Funny Stuff

The man who walked into the bar had hiccups, the gun scared him so much his hiccups went. Funny stuff indeed! Here's another one for a laugh, I'm on holiday at the moment so my next long post will have to be tomorrow.

A man is hanging in a barn, there is a puddle on the ground, the doors are closed and padlocked from the inside and the beams are too high to reach without a ladder. Yet the man is hanging from a short rope. What happened?

Until tomorrow my curious readers!

Conumdrums and curiosity

Here's a good puzzle I came across yesterday:

A man walks into a bar and asks for a glass of water. The barman quickly pulls a gun from under the bar and points it in the man's face. The man says thank you and walks out. Why?

I saw it in one of these puzzle books you get in Christmas stockings, I will post the answer in my next blog post.

Another puzzle is the fact that Britain only has one time zone while Scotland goes dark well before London. Russia has many time zones and they work fine!

Enough of rants for today, I'm holidaying in oxford :)

Revolutions

Egypt has decided to follow Tunisia's example and overthrow a president who has been in power for 30 years. A ridiculous thing the government did was turning the internet off and thereby such social media as Twitter and Facebook.

I cannot help myself in thinking the 20th century was vastly characterised by revolutions, global wars, regional upheavals and the worst of tyrants. Here are a few countries that experienced revolutions: Algeria, China, Cuba, Hungary, Indonesia, Iran, Mexico, Nicaragua, Russia, Spain, Turkey and Zanzibar. The number of countries that saw a change of government is even greater and includes France, Germany, Japan and most countries in Europe and Africa. And the list goes on!

As far as I know, absolutely none of these revolutions had anything to do with Twitter or Facebook!

The State of the World

UK - the conservatives don't like unions / weather is c-c-c-cold
USA - Obama has problems
Africa - Sudan split / Tunisia blew up / Egyptian army gives people a shower / Mandela is OK
Asia - Burma still confused over definition of democracy / China adopts property tax
Latin America - Mine explosion in Colombia / Free homes for wet Brazilians
North America - US trains gay troops / Piano on Miami beach
Middle-East - Yemen on fire / Palestine on fire / Iraq on fire

But we'll be fine because Andy Murray won his semi-final match in Oz :)

Interview Woes

My first interview was with for the position of recruitment consultant. I was asked into an office and waited 10 minutes for a manager to interview me. Smiles all round his face he subjected me to a 'relaxed' interview where the only answers he wanted were about my hobbies and interests. 30 minutes past and I seemed to have convinced him I wanted the job. He said I'd be contacted for a second interview within the week.

Bearing in mind I was in Lancaster and the position was in Slough, you can imagine I wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of traveling the length of the country yet again for what could be a pointless chat! Instead I met the previous bloke's boss, a woman who as she walked into the room I could tell she wouldn't think twice about branding herself 'top dog in a dog eat dog world'. She sat, I sat, we began talking about my ambitions, my skills, my availability. I was ticking all the boxes. She then asked me about my sales experience; I had already told her I had no work experience, to which she frowned. ok, one box wasn't ticked. I asked her about the importance of being a salesman in a recruitment position... she said it was very important, and then criticised my general appearance/attitude/approach to life by saying I couldn't possibly interact with my colleagues if I was always shy.

I explained this was my first interview, and that I was naturally the kind of guy who smiles and takes things easy instead of jumping round the room with excitement, and maybe knocking a few heads in the process. I told her about my previous experience leading various teams and providing positive results. She said the people I would work with were always 110% all the time and I would be expected to go out to the pub for drinks every Friday. I quietly thought 110% is 10% more than possible, and I want a job not drinking budding who sounded like pricks.

The final stage of the interview was a test. Apprentice style. I had to think of a product in 6 minutes and detail the marketing and sales budget. She came back in with a guy holding a calculator. I gave my presentation. She was not impressed, she asked me if I thought of the inflation that applied to the cost of renting factory space in China... whatever.

She had clearly chosen the right candidate before my interview, the questions had nothing to do with recruitment, and she didn't take into account the fact I had NEVER done this before!

