Today, I saw a former lecturer naked.

I've started to go swimming at the University Sports Centre once a week, because I get it free as a member of Univ. Which is great because it's a really swank facility, with proper anti-wave lane ropes and turn flags, and the pool is pretty empty. I get some odd nostalgic feelings for the days when pools like that were pretty much my life. And it's quite cold. None of that keep the pool heated so old ladies can sit and chat at the end. This is a pool that demands you move. Good times. What was I talking about? Yeah, lecturer penis.

I don't understand changing rooms. It is completely normal to walk around a swimming changing room naked. Hop in the shower - naked. Go to your locker - naked. Have a conversation - both naked. This is all fine. No one feels odd at all.

But just try being like that anywhere else in the world, and I'm telling you, people will disaprove. Some will even look for a way to end the conversation or get out of your shower. The door to a swimming changing room is really a portal. A portal to a land where people realise that the comfort provided by material possessions is fake and manufactured by big corporations who aim to control us with a regime of clothes and shoes. Only through changing rooms can we realise our true selves and celebrate the miracle of human existence that we so often hide away.

I have seen, in reflection, a lot of penis in my time. I think I could name at least two people who read this weblog whose penis I have seen. It makes me proud.

I'm getting the hang of this being a Master's student job. There is basically a lot of sitting and listening, both of which I scored admirably in. There is two deadlines a week, which is really quite manageable. Amd providing I'm organised, I can also fit in a certain amount of actual life. There is more to life than economics. There is more to economics than life. Discuss.

Also, a haircut. A haircut has occured. A lot of hair was lost. I guess you could call it a short cut. Basically, I asked for a little off the top, and he must have assumed that meant quite a bit off the bottom as well. And John laughed at it. He has taken quite an interest in my appearance this term, making comments on my shoes, my tee-shirts and now my hair. I assume it is because he would like to plough (hand motion) me.

Tonight, if people are malleable, there is stand-up comedy at the Jericho. It a fortnightly nightly, happening on Wednesday nightlys, and some Imps and other members of Oxford's wonderful comedy scene will be there. There is sure to be crisps.

Love.

Stupid walk of shame. Nice suit and bad hair is not a good combination.

And now to entice some freshers.

First, official, graduate, back in Oxford, still have all my new pens, post.

So it's all going pretty good. I'm doing my best to meet new people, even offering them some of my new pens in exchange for friendship. This has been moderately successful. I was alarmed to find that one of the old stalwarts of meeting people in Oxford questions has now been rendered unusable - I can only ask people what subject they are doing a few times in an Economic lecture before I'm branded forever the Special Child. Thankfully, it has been replaced with "where did you study before?", a great question, because it creates a more than one word answer. Unless the answer is "here", in which case I need to call upon all my improv skills to advance the conversation. "What, here?", I say. "Yes, here", they reply. And so a new friendship blossoms.

All in all, my use of that question, as well as "what is your name?" and "what college are you at?" have made me somewhat of a hit with all of the class. I asked one guy a combination of these questions nineteen times, incorrectly as it turned out. It's all about timing. If you pound these questions over and over again with machine-like frequency then people will get tired of answering. It's important to let the awkward silence build, before going in for another round of name enquiry.

Anyway, I expect I'll be spending a lot of time with my new friends, whatever they are called. And wherever they live. And wherever they studied before this. And whatever they are called.

Love.

Hey,

I think the summer is ending. No, no, really. So imagine my annoyance to discover a really great rock club right here in this hole of a town. I mean, seriously, I'm walking in, and Trivium are on. Then it slowly gets slower, more punky, more poppy, until it descends into some "crowd-pleasing" indie. There was no need for indie, the room was full of rockers. I didn't even realise there was such a large community here. They also played some ska. I don't get ska. Why are they all so happy? Why do they make you want to bounce and smile so? Who said they could make songs that are sunny and cheerful? Fuckers.

Anyway, at one o'clock, they play the first Slipknot song. Then they play Killing In The Name Of. Then, fuck me, Davidian by Machine Head, and a massive pit explodes. We get more of the 'knot, a Hatebreed track, and some other proper metal, I loosen my neck verterbrae, irrepairably damage my ears and hop off home happy.

But to find something more interesting, I got into a conversation with someone when Papa Roach came on. My point was that even though I would never listen to that metal anymore, I basically owe any interest I have, for the past five years to them, and other nu-metal bands like them. If I hadn't heard "Last Resort" or Korn's "Got the Life" (or, *ow ow ow* Limp Bizkit) on MTV, I would probably never have starting for looking for other bands to listen to, and realise that there was heavier, more accomplished, purer metal out there and become the fan I am now.

