Weird Night, Easy Day

Another Easy Day.

Seriously. Nothing terribly interesting happened, athough an Italian Colleague observed that I seem shy.

And I got a one and a half hour lunch, which I used to have some Lasagne down at a caff down the street while talking to some girls from Brisbane, who happened to be of Greek Heritage. They were Social Workers, and one of them actually knew what a List Caller did.

Which is funny, because I have met actual Solicitors who don't know what a List Caller is.

Nope today was easy to the point of tedium.

Last night, after I posted, I stopped off at home, got changed, observed that my toilet seems to be blocked (mental note: buy a big plunger with a long handle, the one we have just isn't big or long enough) and made my way back to the Station to go to the Open Mic Night that Farrah hosts.

Remember that I was pretty exhausted by this point, and I tend to get emotional when I haven't had enough sleep.

Anyways, I get there at about half eight (I had left home way later than I meant to, but it couldn't be avoided) and through the course of the evening I discovered these things about Farrah:

1) she is an insanely talented singer
2) she is ridiculously exuberant
3) she is very affectionate towards friends
4) she is heading to India sometime soon
5) outside work hours, she is a total hippy.

Yep. She's going to Goa.

And she kept introducing the female performers (who admittedly, were very good) as Goddesses.

In fact, the performers were all so good that they made me feel like someone was pouring nitrogen into my Vena Cava. And I wasn't even going to play.

Another thing that freaked me out: after ten months in one of the most cynical, aloof and generally guarded cities in the world, I stumble on an enclave of absolute emotional nakedness. It was like spending a year in the Antarctic and accidently walking into a nudist colony.

Beyond that, the Punk side of my nature, which does tend to dominate (especially in a room full of hippies) made me feel accutely unsure of how to react.

Once people used to say about me that I had a beautiful naivety (or some other more appropriate word) about me. I now suspect that piece of me is dead.

At least it is when I am exhausted and feeling anaemic.

Still, Farrah remains a beautiful and fascinating person. So many questions I'd love to ask her.

It doesn't feel like I have crush on her, but I'm showing all the symptoms.

Weird.

Anyways, the Goth Prosecutor I mentioned last week is leaving the CPS sometime, so they are doing a drinks thing for her tonight.

So I have to go.

By the by, I'm Blogging from a net cafe in Islington.

Over and Out.

Easy Day

Too easy.

One trial and three matters in the afternoon.

I almost couldn't keep my eyes open.

I was doodling the whole time.

I think that fate is teaching me one of those Be Careful What You Wish For lessons.

Still, a change is as good as a holiday.

Over and Out.

Did I mention that Court 3 has not one but TWO huge Plasma Screens?

I can just imagine it:

Prosecution: Sir, may I enter into evidence this Wide Screen DVD of The Matrix.

Defence: Sir, I must object, this is ridiculous...

District Clerk: Actually, let's watch the evidence and then judge on it's relevance.

Hmm.

Other fun stories: Today the Computer System broke down. The girls in the office had to make up the registers by photocopying the Charge Sheets, cutting them up with scissors and then pasting them onto the Register Sheets.

Blue Peter Time was the Catchcry. I never watch Blue Peter, so I have no idea what that means.

And:

After waking up with my IDIOT alarm at 0710 (which I have since moved forward to 0700) I was running late.

Long story short: I got to Stratford with the 0807 already there. If I missed that I was fucked.

But I had gotten out of the wrong exit, hence I needed to run up and down some stairs.

I got to the train and the doors had already closed.

Bear in mind, this isn't a tube train, this is a big train.

Unwilling to accept defeat (or being made late by a fucking train) I forced the doors open by hand and jumped in. AS THE TRAIN HAD ALREADY STARTED MOVING!

Stupid? Damn straight!

I broke a nail prying the doors open.

But I got to work on time.

And I even got a seat.

Over and out.

J

I've got places to be.


J

Har de Har!

I'm back in Haff's Caff.

I finished work an took the Victoria to Oxford Circus, only to find out that the Ben Lee show that I was thinking of going to was totally Sold Out.

Same at the 100 Club. No matter, I never really cared for Ben Lee anyway. Even if I like him more than Bernard Fanning does.

Since I was in the vicinity I went to the Virgin Megastore on the Corner of Oxford and Tottenham Court Road and bought the new KMFDM, Hau Ruck.

I reckon I'll give it a blast when I get home.

I looked at some other cds, went downstairs to Soundcontrol and looked at musical stuff I can't afford and took the tube back home, pausing only to buy some Chocolate Covered Coffee Beans from the nearest Caffe Nero (okay, I bought them before I went to Virgin, but what is a Non Sequitor between friends?).

I'm listening to Dragonforce off their website on my headphones. For Power Metal it is pretty good. They seem to have the Poodle Vocals tightly reined and the velocity, the melody and the technicality is great.

As I've often said, I love power metal for the intrumental work but I hate the Poodle Vocals that come with it.

Anways, back to the story.

Last night after I finished blogging I had just gotten on Islington High Street when I realised I had left the folio folder thingo back in the internet cafe. I hoped.

I ran back an grabbed it. Hooray.

Back home and getting to sleep a little later than I meant to.

Skip forward six hours, give or take, and I drag my arse out of bed at 7 AM.

Running late, I get to Leytonstone Station just on 0803. I probably would have been later, but I followed a migrating stream of commuters down a short cut off the High Road.

Good News: I got to Stratford in time to catch the 0807.

The Bad News: The train was so ridiculously overloaded that the journey (which normally feels like it lasts an eternity) took ten minutes longer than it should have.

Seriously: yesterday I took the same train and arrived at Highbury Corner at 0825. This morning I arrived at 0835.

Since one of the things I pride myself on with this job is my high rate of Punctuality Under Difficult Circumstances, this stuck in my craw.

Not to mention that ten minutes late is ten minutes less to collect and mark up files, easily the most time-pressed part of the day in a job full of impatient people and ridiculously tight task turnarounds.

To add insult to injury, I was moved from the desk that I had been moved to yesterday to another desk. I know that I am just a temp, but being shunted from desk to desk is irritating and counterproductive when I am trying to build up some kind of workflow.

Fortuneately, Court 3 was only scheduled for one matter, a case of a Kerb Crawling Trainee Solicitor.

Skip forward: the Kerb Crawling Solicitor has a QC who argues that since Prosecution have not being swift enough in providing a video for their expert witness Voice Analyst in Oxford to run through his Laboratory, the case must be adjourned.

I wrote ADJOURNED in huge, slightly deranged looking serif letters on my Case List (something which would later be commented on by at least two people) and braced myself for a slew of cases from the other courtrooms.

Fortunately again, the cases which came were pretty much ready to roll, all I had to do was put them in order and call them on.

Neato!

After lunch there was just two cases left over then it was on to the two trials that we had scored from another court.

First one a drunken burglary, the second a drunken driving.

The first was found guilty, the second the Police Witnesses couldn't be found so the case was put over.

A change of pace day. The only problem was that I am used to running and running and running.

Sitting still meant that I was nearly falling asleep.

Of course, feeling a bit tired didn't really help.

I think I'll eat lots of protein tonight and get lots of sleep.

Other News: Lydia and Chris haven't gotten back to me yet. I'm told that they are not good at answering Emails.

I hate it when you aren't sure if messages are getting through.

Nevermind.

I'll figure it out.

Over and out.

J

A quick blog:

It has to be quick, because I'm in the expesive place in Islington, and I just wasted five minutes write rude replies to the last spammer I got.

Basically here is the news:

This week I have been moved from the Tenth Circle of Hell, otherwise known as Court 2 (the ninth Circle of Hell being the Silverlink Train Service from Stratford to Highbury Corner). They've moved me to Court Three, which is actually more my pace: less crazy and people tend to be where they are supposed to be.

I also had a much more relaxed DJ today: a fortyish Jewish woman who apparently only DDJs a couple of days a week to supplement her Solicitors wage. And a pretty good Clerk as well.

A couple of oddball cases went through the court, but nothing I haven't seen before: crackheads, hooligans and violent boyfriends tormenting their spouses.

I made it to my lifedrawing class for the first time in Three Weeks. I used the charcoal available and came up with some interesting results.

But the most interesting news comes from what I did on Saturday Night.

I mentioned that I had printed out a new Logo for the club night Strength Through Joy ( www.strenghtthroughjoy.org ) and wsa going to give it to Chris and Lydia, who run the show there.

I did, and they loved it. As in serious open mouth impressed. They asked for an electronic version, which I told them I could supply, but first I needed to tweak a few things.

Chris told me to Email it to him using the address on the website.

Here's the problem: Hotmail has decided that it refuses to let me email an image file over the net unless the source site it defined. Since I was doing it from a PC and not from something like Photobucket or Flickr, that couldn't be done.

Screw it. I'll just burn it onto a CD an pass it over when I can.

Anyway, it felt really nice to be a designer again, even if it was just playing to my strengths (no play on words intended) in terms of designing bold, clean and brutal logotypes as opposed to the distressed look currently popular or the 19th Century look I aspire to.

In any case, I have to bail.

Over and out.

J

Damn

Damn.

No time to blog.

This time tomorrow...

How quick can I blog?

I have ten minutes in which to blog.

Here goes:

I crawled into bed at Ten Pm last night.

And surprise surprise, I slept in.

Though here is the funny part: when I finally got out of bed, the time was only quarter to twelve.

When I'm not working I can easily not get my lazy ass out of bed before two or three.

In any case, I had a list of things that needed doing today, starting with some washing, so I hit the ground running on that.

While I was waiting for a load to be done I entertained myself playing Opeth, Washing the Dishes (I had a big backlog of dishes to be washed because I hadn't washed any this week: too busy) and lifting barbells.

