Goodbye, Dear Constant Reader

Yes, this really is it. The End.

It's been 9 years!! My life used to be exciting enough to write about. Dates gone wrong. Drunken escapades in random destinations. The high life in London during the early days. University, work, Faulty Towers Hotel. It's been fantabulosa!

But... For the last nigh on two years I've struggled to find even a sentence to write on here most days. My average posts have gone from 3 a day to nearer 2 a week. And I must admit defeat. I love this blog, love it. But there's nothing to write about any more.

My life is about to change. A new job, new flat, and a few little surprises that I've got up my sleeve too. I'm cutting out Diet Coke. Everything is in flux. And so I think there's no better time to pull the plug than now.

Walk This World With Me will continue to exist and I will make sure I put in personal updates when anything exciting does happen. But this will be the last post of this blog. And on 30th April 2010 this blog will become password protected. It'll still be there should I need it again, as I surely will one day, but it shall be hidden away just like all my old journals were in the past.

I'd like to just say thank you so much to everyone who has read this blog over the years. And especially to you, Dear Constant Reader, who's time and patience has meant more to me than you shall ever know.

Oh and Eurovision... I'll be keeping Pop Culture going too so all my usual liveblogging of Eurovision will be happening there.

So... this is awkward. Don't be a stranger! You know where I am if you need me, and I know where you are too (my scary stalker skills have not lost any of their potency!). See you around!



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The Countdown Begins!

3am Thursday morning, we were awoken by the dulcet tones of a car crashing into a wall. The doors were still closed by the time we'd dragged ourselves to the window so Jim and I headed out to see if anyone needed assistance.

As Jim made it to the car he scared off the joyriders who had caused the accident and thus satisfied no one was hurt we waited with our neighbours for the police to arrive. As we did two drunks wandered over and stared at the accident.

"What happened?" slurred a drunk

"A car crashed" Jae responded icily suggesting both his intolerance of idiots and his tired impatience.

"Oh. Can I bum a fag off you?"

"NO" Icy stare. Drunks slowly back away...

3am on a Thursday morning! Where the hell had they been??

So things to do:

1) clear out flat and prepare it for handing back to landlord.
2) get a new job in Folkestone
3) find a new flat in Folkestone
4) get fit
5) take over the world.

Simples.

Bought my final monthly travelcard today. No more Oyster! I don't know whether to sing or cry!

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That's The End To All That

Yesterday, whilst off work sick, Jim and I had a discussion and the ultimate outcome of this discussion were the following facts:

1) Moving to Folkestone is about a change of lifestyle.
2) Commuting to London every day would render this change completely ineffective.
3) I am not happy where I work.
4) My job is gone in a few months anyway thanks to my department being dissolved (yes, customer services... the "all weather" department is being dissolved!!) so I'd have to apply for a new job as it is.

Which all lead to one irrefutable decision: it was time to hand in my resignation at work.

What a relief that was. There is nothing quite like the feeling you get in a job when the axe suddenly no longer hangs even slightly near your head.

So that's it folks. The starting whistle has finally blown for the move to Kent. And there is little we can do to stop the momentum here on in, whether we like it or not.

To the next adventure...

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Jae Not So Well

Yuck. Last night after leaving work I began to feel somewhat unwell, hot and sticky. An hour later, as I just made it home, things got a whole lot worse.

Well thanks to a midnight run to Tesco's by the ever wonderful Jim, I feel somewhat better after taking some medicine. But... still feel rubbish.

I think it's food poisoning, ironically from a Tesco's prawn mayo sandwich. Grr... never eating one of them again *lies*

A Jake Campione would be most appreciate about now... ;)

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STRIKE!

Today was strike day at work. I, for various reasons including not wanting to miss a day of pay and not agreeing with fundamental reason for strike, crossed the picket line. It was actually a rather nasty experience.

I understood, from documentaries and movies, that crossing the picket line would not be pleasant. But I thought, naively, that as I knew these people things might be alright. Alas... I arrived at my usual time (i.e. hours before these folks are normally even awake) to find a small picket line had already been formed by some of the housing officers. I immediately greeted them warmly which put them on the back foot but with the aid of a Unison official they were quickly back on message trying desperately to stop me getting into the building. I was pretty perturbed by their questioning and glad I hadn't joined the strike given that I'd be supporting this sort of thing. I made it only to realise... I hadn't stocked up on enough Diet Coke to survive the day.

