An extremely concerning time for all Manchester United fans such as myself ahead of the announcements made today and numerous articles on the topic. Roger Blitz on the The Financial Times website discussed the bond issue, £500 million to be repaid by 2014 and rumours circulated as early as last year of such debts and now the reality has hit home. How the situation has progressively worsened, I assume is in part to due to global financial crisis restricting the interest rate thus no foreseeable buyer will approach the club which is what's required as current owners seemingly have no chance of repaying the bond. Gone are the days of complete financial supremacy; Match-day revenues accounted for 39.1 per cent of total revenues, media 35.8 per cent and commercial deals 25.1 per cent with net interest payments almost £42m and operating profits were just £9.3m: the importance of transferring star player Cristano Ronaldo for £80 million is now more evident than ever as the Guardian highlights.
This is an interesting business model of the club's financial hierarchy: http://av.r.ftdata.co.uk/files/2010/01/Man-Utd-corporate-structure-and-financing.jpg
Conflicting reports on the total of the debt, reported at £699 million 12 months ago as it's not disclosed in this morning’s press release – although it will be recorded in the documents that have been lodged with Companies House – but the Glazers’ growing concern over their existing borrowing arrangements has led them to the bond. But how will they manage this if the club's fortunes on the pitch spiral as the £75 million set aside for transfers are nowhere near enough. There's Sir Alex Ferguson's impending retirement along with ageing iconic midfielders Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes also goalkeeper Edwin Van Der Sar all of whom need replacing with the financial might of rivals Manchester City and Chelsea (who have just cleared their debt) and Arsenal look to flourish in the long term.
At least, according to Bloomberg, the latest figures include an 'up-front' payment of 35.9 million from next year's sponsors AON - whose 4 yr sponsorship is worth 80 million. Clever deals and financial nous is required if the bond is to be recuperated with sustained efforts on the pitch with an helpful raise in interest rate as the high interest rates on loans already are severely damaging profits as it's clear the Ronaldo deal was a necessity. Let's hope things turn for the better.
Monday, 11 January 2010
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
'O England, model to thy inward greatness...'
How are we all? Coping with the snow, rapid decline in temperature and frostbite I hope? As per usual our country goes into severe panic whilst the sane amongst us sit back and enjoy the sights. My apartment is luckily the warmest amongst the newly built establishment thanks to an easily deceived caretaker who allowed us round the clock heating after one of the girls painted the image of a frostbitten student also it's facing the lighted snow covered streets amongst the stars. What the deep freeze allows, plenty of time for homemade soup and reading with the odd game on Football Manager now the last of semester one's essays has been handed in. The lady, in her infinite wisdom, bought plenty of food just before the latest snowfall as well as detested newspapers such as the Mirror and Express & Star which I regrettably, read. However it seems there's a reason to read it- a competition to become a Mirror sporting blogger and the chance to visit their Canary Wharf HQ for a placement over the course of a month. An excellent insight into sporting journalism awaits the winner: I'm nearly done with my 200 word piece on 'Manchester United entitled 'Beckham Awaits' and another on 'Talented Youngsters'. If you wish to do so email them a 200 word blog on your favourite side and one on anything you desire: mirror-footballstaff@mirror.co.uk. Good luck.
This week has seen the Labour Party in fracas with Gordon Brown susceptible to a coup by Hoon and Hewitt whom if they had any nous they'd kept quiet and supported their leader ahead of the General Election as they have no other alternative leader or polices to grab the public attention thus defeat is on the cards then a new leader would've been sought.
Jonathan Ross: An entertaining but staggeringly arrogant buffoon who surely will be missed but hopefully young talents will thrive in his absence and the obscene pay check he received will go on promoting more drama and enhanced news coverage that shows more than just political squabbling and weather woes. Have a good weekend, all.
Saturday, 2 January 2010
Poppy's Family Renaissance
Inspired by an writer whose name is often mis-remembered and an actress famously wrongly named by Gordon Brown as this upcoming favourite blog of mine shows, Renée Zellweger's portrayal of Beatrix Potter in the film 'Miss Potter' shown on the BBC proved to be an eye-opener. As I decided to write my own children's story (along with the short stories, book on deaf education I wish to produce following an Masters) and here's an rough outline of the idea that stemmed from viewing the film: set in the delightful village of my upbringing in the era previous to my birth in the mid 80's, an rebellious guinea pig began causing mayhem thus resolving with it's widowed owner falling for the local carpenter thanks to the efforts of her inventive twin daughters and spiteful landlord. Here's the opening chapter I wrote in the last twenty minutes then perhaps I'll write some more. I should ideally, be producing my Shakespeare essay but such enticement to writing such nonsensical but amusing accounts proved too mighty for even the Bard himself if Much Ado About Nothing is anything to go by. Enjoy!