After all my work clothes and most of my towels were done I jumped in the shower (can't shower while washing because of hot water conflicts) and put all my overdue library books into two bags.

Taking the bag that I thought was going to Stratford Library I hit Leytonstone High Road and waited twenty minutes longer than I should have had to for the 257 going up the street. In that time I looked in the nearby charity shop and found some suits that might bear closer inspection.

When I got to Stratford Library I was dismayed to find that the books that I thought were going to that library were, for the most part, actually going to Leytonstone Library. There you go kids, never pet a burning dog and always check your library books before leaving home.

Bus down to the flat, get the books, Leytonstone Library and back up to Stratford.

Paying the fines as I went.

I used the busrided to Stratford to read the book on Screen Printing that I had borrowed out that apparently someone else really wanted. It was full of technical information, but since it written in 1963 it was behind the beat on all the developments that have come about in the past 42 years.

While at Stratford Library I borrowed 2 trade paperbacks (Battle of the Planets and Preacher: Until the End of the World (which they had been holding for me)) and I also borrowed out Glamorama by Brett Easton Ellis. I found that last one in the Teenage Fiction Department. Geez, interesting interpretation of Teenage Fiction, but hey, I haven't read the book yet.

Back home, pull white clothes out of washer, iron some clothes, go next door to hang with new neighbours who had invited me in (only white boy in the room) and then back home to finish the Strength Through Joy logo, which I have just printed out here at Haffs.

It came out okay, although having it in front of me I can see a couple of faults. Oops.

I'm just about to go home to get changed into my "I'm going dancing at an Industrial Music Club" Clothes.

And I intend to get home at a reasonable hour.

Heh.

Over and out.

J

Tired

I'm tired.

I'm listening to Nervosa (Tamz the Prosecutor's old band) on my headphones. I found the MP3 section on their website.

It's nicely acid electro mixed with good metal guitars, but the vocals are too low in the mix. There is a difference between ethereal and inaudible.

Today was nightmarish at times. I had Miss Quick again.

I also had a Clerk who I had never seen before. He was on loan for the day from another courthouse.

Today there was the usual parade of drunks, crack addicts, junkies, hooligans, thugs and the like.

Being a fairly large list meant that I had to really move quickly with all the forms and the like. I still wound up with an orange mountain on my desk.

At some point, when I actually had time to breathe, I matched the folders that the Clerk had handed back to me with the orange Advocate Forms on my desk as best I could.

After lunch I discovered that both the District Judge and the Clerk had actually not been handing back the forms, so some had to be sent down without their folders, and some folders were lying around which they fitted into.

Yet again the biggest tension came from trying to find people that refused to be found. Advocates who would tell me that they were ready to go then disappear into other courtrooms for an hour at time. Defendants who would go outside for a cigarette just as their case was going to be called. Probation officers who would be MIA when a report was needed.

And at the centre of all of this was me, running as fast as I could to try to keep track of who was where and what was going on.

An added wrongness to the day was the drunks who had to be thrown out of the public gallery early in the day for the courtroom. Two who were waiting for some case or other. Another who was slumped and groaning and muttering enough that the DJ could hear it thirty feet away. Assorted horrible personages who stank of spirits at 11 o'clock in the morning.

I hate drunks. I don't mind a drink but I really hate someone who feels the need to drink that much early in the morning. Especially if you are going to court.

I mean, what the fuck are you thinking?

The afternoon, while quieter than the morning, took on a stress all of it's own because when I had to duck out the front of the courtroom to look for Solicitors or to put out Tannoys there would always be some fucker waiting to know what the status for their case was.

Being under the gun I would tell them all that I knew then try to explaint to them that I was on a mission and had a task to do. Of course the fuckers would need to know every time they saw me and wouldn't make the connection between me being stupidly busy (and not having any new information) and the fact that my replies were getting shorter.

There were occaisions where I clearly said the wrong thing in the courtroom. Being tired, being at the end of my tether and being harried from all directions I sometimes forgot Courtroom Convention and said the first thing that came to mind to describe what was happening.

I did feel my tone hardening into something sharper and more pointed.

Somehow I made it through without anyone needing to step in and take over.

Finishing early and all.

I left the courthouse soon after four thirty, but the lousy Silverlink Service back to Stratford meant that I didn't make it to Stratford Library in time to collect the book they are holding for me. No matter, I was going to be going back tomorrow because I have to return some library books anyways.

And a couple to the Leytonstone Library.

During Lunch yesterday I had so much time left over that I found the Islington Library and looked around there.

I found a book about Anti-semitism which made some very solid points defending Israel. Good. It seems to me that the main reason so many left-wing folk hate Israel so much is because of it's long ties to America, and all the cold war implications that came with that.

In any case, I should sign up to Islington Library some time. Although it is getting to the stage where I will need to carry an extra wallet to keep all my Library Cards in.

I had some really clever thoughts while I was reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and waiting for the 257 to take me from Stratford to Leytonstone, but I didn't write them down and hence I have forgotten them.

One of them was that it must be really dissatisfying being a Proper Sadist in a Consensual S/M Relationship, since you can only get off by hurting someone and the person you are hurting enjoys being hurt.

But there was something better than that. Nevermind. I gave up and took the tube instead.

I'm going to make myself something great to eat, then I'm going to get some sleep.

Or do some washing.

In any case, I'm off.

Over and out.

J

Hey there everyone:

Today has been pretty interesting.

For starters I am Blogging from Angel because I only left the Lush Bar up at Highbury Corner about fifteen minutes ago and I decided that since there was no way I would make it to Leytonstone High Road before nine I should blog from here.

I was at the Lush Bar because my trainer Elaine threw a birthday party for herself there and invited everyone from the office, plus some of her other friends. She also kind of invited Chris, but he didn't make it.

Probably the funniest thing that happened was when I was talking to one of the Duty Solicitors and she started telling this English Hindu Solicitor about her friend Farrah who is a Muslim and a Solicitor and because she is 28 years old and unmarried her parents consider her 'On the Shelf', ergo they no longer care if she dates (gasp!) White Men.

I listened especially carefully until the Hindu Solicitor asked 'Is this Farrah X?' and she replied, 'No, it's Farrah Y.'

Still, it felt weird in my gut to have (what I thought was) the girl that I like pimped out by her friend in front of me without her saying, 'Hey! I know that you're both Ango-Celtic and, ahem, a list-caller, but maybe you might like to take her out.'

Heh.

I did find out that the Black Haired Prosecuter that Chris had a Crush on moonlights playing keys and singing in Goth Bands. She showed me her old driving licence photo where she had long hair and a blonde streak.

I didn't tell her about Chris' Crush. She seemed to be less than upset that Chris left.

Nevermind.

Skipping backwards: Today I had the DJ from Hell again, although I have been told that part of her fernicketiness comes from her not being in terribly good health. And credit where credit is due, she is a fair Magistrate who gets a strong grip on the issues, asks the right questions and makes fair pronouncements.

But she does still chew through cases really fucking fast and then shoot daggers when the next case isn't yet ready.

Having said that, today was really smooth compared to yesterday. There were people not where they should have been, but they were usually in the place that they said they would be if they weren't where they were menat to be.

I also managed to get the list in good order, I opened the doors early enough to get people in line and Mark the Duty Clerk managed to buffer me from any bad vibes, both by making up the files before he threw them over and by being a constant source of good vibes in the room.

I'd manage to rule up my case list the night before so that was a few minutes saved that I used to get ahead of the beat and even do some oddjobs before going up and into the courtroom.

I offered to buy Sid a Pint for saving my arse yesterday, but he laughed it off and told me it goes with the territory.

Har.

At lunchtime because I felt so proud of myself and because I had an Hour and a Half instead of Forty minutes to kill I decided to splash out and have a Five Pound Pasta Dish at the Local Italian restaurant, instead of the usual Two Pounds I spend on a chicken sandwich (I tip the staff the change).

And it wasn't bad. It wasn't great, but it was a relaxing way to spend lunch and I still had enough time to take a walk and get back to the office and chill for a bit before the afternoon.

Another great thing was that there were no Overnights for my Court.

No, I lie, there were two.

But all the other overnights went into the next court up.

Yay.

Anways, I have to sign out so that I can tube it home and get some sleep.

Over and out.

J

Just a few things...

guess I'm not as blogged out as I thought.

I ust feel like mentioning a few things:

I still want to buy a digital camera. I might do that when I get my pay this week.

Strength Through Joy is coming up this weekend. Because I a such a social vampire with a unquenchible thirst for validation, I really should get that logo I've redesigned for them finished and printed, so that they can check it out.

Plus, now that I have the software to do it and I have the mental accuity to find a place to get it done, I really should design a business card and get a run printed. I've probably mentioned it, but in case I haven't, I reckon that "Jason Logan: Dilletante and Scoundrel" would be great copy, plus whatever woodcut ornaments I can find (mental note, scour the net for Art Nouveau Woodcut Ornaments).

And I really need to return some library books.

Okay, I'm done.

Hmm...

Hammeda Harber Har.

Blather.

Razzafrackin' Frazzanaks.
.
.
.
.
.
Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system.

Last night I actually got a whole SEVEN hours of sleep, becaus I managed to get into bed by 11 (I still only got out of bed at half six, but it takes me a while to get to sleep).

And you know something? I still feel exhausted.

Today was emotional.

First of all, there was no Chris to provide resonance to my Anarchic Impulses and Lumpen Proletarian Grousing for twenty minutes at lunch. I had to settle for eating a Chicken Sandwich with Tomato (which I didn't order! Can I get a witness?) and read the Sun. Never a terribly intellectually stimulating activity, even if it does provide occaisional eye candy.