Recruiters beware! I'm on to you!

Endless Driving

At university I drove a minibus taking the fencing team around the country to what turned out to be many of our best victories. One particular trip stand out: Leeds. This immense city has a series of one way roads that are cunningly positioned to offer drivers the opportunity to get from one end of the city to the other without going through the centre.

We left Lancaster at 11 o'clock, leaving plenty of time for our 2 o'clock match; the road down was pretty straight forward, motorway down to Manchester then a second leg to Leeds. Done. No! We knew where the campus was but the one way system took us to the other side of town. Our natural flair got us even more lost until we decided to make the ultimate humiliation for any male driver by asking for directions. 'oh dear' the directions weren't good so far, 'you're miles away, go up that road to the car park and a traffic warden will help you'. Great, we left the big road and I ended up driving a large vehicle through the small streets of an unknown city.

One good thing was that the directionless man was right about the traffic warden in the car park, who was so nice he gave us a map! 10 minutes later we arrived at the gates to the campus, about half an hour late for the match, no worries though, we had some very fast fencers with us and could still grab victory on a good day. This day however was not a good day. The university was experiencing what we should have been dreading the most... an open day. What seemed to be hundreds of millions of people were flocking at the gates and the campus parking was reserved for those young ignorant teenagers. We were given directions to another car park which we promptly set off for. We arrived at a large empty field labeled 'car park', success! No, this was reserved for the open day. We were given more directions and yet again we came to dead ends. We considered just leaving the bus on the side of the road but these spaces were reserved for permit holders only.

Finally we arrived back at the front gate, I pleaded a great plea and ended up handing over a crisp 5 pound note, the guard in his bright yellow jacket acted like he couldn't see us go through and we finally made it to the car park. We ran as fast as possible but it was no use, we scored some good points and lost by a small margin. Later we found out their best players were either ill or in exams, so we left disheartened. Victory could have easily been ours against one of the strongest teams in the league.

We got back at 7pm, I had done a little over 6 hours solid driving. On the positive side, we maintained our place in the league table, coming second behind mighty Manchester. We got through to the Trophy play-offs and ended up semi-finalists, loosing to Loughborough who went on to win a promotion.

Rather Cold Swim

Having lived in the south of France I get a lot of 'you must have been swimming every day!', but I tend to be quite picky on what temperature the water is. Our pool used to be heated to 28 degrees Celsius, but I still didn't go near it unless the sun got it closer to 30!

I now sit in absolute awe at the polar bear that swam 426 miles in the Arctic sea. FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY SIX MILES. Crikey! The water varied from 2 to 6 degrees and it took the bear 9 days to make the epic journey.

Here is the BBC story: http://news.bbc.co.uk/earth/hi/earth_news/newsid_9369000/9369317.stm

News Times are Old Times

Meritocracy seems to have taken a beating with the credit crunch, the new government's tax rises, higher bills, worse weather, terrorist attacks etc.... okay maybe all those cannot be blamed but we are all told to expect being poorer. Historians are quick to tell us how people in the 1920s survived despite the crunches in the economy. The fact that the British Empire collapsed and the world went to war after the 20s doesn't seem to have leaked into the news yet. In many ways the second world war can be blamed for economic troubles, and those same troubles can directly explain the rise of the far-right in Germany. We've shifted very slightly to the right in Britain but it will be interesting to see what happens in Europe. The US has already seen Republican victories in government.

Bad Jokes vs Quality Jokes

Last night I watched 'Have I got News for You' for what felt like the millionth repeat on TV. The gang were laughing at politicians (as one does) and of course Ann Widdecombe popped into the conversation. The main punchline seemed to be that she shouldn't be in power because she's ugly. 'Ugly!?!' exclaimed David Mitchell in a manner that suggested he was ashamed at how low his friends' humour could get. He went on, as I am about to, describe exactly WHY we should be against her:

She is against abortion and sex education, she supports homophobia and censorship, she doesn't believe in climate change, she is against political parties helping women get into Parliament.

On the plus side I suppose she is against fox hunting, but then she's against stem cell research which she obviously doesn't fully understand... we're not going to make a human/animal hybrid!