Gently strolling along the garden path, out of her usual bounds nonetheless she moved confidently and assuredly. Her absence however caused anarchy in the household for the dearly loved creature could come to harm, they called her ‘Poppy’ and rather charmingly she is held in high esteem. Whilst her journey didn’t last as prolonged as feared, since the arrival of the postman by the name of Nigel whom bellowed his usual “Good morning, my dears” to the young sisters of the establishment- Amelia and Charlotte Wiggins without realizing the advancing four legged black spotted Poppy. Such hilarity regined when the mother of the children, Belinda ran like a duck through hazy grass to the feet of the animal before picking it up with moments to spare from being flattened.
The following chaos ensured that Poppy would never walk in that direction again, she was told and that a chicken coop would have to be built. For its creation, the local carpenter Andrew Dudgeon had to be called immediately, “Would you be a gentleman and encroach our garden path to build an extremely important settlement for our roving pest, Poppy the Guinea Pig?” she questioned with great hope for a positive response.
“Of course I shall, Miss Wiggins. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon perhaps?” he answered amicably despite the curiosity of whether or not she has realized his lust for her, and merely envisaged seeing her in typical flowery attire with beautiful hair curled to perfection. Mr Dudgeon is only 25 and yet, he’s seen many vicious things in such a short span of life whilst on duty in the Falkland’s in the Royal Navy. He returned unscathed thankfully and shan’t remain a worrying hindrance to his family as a fully established carpenter in his village of Hunmanby; located on the English coast midst the picturesque surroundings of North Yorkshire.
The children happily ran amok around the house in glee at such an esteemed gentleman beckoning such arrival, a carpenter! He could build them such marvellous furnishings or a summerhouse that’d be much admired in the context of their sparse garden since the shed of their father has gone. He is much missed, following his tragic death in a car accident on the A64. “Oh Amelia, just imagine a huge tree house or rocking horse for us!” Charlotte exclaimed with such ferocity that she almost burst with joy.
However their mother, haunted by past misdemeanours and triviality of recently losing her teaching position at the local school due to financial cut-backs which left her incredibly upset is in no mood for romance. She even labelled her life to her dear beloved friend, Katherine as being an "Elizabethan tragedy slowly strangled by the masquerading Norman Bates!” in the shape of her loathed landlord, Henry who took no pity on their unfortunate situation.
Unbeknown to her, the children gathered Poppy and began their plans to entice the local carpenter through the medium of an apple pie filled with heart shaped sweets that they believed would make him fall in love with her. All they needed was their grandmother to prepare them a cake so onwards to the bus stop. They had to remind Poppy she is sadly not allowed to venture outside on their exertion so Amelia patted her and placed her on the mantelpiece of all places!
Gently strolling along the garden path, out of her usual bounds nonetheless she moved confidently and assuredly. Her absence however caused anarchy in the household for the dearly loved creature could come to harm, they called her ‘Poppy’ and rather charmingly she is held in high esteem. Whilst her journey didn’t last as prolonged as feared, since the arrival of the postman by the name of Nigel whom bellowed his usual “Good morning, my dears” to the young sisters of the establishment- Amelia and Charlotte Wiggins without realizing the advancing four legged black spotted Poppy. Such hilarity regined when the mother of the children, Belinda ran like a duck through hazy grass to the feet of the animal before picking it up with moments to spare from being flattened.
The following chaos ensured that Poppy would never walk in that direction again, she was told and that a chicken coop would have to be built. For its creation, the local carpenter Andrew Dudgeon had to be called immediately, “Would you be a gentleman and encroach our garden path to build an extremely important settlement for our roving pest, Poppy the Guinea Pig?” she questioned with great hope for a positive response.
“Of course I shall, Miss Wiggins. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow afternoon perhaps?” he answered amicably despite the curiosity of whether or not she has realized his lust for her, and merely envisaged seeing her in typical flowery attire with beautiful hair curled to perfection. Mr Dudgeon is only 25 and yet, he’s seen many vicious things in such a short span of life whilst on duty in the Falkland’s in the Royal Navy. He returned unscathed thankfully and shan’t remain a worrying hindrance to his family as a fully established carpenter in his village of Hunmanby; located on the English coast midst the picturesque surroundings of North Yorkshire.
The children happily ran amok around the house in glee at such an esteemed gentleman beckoning such arrival, a carpenter! He could build them such marvellous furnishings or a summerhouse that’d be much admired in the context of their sparse garden since the shed of their father has gone. He is much missed, following his tragic death in a car accident on the A64. “Oh Amelia, just imagine a huge tree house or rocking horse for us!” Charlotte exclaimed with such ferocity that she almost burst with joy.