Others soon arrived all telling me of their own harrowing journey through the doors... slowly the crowd outside the office grew and megaphones were brought out meaning a very unpeaceful morning at work, broken only when I dashed out through the picket to the shop. I made it back but foolishly smiled at a former colleague turned bouncer who immediately rushed me in an effort to persuade me not to cross again. I dived through the doors just in time before the heavies could move in to question me further...

It was all rather nasty until, at 1pm, they all went home. Just disappeared. USELESS!

Anyway, it'll be interesting to see how the office mood goes tomorrow when those same people who were rather unpleasant to me yesterday come asking for help.

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The Hot Men Of Melodifestivalen

If you'd like to know my thoughts on Melodifestivalen and Your Country Needs You check my post here, or just keep up to date with Eurovision then check here. This post is dedicated to the hot guys of Sweden's Melodifestivalen 2010

Måns Zelmerlöw

Eric Saade

Dolph Lundgren

Ola Svensson

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What A Week

Monday: Went out for a meal with Jim, Denis, Nail, H, Graham and Hillary at our usual dining destination; Needoo Grill in Whitechapel. Saw Nettie's friend there which shows the success of our spreading the word about this delicious destination. Had a good evening rounded off at the local.

Thursday: Went to the bank to check my statement. After waiting 5 minutes at the Account Manager machine, I got on it, entered my details and pressed print statement button. At which point a Russian lady came up to me and said "Are you going to take all day?". I'm not one for making a scene but that... that INFURIATED ME. You know how obsessed I am about people being quick and efficient in public places, and I was being so... I hadn't been on the machine more than a 30 seconds. So I told her off for being rude and she denied she was.

As I walked away she said "I'm sorry if I upset you". Which is when I went a little overboard, shouting at her about how it was rude people like her dragging this country down, how stupid she was etc. etc. Public embarrassment but I took satisfaction in the fact she looked quite thoroughly terrified of this giant gay man on a rampage. I may regret being a bastard but sometimes these people need to be told.

Mainly what annoyed me was her inconsistency. I hate people who apologise straight after doing something. If you are going to be sorry about it in five seconds time, why do it in the first place? Of course I understand being sorry for something that happened some time before, when you've had a chance to reflect properly. But otherwise it just makes me EVEN ANGRIER. If you are going to insult me, at least have the balls to stand by your statement.

Friday: Went out to the Ram after work, just like last week except with lots more people. There were tales of nervous from university, drunken managers, very close fights, accusations of homosexuality against "straight" colleagues. It was, in other words, bloody brilliant. But I have suffered for it today, and am finally just getting over hangover whilst watching Melodifestivalen 2010!

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Shopping: Is It Really That Hard?

Shopping. It can't be that hard, can it? Pick up goods. Take goods to checkout. Queue if necessary. Prepare money/cards for assistant. Bag goods, exchange money, leave. It's very, very basic. So how come so very few people seem able to do it? 

I can forgive the obviously senile, the elderly and the disabled. But how can you reach the age of 30 with good health and still not be able to understand how to purchase goods in a shop? 

The shocked look on their face when they are asked for money as they pat themselves down, perhaps hoping the assistant will say "Oh, you know what... don't worry about the money today!" The idly standing around whilst the goods are swiped before they suddenly think "Oh, these need to go in a bag!!!".  

It's mindboggling. If we can't perform this simple task, is it any wonder that most of our species believe in sky fairies or that many have bought into the hilarious lie that if you just work hard enough in this life, you'll get to a better place in the next? 

We are surrounded by morons. There's nothing more that can be said. People who can't even carry out their basic daily tasks without stretching their limited intellects to breaking point. It sounds elitist, and hey... it is! I'm no genius but I can catch a train, go to a shop AND work out how to use machines all in one trip! Next time I find some overpaid suit staring stupidly at a train ticket machine or see someone wondering just how a queue works, I'm just going to give them a slap. It's for their own good. I urge you to do the same. 