The Agency has sent a fresh-faced young graduate girl name Geraldine who is actually going to go back to Uni to write her Masters in just over two weeks. Choke on that management.

But she ain't no Chris. Furthermore, she further contributes to the X/Y Chromosome imbalance in the office. Which shouldn't bother me, really. But sometimes I need an Island of masculinity in the sea of Oestrogen to ground me.

But that wasn't the main prob.

The main thing which bugged me was that Sitting on the Bench in Court Two was Miss D Quick. I type with trepidation, since I don't want to get Dooced (ie fired for something I typed in a Blog) but even after the marked improvements that I have made in my capacity as a list caller I found it incredibly hard to keep up with the pace she demanded while still conforming to her Particular Demands. EG not letting doors slam shut, working without a fan (Court 2 is stupidly hot) and so on.

Still, all would have been fine but for three random cases with three different random reasons why they couldn't go ahead, (missing files, missing Counsel, missing reports etc) compounded by stroppy Chav Fuckwits in the hallway who would assail me everytime I'd jump up to make a tannoy for either a defendant or a solicitor or the probation officer or something, as well as some east european fuckers etc.

It all ground to a halt somewhere around three O'Clock when Sid Brought in new pile of Cases and the Clerk demanded I carry them over before I had a chance to take note of what the cases were. Sid intervened on my behalf and was told the same thing but, to his credit, stood his ground. Cheers, Sid.

Sid further earned my gratitude by offering to swap courtrooms with me, an offer I would normally refuse but for the possibility that had I stayed I would have probably snapped.

I got to Court Three to find that they had just finished their last case. The Clerk went to see if there were any cases to be taken from other courts leaving me and the prosecutor in that room to peruse the Bible and Read the Sun respectively.

It turns out in the Jerusalem Bible, the Verse 4 of Genesis 6 reads "In Those Days there were the Nephilim." The only other bible I have seen that uses the word Nephilim instead of Giants is the Bible they gave me when I left Churchie (since missing somewhere... I'm sure someone will find it when they go looking for some other book of mine).

Since Court 7 was over, I hung with Judy, the older Indian lady in Court 5 (which had actually taken some of court 2's Cases). She asked me if I was okay, because I looked pale and my eyes were red.

Truth be told I have been feeling nauseas/crampy on and off over the last two days, and I am still nursing a headache on and off.

But the red eyes and paleness were just a product of tiredness and stress. Not drinking, crying or smoking weed.

Judy actually told me that on her first day she had gone home crying. That was six years ago, and Judy must be around fifty.

I might be wrong, but I always get the impression that Indian women have a certain strength, so for something to upset her that badly she must have had a rough time.

I'm still going to persevere with the job. I just had a bad day. And even my bad days are better than my good days were not too long ago.

A good thing that happened today was that I got to talk to Farrah, who was representing someone in some other court in the morning, and someone else in the afternoon. She was wearing a slim cut trouser suit and she had her hair up, impressive in itself since her hair is pretty long.

We chatted a bit about her Open Mic Night thing (on next week) and the like. It was cool.

I get the feeling that she was less than impressed that I couldn't find out anything about a client of hers who was down in the cells.

To be fair to me, without a file, a CPS bundle and a register to wrap it in, there isn't a lot I can do, and all I'm really supposed to be doing is ordering the list and calling the cases.

Actually finding the pieces that make the list is a task that is more the department of Vladimir and Peter downstairs, among others.

In any case, the hardest cases in my office, not to mention the other list-callers and a couple of the Solicitors and Barristers all nodded their heads in understanding when the name of the Sittin District Justice was mentioned.

"Quick by name, quick by nature." they would say.

More like Quick as in "Cuts to the".

After work I felt trashed, so I took the tube to Oxford Central and Changed for Leytonstone. Elaine talked to me to make sure I was all right and gave me some encouraging pointers etc.

She's on holiday as of tomorrow, but Anj is going to be back.

But Anj will be training the new girl.

At home I tried to build up the momentum to get moving but I kept fading out. I tried to find Chris's email address etc but I couldn't find it anywhere in my bag.

It must still be at the Courthouse.

I'm blogged out.

Over and out.

J

Just when you thought...

This has been a weird 48 Hours.

The main reason I didn't blog last night was that I was actually drinking at a pub down the street from The Highbury Courthouse with Chris.

When I say drinking, I actually got pretty drunk. I was still drunk two hours later at about 11pm when Masao asked me to cut his hair.

In any case, Yesterday I called the list and had my best list calling day yet. Everything seemed to work okay, I was pell-melling to make everything fit and flow but by and large it kept moving and I got to chat to a cute petite blonde Barrister.

Seriously, one of the things which keeps me in this job is the chicks. Yep, I'm totally sexist, but that is the truth.

Anyways, I did pretty damn well (even if I did call up someone who wasn't even in the building at one stage) and Elaine was pretty impressed. So much so that today she left me to set up, get things moving and finish up, only occaisionally coming in to make sure that everything was still going fine.

Probably the hardest thing yesterday was running three blocks with my bag so that I didn't miss the Tube to Catch the Train to get to Work.

Of course, yesterday and today there was an 0807 Silverlink to Richmond Running, which compounds my theory that on Friday the abscence of said service was purely and simply a ploy by the powers that be to try to break me.

But I am Unbroken! Har!

[Calms himself and climbs down off desk]

At the end of the day I was feeling so good that I just felt like kicking back and hanging out with my colleague, and we wound up shooting the shit and sinking the beer in said pub.

Chris drank more beer than me, so he had a bigger headache than I when he got up this morning, but he compensated by getting an extra hour and a half of sleep, vis a vis crashing at the house of a girl that he had hooked up with about a week ago who lives on the opposite side of Highbury Fields.

Today played out differently.

The morning was more random, but I am comfortable enough in my job now that I can recognise the difference between me being thrown a curveball and me being completely incompetent and unable to deal with the simplest of tasks effectively.

When I say random, I mean there was a woman in custody who had been seen by a solicitor from the wrong firm (she was Legal Aid'ed to a different firm), there was a solicitor who was ready to represent an absent client, the CPS had their file but the Pink Folder (which goes to the Clerk (kind of assistant to the Magistrate) was nowhere to be seen. There was a case which was "Moved to the 19th". Which is fine, but the 19th was YESTERDAY. Ie the file had fallen through a wormhole in space and emerged twenty-four hours in the past, where we had dealt with it and sent it on it's way.

Yep, it was weird. And I managed to field it all pretty well.

Lunchtime brought turbulence.

If I haven't, let me describe Chris for you.

Chris is 23, 6'1, Slim, strangely handsome with unkempt hair and a permanent three day growth. He is well spoken and intelligent, he is well educated and charming.

And he is also even more self-destructive than I am.

If such a thing exists in the Dusty Tomes of Psychology, I'd say that him and I are perfect examples of the Phoenix Complex: an incurable tendency to Crash and Burn.

Anyways, after our Payslips had come in over the weekend, Chris had decided that we just weren't being paid enough for the job that we were doing (which is Bloody Hard, make no mistake), and at lunch he decided to call Diamond Resourcing (our agency) and tell them so.

He was dealt with rudely down the phone line. So, after a short period of stewing, he called Diamond again and got the Assistant Director of the company. And he let her have it.

He basically said that he no longer wanted to be represented by the Angency and refused to work for them. He resigned from their books.

Of course, that means that he doesn't work at Highbury anymore, something which threw all of us (me, Elaine, and Anje won't like it when she gets back either) into some wobbles.

I respect Chris for having the balls, though I confess that I am more of a Suck It Up Marine type. Probably to a fault.

I wish him well, he's smart and he seems like the kind of guy that always falls on his feet.

But I can't follow him.

Part of it is because of the money: I have rent covered for this month. Food would be good as well.

But also just to be working means that I'm not caught in my usual self-destructive loops of inaction and stagnation. The job has allowed me to break out of the Psychic Paralysis that I have spent too much of my life in.

Furthermore, the fact that I am doing a job that this time last week I was complaining that I was just not psychologically or aptitudinally equipped to do means a lot to me.

Let's face it, I am someone who finds it far too easy to punk out of things when they get too hard. I've done it to study way too many times. I've done it to relationships (maybe not as often as I should have). I've done it with things that could have led me to some kind of productive and fulfilling life.

Doing a job that I had wanted to walk out on a dozen times fills me with a strange sort of pride. I sleep better (though not enough). I am slightly slimmer. The intensity I once had, the intensity that I misguidedly tried to erase from my personality, is coming back to me, only now I am aware of it, so I can focus it better.

And, of course, there are the girls. Attractive, intelligent and educated girls that wouldn't otherwise look twice at me here in London in my leather and T-shirt uniform.

A very superficial reason for staying, but it has stopped me from walking out more times than I care to recount.

Of course, this is all having a strange, mutagenic effect on my personality. On Saturday I inadvertantly list-called a coming show for What's Cookin'.

But I'm happy with the way that I going.

And I'm going to keep running with this job for a while yet.

Of course, this means that I might have to cancel my trip back to Australia in November.

In any case, I have to sign this one off.

Over and out.

J

Blah!

It's quarter to seven Sunday Night and I am feeling pretty Blah.

I've been washing and ironing all day (since half twelve, anyway, which is pretty early for a Sunday for me) and I'm feeling flat with a slight headache.

I have fifteen minutes until the net Caff closes, so I'm blogging quickly.

Fortunately, I have little to blog about.

Probably the most significant thing I've done is throw my bedsheets in the wash because my room was starting to Ming a bit.

I apologize for using such an Abstract and Local term as Ming, but I can't offer any better description than that. My room was starting to smell in an unidentifiable fashion, so I decided to play the numbers and throw my sheets in the wash.