However their mother, haunted by past misdemeanours and triviality of recently losing her teaching position at the local school due to financial cut-backs which left her incredibly upset is in no mood for romance. She even labelled her life to her dear beloved friend, Katherine as being an "Elizabethan tragedy slowly strangled by the masquerading Norman Bates!” in the shape of her loathed landlord, Henry who took no pity on their unfortunate situation.
Unbeknown to her, the children gathered Poppy and began their plans to entice the local carpenter through the medium of an apple pie filled with heart shaped sweets that they believed would make him fall in love with her. All they needed was their grandmother to prepare them a cake so onwards to the bus stop. They had to remind Poppy she is sadly not allowed to venture outside on their exertion so Amelia patted her and placed her on the mantelpiece of all places!
A New Beginning...
As the first blog of the New Year and is it plausible that a greater need to exert panegyric and positiveness in the upcoming decade rather than dismissing optimistic foes could occur? Let's hope so, no more masked insults and in-sincerity. In an ideal society, the media end their assault of those who continue to disappoint, shock and insult our heritage and focus on reflecting on the potential. Starting with those capable of grace, wit and accomplishment with a bright future ahead of them; not just comedians, writers and actors as noted by various newspapers deciding upon their predictable list of those who shall shine in the upcoming year much like their meaningless reflections of the past decade. Allow more emphasis on unrecognized hardworking heroes of society; the council workers who gritted our streets (those who did so), the bus drivers who many rely upon to travel to work and so forth and most certainly charity volunteers that form the basis of any hope for that particular charity. Let's be inspired and moved not emotionally drained or blame others for our predicament. Let's end the hypocrisy which still runs amok in the media; Polly Toynbee has lately angered me. She has form for such occurrences and now once again criticizing the Labour Party on the first day of 2010 without hope for a regenerative effort but to pile more misery on us:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jan/01/death-wish-brown-crash-labour
To call Brown, 'delusional' speaks of nothing but bitter undertones. Yet she cannot hide behind her statistics and elegant manner; her hatred blinds her journalistic instinct which we saw just 3 years ago in this article that roundly backs Gordon Brown which appears to be unbeknown to her. Whilst I accept many have changed opinions on New Labour over the course of the last reign or seek active change, one must wonder what has caused her to change ethos so drastically. Perhaps her glamorous mansion in Hampshire has lost tremendous value in the downturn or her chef demands higher pay or deeming the NHS as completely in-efficient on the basis of a friend's opinion so it's Labours fault which is ironic considering here she bellows nothing but staunch support:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2007/sep/21/comment.politics
Interesting, isn't it? I rather liked 'of all the qualities that Brown's party will welcome him for next week, still the greatest may be simply that he is not Tony Blair' which shows her complete naivety in light of the success he offered and whilst he embarked on tackling the apparently harmless Iraqi regime, I still believe he did the best he could do for our proud kingdom. To discount his efforts, talk up Brown like a fully fledged Brownite then merely discredit all association of support in the latest article shows how in-fulfilled her life must be: following the trend and jumping on any bandwagon that passes her by. And this is what must be stopped. People should form their own opinion, establish collective views on a range of topics from the NHS, foreign policies and the dreaded economy before discussing matters with friends, relatives and co-workers before voting rather than read this grovel. I wilfully wish for the day more thought provoking, interesting and coherent articles are printed/available online such as this:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2010/jan/02/katherine-hibbert-living-without-money
A moving account of a squatter whom resides in the abandoned plains of British streets whilst scavenging for food in such inventive ways. She was formerly a journalist who lost her job and became introduced to a world in which most of us gladly would avoid; imagine a life of no money exchanges just pure natural habitat or darkened flat whilst eating the remains of a cafe's lunch hour service via their bins and sitting upon a armchair left stranded outside Mrs Smith's down the road. The sad state of our homing departments lead to this as in London , another issue rarely discussed: homelessness is on the rise. It's not that these people wouldn't happily work; I see many of them in this city with smiles on their faces even in such dire situations that defy any hope of employment as they do not have a fixed address.
Ultimately, it's the article allows us to contemplate how well-off we are. For instance, like many millions in this country, my joyful New Year celebrations occurred midst the cosy surroundings of my apartment filled with laughter, plenty of food and drink and the next day, I felt terribly guilty for those who had no one or nothing as such community shows how irrelevant material goods are which the author attempted to illustrate. Rather than dwell on her misfortune, she plunged all her efforts into shelter centres and finding food whilst still remaining healthy, energetic and most importantly, happy. How many of our entrepreneur, business type millionaires in this country can truthfully say they are happy? It's reminiscent of the Channel 4 show 'Secret Millionaire' and the communities they meet change their lives.