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I Have A Plan

Yes, that's right. A plan. Obviously, you've heard this all before Dear Constant Reader. But I am determined to move from stressful living in London with debt to just getting on with a peaceful life in Folkestone without worry. I must do it. It's time to grow up! 

Yoinked from Asian Hunks

Friday saw me attended Stephen K. Amos' "Feelgood Factor" at the Hammersmith Apollo. It was alright, click the link to see my review.

Otherwise nothing much to report (beyond receiving a very envy-inducing email from Arwen. Tut!). Soon, Dear Constant Reader, I promise to be one post a day exciting!

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Sexism, Racism And Customers

If you do not believe sexism and racism are deeply embedded in our culture, then I'd urge you to spend a couple of days in customer service. I've seen it before in other places of work, but now that I work for a charity serving a very diverse client base, I have to say I am truly depressed by how openly it's professed.

Today a lady phoned and the first thing she said was "Thank God it's a man, the women you have there can't seem to understand simple concepts". Now I had to bite my lip and not give her a verbal lashing over the phone, but she is just one of many. No man has ever said anything sexist over the phone to me about women. But women seem unable to STOP themselves being sexist against their own gender. Be it a woman who wanted someone to come put up a shelf "As we don't have a man here in the office" to this most recent stupid comment... it's everywhere.

Racism is even more common. I encounter open racism from customers about others (be it colleagues, neighbours or contractors) every day. They don't even hide it, or say it obliquely. They just come out and say it. Whites against blacks. South Asians against blacks. Blacks against Arabs. It is universal and disturbing. I sometimes find myself forgiving the old, white folks who phone up and mutter on about some such person of some such race. I know I shouldn't but I just think that the miserable old sod doesn't know any better. But when I hear some lady of Pakistani origin talking about her Somalian neighbour as if they were murderers, I can't quite believe it. She must have experienced some form of intolerance in her life. How can she go and dish it out to someone else based not on their actions but on their origins?

And then I struggle. My customer service minded self tells my good citizen side to keep quiet, let it go and just deal with the customer and get rid of them. But inside I want to scream "WHAAAAAAAAAT DID YOU JUST SAY????" I want to shout at them, tell them there is no place in this world for such openly expressed hatred for others. But I don't...

I confront tenants all the time over their aggressive behaviour and swearing. Unfailingly they back down and change how they speak and what they say. I think it's time I stopped rolling over and letting these backward thinking folk get away with their prejudices. So from tomorrow I promise to confront people about what they say to strangers over the telephone.

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Sometimes I Think The Whole World's Insane

I must be very, very weird. I mean that in the mental sense, so no comments such as "Yes, a 6'8" gay guy is pretty strange" please! :p

I cannot understand other people. I don't understand people's interest in the personal lives of celebrities. I don't understand why people don't just look where they are going. I can't comprehend why people get so emotional sometimes.

Item: Window shoppers. They walk along, staring off to the side ploughing through others with no care. I cannot imagine being so unself-conscious.

Item: People who get to the checkout, wait in line for 5 minutes, pack their goods AND THEN decide it's time to begin the "Where did I put my wallet/purse dance?".

Item: People who get to the checkout, wait for all their goods to be scanned BEFORE they even start packing. What is that all about?

Item: Customers who give you a long story, and then when you offer a solution (and acknowledgement you have understood and heard their rather uninteresting story) they repeat themselves. One in every two customers do this. It's as if they had spent so long figuring out what they were going to say when refused before they picked up the phone, that when their problem is resolved within a minute they can't comprehend what to do.

Item: People who start speaking over you when you answer the phone.

Item: People who cry because their cooker is broken.

Item: People who feel the need to make out in public places.

And the list goes on. Almost everyone I see is engaged in an activity I find perplexing, illogical and mad. Which must mean... I'm the mad one. I must be totally insane. Lock me up! Please... get me away from these people.

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Weekend In Hythe

Sunday saw Jim and I headed down to Folkestone, via a pick up in Snodland of my Nan, for some time with my family. Some ongoing family drama meant I didn't see my sister that much but she did make an appearance.