Political humour has captivated Britain over the past decade, every day there seems to be a show dedicated to satire and talk shows get the most laughs out of our dear old politicians.... Gordon Brown's so-called 'smile' is still a laughing matter! But let's try understanding our politics in more depth, and not start voting against people just because they're ugly.

Freedom and Fun of Fencing

I started fencing 2 years ago at university. Foil is the first weapon I used, it's great for beginners as you learn footwork, right of way, how to feint, parry and score a hit on target (chest). Within 2 weeks I was given a quick lesson with an epee and I found out, along with my coach, that I was quite good. With epee, the whole body is target, there are no right of ways and it's the best form of free dueling.

I've been to a dozen competitions and risen to rank 308 in the country. It is so addictive that even with money shortages I am still going to the Slough Open on February 5th. I best feeling is standing toe to toe with another fencer, masks on, weapons ready, and thinking that in 3 minutes time one of us will have won.

It's very expensive but worth every penny (well...almost!).

The Credit Crisis Explained

As if I could.

Here's the genius of Jonathan Jarvis, the credit crunch visualised:

http://vimeo.com/3261363

Rat Problem

Number 10, Downing Street is experiencing a rat problem. With all the spending cuts, VAT rises, and MP's telling people bluntly that the riches of the past decade have come to an end, I think it's quite ironic that even the Prime Minister is living with something that represents poverty.

I wonder if the rat has a facebook group...

Don't mention the war!

Last December the great Mr Stephen Fry was recorded on popular television show QI saying the unluckiest man in the world was one Tsutomu Yamaguchi. He was on a business trip in Hiroshima on August 6th 1945 when the first bomb went off, then returned to his home in Nagasaki on August 9th, when the second bomb went off. As soon as Fry said this Japanese viewers contacted diplomatic staff to complain.

There wouldn't have been any offence if the world understood British humour. Monty Python and Fawlty Towers spent a whole generation getting laughs out of the war, so much so that 'Don't mention the war!' is very recognisable in modern British culture. If I survived the only two atomic bomb explosions in the history of the world, I would certainly consider myself the unluckiest man in the world.

Let's take another example; Violet Constance Jessop was an ocean liner stewardess and nurse.
- In 1911 she was on RMS Olympic went it collided with HMS Hawke off the Isle of Wight, it didn't sink, but slowly made its way back to Southampton.

-In 1912 she was on RMS Titanic when it struck an iceberg, she spent then night in a lifeboat before being rescued.

-1916 she was on HMHS Britannic, a British Red Cross ship, when it hit a mine in the Aegean Sea. During the sinking her lifeboat was sucked under a propeller, she jumped out and struck her head on the ship's keel. She was rescued and stated her thick hair cushioned her head and saved her.

I think it's fairly safe to call her the unluckiest woman in the world; I'm afraid I'm with Fry on this one!

DIY disasters

My flat is currently 90% Ikea. Why shouldn't it be? I've always bought from them and they make the simplest of units. The other day however, I decided to do something different and get a bookcase from a shop that doesn't specialise in furniture. Skepticism aside I strode into the store and made the purchase; I guess the price tag was the attractive thing. Once back at home I opened the box to find ridiculously complicated instructions, the wood was good quality but the screws felt odd.

Now it stands against the wall with three of the nine screw tops sticking out about a quarter of an inch, impossible to push them further into the wood. The assembly was also disastrous, if you can imagine the frame: I had to screw the left side to the bottom, then put the right side on and end with the top. What is meant to support the creation until completion?

Utterly bizarre but at least it works!