Allow 2010 to change your life for the good whilst appreciating those around you.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jan/01/death-wish-brown-crash-labour
To call Brown, 'delusional' speaks of nothing but bitter undertones. Yet she cannot hide behind her statistics and elegant manner; her hatred blinds her journalistic instinct which we saw just 3 years ago in this article that roundly backs Gordon Brown which appears to be unbeknown to her. Whilst I accept many have changed opinions on New Labour over the course of the last reign or seek active change, one must wonder what has caused her to change ethos so drastically. Perhaps her glamorous mansion in Hampshire has lost tremendous value in the downturn or her chef demands higher pay or deeming the NHS as completely in-efficient on the basis of a friend's opinion so it's Labours fault which is ironic considering here she bellows nothing but staunch support:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2007/sep/21/comment.politics
Interesting, isn't it? I rather liked 'of all the qualities that Brown's party will welcome him for next week, still the greatest may be simply that he is not Tony Blair' which shows her complete naivety in light of the success he offered and whilst he embarked on tackling the apparently harmless Iraqi regime, I still believe he did the best he could do for our proud kingdom. To discount his efforts, talk up Brown like a fully fledged Brownite then merely discredit all association of support in the latest article shows how in-fulfilled her life must be: following the trend and jumping on any bandwagon that passes her by. And this is what must be stopped. People should form their own opinion, establish collective views on a range of topics from the NHS, foreign policies and the dreaded economy before discussing matters with friends, relatives and co-workers before voting rather than read this grovel. I wilfully wish for the day more thought provoking, interesting and coherent articles are printed/available online such as this:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2010/jan/02/katherine-hibbert-living-without-money
A moving account of a squatter whom resides in the abandoned plains of British streets whilst scavenging for food in such inventive ways. She was formerly a journalist who lost her job and became introduced to a world in which most of us gladly would avoid; imagine a life of no money exchanges just pure natural habitat or darkened flat whilst eating the remains of a cafe's lunch hour service via their bins and sitting upon a armchair left stranded outside Mrs Smith's down the road. The sad state of our homing departments lead to this as in London , another issue rarely discussed: homelessness is on the rise. It's not that these people wouldn't happily work; I see many of them in this city with smiles on their faces even in such dire situations that defy any hope of employment as they do not have a fixed address.
Ultimately, it's the article allows us to contemplate how well-off we are. For instance, like many millions in this country, my joyful New Year celebrations occurred midst the cosy surroundings of my apartment filled with laughter, plenty of food and drink and the next day, I felt terribly guilty for those who had no one or nothing as such community shows how irrelevant material goods are which the author attempted to illustrate. Rather than dwell on her misfortune, she plunged all her efforts into shelter centres and finding food whilst still remaining healthy, energetic and most importantly, happy. How many of our entrepreneur, business type millionaires in this country can truthfully say they are happy? It's reminiscent of the Channel 4 show 'Secret Millionaire' and the communities they meet change their lives.
Allow 2010 to change your life for the good whilst appreciating those around you.
Monday, 21 December 2009
New Year Approaches...
As 2009 draws to a close, some will claim it was undoubtedly the worse year of their lives whilst others draw on the ideals of Jean-Jacques Rosseau whom I've learned about as I encountered a philosophy book belonging to my studious (in the field of alcohol, maybe) younger sister. He believed in the fundamental value of all human beings and if still alive, 300 years on, he'd even lend support to corrupt MPs, anti-global warming law evoking establishments, greedy bankers, Tony Blair and Chelsea Football Club. As I write an essay on Shakespeare and Gender, I realise the theatrical view of life isn't too far-fetched from reality as this year has shown some of the finest art and literature, masterful musical talents for a long while whilst on a pitiful side; the worse sincerity since time began when Sir Fred Goodwin attempted to apologise for his extravagant pay-off. What are your overriding memories of the year before us?
In 20 days time, I shall no longer be 20 years of age but 21. I find myself in a rare state of palpitated calm as I collect hazy memories of the past 12 months with the love of a wonderful person who has changed my view on life and I no longer hold everything in disdain (well, just a few things). It's ironic that in classical literature as I've displayed all year long, we can find similarities in characteristics, ideology and situations as I have just done so with Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing. When he said to his beloved Beatrice, 'in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for, truly I love none' which is how I felt before meeting my lady in a Angela Carter lecture. I didn't retain venomous hatred as I thought it was just...I hadn't a care in the world and certainly didn't love anything outside of my family yet she changed that just as Beatrice did for Benedick and Elizabeth for Mr Darcy (as highlighted in this blog, 4 months ago).
http://dementedtales.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-beginnings.html
For those who have yet to find love, that old saying 'your time will soon come' is quite apt if not patronising. I mean who actually believes in destiny? I certainly didn't 12 months ago but I'm now more inclined to believe in fate; I came to current University without a single idea about my long term future as I blindly stumbled onto a course. It wasn't until a few senior figures suggested I'd be an ideal role model and should consider a training to be a Teacher of the Deaf. Then again urging me to stay earlier on the year as I became disillusioned and since I've become engrossed in what I feel is my pathway because as we look back, we must look forward.