For the evening entertainment, and some Valentine's Day time alone, Jim and I headed into Hythe to find NOTHING WAS OPEN. The Globe, The Red Lion, the Chinese with the scary Chinese lady, and just about any other pub we could find was closed. We eventually found ourselves in The Kings Head, which turned out to be a quiet, but agreeable, Shepherd's Neame pub where we had a few drinks.

On the way back, in honour of the Chinese New Year, we grabbed a Chinese takeaway and headed back home for a lovely meal and then Pan's Labyrinth to finish off the night.

The next day we met my Mum's new partner's daughter, Natasha. She was nice but was somewhat akin to Taz of Tazmania, and terrified and exhausted us to the point we made a fast exit home.

I may be having only a four day week but work is... STRESSFUL. Donations to the "Keep Jae Out Of Work Fund" or clicks on my sidebar ads gratefully appreciated! :p

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Too Much Drink?

Thursday evening Mum and Stuart came up to Hammersmith to see Massive Attack at the Apollo. I met them after work, although our meeting was delayed by the fact the traffic around Queen Charlotte Street is HELL. I managed to actually catch them up as they went round!

We had a few drinks in the Ram, discussed allsorts and then parted ways. I headed home to find Jim in the local and I joined him for a long night of drinking into the early hours. After that we popped into Nettie and Paul's house on way home... at 1.30am. As you do.

Yoinked from get ur pantz on

Friday, and I headed home and had a bath before I again went down the local to find a rather cheery Jim. Another night of drinking ensued. All very nice...

Today, has been very, very quiet. Strangely enough given sore heads!

Tomorrow we head down to my Mum's for a Valentine's Day in Folkestone. And I hope there's still snow after the chaos of the last few days down there! I want LOTS of snow!!

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The Dark Streets Of Whitechapel

Work is, at the moment, a source of great stress and upset for me right now. Soon, I hope, it'll all be over... one way or another. By Thursday things should be far more relaxed. Alas not tomorrow though! Sigh. So it came as surprise both to myself, and Jim, when I accepted his offer to go out with him, Denis, Nal, and H for a meal.

Our first stop though was a reconnaissance to the Prince Albert pub, here in Greenwich, which is undergoing refurbishment. Well when I say undergoing, reports had obviously been vastly exaggerated. It was more like refurbishment had just start 5 minutes before we arrived. With little thus to see and comment on we decided to make our way to the station. Much hilarity ensued as we all got our own type of ticket... surely given we were all going to the same place via the same train this was completely impossible but not in London of course!

Our destination was Shadwell from where we were to walk to Whitechapel and one of Jim's newest favourite restaurants; Needoo's.

As always the food was gorgeous and cheap. Added fun was had because Nal has eyes bigger than his stomach. When his order was brought out, an extra table was added to the end of ours. True story.

With added cute but world-weary waiter (I like to make up stories about my stalking victims lives, he struck me as a newly arrived immigrant who has discovered that his dreams of earning decent wages were cruelly shattered upon his arrival to our dismal country) and a lovely atmosphere it was a nice way to forget about all my work stress.

The walk back to Shadwell was bitterly cold. Another cold snap is definitely upon us!

After a nightcap in the local, it was time for bed and the horror of work in the morning... :(

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Tidbits

1) My usual Eurovision post will not be happening this year. Well not here anyway! Instead it is now over on my latest blog (yes, Dear Constant Reader, the world really was crying out for yet another blog from me!) here. It shall be kept up to date as per tradition and my live blog etc. will happen over there this year.

2) Folkestone, Folkestone, Folkestone. The move must happen sometime this year. And whilst I am not looking forward to the stress of moving, every time it's brought up or Jim shows me a property, my heart goes all a flutter. There is something deeply draining about living in London, and I cannot wait to escape this place. It's been good but it's time to go home.

Jim was just showing me a flat which is directly opposite Faulty Towers Hotel (or what used to be it anyway). Don't you think it'd would be most fitting to return there? Full circle indeed!

3) Nuf the Venus Fly Trap has sprouted a flower stalk. Yes, through some miracle, she still lives despite drowning/drying out several times over. I've ignored every suggestion given on her upkeep by every expert thus I shall ignore their advice and let her flower. For better or worse, it's what she wants to do!

