Hey Blogomaniacs
Hey there,
I don't think I blogged yesterday.
Here's some news, anyway:
I went back to the Hen and Chicken pub for Tamsin's Leaving The CPS drinks. Tamz herself didn't arrive til later, given that she was on her feet in Court until about six, or even later.
The people that were there were a couple of Barristers, Legal Advisors (Jen and Richard were there) and a couple of the office staff and one or two people training for the witness service that I had met the day before.
All in all it was a pretty small group. We all fit around one table, and the table wasn't very big at all.
By the time that Tamz arrived people had already had to start leaving.
Realizing that not many of the people could really be called friends of mine, for the most part I made a point of just listening to the conversations, which were quite often regarding cases, points of law, eccentric District Judges and the like. Other topics included the best way to get around London, places they had worked, the ever collapsing barrier between the roles of Barristers and Solicitors etc.
Even though I had some cash, people were kind enough to buy me a drink when they were buying rounds (either they appreciated how lousy the pay is for a Temp List Caller, or they kept forgetting that they had bought the last round), so I got to be quite tipsy without having to pay a cent.
I also got to know stuff about some of the Courthouse Staff that I hadn't had a chance to hear previously. Richard the Baby-faced Legal Advisor (also called a Clerk in the courtroom), for instance is 26, went to Oxford, broke his collarbone playing rugby and was previously a defence barrister in the crown court.
Tamz refuses to tell her age, but showed me a photo of her with another haircut that was taken when she was 28. So I guess that she is between thirty and thirty-three.
I took the tube home and arrived home around midnight or somesuch. It was raining a fair bit, and still feeling a little drunk, I decided to wander to the all-night tescos to see if they had any implements to aid in the unblocking of the toilet.
They didn't and that managed to waste an hour I should have spent sleeping. I vaguely remember buying food, or something.
I've been eating a lot of celery.
Anyways, Friday morning I woke up late again, hurriedly showered, ate breakfast, didn't shave and legged it to the Station, thankfully arriving at Stratford in time to catch the 0807, which delivered me to Highbury corner at 0835. Thanks.
I'm going to endeavour as best I can to catch the 0759 from here on in, if I can't catch an earlier one.
There was a staff meeting, not much worth mentioning.
The actually working day was busy but not ridiculously so. I had a chicken sandwich and a peach for lunch, and took a walk. By the time I got back to the courtroom the clerk had opened up the doors (which I'm supposed to do ten minutes before the official re-arrival of the DJ) and had let people in.
There were two or three matters left over from the morning, which was a little worrying, since we had a half day trial set for the afternoon.
Fortunately the matters were resolved swiftly and the trial didn't actually go ahead because of problems with the CCTV and the abscence of the prosecution withnesses, who by the by were crackheads with criminal matters hanging over their heads related to the case in question.
I've said it, I'll say it again. I hate crackheads.
Finish the day, go home.
On the way home I stopped at a hardware store on Leytonstone High Road and bought a plunger, some kind of plunger related thing and a bottle of Toilet Unblocking Stuff with strict instructions to wear gloves and not breathe the fumes.
Got home, got changed. Toilet unblocked. Nice.
Dismayed to find that I had a receipt instead of a ticket for Blood Has Been Shed, I got going to the tube station.
Three quarters of the way there I realised that I had no idea where the gig was. Thinking I could find a Kerrang somewhere, I stopped at every off-licence, newsagent etc.
No luck. Tube to Camden. Not at the Underworld. Tube to Islington. Not at the Garage. Can't find a Kerrang. It's not listed in Time-Out, though Meat Beat Manifesto are playing at Cargo. Hmm.
I take the tube to Tottenham Court road. The doors of the Mean Fiddler are closed.
I try the bookshops looking for a kerrang. No luck.
I go into a net cafe and look up the website. It says Mean Fiddler. Mean Fiddler Doors still Closed. I check up the street at the Astoria and discover that the show.... has been cancelled.
Which is good, sort of. I had spent so long trying to find the venue that I probably would have only seen two songs anyway.
So I ask a girl outside the Astoria where to find Cargo.
She tells me it is in Shoreditch. Which is a while away by tube.
She is right. By the time I get to Whitechapel, they aren't doing the trains to Shoreditch, I have to go back down the line and take a bus.
Shoreditch itself is really interesting. I'm going to have to do more exploring some time, because it looks like fun.