And it was on a jaunt through the snow covered hills of North Yorkshire through the most picturesque surroundings and villages towards Helmsley, I realized that I wished to live in a remote stone-built house with many books, floating devices that serve my food and children running around the place but first I must get a degree. I wish you all the best in your new years resolutions and remember absent relatives, friends whilst partying the night away in style.
Happy New Years, everyone.
In 20 days time, I shall no longer be 20 years of age but 21. I find myself in a rare state of palpitated calm as I collect hazy memories of the past 12 months with the love of a wonderful person who has changed my view on life and I no longer hold everything in disdain (well, just a few things). It's ironic that in classical literature as I've displayed all year long, we can find similarities in characteristics, ideology and situations as I have just done so with Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing. When he said to his beloved Beatrice, 'in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for, truly I love none' which is how I felt before meeting my lady in a Angela Carter lecture. I didn't retain venomous hatred as I thought it was just...I hadn't a care in the world and certainly didn't love anything outside of my family yet she changed that just as Beatrice did for Benedick and Elizabeth for Mr Darcy (as highlighted in this blog, 4 months ago).
http://dementedtales.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-beginnings.html
For those who have yet to find love, that old saying 'your time will soon come' is quite apt if not patronising. I mean who actually believes in destiny? I certainly didn't 12 months ago but I'm now more inclined to believe in fate; I came to current University without a single idea about my long term future as I blindly stumbled onto a course. It wasn't until a few senior figures suggested I'd be an ideal role model and should consider a training to be a Teacher of the Deaf. Then again urging me to stay earlier on the year as I became disillusioned and since I've become engrossed in what I feel is my pathway because as we look back, we must look forward.
And it was on a jaunt through the snow covered hills of North Yorkshire through the most picturesque surroundings and villages towards Helmsley, I realized that I wished to live in a remote stone-built house with many books, floating devices that serve my food and children running around the place but first I must get a degree. I wish you all the best in your new years resolutions and remember absent relatives, friends whilst partying the night away in style.
Happy New Years, everyone.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Snowin' in Paradize...
Ah Christmas is well and truly here, since last blogging I've enjoyed and loathed the entire festive excitement in equal measure. From shopping and family gatherings, early exchanges of presents amongst housemates and partner before returning home to the white opacity and thickened snow in rural North Yorkshire. With the weather heightening the anxiousness with the crazily busy motorways whom very much like my father ignored warnings presumably to gather stocking fillers which drove me to near capitulation as I only required a few goods and yet it took insane amounts of time. Christmas is more than just materialistic greed and profiteering perhaps timely for our recession ending hopes of which Ireland has emerged from smilingly (my bitterness over this holds no bounds, the fecking Irish for Christ sake!).However, the drive home was a pleasure accompanied by those closest to me and numerous aligned motors travelling at such a speed that was thought non-existent from the days of horse and cart and the fecund years of the Italian Renaissance with periods of traffic blockage to rival that of the Eurostar mayhem. I didn't mind terribly as aided by a surprisingly good selection of tunes on the iPod of my girlfriend's (who has heard of Manu Chao?) 'Rainin' in Paradize' is a top record along with the usual Morrisey, Artic Monkeys and Foo Fighters whom I was dragged to Manchester to see once. Also the vastness of the winter wonderland I returned to, adapted to the title above, with various scenes of dolefulness from the children slow sledging down the hilly surroundings with the sun appearing rather persistently to create an aura of tranquility and beauty of which I shall reveal once images have emerged from the digital camera.
Incidentally, looking upon this blog I've just realized that of all my recent charming pictures uploaded, none surprisingly contained a sexual looking woman. So that's part of the reason for Keira Knightley on the left hand side but also due to her play that I mentioned a few weeks ago, an adaption of a favourite of mine, Molière's Misanthrope set in the modern era opened last week and by the sounds of it isn't worth venturing to London to see. Not that I'd be allowed to, according to my strange dream the other night as I was in court for originally driving offences (no licence, insurance and dangerously swerving) whilst proclaiming my innocence as I stated I was merely taking a cab driver to hospital after he was stabbed by a irate passenger in a dispute over a fare. Ultimately, he comes out of intensive care only to point the finger at me! So I'm charged for attempted murder as well as driving like a lunatic, my hopes of teaching absconded and the family disown me, where do I go from there? We shall see...