Yes, I know I show wash them every week, but I am slack, alright? I'm flat out keeping all my clothes in wearable condition without worrying about where I sleep.

Speaking of sleep, I am going to make sure I get plenty tonight. As close as I am getting to being able to do the job that I am currently (under) paid to do, I notice that I have become easily angered and very nearly snappy. Which is something I usually try to avoid in my personal life, and I always try to avoid at work.

So far I haven't snapped at work, but I have been heard to be grumbling to myself at my own frustrations.

Did I mention I was underpaid? I got my payslip this week, and after tax my first week netted me roughtly £175.

For roughly 38 hours. It was £240 before tax. That does it. I'm getting a National Insurance Number first chance I get.

Although getting a national insurance number will probably necessitate me taking half a day or more off work.

Dag nebbit.

I think my body is telling me to eat more vegetables.

Last night I saw a band called the Ronelles upstairs at the Sheepwalk, a pub on Leytonstone High Road.

They were from Glasgow and boy did they rock.

Though I wish they would put some kind of air extractor-filter thingo in the upstairs section of the sheepwalk. You could see the smoke in the air, which was disturbing.

It does make me simmer with irritation when I hear about the pubs that are going to stop serving food so that their smokers can smoke.

And it's seven o'clock.

This monkey's gone to heaven.

Over and out.

J

Fixing things

Today I got up at Half One and discovered that despite my hoping for a miracle, the Boiler still wouldn't boil.

I decided that I would need to call my Landlady, but I also figured taht she might be more agreable to helping me if I paid the rent into her account.

So I got dressed and headed down to Leytonstone High Road with a view to taking the 257 up to Stratford, the home of the nearest Nationwide Branch (thanks for reminding me, I need to look up their locations on the internet so I can find on on Monday).

I saw a 257 taking passengers in the distance. Dang.

I ran into Cecil, my flatmate, who had noticed that the boiler wasn't working when he went for a shower this morning. I told him my plan and he let me on my way.

Just after another 257 passed. Double Dang.

To kill time I jumped into Haff's Net Caff and checked my Email. Thanks for the message Gus.

I finally caught another 257 to Stratford and discovered that Nationwide Branches are open on Saturday. And they close at 12. It was nearly two. Three Dangs and counting.

I took the next 257 back to Leytonstone and called Alison my landlady. She was happy to hear about my new job, she told me that there definitily is a Nationwide Branch in Islington and that she would make calls about the boiler.

She got back to me ten minutes later with a phone number to call for a bloke that would come and look at the boiler. I had to call him since she didn't know the make and model. She also needed me to get a quote, and pay the man, that amount counting towards my rent for this month.

I copied down the number and tried to make the call. It turns out that calling Alison before meant that my Phone Credit had run down from over £2 to 33p. Bugger.

Knowing that Alison was going to call back in another 10 minutes, I ran down to the corner store to get my phone topped up (fortunately their connection was working) and ran back to the flat to call the Technician.

Thankfully, there was still time to call him. He told me that he would come around sometime between Seven and Eight. Joy! Hot water would soon be restored.

Alison was happy to hear about this. I started ironing clothes while I waited, playing KMFDM pretty loud.

Half and hour early the bloke got to the flat.

He got the hot water working again, and commented that the sensor inside the boiler which was supposed to boil water when the central heating wasn't on wasnt' working.

Masao, Cecil and I had all noticed this, we just thought it was a weird design fault. Klaus had just shrugged his shoulders and pined 'The hot water system here is sooo annoying.' before moving to North London.

In any case, the chap's appearance today cost £50, but he would be back on Monday to fix the boiler with a new part, costing £80.

Cecil would take care of that. Yay.

He left, I finished my ironing and had a hot shower.

Hooray.

Now I think I'll go get myself a steak.

Over and out.

J

The strangest feeling...

I have the strangest feeling.

It feels like... I'm actually happy.

Today started pretty sketchy. Despite having a new alarm clock, I managed to oversleep again. Fortunately only by forty five minutes this time.

I have been barrelling out of bed with uncharacteristic enthusiasm most of this week and the last. It is just in the last two days that I have succumbed to stay-in-bed instincts.

I put it down physical and psychological exhaustion. Remedy? Get plenty of sleep over the weekend.

Likelyhood of me following my own advice? We'll get back to that on Monday.

Anyways, I got out of bed to discover that not only was I running late, but the Boiler wasn't boiling.

That's right. Cold fucking shower. Having skipped my shower the day before, I really needed a shower, so I gritted my teeth and tried not to scream.

Did I mention that today was, at times, the coldest day London has had in Months?

I schelpped to the Tube Station, didn't get a seat, and arrived at Stratford at 0759.

Plenty of time to catch the 0807 to Highbury and Islington.

Except there was no 0807 to Highbury and Islington. Just the 0822.

This all just got worse.

Exasperated, I decided to take the Central Line to Bank, the Northern Line to Angel then grab a cab to Highbury Corner.

No cabs. I jumped on a bus.

The bus was very scening, but I still got to work quarter of an hour late.

Damn.

Marking up the court registers was hellish. Deciphering the scrawl on the files, annotating my own lists, and so on. It took too long and I was already in a foul mood.

Cue another of those walkout impulses. I was ready to scream and it was nine o'clock.

Elaine was going to get me to list again, and she was going to sit up where I usually sit to do the ushering. IE no help. I didn't like the sound of this, since all my previous attempts at List Calling had crashed on takeoff.

And then the weirdest thing happened:

When the court came in, I started taking the names and putting them in order, and calling the cases. One case went down, I had another in line.

Line 'em up, knock 'em down.

I was frantic. I was flustered. I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth.

But I was doing it.

Elaine was surprised. I was amazed.

We got to lunch without me having a nervous breakdown. A miracle in and of itself.

Lunch I gabbed to Chris about how well I had done. (him and me are still doing to redo our resumes on Monday... just because I can do a job doesn't mean that I'm addicted to the stress. Yet.)

Then back to the show. The afternoon was a bit more bizarre. I had a shitload of custody matters left over from the morning (did I mention that by the end we had 66 matters on the register for the 204 register alone? 50 matters is considered outrageously heavy.)

To add insult to injury, the jailors were short staffed and could only bring up one person at a time. Leading to lots of dead time in court.

The Judge and Clerk tend to use Dead Time to glare at the List Callers and make snide remarks. It's funny, the snidest Clerk can be a really nice person when they aren't working. It's like the cliche of heavy metal bands being humble and friendly offstage.

The day went late. We finished at quarter to six.

I took the 30 bus to Marble Arch.

Feeling happy. What a rollercoaster this week has been.

Over and out.

J

Not too bad...

Hey there.

Today wasn't too bad. It started pretty hellishly, but it got better.

In fact, right now I'm feeling pretty good. But I'll get to that.

After shlepping all the way to Tufnel Park to hear two surprisingly well played new acoustic numbers my acoustic threshold was reached, so I bought a peach and an Ice-cream and decided to head home.

Something about Tufnel Park. Does anyone remember me telling them about some Hardcore Punk shows that I stumbled across a few months ago (more accurately, I ran into some Hardcore Kids in Leytonstone, and I tagged along with them to the shows)?

The Progress Bar, the scene of these Adult Contemporary Crimes, is actually down the road from the venue of these shows.

I like North London. Especially Tufnell Park. London, it seems, is full of places where you can't actually be sure that you were in London.

In Leytonstone, for instance, if someone were to hit me over the head with an iron bar, knocking me out cold for a few minutes, when I came around I would suspect I was in Stones' Corner. On Oxford Street, you could be in any major city in the Western World.

But Tufnell Park you know that you are in London. Or maybe Brooklyn.

In any case, in the distance between the Station and the pub, I was struck by the dignified beauty of the three storey terrace houses (four if you count the semi-submerged basement floors). Nice. I'd love to live in one of those.

Anyways, I took the tube home and wandered back up Leytonstone High Street, hoping that I would home before the end of Lost. I didn't, but nevermind. I'll buy the DVD or watch the repeat.

Funnily enough I saw a couple of the Checkout Chicks from Tescos smoking cigarettes at the Bus Stop just before Trinity Close. The Cute but Chavvy one with the Blonde Hair recognised me and gave me a Hi!

Anyways, I set my four alarms and got to sleep.

In the morning I woke up with the first alarm, but I switched scotched the next three. Then I woke up at half seven.

FUCK!

Furious with myself for ruining a near perfect week of being early for work, I decided to effectively skip my shower and get on my way.

Into the cold fucking rain. Joy.

There was a crowd waiting for the bus to the station, but I figured that the odds were that I would get to the station before it came. And I was right.

But that still meant that I had to trudge through the rain.

Leytonstone to Stratford. Stratford my fears were confirmed: I was there at ten past eight, but the next train wasn't for another twelve minutes.

I messaged Chris that I was going to be late because of train troubles (a stupid move, I later realised, since I really should have just called my supervisor and explained my slightly fictitious version of the situation).

Then the train came and we all piled in. Cue the twenty minute ride to Highbury Station that makes me want to cry every morning (think I a wuss? you take the ride sometime and see how you feel!).

Packed like cattle, obnoxious braided school-girls complaining and more people trying to get one at every station. To add insult to injury, for the first time in living memory I wasn't able to see out of a window and the train driver did not announce that it was Highbury and Islington Station.

So I went straight past my stop.

FUCKING FUCK.

I got off at the next stop (and helped an asian lady carry her stroller bound child up and down the stairs on the footbridge), but the next train was fifteen minutes away. At least. Another stranger told me that Highbury corner was only ten minutes walk, if I walked at a pace, so I decided to leg it.