A Winter's Night / Short Prose

A distant line of white light traversed the horizon, piercing the clouds in mid-afternoon suggesting the sun would set within the hour. The clouds were heavy with a tired mist which the cold winter air seemed to freeze in space, the dome this created gave all creatures under its gaze a quiet sense of duty: eat and seek warmth. Under this cloudy dome stood skeletal trees, a few of which still had dying yellow leaves clutching for dear life, whilst all their compatriots lay dead on the ground, an orange carpet which was welcomed by the mud-loathing walkers of the winter season. No wind, branches stood as still as the air that fed them, the only movement one could see was the silent hop of an unidentifiable bird pecking the ground for seeds, disturbed only by the rapid shuffle of a hungry squirrel. A mist was forming from the water behind the trees, enveloping the trunks in a dense haze that suggested the clouds were hungry for the bark. A deer retreated deeper into the foliage somewhere to the left, one could only ever see it from out the corner of the eye. This particular eye belonged to a somewhat grumpy man in his late forties, who had decided he would enjoy the end of the day sitting outside listening to nature; typical then for nature to be so quiet at this time of year. The white light had now turned blue and he expected the sun (wherever it was) to steal away the remaining clarity the day in about half an hour. He was a lumberjack, a hard working contributor to the local villagers’ warmth. An axe lay to his side, its head buried in a log for safety. He enjoyed the cool air and as the sky turned light blue to the west he felt a sense of utter peace enter his mind. He closed his eyes, shutting out the view from his hilltop property and breathed in as he dozed off. The village was also resting, about five miles from the lumberjack it consisted of little less than 500 people scattered over a fairly wide area. While he was in the North end, most of the people were centred along the High Street, farmer Chipperfield resided to the east, farmer Johnson to the south and Mr. Percy owned the watermill to the west. Within these boundaries lived the people of Lupton. The light faded over the gloomy country and silence took complete hold of the landscape, not even the smallest of birds made a sound, the trees stood still, frost began to consume the grass, that’s when the lumberjack woke up. He didn’t know how or why, but something about the quiet deafened him enough to wake him. It was dark, pitch black, the darkest night of the winter so far engulfed the trees into the distance while the clouds retained some light, suggesting the moon was somewhere above. He gazed over the tree tops and his vision eventually adjusted. Something moved about on hundred feet away. He sat still, held his breath, ignored his heartbeat and listened as hard as he could. It weighed as much as a large dog, if not more, it moved carefully. A light step meant it had caught his smell. A wolf? He spotted motion, too short to be a deer. Another step, it was walking in a semi-circle, not directly at him, but testing the situation before moving in. One hand slowly lifted off the arm rest onto the axe beside him; he yanked it carefully, not wanting to look alarmed. The axe was embedded too deeply in the wood so he estimated the distance to the door: 3 steps, the handle was on the far side. He stared at it with such intensity that he felt he perceived it’s every move and thought. As his hand let go of the axe, it brushed again a cold glass bottle. Another step signalled the lumberjack’s last chance to make a move, he grabbed the bottle and threw it high, not aiming to hit the animal but when it landed, he would take advantage of the split second of the animal’s distraction to leap up and close himself safely in his home. And sure enough, before he could think of where the beast was, he had locked himself safely inside. Taking his first breath since hatching his plan, he heard it on the other side on the door. He’d seen some large predators in the area before, but this beast sounded enormous. With confidence he stood up, relaxed, and peered out the window. He caught a glimpse of the animal just as it rounded the corner of his house. The doors were closed, locked. He was safe, this peaceful winter’s night would be spoilt by his murder.

Meals on planes

As a random act of writing madness, I'm going to share some gastronomic experiences of mine on planes. One particular item of what was meant to be edible 'food' stands out in the history of my hundreds of flights: a pink cube. What could it be?

As the tray was placed in front of me I immediately recognised the typical round bread (too hard for restaurants to serve but somewhat tasty with butter), the hot dish (chicken, green beans, a disconcertingly yellow mash), the knife and fork wrapped in plastic and surrounded by a peppering of salt bags (no pepper this time), and of course the pot of water (squeezed out of the purest volcano springs of France). Then I saw what could only be desert. Before touching, prodding and poking it I inspected it's shape; definitely a cube. Sitting on its little plate it rested, pink, the light reflecting dimly off it's surface. Was it gelatinous? No, just very smooth. I gave it a poke, not so hard as to disturb it from it place in the middle of the plate, but enough to feel the solidity of it's magnificently even shape. Not quite a mousse, too hard. But not a biscuit either. I inspected the other specimens on my row, the other pink curiosities were receiving the same treatment. One I saw was gulped up by a rather large man, he belched but seemed quite satisfied. I opened my cutlery and readied my fork, in Sherlock Holmes fashion I frowned as I went to give this food a prod. Interrupted. The steward asked if all was okay. 'Yes' i answered, but in a way that showed I had a question, 'what is this?'. He smiled condescendingly, 'chocolate'.