Merry Christmas and a happy new year, everyone. I hope you have a bundle of fun over the coming weeks even if I shall be conflicting with emotions of schadenfreude as usual!
Friday, 11 December 2009
‘Wine robs a man of his self-possession: opium greatly invigorates it’
Within my previous blog on Wales, I mentioned Confessions of an English Opium Eater, as De Quincey spirals from fantasy to realism through self dramatic prose. After the heartbreaking grievances following deaths of his father, siblings, children and wife you begin to imagine why he would impart upon the feeling of guilt yet he doesn’t excuse his opium addiction or earlier at Eton, wine as he writes ‘infirmity and misery do not, of necessity, imply guilt’ and ‘Guilt, therefore, I do not acknowledge’ when incidentally the deep anguish inside of him only reveals itself within the depths of his imagination and most surely lead to such a dependence.
Following yesterday’s collection of our essays, it spelled underachievement and disappointment. I need to be getting ‘A’s and ‘B’s not just below as these grades signal those being able to teach, PGCE’s are for the superior students yet my overly elaborate, hugely researched and hurriedly organized pieces are becoming my wine, my opium. I feel, even if this is just the first semester and there’s a long way to go yet, that I have hindered my hopes and there is nothing but anguish inside of me. The end of the year and all students are exhausted, bitterly upset but many have such ability that they will perform much better and could find masses of career options whereas mine is strictly the one: teaching English to the hard of hearing.
My little petite friend, like many others are in the same pernicious situation but at the opposite end of the scale, throughout her four years at the University and swapping from interpreting to teaching she has achieved mainly ‘B’s which will lead her to the elusive 2:1 that is required however now faces the results from two assessments of critical importance that could hamper her development thus lose her prospective enrolment at another University which already had over 2,000 applicants and she found herself being one of 100 chosen for just interviews. Now, that’s pressure.
The transgressive nature emerges through the depth of his sorrow after initially suppressing any forces of doubt attempting to reason with the reader referring to fellow users. Likewise I have distracted myself from any doubt over my future with the amount of reading, writing for various publications thus travelling to various cities also for charity work and socializing; finding employment in a school however is my greatest obstacle it should begin next year will ultimately take up much more of my time. Is it too early to presume my inevitable downfall? At 20 years old, I'm in lecture halls surrounded by likewise aged, disappointed faces and the minority who got the high marks were mostly at least 4, 5 years older than us and presumably read so much more in their lifetime, experienced more and perhaps more apt for teaching yet they do not even realise what they wish to do whereas I do and it tears me apart.
You see, De Quincey had vivid nightmares thanks to his sordid drug abuse, there was deep anxiety found inside of him that ‘literally to descend, into chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths, from which it seemed hopeless that I could ever re-ascend’ and equally I find myself imagining all sorts of depressing thoughts and wondered if the fortune teller who got so much information spot on, is correct in her observation I shall find myself working for the Police rather than teaching.
Following yesterday’s collection of our essays, it spelled underachievement and disappointment. I need to be getting ‘A’s and ‘B’s not just below as these grades signal those being able to teach, PGCE’s are for the superior students yet my overly elaborate, hugely researched and hurriedly organized pieces are becoming my wine, my opium. I feel, even if this is just the first semester and there’s a long way to go yet, that I have hindered my hopes and there is nothing but anguish inside of me. The end of the year and all students are exhausted, bitterly upset but many have such ability that they will perform much better and could find masses of career options whereas mine is strictly the one: teaching English to the hard of hearing.
My little petite friend, like many others are in the same pernicious situation but at the opposite end of the scale, throughout her four years at the University and swapping from interpreting to teaching she has achieved mainly ‘B’s which will lead her to the elusive 2:1 that is required however now faces the results from two assessments of critical importance that could hamper her development thus lose her prospective enrolment at another University which already had over 2,000 applicants and she found herself being one of 100 chosen for just interviews. Now, that’s pressure.
The transgressive nature emerges through the depth of his sorrow after initially suppressing any forces of doubt attempting to reason with the reader referring to fellow users. Likewise I have distracted myself from any doubt over my future with the amount of reading, writing for various publications thus travelling to various cities also for charity work and socializing; finding employment in a school however is my greatest obstacle it should begin next year will ultimately take up much more of my time. Is it too early to presume my inevitable downfall? At 20 years old, I'm in lecture halls surrounded by likewise aged, disappointed faces and the minority who got the high marks were mostly at least 4, 5 years older than us and presumably read so much more in their lifetime, experienced more and perhaps more apt for teaching yet they do not even realise what they wish to do whereas I do and it tears me apart.