On the way home, I was considering all this. I guess with all sorts of music, there must be some who break through to the mainstream. Often, these are inferior bands who can be marketed and managed and used by record label executives, and that's a shame. But, it must also create a load of music fans who demand more, and find it. A kid get's interested in Eminem, and eventually find Staight Outta Compton. Someone else likes Green Day, and ends up listening to Bad Religion and the Clash. Millions of people listen to albums by the Killers and Franz Ferdinand and the Kaiser Chiefs every day, so one day, probably, one of them might develop the ability to think for themselves and stop thinking that just because the DJ said it's good doesn't mean it actually is.

I also got to thinking, the reason some people never get past the mainstream is because there's too much of it. So maybe, what the world really needed was only five nu-metal albums, and because I'm a list freak, I worked it out.

1. Korn "Korn"
2. Deftones "Around the Fur"
3. Papa Roach "Last Resort"
4. Drowning Pool "Sinner"
5. Staind "Break the Cycle"

The first two are great albums. The third one is the one that probably draws you in in the first place. The forth is because that's what every album after that point is going to sound like, so we may as well just be done with it on one CD. The fifth one is to remind people that we've tried to mix rock with pain and introspection, and it really hurt.

We are done here. Love.

Just a quick one. There's a group of lads in this town, who are basically barred from everywhere in town. The leader is called Michael Moore, and he's just got out of jail. Anyway, he and his sub-human scumfucks of friends came into All Sports today. They kicked a ball around and were generally looking to steal stuff, but we made sure we were watching and that they knew it. The second time they came in, we did the same thing, and on the way out, having been told to leave, one of them called the manager a slut. So she barred him.

He returned a minute later, to which she told him he had to be joking. Him and a friend carried on walking into the shop. We told him he was barred, and that he could get out now. He wasn't moving, but he did keep mouthing off. He was eventually going out, saying that he wasn't actually barred because he hadn't done anything, when I told him he was. He turned to me, carried on the verbal, asked me if I was going to make him go out, and then he pulled back his arm. He didn't go through with the punch, of course, because he's one of those. He left fairly soon after, after we'd had chance to further our chat, him still claiming not to be barred, and me pointing out that the verbal abuse and physical threat didn't exactly help his argument all that much.

Which is pretty much the most exciting thing that happened today.

So, I travelled Hinckley to Manchester, Manchester to Cardiff, Cardiff back to Hinckley, Hinckley to Cardiff, and didn't have a single delay. Couple of times, I was even early. On the way home, today, my first train was cancelled. I took an alternative, which got in ten minutes late, missed my connection, the next connection was delayed 33 minutes, so I get into Birmingham 2 minutes after my final train leaves. This train leaves once an hour. I finally get home at half two, having left Cath house at quarter past nine.

Why is it when trains are running late, the final one you're supposed to catch is always on time, meaning you never, EVER fucking make it? It could just have a small delay, and then everything else would be fine. But noooo. Noooo no indeedy no. Also, also, why is it, after having spent two days on the Super Sudoku in the Saturday Independent, that you have two fucking 5's in your forth column? I didn't go wrong. It went wrong on me.

We've been putting a lot of thought into the future recently. We definitely see next year as the start of our lives together, hopefully living together in Oxford. And maybe engaged. Maybe. I hope that nicely balances all the silly anger previously. Now I just have to raise the money for the ring. So here we go.

You, the listener, have been especially chosen by the Nigerian National Bank of Nigeria to receive a ridiculously large sum of money, which is approximately 5, and then 9 seconds worth of pressing the zero key down, Nigerian Dollar Yens. The only way to receive this is to send us your bank sorting code and account number, your PIN, your pen, address, spare keys, portable cleaning lady and a photo of your parents with a list of their old war injuries. Please respond quickly, because while this offer is unique, it is also unique to the entire county of Kent, a very unique county of sorts.

Love.

OK, where did I get up to?

Edinburgh...arrival...flat...OK, I'm with it. I got six shows during my time up there, and four more out on the Royal Mile, the main road running from the castle through the Old Town. To imagine the Royal Mile, consider packing the entire population of Ecuador into a small satchel, and you've got the idea. It's marketing central for everyone, and it's also a brilliant place, providing you know you're going to be inundated by flyers after three seconds. If not, you may find yourself slightly confused.

The stage shows were so much fun: I've never done any street theatre before. Of course, this accounts for the fact I've not done anything on stage for ten years up to this year. Do Run went down well, and brought some great crowds in. Nothing rhymes with Bartholemew. Car follow you? Maybe.