No Cabs. No buses, but I did get to the Courthouse by Nine. All the way I was rehearsing what I was going to say:

'You are so late. You're fired!'
'You can't fire me!'
'Why not?'
'Because I fucking quit, you fucking fuckers!'
'Fine! Fuck you and Fuck Off!'
'Fucking Right... can you sign my timesheet?'

Anyways, I get there to no shouting or fury. Elaine looked up and told me that she figured that there were train troubles. Chris shrugged and said that the transport system can't cope with an inch of rain.

And then it was go go go.

Back to Ushering today. And List Calling in the afternoon (Elaine did pick out the order of the cases).

I'm still good at the Ushering, and my List Calling is getting more confident. I'm still not too confident with the whole ordering of cases and stuff, and I did make some gaffes, but I am getting better.

Did I mention that the people who are training me had six months experience of Ushering before they became List Callers?

Me and Chris were lucky to get SIX DAYS!

Anyways, I managed to get through the day without everything falling on it's head, so that was okay.

The only thing that worried me was that I saw that the Junkie Scrag from last week (the one whose friend gave me all the static) ws due back in my court. And she was being represented by Hickman and Rose.

Farrah's Firm.

D'oh! I could just see the coming scene: Farrah being called over to take instructions - 'Farrah, you see that dickhead over there with the stupid look in his face and the rings around his eyes?'

'Yeah, isn't he dreamy?'
'No, he's a real Prick!'

Fortunately the Junkie (Junkette?) was represented by Mr O'Reilly, another lawyer from Hickman and Rose, and even luckier, the silly bint didn't turn up. A warrant was issued for her arrest.

Funny how junkies bring out my misogynistic side. Maybe it's just that I hate them all, full stop.

Enough about work.

For the ride home, for some reason I decided not to take the Victoria Line south to Oxford Circus to change to the Central Line, but to instead take the Overland train back to Stratford.

And on the platform I ran into La Rosa. Last person I expected to see that time of day, let alone ever again, but that is the random nature of my life.

She was headed to Bow to see a friend about how she was going to organise a Hen's Night for a friend who's getting married.

We chatted away, I told her a few of the things that had happened since February. Moving to Leytonstone from Walthamstow, working at Newham Council, getting a Mump etc.

I actually gave her the Modernist Drawing of a rose that I had done, telling that somewhere along the way I felt like being an artist again.

Of course, what I had planned to say was 'After meeting you, I felt like being an artist again.' But I thought the vaguer version was a little less likely to freak her out.

She liked the drawing anyway. I thought it was a little rough. I think I did it either last night or the night before just before going to sleep. It was a version of the one I did a few months ago.

When I get a digital camera, I'll take a snap of it and put it online.

Anyways, soon I'm going to wind up here and get over to Camden to go to some Terrorizer Magazine night over at the Devonshire Arms. I wouldn't go, but members of the Terrorizer Staff will be there DJing, so it'll be good to get to know their faces.

Maybe even work on being a Face myself.

If I get to be a face, maybe I can find out how to get involved with the magazine.

I've had worse plans, anyway.

I just have to make sure that I am home in time to get a good night's sleep.

First step: Go Home and Get Changed.

Over and out.

J

I should be somewhere else.

I mean somewhere else in London at this precise time.

Not somewhere else in the world.

Although I would love to be hanging in Seattle with Gus. I've always wanted to go to Seattle. Since 1991, anyway. It just seems like my kind of town.

No, I should be eating a steak sandwich at home or in North London or something, not blogging right now. Nevermind.

Yesterday was great. Monday was hell. Today was somewhere in between.

I nearly walked out on the job several times today. Besides sheer dumb pride and a reluctance to get on my Agency's bad side, two thing stopped me:

Number one: I've decided that for every week I can stick it out, I'm going to do something really nice for myself. Whereas if I punk out now, not only will I not have the excuse to treat myself, I'll also have to watch my resources much closer.

Number two: Farrah the Solicitor was in again today, and she seems to be really nice. Whether she is nice to everyone or whether she saves those big blue eyes just for me is open to debate. But she did tell me that I was doing a great job calling the list, when it was clear that the opposite was true. And I did catch her look around for me when she stepped out of the courtroom after presenting her case (her client non-appearing). Okay, it might be sheer vanity to think that she was looking around for me, but she was looking for someone. It might as well be me.

(I saw her throught the window of a guard booth, but I was unable to get her attention because I was stuck doing Tannoy Announcements.)

Anyways, I still need to build up a proper rhythm of greeting people, handing them an advocate slip, placing them in order etc.

Chris went home early, apparently because he only had two hours sleep the night before because of some situation or other.

Funny. I spent most of the first week falling asleep on my feet. No matter.

I really should take better care of myself. I can see this all having terrible health consequences really soon.

Probably the most memorable thing to happen today was that some kid was sent down over a Grievous Bodily Harm count. I saw the photos of what he did to a Sixteen Year Old's face (slashed from ear to mouth).

When the judge announce that he was going to prison, he spat the dummy completely. From the secure dock it took three very strong jailers to drag him down to the cells.

Elaine ordered the Courtroom to clear while order was restored, and the judge brought contempt charges against the guy. Meanwhile I felt my heartrate soar.

I hate violence. I later told the Jailers that I haven't seen anything like that since I left home. I think they misinterpreted what I meant, and I didn't care to clarify the point.

I get better at this job. But the question is how soon will I be good enough to carry it by myself? Bearing in mind that the job requires things that are essentially alien to my basic character.

The worst thing was that at times I felt like snapping. Just throwing down the clipboard and walking out. The main thing that stopped me from doing that was realizing that I would have to get my timesheet signed for the work I had done already this week.

Still, I hate drunks, I hate thugs, I hate violence and I especially hate being patronized by anyone and everyone, whether they are a District Judge or just a very good List Caller.

As soon as I have a minute spare, I'm writing a new resume and sending it to every bookshop I can think of.

If I'm going to be making £6.50 an hour I at least want to be significantly less stressed than I am now.

I acknowledge that it isn't a bad job per se, it is just a very hard job that requires much more training and focus than I have.

Having said that, I observe that possibly the weirdest thing about this particular job (and I think that Chris has noticed this too) is that me and Chris, being two peas in a pod, provide some kind of counterbalance to each other. If one was to quit, the other would probably go soon after. Hence neither one is likely to quite just yet.

Anyways, I'm going home.

Over and out.

J

I should be somewhere else.

Fucking tired again

Fucking tired again, at the end of another hard day.

Although I did do some shopping for clothes on Oxford Street After work.

I went looking for ties, tie clips and white shirts that are more opaque than the crappy ones I bought from BHS.

But all I really got was three stripey shirts from H&M, plus four pairs of black socks, same shop.

But I bet you're wondering what my day was like.

Here's the skinny: It was better. I mean, it couldn't have possibly been worse, otherwise I wouldn't be here, I'd be in Hollywood pitching my story to Kiefer Sutherland for the next season of 24:

"Kiefer, that terrorist shit is tired. Here's where it's at: A lousy List-caller has a Crap Day at a North London Courthouse!"

Nope. It was good.

You probably recall I finishe the last post mentioning that I was running late for my life-drawing class. As it happens, I was so exhausted, depressed, late etc that I decided to pass on the life drawing class and just lie down on the couch for a bit. This was 7 PM.

(those who know me know that I would have had to have been feeling pretty extreme for me to pass on Life Drawing Class, since there is no way that I would normally miss the chance to see a woman naked... even if it is for, ahem, artistic purposes)

And it was still pretty light outside.

Next thing I know it's fuck-knows-when, it's dark and I've still got my shoes on. Lying on the same couch.

Hmm, thinks I. I could get up and go to my bedroom, but I think I'll draw the blanket that I left here for just this occaision over me and contemplate it some more. Sooooo Tiiiiirrrrrreeeeeddddd.....

And then I suddenly became aware that it was getting light outside. SHIT!

I leapt off the couch and tried to check the time in the kitchen, only to discover that I had left the kitchen clock in the bathroom that morning when I had taken it there to make sure that I wasn't taking too long showering and shaving.

I run upstairs: I check the clock on my phone and it is... 0635.

Nearly the exact time that I crawl out of bed anyway. If it had been another half an hour (or worse) I would have been fucked.

But it wasn't. Thank Christ for that.

In any case, I did everything that I had to do to get to work on time, and got there about quarter past eight.

I got started on the pre-court prep stuff, to discover that we had to deal with 47 cases, not counting whatever late matters happened to appear out of the ether.

Elaine was happy. She likes a heavy list. Me, I was terrified.

In any case, she told me to be the usher for the day. Probably expecting me to flake out seriously, as usual.

Fortunately, I had a secret weapon. Not only had I had nearly 12 hours of sleep (nearly half of what I had for the entirety of Saturday through to Saturday), I had also finally remembered to bring the bag of Chocolate covered coffee beans that I had bought at Leadenhall Markets.

Coupled with my resolve not to let this job beat me, the Chocolate Covered Coffee Beans meant that I was able to concentrate, better. The caffeine in the coffee beans made me feel energetic and alert, but the chocolate meant that I didn't turn into a bundle of nerves, like I have been after drinking a whole 600 ml bottle of coke before work (and usually another during lunch).

Elaine actually said that she could not ask for a better Usher.

Of course, it didn't hurt that the Court Clerk made up the files (ie placed all the relevant bits of paper in the correct order in the correct place in the file) before putting them on the bench for me to collect them, or that she was pretty good with passing over the bail sheets.

Still, as a n00b, I do need all the help I can get.

Lunchtime: I'm feeling pretty good. I run into Chris (the other n00b, who has nearly walked out as often as me) and he tells me that he has been list calling all morning, and doing brilliant at it.