My second memorable experience with food was a late night flight from Montreal to Munich on Lufthansa. As if the seats in economy and the service weren't enough to praise this great airline, the meal was made me wonder if I was dreaming. I must stress at this point that my flight history includes some pretty horrific incidents, and people with more experience in business or first might not appreciate what I'm going to write.
I was sat against the window (my favorite seat) with an empty seat next to me. This was thanks to some clever rearranging by the stewardess who, with skill and expertise, politely moved 4 people around the cabin in order for me to get two seats to myself and for a young couple to sit comfortably with their newborn baby. The first shock was when the tray arrived, I prepared myself for disappointment (being British, this way I am rarely disappointed). I saw the bread (soft, made of clouds?), the hot dish (chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots... and all the right colour!), dessert was a beautiful (and generous portion) black forest gateau, then the cutlery (metal, with a pattern!). Metal cutlery in economy? I've told many people this and apparently it's a common occurrence, bringing to mind that I've spent too long these past years flying on low budget airlines. My top airlines had been Air New Zealand, Air Jordan and Air Canada but my first experience with Lufthansa has changed my view of the world (somewhat). As if I wasn't happy enough, I was then offered wine, and spent the rest of the night with a great bottle of red. I didn't want to leave, but my trip had the sole purpose of getting from Montreal to Toulouse to propose to my girlfriend; it included a the Atlantic flight to Munich, a small business jet to London, the day walking around, an evening train to Paris, an overnight train to Toulouse and finally a car ride to my girlfriend's. The misery of the French train network couldn't dampen my spirits after that great flight. All this was followed by me proposing in an Italian restaurant overlooking a square in Toulouse at sunset; I had fettuccine with salmon and a glass of white wine, so not a bad day!

These are my two extremes of 'meals of planes' experiences; so now when I see a tray put in front of me on a plane I always think 'I've seen pink chocolate, whatever it is I won't be shocked.'

Living the life... almost

This morning's news told the country we should consider living like our previous generations did during the war. In 1941 the streets were littered with posters asking people to save water, save power, reduce weekly shops to rations and people did just that. In our squeaky clean and high tech society, can we possibly save money and resources to the same extent?


- Cling film on single glazed windows to keep heat in
- Boiler off, jumpers on
- TV off standby
- Reduce driving to a bare minimum

I've already tried some of these, the cling film is brilliant! We've also cut the petrol bill by 25% just by planning journeys ahead, including trips to the shops within trips back from work. The best thing I did with the car is keep it in a high gear all the time to keep the revs down. Our average fuel spending has gone from £42/2weeks to £37/2weeks, that's a saving of £130 over the year. And we counted the saving after the VAT rise!

KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON!

France in all its glory

Something in the back of my head is telling me this morning's post slammed France a bit too hard, so this post is here to balance things out. The attitude of the French is enormously relaxed compared to the English. A 'Mediterranean' attitude to the world in many ways, France's fellow Latin neighbours also treat their own countries as the best things on Earth. No surprise that most have had fascist governments in the past century; and it is exactly the government that will help my argument: the problem with France is not the people, but the structure within which the people operate.

Take old Chirac for instance. He believed in his country, he put very capable people in top positions to address important issues. On the other hand his personal costs were staggering; Elysée bills reached €90m in 2005 but Mr Chirac had always been notorious for his food bills well before he arrived there. When mayor of Paris, he and his wife spent the equivalent of €251,000 on food in one year. Their personal food bill over eight years at Paris town hall was €2million, which includes €60 a day spent on herbal tea. Nothing was in place to stop him, and when a storm kicked off calling for him to be arrested once his presidency ended, he tried becoming a 'senator for life', also known as 'rich untouchable bureaucrat'.