So in between the shows, and the flyering, and the walking (did I mention the walking? My thighs look like the entire population of Uruguay packed tightly into a plastic carrier bag), I went to see some shows. Stand-up first. Pick for me was Brendon Burns and Dave Fulton. Both are great comics because they actually have something to say. I was so blown away by the Brendon Burns show I bought his entire CD collection. As in, the collection of his shows, not his collection of music. He's a angry, intelligent comic out of the Hicks, Bruce, Carlin etc mould and I can't recommend his shows enough. US comic Dave Fulton's show is about how hard it is to be American, how there are still good parts, and how we, liberal ol' Blighty, have to watch out. The show becomes incredibly heartwrenching when he talks about his dying mother and the bill from Medicare. Comedy is so much more than laughter sometimes.

I saw three sketch shows. I liked the Oxford Revue least, I'm afraid. Mainly this is because The Boy Who Cried Whale and the Durham Revue's shows were so good. The Whale show managed to bring a whole series of sketches together into something resembling a plot, while having killer jokes The Durham Revue were not afraid to use short, Fast Show sketches and quick randomness between the other stuff. That said, Upper Class Rap Artist (inspired by E-Mine-Em) was the awesome.

And there was good plays. I watched one Mamet, and a play called the Watcher, and another called the Altruists. There was also Terry Pratchett's Maskerade, which wasn't a great show, but I'm too much a fanboy to care. Turns out I'm actually the worst critic in the world, because I like almost everything that I get any enjoyment out of. I think it's because I'm not literary enough to judge theatre properly, so finally my analytical brain switches off and I just watch. It's interesting.

This hasn't been all that interesting. More a list of things that occured. Never mind. Next time, any more random Edinburgh thoughts I haven't got to yet. And a couple of days in Manchester and Cardiff. All this, and more things packed in than my rucksack squeezed into the entire population of Antigua.

Love.

Fine, fine, shut up, I'll tell you all about it.

Actually, this is going to take several entries, because there is a lot of stuff. Straight off the bat, Edinburgh is the most beautiful city I have ever been in the UK, and yes that includes Oxford. Also, for this month, it's also the most alive city I've ever been in. I mean, there is music and street theatre on every corner, and so many people, and 1800 shows on across all hours of the day. I became so wrapped up in that that when I came home and walked up Castle Street and saw a black guy playing reggae on electric guitar in the middle of the road, the only thing I thought was odd was the lack of a large audience. Ususally, in Hinckley, buskers get destroyed with weapons. I was so inspired I to started singing Do-Run to a group of skinheads, but I couldn't find anything to rhyme with "Knucklez", so I was destroyed with weapons.

So I got there three weeks ago this Monday, flying from East Midlands airport. I met Charlie there, who was flying at the same time, but on a different plane. Same time, same flight path, different plane. Anyone spot the mid-air collision that's just asking to happen? It was a good job that I did meet up with him, because he knew where he was going and what we had to do when we got there first, and I had just been given a Scottish five pound note as change and had no idea what was happening in my life.

Edinburgh itself is pretty much split into Old and New Town, for historic reasons relating to the passage of time. We had a student flat in the New Town, and when I say student flat, I meant five large bedroom, lounge, and fully equipped kitchen. These are some rich fucking students, that we had to kick out to make space for ourselves. You would have thought someone would have told them we were coming. Anyway, it quickly became apparent that there was too much to do, so I started looking for which shows I wanted to see. Including ones I got into free as a performer at C Venues, I got around to just over 30 shows, including stand-up, sketch and charachter comedy and theatre productions. I accept donations in cash, cheque, Paypal or tiny bits of tin. I'll be talking about some of the things I've seen and what was beautiful in the upcoming entries. And I will also be talking about the Imps shows, which went really well and I've come out feeling a much more confident and able improviser.

Oh, and if you want some scenes and stuff, I've got clips from my last show uploaded at the moment. It's all pretty good, one of my favourite shows for the lack of any slow scenes, so get downloading.

We are not done yet.

Craig

Hi,

Nothing up here for a while, because not much of interest has happened. I think of things occassionally (too many double letters there, I'm sure), but they never make it this far. Anyway, tomorrow I disapear (not enough double letters) to Edinburgh (Edin-Berg), for 17 days (and 9 nights). I am excited. So much so, I give you a joke now.

So, right, I was walking by the Great Barrier Reef, and a small grubby child came up to me and begged for some money.

It was a sea urchin.

Speak to you all soon,

Love and concrete paving slabs,

Craig

So, I got my breakdown of marks today. All my papers were above 63 (rock), one was at 71 (Public rock), I came 12th in the year (position rock), and my average was 68.3 (percentage rock). Basically, my entire first comes down to the fact that I got 83.5 on my Labour paper (dependency rock). I worked it out: 10 marks less on that paper, giving a perfectly reasonble 73.5, would have given me an average of 67.4, just missing my first. So I owe exactly one sexual favour to whoever marked that paper, meaning I have three left for whoever want them.