Thanks man. Make me look bad next time : )

He also told me that he knows some bands that need a couple of tour managers over december. He'll drive the Volkswagon Combi, I can ride shotgun. All we have to do is get from venue to venue, make sure that everything is running smoothly and handle the Trim Co-ordination. Fuck it. I'm in.

Anyways, I went to a caff, got myself a chicken sammich and hie'd back to the courtroom, where Elaine got me back to next to her table.

Next to her table it was harder to sneak the coffee beans when the judges weren't looking (I had them in a white paper bag). Fortunately I found some in a small cardboard box in one of the chain cafes in Waterstones on Oxford Street after work. Easier to conceal and stuff.

I'm sure that if I explained that the coffee beans make it easier for me to do my job and not freak out completely, the Judge might let me have them, but it is technically against the court rules.

Nevermind.

Elaine got me to do some calling this afternoon, and I handled it okay.

I'm just about at the stage where I can call the items all right. It is just dealing the the solicitors, the defendants, making sure that the CPS prosecutors have the relevant bundles, that the defendants in custody are waiting in the wings and that I know which case I am going to go to when that is the hard part.

Still, if Chris can do it, I should be able to do it soon. Chris isn't that much smarter than me, Cambridge Degree or not.

Anyways, I'm going to drop my bag (full of vitamins, face-wash, and shaving gel) and the three shirts that I bought back at the flat and then go get myself a steak to fry up before turning in for an early night.

Before I sign off, one more thing: does anyone out there have any idea the ribbing that any Australian in London is getting right now over the Ashes?

Goddamn!

Over and out.

J

Dear God

Dear God.

I just had an insane afternoon.

The morning was quite good. I managed to handle pretty much everything okay, I announced everything all right (Elaine didn't give me any serves about my phrasing or umming), I was even making a halfway decent effort at organising the order of the cases.

The cherry on the cake was that Farrah the pretty solicitor was there, defending someone or other, so I got to say hey to her. Even if I didn't find out what night she hosts the open mike night. I did find out her full name and what firm she works for.

I went for lunch, wandered about trying to find a decent sandwich, ran into Chris who told me all about his weekend over a tall glass of water at the swanky local pub hwere they were playing the cricket.

Getting back to the courthouse, I jumped back in to the List Calling, and everything seemed to be going fine. Then all hell broke loose.

Vladimir gave me a huge pile of case folders with all kinds of arcane case numbers. None of the Solicitors were where they were supposed to be, files were missing, people would come and go, a fucking nighmare.

To make things even worse, Elaine was in no shape to help me because someone who worked down in the office (she wouldn't tell me who) had had some kind of fit or breakdown or something in the Women's restroom and had to be taken away by paramedics. So Elaine was preoccupied and more than a little freaked out.

This was all fucked.

The afternoon was pretty much all a nightmare. I can't explain here how much of a nightmare the afternoon was, it was just horrific. If it could go wrong, it did go wrong, and to make matters worse, the court decided to completely disregard me and line up the cases itself. Which meant that I suffered a massive loss of face when Elaine finally did surface.

Oh the horror.

I keep telling myself that tomorrow will be better.

It has to be.

In any case, I'm exhausted, and I'm running late for the life drawing class.

Over and out.

Rainy Sunday

It's a rainy Sunday in the East End.

Despite waking up later than I meant to (I meant to wake up at half six like I have been this week, I woke up at half ten, then half one... at least Im waking up on the half), I have been pretty productive. Doing laundry, ironing clothes, making lists and making a long overdue start at tidying up my room (I gathered all the old newspapers and threw them in the bin).

I threw on the KMFDM CD which arrived in the Post just yesterday (during which time I was too tired to post for reason I will expand upon later) and did my ironing, pausing only to bounce around the room in a hyperactive manner (possibly explained by the clubbing I've been doing lately, more likely to do with the chocolate covered coffee beans that I ate after I found them while cleaning my room).

After that I took the bus up to Stratford with a view to getting an A3 folio thingo so that I can carry my A3 sketchbook to work and leave it to one side without fearing that it will fall open, exposing my inexpert life-drawings to prying eyes.

I was able to pick up a leather one (woo hoo!) for ten pounds, and I also got myself some fine-point pens and a Digital Camera Buyers guide.

Since my favourite net cafe is closed today (appears it was flooded yesterday in the rain, or something) I am at a net caff near the station. This one has slow computers, blurry screens and ergonomically unsound seat/desk combinations.

I can feel this playing havok with my back.

And some motherfucker is smoking in here! Fucker.

Anyways, I bet you are all wondering what I did on Friday night and Saturday.

Here it is: Friday night, after washing off the stink of human misery, I tried to find the kids I'd met on Wednesday Night at the Walnut tree, but no luck. It was 2040 by that time, and I think that they had moved on.

No matter. I took the tube to Camden, looking to see what the Devonshire Arms was like on a Friday Night. And it was cool. I met a Glaswegian bloke who used to be a Royal Marine. He was pretty damn intense, but he told me he used to live in Sydney, and I seemed to fall on the right side of him. He told me a lot of useful stuff, like what to do if I ever get jumped by five or more people (and I can't go with my original choice, run like fuck).

At about half ten I took the victoria line to Highbury and Islington to go to Sick and Twisted. Not a huge crowd, but the music was good and I had fun. Even if for the first two hours I was pretty much a zombie, trying to marshall my energy into staying awake. I did chat to a girl from Manchester who had a reverse Mohawk.

Somewhere along the way the DJ started playing Breakbeat Mashups of metal tunes, and that got me dancing like a lunatic.

After the end of the club I wound up hanging out all night with some kids from Manchester, Norwich and South London at a house in Catford. One of them was a DJ/producer of crazy breakcore stuff, so I gleaned some useful stuff from him. I got his e-mail address as well, so I might be able to pick his brains some more.

In the morning, I took a bus to the train station, took the train to Blackfriars, to the bus the Liverpool Street (for reasons unknown, Bank was closed) and headed home, after buying some food and looking in shops.

Not meaning to, I slept the rest of the day (I was exhausted after a hard night at the end of a hard week) but I did wake up in time to do some much needed shopping at Tescos before it closed (Tescos closes at ten on a Saturday night).

After washing some clothes, ironing some other clothes and watching a bizarre Oliver Reed Movie from 1986 where a non-intimate married couple live on a deserted Island somewhere in the Torres Strait for a year. Lots of grauitous nudity and some halucinogenic jump cuts, but otherwise not much going for it.

I turned in only four hours after I had got up and managed to get to sleep pretty soon after.

This evening I am going to do lots of barbells and stuff to wear me out nicely before I go to bed to get the best night's sleep I have had in a week.

That's the plan.

I guess that this is the part of the blog where I expound on some thoughts that have been bouncing around my head...

I can't think of any. Dang.

Over and out.

J

A better day:

A better day.

Even if it was really wrong at times.

I felt more in control and more comfortable. Although Elaine the List caller does tell me off for Umming when I read the register.

Thanks a lot, Elaine. I don't give you any static for saying 'Arks' instead of 'Ask'.

The low point of the day was a fifty four year old man on the Methadone programme who was there for carrying a carving knife in public. Yep, another fucking junkie. He was drooling on himself, he smelt fucking awful, his speech was slurred and incoherent. Plus his skin was yellow.

And guess who had to hold down the courtroom during his trial?

To really freak me out, when I called his case, I was told to tap him on his shoulder and lead him to the dock. That's right, I was required to touch this piece of horror.

That was before his defence counsel explained that he was HIV positive, plus he was experiencing Liver Failure. That coupled with the Yellow Skin indicates he probably had some kind of Hepatitis too.

Fucking hell. I had a major OCD attack, but I had to wait an hour or more to get to wash my hands.

Here's his story: him and his pal had been caught with a carving knife and a hammer in a plastic on Camden High Street.

He argued he was taking it to be sharpened at an Ironmongers.

The Police Witnesses, the Judge and everyone else surmised that him and his pal were probably up to no good.

They mentioned at sentencing that he had convictions for GBH going back thirty-five years.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Other than that, there was a case of some guy who had been dumped by his Swedish Girlfriend and subsequently sent 47 threatening messages to her and her new boyfriend, plus stalking her at her home, her workplace and her Family in Sweden.

Not good.

Still, I'm getting the hang of this job, and they did say 'I do hope you will be back on Monday'. Which is better than saying 'Geez, you really want to come back Monday?'.

I must admit that a piece of me really wanted to walk out yesterday, but I decided not to, since the job means I can meet cute solicitor girls and possibly see La Rosa on the way to work.

Back track to last night:

I came home, got changed and got on the tube back to Tottenham Court Road. It was a mercifully short journey, compared to the one I had taken on the way home.

Get to Opeth, the supports are playing. Run into Hilary and members of her band. Hilary seems to be cold shouldering me, which shouldn't bother me, but it does.

As it was, Opeth are one of my Favourite bands, but feeling lonely and tired, the heaviness of the music and the melancholy of the tunes hung on my heart like hooks draped with lead weights. If she hadn't changed her hair from dark brown back to strawberry blonder, I would just shrug it all off. At least the stripping process means her hair insn't so soft any more. That was the part that always got me.

Anyways, it has been my observation that shades of my old Charmed life are starting to find their frequency again in London. Strangers are inviting me into their houses. I'm meeting cool girls and other trippy people. The shield of ice that all Londoners project around them is starting to melt, person by person, for me.

Geez I'm tired.

At Opeth I did actually get to see some friends. Like Katie Parsons from Metal Hammer, who I see at metal and hardcore shows sometimes. And Ruben the Tour Manager, and one of my friend Daniel's Friends who is from the Gold Coast.