It's quarter past eleven by the time get to Cargo. Meat Beat Manifesto is already onstage, but fortunately Jack Dangers and his sidekick are doing a two hour set.
And it is fucking brilliant. Two Blokes, lots of G4 laptops, a couple of trigger keyboards, some mics and two screens.
The projectors projecting onto the screens were actually midi'd up to the trigger keyboards and the sequencers so that the images could be triggered, toggled and scrubbed by Jack himself. Audio and Visual.
The Beats were huge, the bass was making my eyebrows shake and the crowd was grooving. It was all good.
After the set I chilled in the cafe near entry to Cargo. This was the first time I had been to Cargo, and I was pretty impressed by it. A pretty good club, as far as clubs go. Stylish but not too pre-fabricated.
In the cafe I got talking to a graphic designer girl named Paulie who had two friends, a couple who were having a spat and had gone off home.
She was pretty interesting, though she had only come to the show because Meat Beat Manifesto was her friend's favourite band in the world. She preferred indie rock.
I chose not to espouse my opinion of modern indie rock.
We bailed around half two. We separated when she took a cab back to her place just before Kings Cross and convinced me to take a cab back to Leytonstone.
I would have prefered to take a bus, financially speaking, but I did get to see lots of shoreditch and greater Hackney through the windows of the cab. It did cost my fifteen pounds, though.
Still, it let me get home before the sun.
Today: I overslept, went to Stratford Library, returned Preacher Book 2 but couldn't find Preacher Book 3, took the bus back and came here.
I'm not going anywhere tonight, I think I'll just listen to music, do some reading and do my washing (which I really do need to do).
No idea what I'll do tomorrow. I guess I should make a list.
Over and out.
J
I don't think I blogged yesterday.
Here's some news, anyway:
I went back to the Hen and Chicken pub for Tamsin's Leaving The CPS drinks. Tamz herself didn't arrive til later, given that she was on her feet in Court until about six, or even later.
The people that were there were a couple of Barristers, Legal Advisors (Jen and Richard were there) and a couple of the office staff and one or two people training for the witness service that I had met the day before.
All in all it was a pretty small group. We all fit around one table, and the table wasn't very big at all.
By the time that Tamz arrived people had already had to start leaving.
Realizing that not many of the people could really be called friends of mine, for the most part I made a point of just listening to the conversations, which were quite often regarding cases, points of law, eccentric District Judges and the like. Other topics included the best way to get around London, places they had worked, the ever collapsing barrier between the roles of Barristers and Solicitors etc.
Even though I had some cash, people were kind enough to buy me a drink when they were buying rounds (either they appreciated how lousy the pay is for a Temp List Caller, or they kept forgetting that they had bought the last round), so I got to be quite tipsy without having to pay a cent.
I also got to know stuff about some of the Courthouse Staff that I hadn't had a chance to hear previously. Richard the Baby-faced Legal Advisor (also called a Clerk in the courtroom), for instance is 26, went to Oxford, broke his collarbone playing rugby and was previously a defence barrister in the crown court.
Tamz refuses to tell her age, but showed me a photo of her with another haircut that was taken when she was 28. So I guess that she is between thirty and thirty-three.
I took the tube home and arrived home around midnight or somesuch. It was raining a fair bit, and still feeling a little drunk, I decided to wander to the all-night tescos to see if they had any implements to aid in the unblocking of the toilet.
They didn't and that managed to waste an hour I should have spent sleeping. I vaguely remember buying food, or something.
I've been eating a lot of celery.
Anyways, Friday morning I woke up late again, hurriedly showered, ate breakfast, didn't shave and legged it to the Station, thankfully arriving at Stratford in time to catch the 0807, which delivered me to Highbury corner at 0835. Thanks.
I'm going to endeavour as best I can to catch the 0759 from here on in, if I can't catch an earlier one.
There was a staff meeting, not much worth mentioning.
The actually working day was busy but not ridiculously so. I had a chicken sandwich and a peach for lunch, and took a walk. By the time I got back to the courtroom the clerk had opened up the doors (which I'm supposed to do ten minutes before the official re-arrival of the DJ) and had let people in.
There were two or three matters left over from the morning, which was a little worrying, since we had a half day trial set for the afternoon.
Fortunately the matters were resolved swiftly and the trial didn't actually go ahead because of problems with the CCTV and the abscence of the prosecution withnesses, who by the by were crackheads with criminal matters hanging over their heads related to the case in question.
I've said it, I'll say it again. I hate crackheads.