You see, De Quincey had vivid nightmares thanks to his sordid drug abuse, there was deep anxiety found inside of him that ‘literally to descend, into chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths, from which it seemed hopeless that I could ever re-ascend’ and equally I find myself imagining all sorts of depressing thoughts and wondered if the fortune teller who got so much information spot on, is correct in her observation I shall find myself working for the Police rather than teaching.
Monday, 7 December 2009
Turner Prize: And the winner is...
Richard Wright, the outsider whom I hoped to win due to his admirable ethos and endeavour. Rather than conceptional designs or modernization he seeks pleasures from medieval ways and below is his gold leaf piece, rather stunning isn't it? I've written before of my adoration for the Renaissance period of literature and art which has shown it's vitality over the past year and many outstanding artists emerging yet as Wright's win proves, age doesn't matter- I'm 20 years old and my writing shan't reach it's peak for many years (before I perish in a hotel fire as my frightful imagination whenever I close my eyes reveals). As for the piece itself it could do with a name and with Carol Ann Duffy presenting the award, I'm sure she'd thought of something worthwhile to label it but on a side note-she looked rather stressed and perhaps the joys of sherry and poetry are getting to her. Another problem being Wright's name as it's synonymous with a dead musician at least at 49, he won the prestigious title in admittedly his last possible chance yet one hope it's not the last we see of him...
Especially required now Christmas shall soon rear it's ugly overly inflated head, have we all purchased our presents yet? Typically, as a man I haven't and not probably won't until I damn well have to but spare a thought for poor old Tiger Woods- that's alot of presents he'll have to buy thanks to his transgressions and his black book must be filled with numbers of available, sex-hungry and money influenced ladies so perhaps that'd be a neat gift for a cousin or someone. Let's hope his sorry ass disappears sooner rather than later and the tabloids return to normality... there's more chance of Wright's art dealer, Larry Gagosian suddenly revealing he is in fact, a woman. At least the semester comes to a close on Thursday with Shakespeare with one more assignment to hand in...
Of course the other artists had interesting views and ideas in particular: the intriguing manner of Roger Hiorns and the whale's skull by Lucy Skaer (I'll be honest, she wasn't as pretty looking as her name suggests). It showed, firstly the talent dripping through and secondly the merits of the competition and hopefully it's revitalisation in a depressing climate whereby people wish to be inspired and stunned even for a brief fragment of time much like Wright's piece which will soon disintegrate. It is perhaps symbolic, his artwork will not last 5 months nor will it be seen by many juxtaposed with a distant legacy as it'll fail to outshine the financial crisis and climate talks but it'll keep us joyfully entertained for now as 2009 nears an end.
Especially required now Christmas shall soon rear it's ugly overly inflated head, have we all purchased our presents yet? Typically, as a man I haven't and not probably won't until I damn well have to but spare a thought for poor old Tiger Woods- that's alot of presents he'll have to buy thanks to his transgressions and his black book must be filled with numbers of available, sex-hungry and money influenced ladies so perhaps that'd be a neat gift for a cousin or someone. Let's hope his sorry ass disappears sooner rather than later and the tabloids return to normality... there's more chance of Wright's art dealer, Larry Gagosian suddenly revealing he is in fact, a woman. At least the semester comes to a close on Thursday with Shakespeare with one more assignment to hand in...
Harsh realities set in...
After a unremarkable day of lectures, the distant recollection of the calm weekend have ceased to exist and the impregnable hatred of all around me has returned. Forming a bond of complete ignorance and incompetence, our University tutors ladies and gentleman... one of which, upon marking my research proposal has created a new letter, a cross between 'A' and 'B' revealing a strange Japanese letter shape and in the confusion, nor do I realise I have the highest mark or second. Her explanation for such tawdry marking is 
due to the masses she has to produce, 78, whilst referring to the complexity of my writing which she finds overly confusing. It seems I have to abide their principles thus writing how I feel it should be wrote- nullified in order to grasp high grades at the cost of high intelligence.
Of all the rioting, conferences and deaths in the evening news; this topic is the one that frequently pops up, deaths on school-trips or in this case hiking for a youth organization. The poor girl stood no chance, the group should in hindsight had returned home from the moors and returned home yet one unfortunate slip lead to her untimely death with a shocking body temperature of 'less than 30C'. This happened to me once, on a school jaunt with the temperatures well in the minus and unaware I was utterly freezing as At 13 year old I wasn't too bothered then on a long hike covered in blisters and shaking yet fought on only to slip into a river almost floated away as my diminutive self of non-existent swimming ability evaporated in the strong current.