On the tube home, in a Brilliant piece of Six Degrees of Jason, I met a couple of musos who had just done session work with a singer songwriter. Named Eden James.

From Brisbane. He mentioned that Eden James is co-writing stuff with John Drake.

"You're fucking shitting me!"

These guys were amazed to hear that me and John Drake went to school together. I was amazed to hear that John was currently working at the BBC doing some editing stuff and writing songs in his spare time.

Six degrees of Jason. It all started because I noticed that the blokes were carrying a snare drum and some cymbals.

Anyways, I'm going to go home, have a shower and meet those kids at the Pub. Then I'm going to take the tube to Highbury and Islington and go to Sick and Twisted, a crazy Drill n Bass/Industrial club upstairs at the Garage.

Rock and roll.

Over and out.

J

Dang!

Dang!

I just had a pretty harsh afternoon.

I got hassled by Junkies that couldn't remember the difference between four and two, but somehow intimately knew their way around the Courthouse. Cunts.

I also got caught in a majon Snafu about the lists. Since I am still learning the ropes, it was fucked.

Aparently my vagueness saved me from having to deal alone, since the bloke who trained me today, Sid, told me that he was told to deal with the court by himself on his third day.

If I was a faster learner, I would have had to deal with the court by myself and I would have been at the dead centre of the whole fucked up sitch.

At one point I actually felt in control. Sid had left the room, Elaine (my trainer for the past three days) was coming, the Counsel for the defence were all coming in and I was scheduling them in order and stuff. I had announced the first case and was writing a running order on a post-it note when Elaine walked in and asked me what all the extra-bits of paper were for, since all the information I needed was on the sheets.

Sure, the information is on the sheets. But it might as well be in Cyrillic for all the clarity it has. And I'm the kind of guy that needs to write everything down in advance, especially if I'm going to be announcing it in the court.

I can hear a name and forget it thirty seconds later. If I am looking for a piece of info, while I'm working out how to find it I'll forget what I'm looking for.

Anyways, I also fumbled the swearing in of an Irishman applying for a Temporary Licence (who the fuck says RC when they mean Catholic? Really?) and from that point on my confidence was shot.

And there was the incident when the lousy junkie who had been asking me to find out when the case for this other junkie slag was coming up (she had missed her appointment because, surprise suprise, she's a fucking junkie) in room two. He asked me every time I walked past. I asked other people, they had no idea.

Eventually I was swiftly going from one courtroom to the other and the bloke tried to flag me down: 'Remember: Norton.'

'Right. Norton.' I replied, not breaking step. He didn't like this.

'Don't walk away from me! And don't be rude!' He yelled in my wake.

I turned around to glare at him before walking straight into Court 2. I had thought about saying 'OR WHAT?' or possibly even, 'Listen you Scotch Stinking alcoholic piece of Islington Street Trash, I have been making enquiries and getting nowhere. You know this place much better than me, you tell me what to do?'

But I decided it wasn't worth it, and I should be back in the Courtroom.

Sid later told me that the Junkie Slut was actually due in Court 4. Stupid Matchstick thin hag. Fuck I hate junkies.

Good things that happened today: I finally sent off the money order for the KMFDM album I bought on EBAY. Yay.

Also: Chris, my favourite collegue, was hanging in Court 1 with Anje (the lister training him) while they were trying an Iraqi Asylum Seeker who was driving without a licence, speeding and had no insurance.

Anje quietly turned to us both and whispered, 'If an Asylum Seeker comes to this country and breaks the law, let's send him home! If we stole something in his country, we'd get our hands cut off!'.

Anje is Asian. And a muslim. She rocks.

Last night: went to the Progress Bar to see if the pretty solicitor who winked at me was hosting open mic night. Nope, not this week.

I stayed long enough to hear a couple of singers lay out their self involved Wuss-rock acoustic bed-wetter tunes, all the while thinking to myself, I should write a song for this:

'Next up we have Jason!'
'Thanks Dave. This one's called I Fucking Hate Mewling Amateur Singer Songwriters in North London.'
'That's great Jason. I loved your song last week. What was it called again?'
'Thanks Dave. It was called I Just Had A Blowjob that was Better Than Sex.'
'Wonderful.'

Hmm. I probably wouln't get out of the room unscarred, but it would be worth it.

After that I made it to Camden in time to see Nile. Nile were so heavy they made me Nauseas. Or it could have been dehydration.

Outside I met a blonde english girl and an Israeli Rastafarian girl who were handing out flyers. They were cool.

I declined their offer to get me drunk, since I had to work in the morning.

Back to Leytonstone and I met a couple of kids that I had met on the Train West, earlier that night. They did invite me to join them every Friday at the Walnut Tree pub on the corner of the Leytonstone High Road. Which is good. I don't usually go to pubs, because I have no one to go with. They were cool, but the cost me an hour of sleep.

Dang.

I did get up in time to go to work, though. I even got to the station in time of a Trademark Central Line Fuckup to happen (twelve minutes to go three stations thanks to a Signal Failure) and it didn't make me late.

It just made me pissed off.

No matter.

I've got to go.

I'm going to see Opeth, but I will be home in time to get enough sleep.

Over and out.

Good Day

I had a good day.

But I have to make this quick, because I have places to be.

I got up early enough to be ten minutes early for work.

Work was easier, since I'm starting to get the hang of the system, plus I am building my own strategies and learning what I need to do to get the feel for it all.

Had a Deli Chicken Sandwich that was dry and far too salty. Had a great conversation with Chris. Chris Rocks.

Back from lunch and had an easy enough afternoon. Saw a surly ex-junkie get grumpy in the dock.

Next door Chris had seen at least two 'Incidents'. ie defendants or defendants families being out of line. I'm jealous, I haven't seen anything yet.

The old hands tell me I'll get my turn.

I finished at about five, too late to get to a post office and get a money order to get my ebay KMFDM album. Why is starting to rankle. I'm going to do it tomorrow, come hell or high water.

It was hot again today. I forgot a tie so I had to borrow one again. The same purple one I work Monday. I'm thinking I might try to find one just like it.

Probably the trippiest thing to happen today is that I ran into La Rosa, the sometime Art Department worker that I had a mad crush on when I worked with her at Haringey. She was waiting for her bus. According to her, after I was dismissed, a bunch of people left and the office became really cruisy.

She told me that she is going to save money for her friend's Hen's Nights (English people have a weird habit of doing Hen's Nights and Buck's Parties in former Soviet Union Cities), but she will be moving back to Glasgow sometime.

Interesting.

There's another reason to be early for work every day, anyway. La Rosa was one of the factors that inspired me to work on my Art again.

Tonight I go see Nile and possibly I might see the cute Solicitor from Monday.

Which means I probably should have a shower first, since I am a bit sweaty. Hmm.

Better Hustle.

Over and out.

J

I'm exhausted...

I am exhausted.

So I am only going to give you the whistlestop version of what has been a pretty intense couple of days.

Saturday: went to Slimelight. Got there at Midnight-ish. Three floors. Had fun. One or two familiar faces.

I decided that since I had to start work on Monday, rather than let my lousy sleeping pattern dictate to me, I would dictate to it.

So I deliberately stayed out all night, with a view to collapsing into bed early Sunday night.

Sunday morning, after Slimelight ended at half seven(!), I took a walk through Islington, finding myself in some picturesque back streets with lots of Antique Shops and hidden backstreets.

Then I found a park. Where a bunch of the kids from the club were hanging out.

Around ten or so I decided to take the tube to Camden, where I looked at stalls, looked in shops and generally explored.

Around four I took the tube from Chalk Farm to Tottenham Court road so that I could look at Digital cameras in Jessops. Interesting. More research to be made, of course.

After that I looked in a Guitar shop at the other end of an Alleyway that starts on Charing Cross Road and ends facing the centrepoint. Cool.

Back on Charing Cross Road I found a comic book shop hidden in a basement. Groovy. Talked to the cashier, who is a sometime comic maker, and also to a comic/music fan from america with Tourettes. The non swearing kind.

Across the road I saw a bunch of kids lining up for a show. Which turned out to be Within Temptation, a goth-metal band from Holland. I bought a ticket from a scalper, and just before I got in Hilary's band arrived and jumped into the queue where I was.

Cathedral were the support act. Not bad but not brilliant. And brilliant is what Cathedral's reputation suggests.

In any case, Within Temptation were on, and they were a whole blog in and of themselves. Borderline Kitch.

I finally got home and threw some towels in the wash so I could have a shower in the morning.

Monday Morning: Get to my new job, get given a whistlestop tour of the courthouse, I'm assigned a Lister who will train me up, I spend a couple of hours hanging in the actual courtroom trying not to fall asleep (I know, I'm fucking stupid).

The other temp that has signed up with me is an English Lit Graduate from Cambridge. He seem like a cool guy. He had floppy hair and a beard.

When I saw him this morning he had shaved off the beard. Shame. I was going to call him Hans Gruber all day, since he looked just like Alan Rickman in Die Hard. Without the beard, not so much.

He's a smart guy, we've had great conversations about Hunter S Thompson and Bret Easton Ellis.

He seems surprised to meet an Australian who isn't culturally disengaged. He obviously doens't know a lot of my friends in Brisbane, but that is a given.

Today was easier and harder. Got more sleep, so I wasn't falling asleep so bad. But I did screw up more. I'm learning. It's only my second day.

Tomorrow the Elaine the Lister told me that she will make me an Usher for the day, so that I can be doing something while still observing the court process and language.

Probably the best thing that happened yesterday was that I met a pretty solicitor, who told me about an Open Mic Night that she hosts in Tufnell Park.

She said it was every third Wednesday or something. But it was loud in that courtroom. She did write the Name of the Pub on a scrap of paper, fold it up and give it to me, though. And she winked at me after delivering her defence of some Junkie knucklehead who had been caught driving without a licence or some crap.