France is proud to be French, I could slam France all day but they will still be happy being French, and the English will still be miserable! Maybe it's their good weather...

Don't bring England with you!

24 years ago I was born the beautiful city of Toulouse in France, known affectionately by the locals as the 'Pink City' due to it's regional bricks and famous flower exhibitions in the spring. I lived in Beaupuy, just over a hour north of Toulouse, in quite literally the middle of nowhere. No neighbours to be seen, just fields and fields and fields. So you can imagine when, at 12 years old, when we moved to a large village (of 4000 people) to be closer to school, I was quite shocked by the sudden immersion into French culture, which I had successfully avoided for 12 blissfully ignorant years.

It's been 12 years since that move and I am now looking back and summing up my thoughts. In school I was 'the English kid', the only one of course and therefore did fit in with my fellow pupils. I wouldn't be surprised if some are today members of the National Front! I was personally blamed, by children and teachers alike, for all bad weather and British food. I was nicknamed 'Harry Potter' because of my glasses and hair, they thought they were being mean, I loved it!

Culture is entirely different word in France; they are French and will protect it to the death. If I said I was English and wanted to preserve English culture no matter what I was faced with, I'd get a call from those half-wits in the BNP! I'll grace you with a great example of the two cultures clashing: During the building of the Channel Tunnel, when the railway was laid down to join the two nations, a bitter and costly argument erupted. The English wanted to fence off the entire line to protect the people from the high speed trains, The French refused because the attitude was: 'If they don't want to get hurt, they won't walk in front of a train.' The argument was resolved a couple million euros later.

Another argument arose when then President Jacques Chirac stormed out of the European Parliament when one of his ministers addressed the assembly in English instead of French. While I'm on a roll I'll just mention the new grammar police who take English words like 'Picnic' and invent French words to keep the language pure.

So while it is inevitable in today's world that people will move to other countries like France, be ready to accept blame for the weather, mad cow's desease, bad sweats, marmite and the English language.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day (2)

Originally this post was called 'Lifestyle Changes', but the topic related so well to my previous post's title I felt compelled to add a '2' on the end.

The New Year is, let's be honest, a human fabrication. Yes the Earth has gone around the sun and I guess it's our pagan past that arouses this need to celebrate this celestial passing of time. But it gives us the chance to break habits, to welcome this new phase in our planet's vast history by changing the way we do things. Especially monotony, boredom, weight gain and so...

I was caught by surprise last night when my girlfriend and I decided to get a cat. I am 24 years old, I've traveled around the world and not thought twice about dramatically altering my lifestyle. Now I'm getting a cat. The comforts of my childhood, contrasted with the poverty of student life, have made me an unemployed man in his mid-twenties who lives off his girlfriend and generous parental donations. Now I'm getting a cat. How indeed this is a new dawn!

The feeling seems to have spread across the world; I mean the feeling of pride that something is changing, but surprise that the change is quite as dramatic. Sudan is loosing it's bottom half; Tunisia has lost it's reputation for stability; I'm getting a cat.

It's all the same. Isn't it?

Still Unemployed

Despite many people saying they spent near 9 months looking for a job after university, I feel I am still at square one. On the other hand I have applied successfully to the London School of Journalism, which would be square two. After the News Journalism course I will send applications to news papers, websites, magazines and so on to see if anyone out there would employ me as a columnist or journalist.

I may be unemployed, but I am not giving up!

It's a new dawn, it's a new day

Today, Monday 17th of January, is the most miserable and depressing day of the year. How this came about I don't know but I do know it gives us the chance to make today a good one. I've just bought a new coffee table and am enjoying it with, surprise, a coffee and my laptop. Unemployment isn't hitting me as badly as many people in this country; my girlfriend was lucky enough to walk into a job, obviously doing a science at university was a good idea, I instead went for an Arts degree. I learned to write, somewhat well I think, and I learned to think for myself, hence this blog. See, we can think positive today.