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Harley Street Hell

Yesterday morning I had to visit Harley Street for an Occupational Health referral. It had been hastily arranged by Human Resources the evening before, who had asked me to go on short notice as "a favour" as they had received a last minute cancellation.

I agreed but, being fully aware of how things usually turn out, I made it quite clear to them that I'd be happy to go "only if they know to expect me". Thinking that by specifically mentioning this, I might avoid problems I turned up at Harley Street the next morning relatively relaxed.

Harley Street (for those who don't know, this is a London street which is renowned for it's medical associations) is basically a street full of expensive doors that say "You can trust us, only a very reassuringly expensive place would be able to afford a door like this!". I turned up to the designated address (which had a less than expensive door) 30 minutes early, and having found it wandered around for a while to avoid upsetting the receptionists. A quarter of an hour before my appointment I returned and was rather concerned to find the company I was looking for was not listed on the entrance buzzer. Hmm... regardless I snuck into the building behind another visitor and found my way to the office with the same number as the people I was looking for. I rang their bell, but there was no answer.

I returned downstairs to discover a well hidden reception for the building and asked the Indian gentlemen there whether he knew who this company was and if they were available. Not only did he not know them, nor did he seem to understand the English language, he also seemed convinced the address I had was next door's address (despite the fact the canopy outside clearly showed I was at the right address) and escorted me out of the building.

I phoned up HR and advised them of my predicament. They asked me if I was at the correct address. I told them yes. They gave me directions to the correct address. I told them I know them because I was already there. "It's on Harley Street." they said helpfully at which point I started to cry a little inside... After 5 minutes of them attempting to direct me to the position I was already at, they agreed with my suggestion that they find a phone number for the doctors and try to reach them that way.

10 minutes later, and well past my appointment time they came back to tell me that no one had informed the doctors I was coming. "HILARIOUS" was one of the words I did not think to use to describe the situation.

The doctors finally arrived and, after I'd given the idiotic receptionist a look that might very well have killed him as we walked past, were actually very efficient and pleasant, but needless to say I had a few words with HR upon my arrival at the office.

Stupid, stupid people. Grrrr...

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Articles Of Faith

God, I wish I believed in God. I think, after a few years out of religion, I've come to the realisation that belief is something that makes life a lot easier. That's not a statement in support of it, of course, nor am I in anyway suggesting it makes belief any more honest. But faith does have some upsides.

As you should know, Dear Constant Reader, I'm a former Christian and a former pagan (Wiccan mainly). When you're feeling down as an atheist you actually have to get off your bum and do something to change things. No good sitting there praying or wishing for change. That won't do anything. But when you have faith, that praying or wishing for things gives you a, fake, sense of control over a situation. "Oh God, please deliver me from this evil" etc. helps you sleep at night.

As you may be aware, I've been feeling a little down of late. No one reason, just a general case of Black Dog. And it got me nostalgic for my pagan faith where I might have tried spellcasting or praying in order to see me through to better times. I remember the reassuring warmth that would come over me, "knowing" the Gods would see me through. I look back upon those times with a sense of longing for those feelings again, feelings I know to be fake and useless, and at the same time I look back with disgust at my stupidity.

It's weird, but sometimes I forget how powerful those feelings were and perhaps that makes it difficult for me to be sympathetic to the religious. I've walked in their shoes, and I should be a little more forgiving when they suggest bombing Iran to start the end of the world or they start stoning adulterers.

Nah... maybe not. Wake up fools!

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Prayers For Bobby And My Coming Out Story

Jim just introduced me to the most touching movie. Prayers for Bobby starring Sigourney Weaver is the true story of a boy who kills himself due to his difficulties with his sexuality and about his mother who must face her part in his death and face conflicts with her faith. It had me in tears. It was a wonderful, wonderful movie.

I suppose I forget how lucky I was coming out. Bobby killed himself in 1983, the year I was born, but I know his story isn't unique even in today's America (and I'm sure here in the UK to, thankfully, a much lesser extent). I was born into a family free of religion, if not completely of prejudice, and my coming out was a lot easier than most. I think I was harder on myself than my family.