She has long hair and blue eyes.

Different note: I've had a trippy idea for a short story inspired by the disaster in New Orleans. Although I do admit that people would probably be offended by my It's Not My Finger approach.

I'm going to start typing it once I have two minutes when I'm not washing clothes, buying food, going to, from work, working or just two tired to stand up (yes I almost passed out while watching Within Temptation... Did I mention I'm stupid?).

Other news:

My friend Jason Blonde (as opposed to Jason Black ie Me) called me at lunchtime yesterday to mention that he had a spare ticket to Nile, because he was heading up to leads and couldn't use it.

Cool. Nile Tomorrow Night. Opeth the night after that.

Mental note: do all washing and ironing tonight so that I can get the earliest night possible Wednesday and Thursday.

Being with Hilary at the Within Temptation show was interesting in it's timing. Somehow I seem to catch up with Hilary when I am Sleep Deprived.

As I mentioned, I get emotional when I am sleep deprived.

But I managed to steer through this one.

Let's see how I do at Opeth.

Anyways, Since Tufnell Park is just up from Camden I'm going to go there on Wednesday night before bugging out to go to Nile.

Jeez I'm tired.

I'm going to throw some clothes in the wash, iron others and go the fuck to bed.

Over and out.

J

Quick blog

Dandys was fun, even if the did seem to lack a little energy on stage.

Zia seems to have put on some weight and unlike their first ever show in London, she didn't get naked.

I still had fun.

After that tube to Angel and Islington and a walk up Holloway Road to get to Dead and Buried at the Lord Nelson.

Got talking to a bloke from sydney, drank some Southern and Coke and danced like a Zombie on the Dance Floor.

Took the wrong bus south and wound up in the Bank Area.

Following directions someone gave me I walked along Cannon Street, where I looked at Digital Cameras through the window of Jessops (hmm, there's a thought) and found myself on Fleet Street, looking at groovy old buildings and discovering Hidden Pubs.

Lots of walking.

Got to Trafalgar, Leicester Square (pizza shop was shut), walked along Charing Cross Road, finally caught an N8 on Oxford and fell asleep on and off on the way home.

Yay.

Washing clothes tonight. Maybe going out, maybe not.

Just Before I had fun writing rude messages to the spammers who polluted my Feedback Column. Must set up Subject line filter.

Over and out.

J

Friday on My Mind

Interesting day.

I've been waking up pretty early lately. Like half seven or something.

But that's because I've been sleeping with the window open to let the cool breeze in, which necessitates drawing the curtains.

(Most of the time I remeber to close them again before I walk around naked.)

So I wake up at half seven with light on my face, and since I hate sunlight I close them again and go back to bed.

This morning I was re-awoken at half ten by one of my agencies, asking if I wanted to work at the Courthouse in King's Cross.

Naturally I don't want to work at the courthouse, but I need the money. So I said yes.

He told me to come down to Diamond Resourcing and re-introduce myself. I told him I'd be there by 12.

At 1210 I arrived, having missed a bus, a train and made a Mal Paso on the stairs up from Bank Tube Station which worried me that I might had done my Ipod a Mischief (it was in my satchet). Fortunately the Ipod was fine and the bloke was on the phone to his boss when I arrived.

All I had to do was fill out some forms (I'm pretty sure that I had filled out said forms months ago) and that was that.

I spent the next hour or so wandering around the Leadenhall Markets, which, in contrast to when I was last there in January (on one of the days it snowed in London) it was actually full of office workers having their liquid lunches.

There were also a Waterstones, a HMV and a couple of newsagents.

In the Waterstones I found a couple of ginchy new horror novels, which I might like to check out sometime soon.

Side note, I'm still thinking about that novel I started thinking about a year ago, the one about Brisbane. And I'm trying to think of a decent narrative I can hang my brutal Splatter and Street Pharmacology on. Then again, it never stopped Bret Easton Ellis.

Speaking of whom, he is speaking somewhere in London in a couple of weeks. I think I'll try to get at ticket.

Back to the Story.

Looking in the HMV I was tempted to pick up the new Opeth. As well as a couple of Primal Scream records. But I decided to buy them at Virgin, since I have some kind of Loyalt card there.

Skip forward a couple of hours, and I did buy the new Opeth. And for my trouble I also got a wristband to see the Dandy Warhols play a special set in the Basement. Nice!

Anyways, I later found myself in a WH Smith where there was a blue eyed cashier with long red hair. I wanted to chat her up, but somehow I felt nervous.

What's that about. I don't get nervous.

Anyways, I bought a copy of the Times and paid another 99p for an accompanying copy of Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas. I'd already read it, but my copy was back in Brisbane. And Hunter S Thompson is always good to have around.

I walked to the Embankment tube station, walked through the subway to get to the Bank Station while talking to some Friendly Northerners who had been to Australia and took the Tube to Tottenham Court Road.

There I went to Turnkey Audio to look at controller keyboards to plug into my laptop.

And I got into a conversation with a Maltese drummer who was doing mad double kick rolls on the trigger kit. He talked me into giving him my contact details when I found out I used to sing in Australia.

After much consideration I bought a two octave trigger controller keyboard with eight assignable knobs, for about £80.

Then I took my booty to Borders, then to Virgin. A band that may or may not have been the Dandys were sound checking downstairs.

The cashier that rung through Opeths new album for me was actually from Melbourne.

Tube home, read the First chapter of Fear and Loathing and listened to Maiden on the Ipod.

Here's my thoughts about the job:

£6.50 and hour. Which means £5.50 after tax. Thirty five hours a week (give or take) and that comes to just under £200 a week. That means if I work two weeks there I'll have a months rent, plus change.

This is where it gets tricky. They told me that the position is On-Going. That means that I'll either get fired with no warning after a week. Or I'll get fired with no warning after six weeks. Or they'll fire me with no warning when I least expect it anyway.

Also: the Agency bloke told me that even though I have only had two weeks working at another courthouse (after which they dismissed me without warning or reason) he would really prefer it if I told the manager that I have had between four and six weeks experience working at a courthouse.

Joy. I just hope that the managers at the new place are better at explaining things than the last courthouse, where the manager of the office spoke with a ridiculously thick West Indian Accent.

Of course, the main problem with the last job was that I was totally distracted by my crush on the redhead temp who signed on the same day I did. Add to that sleep deprivation, and blah blah blah

I did hate that job, all the same.

Maybe this one will be more fun. I'll use spur to try to find something a bit better.

Anyways, gotta go.

I need to drop stuff home then get out to see the Dandys.

Yay.

Over and out.

J

And Ringo was his Name-O

Hey there blogophericists.

I didn't blog yesterday because I was running around Soho looking at Controller Keyboards and bits and pieces.

Re: the gig on Wednesday Night.

The Starkweather show turned out to be a bit of a Damp Squib.

Although I did make the unintentionally hilarious move of going all the way to the Garage at Highbury/Islington when the ticket clearly said "Starkweather - Playing at The Underworld".

Jeez I'm scattered sometimes.

In any case, I get to the mostly empty Underworld at about 9 PM to see a Mediocre London Metalcore band called Raise the Dead or some such sleepwalking through their set, pausing only to pull that Castle Greyskull Guitar Move that I fucking hate to see back home.

Is there a manual for stupid stage moves? Maybe they just buy DVDs of american hardcore bands and say 'They look like the biggest bunch of wankers, let's copy them!'.

In any case, I was talking to one of them later, and he was a cheerful friendly bloke, so I almost feel guilty slagging their show.

By almost, I mean not at all.

The next band had a huge bass sound, courtesy of his Fender P Bass through a ProCo Rat into a Trace Elliot Rig. So huge it drowned out everything else except the vocals. I could see the guitarist doing something, I'm just buggered if I know what it sounded like. I was going to chat to the guitarist afterwards, but I didn't see any of the members of that band. I think they just hid backstage.

Soon Starkweather came out. Great musicians but somehow just lacked that Je Ne Sais Quois that outfits like Dillinger Escape Plan have. Occaisional flat vocals and no stage charisma didn't help either. Still, they gave it their all. And then they ended abruptly and walked off stage. At Half Ten.

Oh well.

I wandered through Camden, feeling a stupid craving for Kentucky Fried Chicken. Which would be stupid, since I had three pieces the night before. Nope, not doing that no...

While I was in the queue for two pieces, a slim chap with bleached hair slapped my shoulder. After a second I recognised him as Scholl, one of the few South Afrikans in London I actually like and my former housemate.

Scholl was killing time before starting his shift at MTV Europe, where he works as a security guard at the door.

I wound up chatting to him for about an hour before taking the tube home.

Yay.

Yesterday: As said, hunting around Soho looking at keyboards and software.

But I did stop in at the net cafe long enough to scan a sketch of a new logo for Strenght Through Joy that I have been working on. I just don't think the old one is Monolithic enough.

After I got home I fired up the laptop, pulled up Freehand and traced the scan while watching some crappy telemovie about a Policeman's Widon in Brooklyn or something.

It came out looking not half bad. I'm going to tweak it a bit tonight.

If I can figure out a way to get it onto here, I'll do that. (Shouldn't be too hard, just use some free hosting system or something then wang it into here. Piece of cake... if I can figure out the HMTL... Maybe Gus can help.)

Anyways, you will understand when you see it, but the question I will be asking myself will be: Legibility at Small Sizes vs Brutally Crushing Oppressiveness of the Shapes and Colours.

Anyways, I'm going to go take a bus up to Stratford to raid their library for books.

Last bit of news:

My copy of Angst by KMFDM arrived today.

Yay!

I'm one happy rivethead.

Over and out.

J