83.5%. Fuck me.

Incidentally, if you have a question you would like answering, text it to Any Question Answered on 63336. It my current job. And I mean seriously, any question. Only one quid a pop.

Craig

Hi,

In keeping with the serious agenda...

For those who like to think about people they don't know, may I recommend sparing a thought for the families of the four men who are alleged to have carried out last Thursday bomb attack. For them, this will be even harder. Those who lost a love one in the exlosions will at some point be able to come to terms with the loss. For the families, how can they ever come to terms with the fact they'll never know why?

For those who don't see a copy of the Sun lying around at work, yesterday they ran an article about an Islamic group who was bringing Tariq Ramadan, a Islamic militant who has been banned from the US and France for his justification of suicide bombing, to speak at a conference, which is being paid for by taxpayers, and how it should be stopped. And I thought to myself, "what a disgusting, arrogant, fear-mongering group of people...the journalists at the Sun really are." Firstly, the story is run at a time when many people are thinking with emotions and not with sense. It's designed to provoke a very negative sort of anger, one that reinforces stereotypes. Secondly, the very freedom of speech that allows the Sun to continue to publish every day is the exact same one argued against here. Freedom of speech does not have limitations. From my point of view, Ramadan is wrong, but he was not involved in the bombing last week, and he should not be prevented from speaking because we don't like the message. They are just words. I am proud of my country for few things, but that I have the right to say whatever I want whenever I want here is one of them. Dear tabloids, don't you fucking dare try to question this right to pursue your own "Isn't Britain a terrible place, but we have the answers" agenda and stop selling your newspapers on stories that foster hatred and play on emotions.

Oh, and for those who like to hate others, I can't recommend reading this too much.

Enough.

Craig.

Quick one.

I'm sure Dave has been putting this people's way, but let me add my support as well. I'm not specifically telling you to sign up. I will just suggest that if you do not then you are a used hatstand.

Ta.

Craig.

Ta.

So it was interesting watching George Galloway last night. It occured to me that the governments here and in the USA have spent so long reaffirming the connection between the war on terror and the war on Iraq, even though there is precisely NOTHING to connect the two, that it was brilliant to watch a Blairite clone retard fuck MP get backed up against a wall because of it. I'm aware it's fairly deplorable for Galloway to turn this immediately into political point scoring, but still. His point was that this was the price Britain paid for the war in Iraq, and how the Labour government clearly valued the lives of Londoners much higher than the massive death toll of Iraqis at Fallujah, because one set of deaths was OK while the other was despicable. At that point, the Labour MP would have loved to be able to say, actually, an Al Qaeda related attack would have nothing to do with Iraq because they aren't connected, so going to war in Iraq hasn't caused this tragedy. But he couldn't.

In other news, I got a first.

Speak soon,

Craig.

Hi,

It's an interesting idea that as impressive as Live 8 was, the actual purpose might not have happened. I'm pretty sure there is a load of people that don't even know what Make Poverty History is trying to do, except for the ultimate aim found convieniently in its name. And the question that needs addressing is why this is. A lot, I'm guessing, is because people haven't taken to time to ask, or check out a website, or do anything useful like that. But if the aim of the concerts was to raise awareness, then maybe the things that we actually want the G8 to do should be rammed down everyones throat a lot more than it is. And when was the last time a tabloid newspaper wrote anything on conditional aid, or the hypocrisy of trading practices or gave actual figures on the debt? In the meantime, most of the newspapers give a run down about which musicians actually performed, with a rating of there performance, which I can't help feeling completely misses the point.

The lack of understanding is completely apparent on our local news feedback section, where people were asked for their opinion. "Live 8 was a complete waste of money". Well, you're a cretin. Money spent by people looking to go. Money covers cost of concert. Where is the waste? "Aid will never work in Africa unless they get rid of corruption". The whole point is that this time, there is no aid. The slates are to be wiped clean, because the only people that suffer from debt, even in corrupt countries, are the ones who are at the bottom. In future, aid and loans should be conditional on this corruption, because money or its absence is the only thing a corrupt government understand. And thats the only condition for money. These are the things the campaign is all about, so how they come up as a criticism of it is beyond me.

And then, my personal favourite. "Giving unconditional aid to Africa won't give the leaders any incentive to spend it properly". Because all African government are corrupt, right? No-one wants to help their own people. It strikes me that if a government was allowed to do what it wanted, then for the most part, that would probably benefit the people of the country first. And wouldn't that be a novel thing, rather than benefiting ourselves.

Speak soon,

Craig (probably preaching to the choir, but feeling better for it)