Luckily I was surrounded by good teachers who pulled me out otherwise I would've perished then concerned I'd be suffering from pneumonia as had done before at 3 years old but once again, quick thinking allowed me to be wrapped up and taken away without a fuss. In this instant, the girls were left unsupervised and the weather was appalling. Surely this shouldn't have happened but as one of life's expectancies, things happen that we cannot fathom only mourn her loss and retain vilified anger over the mis-management and carelessness.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article6947512.ece
due to the masses she has to produce, 78, whilst referring to the complexity of my writing which she finds overly confusing. It seems I have to abide their principles thus writing how I feel it should be wrote- nullified in order to grasp high grades at the cost of high intelligence. Of all the rioting, conferences and deaths in the evening news; this topic is the one that frequently pops up, deaths on school-trips or in this case hiking for a youth organization. The poor girl stood no chance, the group should in hindsight had returned home from the moors and returned home yet one unfortunate slip lead to her untimely death with a shocking body temperature of 'less than 30C'. This happened to me once, on a school jaunt with the temperatures well in the minus and unaware I was utterly freezing as At 13 year old I wasn't too bothered then on a long hike covered in blisters and shaking yet fought on only to slip into a river almost floated away as my diminutive self of non-existent swimming ability evaporated in the strong current.
Luckily I was surrounded by good teachers who pulled me out otherwise I would've perished then concerned I'd be suffering from pneumonia as had done before at 3 years old but once again, quick thinking allowed me to be wrapped up and taken away without a fuss. In this instant, the girls were left unsupervised and the weather was appalling. Surely this shouldn't have happened but as one of life's expectancies, things happen that we cannot fathom only mourn her loss and retain vilified anger over the mis-management and carelessness.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article6947512.ece
Sunday, 6 December 2009
'Wales is the land of my fathers. And my fathers can have it'..
A fabulous weekend spent in the depths of lands previously unconquered, a place I found to be ultimately relaxing, inspiring yet deadly concerning as despite it's lively nightlife (some nice bars and clubs however avoid Ice , the most mediocre club in the UK.) It's suffering financially with many shops closing as the shopping centre featuring typical favourites thrive and it's regeneration plans as the City looks no nearer to achieving the targets set. Whilst on the train through the darkness upon returning, I scribbled down a poem explaining my thoughts of Cardiff and Swansea prior to bypassing the likes of Bridgend which isn't a particularly enjoyable place to live by any means. The poem itself, utterly terrible and as you can see I thought it'd be a chance to experiment rather than follow Thomas' structure with a disarrangement of syllables as hypermetrical lines appear with no thought for rhythm and yet it enabled the poem to find stability within complete chaos (much like the places I saw desperately trying to build a future) whilst the present is uncertain. Strangely, I was reading Thomas De Quincey's Confessions at the time so the poem is inscribed within another complex character's retelling experience of opium whilst Dylan Thomas liked a drink hence the first line is due to him possibly deserving a posthumous knighthood, not only for his poetry but disclosure of thoughts as the title quote shows, well in my opinion anyway.
The home of my idol (Sir) Dylan Thomas,
I transpired through the fields of splendour,
Amongst distant hilly lands thus unemployment harass,
Extenuated by Industrialism galore,
As the ageing ships and fisherman boats pass,
Beautiful surroundings upon the shore,
Now a strong wind blows there’s a sinking feeling,
Fine baroque features and marina tarnished,
As the unpolished regenerative effort is left reeling,
Equivocally economic woes mis-managed,
A City of such history empowering,
The home of my idol Dylan Thomas.
Due to the close proximity of the hotel to the marina, the refreshing sea air lead to thoughts of the Copenhagen summit that'll decide the future aims of combating global warming. I thought of a short story to write called Modern Dilemma, as Government shenanigans (inspired by the Thick of It and recent idiotic behaviour by MPs) and coinciding with concise lack of action to solve climate change with an intense rivalry as subplot. Alarmingly, the story isn't too unrealistic with places like the North Yorkshire coast whereby I was brought up with waves pounding any defence in place into submission and once habituated by natural forces as a means of displaying it's powers lead to a hotel crumbling away as this article pinpoints:
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/environment-when-england-falls-into-the-sea-who-picks-up-the-bill-1233625.html
Look at the date on that, 1997 and imagine how this shall be regularly occurring in the future so in the last decade or so no huge improvements on sea defences over the years. Why, perhaps money is tight enough or it's not seen as required at this moment in time? It's incredibly worrying as the weather and Chinese/American polluted air will worsen without unprecedented action.
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