) Myspace page. Various people read different ones, and I sometimes feel uncomfortable writing about certain incidents knowing that they’ll be read. But I really don’t like filtering my posts in any way, and indeed, can’t when it comes to my website blog.
And when I see you sliding past I make my plans
But I’m going to do my best to start writing a lot more, regardless of substance! And I suppose today’s little incident is as good a place to start as any. I was feeling a little down, as I’ve been so unproductive recently despite having lots to do. Instead of fighting these feelings by doing some work, I instead decided to pop into Leeds to visit PC World (to check out monitor sizes, that’s all, honest - I want a 20″ or 22″ widescreen TFT!). After I had come out - randomly purchasing 100 CD-Rs as I went - I felt that now would be as good a time as any to have something to eat. And so to Burger King (where else?) I went.
And then my plans slip through my fingers just like sand
I was in a slightly strange mood when I went inside the restaurant; I felt a bit down, and a bit thoughtful about various things that are happening right now. There was no queue, so I went right up to the counter. The girl serving me seemed to be from eastern Europe (Polish, I’d venture) and made eye contact with me as she asked me for my order.
I wish that life could be just like a photograph
Now, normally, I’d look away if anyone (especially a girl) made eye contact with me. Eye contact is a scary thing, especially when you have high levels of self-awareness combined with no real feelings of self-worth (a winning combination that pretty much sums me up). However, I really was in a strange mood. Rather than look away, I gazed steadily back into her eyes as I spoke my order (I suppose it did slightly psych me out - I was going for a super-sized double cheeseburger meal, but instead somehow ordered a super-sized Whopper meal instead).
One moment captured as you laugh your perfect laugh
She glanced at the reading on the till, and then looked back at me. Eyes staring into mine. She told me how much the meal cost. I handed her a £10 note, all the while maintaining eye contact. She asked me if I wanted some sauce. I said no. She said that the fries wouldn’t be ready for a minute or so, and could I wait. I said that I could. All the while, our eyes never stopped staring at each other.
But that’s a daydream, things could never be so right
Eventually, she turned around and retrieved my order, and I started to wonder about exactly why I’d felt the need to not look away. It was almost as though she was testing me, and I was refusing to back down. She eventually came back with my food, and handed it over, wishing me a pleasant meal. We held each other’s gaze for one final, lingering moment, before I turned around and sat down at an empty table.
There’s so much more to think about than black and white
One of her friends came around. They spoke in Polish. They seemed to be talking about something utterly mundane, as though nothing unusual or life-changing had just happened.
This is what my days consist of, and this is how embryonic my social skills are. Pity me.
I’ve been reading a lot of books recently, both fictional and autobiographical. I’m currently half way through Simon Schama’s “Power of Art”, which looks at the careers of eight different artists, using one key work from each as a focal point - masterpieces made under acute stress, be it from patrons (in the case of Rembrandt), political moments (David, Turner, Picasso), from self-vindication (Caravaggio and Bernini) or from their own inner demons and sense of what art should be (Van Gogh and Rothko). It really is fantastic, and the stories and imagery is amazing. It’s also an incredibly heavy book, as all 450 pages are printed on photo paper - it feels like it’s made of lead!
There are loads of things that it makes me want to talk about, such as… what is art? What is it really for? I’ve never been one for literal interpretations of artwork, but sometimes it seems like the sheer subjectivism of a piece of artwork leads to everything being art - a very modernist ideal, I’m sure. But if that’s the case, then what is art really for, given that you can gaze at anything, like… I don’t know…. the gauze covering a speaker cone, and see some kind of constructivistic truth.
But anyway, that’s not what I want to write about. What intrigues me about the Power of Art, as well as the other auto-biographies that I’ve been reading recently, is the human side. The stories of lives lead in times that are long gone, in places that I’ll never see. Caravaggio in Malta, Bernini sending a servant to slash the face of his adulterous mistress, David’s “A Marat” and the Charlotte Corday story behind it, Patrick Moore dancing a waltz with his beloved Lorna. Etc etc.
It just makes me wonder about all the people and drama that I’ll never know about. How many people who would’ve been my best friend are long dead, forgotten in time? What is their story? Who will ever really know mine? I can’t help but think of the Smiths lyric (which in turn is lifted from a film called “The Man Who Came To Dinner”)
“So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
all those people all those lives
where are they now?
with the loves and hates
and passions just like mine
they were born
and then they lived and then they died
seems so unfair
and I want to cry”
I got a strong sense of that while I was walking through the Louvre, in Paris last year. So many people. So many stories. So many scenes. And I can only begin to grasp an infinitesimal fraction of them. I suppose my fascination for this is one of the reasons why I studied History at A-Level. It just seems really sad that there is no way I’ll ever be able to improve on a fraction of an almost infinity.
Ah well. Here is a video of Ted Chippington:
Look at me with my embedded Youtube videos. I’m sure it’ll go horribly wrong.
I received a letter today that reminded me of Richard Herring’s slightly scary The Pizza Lover experience. Only my letter wasn’t about pizzas - it was much worse than that.