Finish the day, go home.
On the way home I stopped at a hardware store on Leytonstone High Road and bought a plunger, some kind of plunger related thing and a bottle of Toilet Unblocking Stuff with strict instructions to wear gloves and not breathe the fumes.
Got home, got changed. Toilet unblocked. Nice.
Dismayed to find that I had a receipt instead of a ticket for Blood Has Been Shed, I got going to the tube station.
Three quarters of the way there I realised that I had no idea where the gig was. Thinking I could find a Kerrang somewhere, I stopped at every off-licence, newsagent etc.
No luck. Tube to Camden. Not at the Underworld. Tube to Islington. Not at the Garage. Can't find a Kerrang. It's not listed in Time-Out, though Meat Beat Manifesto are playing at Cargo. Hmm.
I take the tube to Tottenham Court road. The doors of the Mean Fiddler are closed.
I try the bookshops looking for a kerrang. No luck.
I go into a net cafe and look up the website. It says Mean Fiddler. Mean Fiddler Doors still Closed. I check up the street at the Astoria and discover that the show.... has been cancelled.
Which is good, sort of. I had spent so long trying to find the venue that I probably would have only seen two songs anyway.
So I ask a girl outside the Astoria where to find Cargo.
She tells me it is in Shoreditch. Which is a while away by tube.
She is right. By the time I get to Whitechapel, they aren't doing the trains to Shoreditch, I have to go back down the line and take a bus.
Shoreditch itself is really interesting. I'm going to have to do more exploring some time, because it looks like fun.
It's quarter past eleven by the time get to Cargo. Meat Beat Manifesto is already onstage, but fortunately Jack Dangers and his sidekick are doing a two hour set.
And it is fucking brilliant. Two Blokes, lots of G4 laptops, a couple of trigger keyboards, some mics and two screens.
The projectors projecting onto the screens were actually midi'd up to the trigger keyboards and the sequencers so that the images could be triggered, toggled and scrubbed by Jack himself. Audio and Visual.
The Beats were huge, the bass was making my eyebrows shake and the crowd was grooving. It was all good.
After the set I chilled in the cafe near entry to Cargo. This was the first time I had been to Cargo, and I was pretty impressed by it. A pretty good club, as far as clubs go. Stylish but not too pre-fabricated.
In the cafe I got talking to a graphic designer girl named Paulie who had two friends, a couple who were having a spat and had gone off home.
She was pretty interesting, though she had only come to the show because Meat Beat Manifesto was her friend's favourite band in the world. She preferred indie rock.
I chose not to espouse my opinion of modern indie rock.
We bailed around half two. We separated when she took a cab back to her place just before Kings Cross and convinced me to take a cab back to Leytonstone.
I would have prefered to take a bus, financially speaking, but I did get to see lots of shoreditch and greater Hackney through the windows of the cab. It did cost my fifteen pounds, though.
Still, it let me get home before the sun.
Today: I overslept, went to Stratford Library, returned Preacher Book 2 but couldn't find Preacher Book 3, took the bus back and came here.
I'm not going anywhere tonight, I think I'll just listen to music, do some reading and do my washing (which I really do need to do).
No idea what I'll do tomorrow. I guess I should make a list.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 6:55 pm
2 Comments:
Hi again (so soon?)
Yes!
Meant to check out your Strength To Joy link last time, but it was late.
I just clicked on that link, but the link doesn't work. I got "the page cannot be displayed."
Reason? Look at your HTML betweeen the quotes:
"http://www.strenghtthroughjoy.org"
Yes, I've lifted it through looking at your source. The eye so easily jumps over these little fussy things that break a link.
Your h and t in strength are reversed.
All for now,
Clyo
P.S. I was hoping to see your design. Is that it - the image of soldiers - on their home page?
Prayerforce.Org
Cheers.
The soldiers isn't actually my design (I think it is some reference to Mussolini or something).
My design isn't actually up on the website yet. I have no idea whether they have properly received it or not, when they aren't doing their club Chris and Lydia aren't the most communicative duo I've been told.
No, the logo I designed for them is black type on a red background with huge, blocky letters squeezing out as much negative space as possible.
The idea being that the club is a parody of the Totalitarian aspects of Modern Culture and, by microcosm, industrial music.
Therefore the logo has to present the idea in a direct and dominant way.
Besides that, I just thought that I could do a better logo than their old one, and felt like proving to myself that I could still be a designer.
Thanks again.
J
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