When I was about 12 I got my hands on my first Bible and consumed it's contents eagerly, finding comfort in faith that I couldn't seem to find in friends thanks mainly to not staying in one place long enough to really make many. Then I turned 14.

It started with George Michael. My paper round meant I usually had a Sun left over each day and I was saving up Page 3 girl pictures. Why? Because I was just not finding girls attractive and was doing my best to force the process. Well one day I opened the Sun to find this picture:

It was during George Michael's trouble with the law in some toilets, and it did far more for me than Page 3 girls ever had. Being a good Christian boy (of my own making) I was mortified. I struggled so much to fight it, thinking and believing that homosexuality was wrong.

And then along came the Sixth Former. At 10.25, 26th February 1998 outside the media studies room in the Harvey Grammar School, he stole my heart in an instant. Within 5 minutes I had accepted my sexuality for the first time. And it felt good.

But my inner turmoil did not cease, it was just now my true nature was in the ascendant and my faith in Jesus was diminishing. It was about that time I became pretty suicidal and wrote a suicide note. I didn't actually attempt suicide, I'd more written it as an exercise in what exactly was making me so unhappy in life. I forgot about it but left it (and my diary) in the bottom of my wardrobe one day. And that is when my Mum found it. This came atop a letter from one of my teachers regarding a piece of coursework and his plans to put me in detention for the holidays received the very same day.

So needless to say that when I came home from school it was to find my Mum and Stepdad sat at the dining room table waiting for me. They told me it was just a phase, that it'd pass, that everything was going to be alright. Well that is what my Mum screamed between tears.

I was terrified of what my life was about to become... but after that evening that sort of talk was never mentioned again. It was like they slept on it and realised they'd overreacted. My sexuality became a non-issue, an anti-climatic end to my official family coming out at 14. My extended family was informed, of course, but that was that. When I started going to gay bars in Canterbury with Stephen, my Mum happily gave me a lift there and back without questioning me. When I brought Stephen home for the first time he was quickly adopted and forced into doing the washing up (a sure sign of acceptance in my family).  When my parents arrived home one day and I walked down the stairs with unruly hair and a black policeman, hardly an eyebrow was raised.

It wasn't a perfect coming out, but it was probably the best one for me... I have to say I thank my lucky stars for my Mum and her acceptance of who I am. It's just such a shame for all the boys and girls out there who grow up like Bobby did, living with enforced shame and hatred. One day I hope no one ever needs to come out, that who you love is no more of an issue than your favourite colour. One day...

Prayers for Bobby: A Mother's Coming to Terms with the Suicide of Her Gay Son (US Amazon)

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Grand Old Blogger

One of the first pictures I ever blogged: Tom Welling

I've been blogging since 2001. I've been on Blogger since before it was bought by Google, back in the days of Pyra Labs. You, Dear Constant Reader, have seen the ups and downs of my life throughout that time.

But behind that something has changed. When I started, blogging was niche. It was about to have it's first great leap forward with 9/11 and the spike in new blogs that occurred there after. But most blogs, even after that, were still very interesting, very personal, places full of the weird and wonderful tidbits of someone else's life. Blogs about Backstreet Boys slash fiction and The Sims and college life. All at the same time. Written by a girl. Wonderful.

Of course it's easy to get nostalgic. Looking around the blogging world now I find most people are on the make. Most companies have blogs. More and more politicians are getting them. And, the worst of all, most of the good blogs have gone as their writers have moved away from the commercialisation and use their talents elsewhere. Dead blogs are everywhere.

I look at my blog list and I have to say: not one of those blogs is in anyway similar to what a blog was when I first arrived on the blogging scene. And it makes me sad.

I wasn't about for the start of the internet revolution. But I was pleased to be about for the start of the blogging revolution. It was a time of great fun. Onwards and upwards though... I'm sure soon enough we shall have another slow burning fad appear which shall be just as wonderful and great as blogs used to be.

Why the nostalgia? Because I watched the rather awesome first part of the Open University/BBC internet retrospective The Virtual Revolution. I have to say I've been watching a lot of Open University stuff recently...

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Please Hold

To celebrate Australia Day: Michael Witt!

And for the rest of my blog entry I think another Australian singing will pretty much sum everything up...

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