Today I received a letter addressed to “The Council Tax Payer”.
Given that I only bought my house two months ago, I can’t help but think that this is rather presumptuous. It seems to imply that I am indeed a payer of council tax, when the sad truth is that I’ve never paid any council tax in my (pitiful, mostly student) life. Surely a better way to address me would be “The Prospective Council Tax Payer”, or even… dare it be said… “Person whom we would very much like to pay up their council tax”. Even calling me “Paul” or “Dr Townend” might be an improvement.
I suppose there is a chance that the letter isn’t for me… as I’ve said, I have never paid any of this accursed tax. I wonder if I should forward the letter on to the previous owners of my house? After all, I have their new address, and presumably one of them may be known (even in their own family) as “The Council Tax Payer.”
I’m not suggesting that the family who previously owned my house were so cheap that they ganged up on a member of their own family, gave them a name based on their sole use to the family, and forced them to pay tax on their behalf every year. Don’t be silly. I would never suggest that.
Anyway, it’s certainly an option. I suppose another option would be for me to return the letter to the council, with a short note. Perhaps something along the lines of “Actually, there is no council tax payer here - they moved away. Or at least, were dragged away by the rest of their family of tightwads. Please leave me alone.”
For the first time yesterday, I became aware of a film called Night at the Museum. This is freaky, for two reasons:
1) It means I know something about modern culture, however tenuous my grasp.
2) The film appears to be strangely similar to my own haunting visions of possessed museumhood.
I shall explain point 2.
As I’ve mentioned before, I recently spent a few days in London. On a dark evening on my second day there, I found myself in the British museum. The museum was really nice, with lots of really interesting exhibits, although I didn’t have enough time to see all of them. In the Egyptian section, there were colossal statues:
Crikey.
Personally, I find gigantic statues to be slightly creepy, but worse was to come (and so shocking that I seem to have neglected to photograph it). I found myself wandering around the Greek section, and stepped into a white-painted area harshly illuminated by fluorescent light. It felt and smelt not unlike a University art studio, only around my were row upon row of life-sized statues and busts.
Their milky white marble eyes seemed to follow me as I walked around the deserted hall. As I moved, I began looking at the faces of each statue in turn. At first, I was more interested in trying to imagine the humanity that they captured; bolts of emotion echoing down through the centuries, reminders of our irrevocable transience.
But then I thought: what if these statues become animate, and try to hunt me down through the museum?
I began looking more closely at each one, and wondering about my chances of beating it in a fight. I also wondered which statues were more likely to protect me, and which were likely to want to layeth the smackdown upon me. I wasn’t so worried by the busts - they had no legs, and so I was likely to easily out-pace them.
But what about the big guys with the creepy, thin faces? I checked where the exits were, and made sure not to turn my back on any of the particularly creepy statues. I figured that my best means of evading their evil greek clutches would be to run to the Egyptian exhibit, and - when they approached me, somehow topple a colossus on top of them. This would result in the destruction of priceless art, but there is always collateral damage in love and war.
But what if the Egyptian colossi (I’m presuming that’s the plural) were also animate? Well, I figured there was one statue who could save the day. He had no legs, but never underestimate him. I am of course, referring to Mr Easter Island Statue!
I’m not sure why, but I got good vibes off of him - it was almost as though he could lay the smacketh down upon any Greek or Egyptian construct by melting them with lasers eminating from his eyes. That’s probably why the residents of Easter Island made so many of them; who can invade when you have firey laser eyes? Well, the Dutch, I think, but there were probably extenuating circumstances.
Anyway, yes. That’s what I’ve learnt from my trip to the British museum: lure any attacking animate Greek and/or Egyptian statues to the room occupied by Mr Easter Island Statue, and have him melt them with lasers.
Never let it be said that I learn nothing in museums.
Just in time for Christmas, I’ve finally managed to get around to uploading the photos I took whilst in deepest, darkest Florida. Specifically, my photos of Tampa. Behold:
My cunning plan is that I’m going to upload what I feel are the best dozen or so photos that I’ve taken in every city I’ve visited, and put them on my Flickr account. Let’s see how competent I am at doing this - I suspect it’ll take several days. It will certainly take me at least that long to get all my Orlando 2006 photos onto my website!
Christmas seems to have sneaked up really fast this year. For some reason, I’ve been really busy recently. Not only have I been kitting out my house (which is beginning to look quite nice, although I am going to rip out the kitchen and living room floors in a few weeks time and put down a much lighter hardwood floor), but I’ve been busy with a lot of things for work.
I even visited London for the first time in about 12 years earlier this week; this was mainly to attend a two day meeting there, but I had a fantastic night out with Zahra in the Strand, where we ate at the most expensive (but very good) restaurant I have ever been to! I have taken some photos of my trip, but they’ll have to wait until after I’ve got the Orlando stuff uploaded.
I have lots of things to blog about, but don’t want to condense everything into this entry, so I’ll stop for now!