It is raining, cloudy, windy. So much so that Radio 1 was commenting on the weather as I drove through it, giving me the impression they were nearby, which is what I like about England. We are all close to each other; this blog post probably doesn't make much sense, and I've probably lost many readers by this stage. A positive way of looking at this ramble of paragraph after paragraph is that I now know I need to work on my writing structure.

Saying I have always written is one thing, but actually writing will help you improve dramatically. Yes I know, maybe my earlier posts are better, but I am trying to find my flair, my muse, my style. Should I write about the news? or myself? does anyone really care? What about wit? or linguistic aptitude? Should I put a capital letter after a question mark? or not?

A bloke on the news said that on this miserable day we should try breaking our routine, baking a cake, reading our favorite book, cleaning the house REALLY well... instead I am going to go about my day as usual, I'm not saying I enjoy unemployment, but I'm practicing my writing skills to one day make a living out of them.

Here's a cheery note from Africa: the South Sudanese leader, Salva Kiir, has urged his people to forgive North Sudan for the war which ruined his people's lives in decades of war. I'm not going to say he's a saint just yet, but I would vote in favor of him getting a Nobel Peace Prize.

Staying positive isn't that difficult.

Sudanese Referendum

So far 640 votes have been counted, with 97% voting for secession from the North. Of course during the first few million counts of the US election in 2008, Obama was loosing by quite a margin!

Sudanese Freedom?

While Sudan has for generations been synonymous with either civil war or Darfur, 2011 is seeing the potential for a very democratic separation of the South from the North. Amid the violence, fear, drought, famine and religious intolerance, South Sudan has managed to kick enough force to become it's own country; well that's if the referendum goes to plan. So far so good but once the vote counting is done there will still be the matter of (in no order of importance) forming a government, choosing a name for the country ('Kush' is a favorite), getting international recognition, resolving the oil crisis which will presumably emerge when northern Sudan blocks negotiations over the fate of Abyei.

Putting the word 'freedom' in front of 'Sudanese' was just too tempting!

Let's stick with 'South Sudan' for the moment

As exciting news comes out of Africa (which can only be a relief), BBC correspondent Andrew Harding writes this fantastic sum-up to the day:

'What a day! Three parts euphoria, two parts earnest determination, a discreet but unmistakable twist of doubt, and a gut-busting side-order of unreasonably high expectations.'

I couldn't have put it better myself Andrew.




see his blog at:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/thereporters/andrewharding/2011/01/sudan_votes_optimism_abounds.html

Up and On

Many months have passed and times have moved on at a quickened pace since my graduation, we've had the royal announcement, the movie 'Inception', and a very entertaining coalition government using every economic excuse to ignore the greater issues of today's society. On the other hand I have been unemployed and enjoying living the tumultuous life of a 'grown-up' graduate on the British job market. From rented accommodation in Slough I now write with a profound desire to KEEP writing; not only that, I am going so far as looking for jobs in writing, publishing and journalism. The kind people at the London School of Journalism have what seems to be the perfect course, an attractive price tag and a highly regarded reputation. My application is pending and with it a great opportunity for me.

Fingers are crossed as usual and I am readying myself for a lot of work; at the same time however I am furthering my interests in research. Ancestry.co.uk is a fantastic source of information and with the right amount of patience family history is a never ending crusade. When I say 'crusade' I mean the kind where I am on the winning side!

For those looking into Lancashire families I highly recommend http://www.lan-opc.org.uk/ which contains vast amounts of information linked to parishes of the county. I've been using it myself to find information about my mother's family, the Holts were coal miners from Hindley, near Wigan. Thanks to the website I've discovered 4 more generations including my great-great-great grandfather Peter Holt who died November 14th 1871 when working in a coal mine during its explosion at Hindley Green, killing 60 men. He left a wife, Ellen, and 11 children who all went into either coal mining of servitude. One of them married my great-great grandmother, the terrifically named Ann Entwistle. Today my mother's middle name is 'Ann' and mine is 'Peter', a connection to the past which I strongly believe should be preserved.

I will continue to write and provide tips on research; hopefully syntax and wit will nip into my writing with time.