V Good!

Hooray - just at the point of despairing, the nice man from Virgin Media came and fitted our Virgin Television box and gave us a CD-Rom for the Internet set-up. It's taken them ages to get things sorted, which does not bode well for Second Year when she moves back in next year.

The point of our annoyance is that we were customers of said digital company last year, having had no choice after their takeover of NTL. But when we tried to reapply online and put our postcode into the database, our house didn't appear in the drop down list. Every other bloody house on our street did, but not ours. So we sent them our address and they replied to us with the message that it would take at least 72 hours to figure out if our house could get cable. Which makes no flaming sense because we had cable last year! Virgin Media cable!

Oh, and this was at least four weeks ago.

So, after Smoker said some rather polite things down the phone to them - well, what's classed as polite in Smoker's dictionary anyway - they finally came round yesterday with a box and a CD Rom. And for all that moaning, all that waiting, it was actually pretty worth it. Why? Well, we now have Eurosport and MTV. And The Jazz Digital Radio Station. I mention this just so I can put at the bottom of this entry the label "Music Wednesday", but it really is a great radio station. Honest.

Laters.

Zzzzz...

It would happen, wouldn't it? On one of the busiest weeks of this semester for CU - Missions Week - I end up being struck down by my rather troublesome problem of insomnia. I had no sleep last night at all, and I cannot for the life of me think why this was the case! I am going to have to make sure I have copious amounts of coffee so I can stay awake throughout the cafe today and also my afternoon lecture.

Anyone else see a problem here? I'm just looking forward to getting home this evening, where hopefully - and this is a huge hopefully - we will finally have received the equipment needed to set up the wireless Internet at our house. No more having to go into the uni library every time to check my e-mails and hastily write my blog entries before a library official comes over and sneaks a peak to see if what I'm furiously writing is in fact anything to do with the rather complicated theoretical texts that I have grabbed from one of the nearby shelves. I hope, anyway.

Oh, and in case you were wondering if I had forgotten in my state of slight comatose that today was Film Tuesday, I haven't. In fact I watched Pulp Fiction for the first time the other day, and I shall provide a suitable review later on in the week. Again: I hope.

Laters.

Weekend Away!

Just got time to quickly write about this weekend - I'm going to my grandparents who live by the sea! It'll be good to get away from Winchester for a few days, as I've been getting a little stressed out recently with work and stuff. However, when I get back fully refreshed on Monday, we start our Missions Week at CU - yeah we do!

Laters.

Electronic Promenade Concerts

Today is the start of the short but sweet season known as The Electric Proms. These are a relatively new series of concerts set up by the BBC to celebrate the beauty that is popular and electronic music. We have this season a real feast for the ears and eyes - Mark Ronson with the BBC Symphonic Orchestra, Kaiser Chiefs with David Arnold (him off of the last four James Bond movies), Paul McCartney with...erm...Paul McCartney (might be wrong there).

It's going to be fan-diddy-tastic as they say (or as I say anyway) so log on to the BBC website or watch highlights starting from tonight on BBC Two. You want a link? Here you go!

In other news, my sister has joined me here at Winchester for the next couple of days. Her taste in music sadly seems to stem from my mother and, though I am not disagreeable to a few artists in my mum's repertoire, I fear sadly that there is still much to teach her.

I'm not going to be the one to do the teaching, mind. No fear. I've got too much bloody work to do as it is! Presentations, Essays, Textual Research Analysis (No, I haven't got a clue either!) and of course the joy that is the Final Year Project on 9/11 and it's effects on postmodernism. Oh, goody. I'm going to enjoy this year.

Laters.

A Rather Dodgy Train Ride

Last Wednesday, with the television occupied by my housemates wanting to see where Winchester came in The Best Place/Worst Place To Live programme (we came second in the former!) I decided to catch up on my film viewing. The latest DVD I had rented was a British flick called London To Brighton.

This was at times a tough film to watch. It isn't for people who don't like a lot of swearing or gritty realism. It certainly won't be the kind of film I would watch with my grandparents, that's for sure. If you can stand that, though, and the often dark, gloomy plot of a prostitute and a twelve-year old girl running away to Brighton from something they've done in the capital city (hence the title) you're in for a treat.

The cast are excellent, most notably perhaps newcomer Georgia Groome as Joanne the young runaway. Really everyone is very good, but Georgia stands out particularly. Her role is demanding and not what you'd expect a twelve year old to be doing. The whole film is very well shot too, capturing a seedy side of England which we often ignore in the golden lands of cinema, and leave it to either newcomers or seasoned pros like Ken Loach to shoot.

There were a few problems with it, perhaps most importantly for me the length. I appreciate it was a low-budget film, but it was still too short. I was really enjoying it when it finished, so much so that I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to know more about the characters we meet in Brighton too - I don't think they were very well developed.

Apart from these problems, I found London To Brighton very enjoyable, and recommend it to anyone who likes gritty British cinema.

7/10

Laters.

The Book Of Face

Yes, I must admit now that I have finally joined the ranks of countless others and set up a Facebook account. I spent most of this morning trying to figure it out, as technology and me - well, we don't mix.

Still, at some point today I must remove myself from this chair, actually get out of my pyjamas and put some clothes on and clean. Yes, today is the day set aside for cleaning - a task I do not look forward to. It's not that I mind a little cleaning, you understand, but it's the state that the house is in at the moment requires a planned assault with military strategies and tactics.

How did it get to this situation? I'm going to raise a slightly guiltless hand and say that we've all been so busy this year that it really is one of those things we put aside. My social life, I'm happy to say, has improved greatly since I started taking more of an active role in what our CU does, but this now mean that I am out nearly every night of the week, and when I get home I am usually too tired to do anything other than cook, eat and collapse.

And it's the same for all of us. Sure, we could do more that would help us, but that still leaves me the problem of the bathroom and the kitchen to worry about.

Well, this is it - time to stop writing and grab those rubber gloves. If I don't make it, just remember these words from one of the truly great philosophers of our time:

"What's the point of all this cleaning? Are we so vain?" - Homer Simpson.

Laters.

Power Of Prayer

Okay, bear with me on this one.

I'm a little disappointed after yesterday's defeat to South Africa in the Rugby World Cup Final, but the best team won in the end, and I really didn't think it would be us anyway. But I spent a lot of time last night praying whilst watching the match.

Was this selfish of me? It was, after all, only a game, and there are many hundreds of thousands of people who need my prayers more than the fifteen men on a rugby pitch. I could even have prayed for myself last night - prayed for my final year, my FYP, etc - would that have been selfish?

In my opinion, the answer is no. No prayer is selfish or selfless. There would have been plenty of other people doing exactly the same thing last night, both in the stadium and out. The difference however between me and most of them is that I know prayer really works. We just have to be patient; sometimes we have to be really patient, but there is true power in prayer.

The thing is, right, God has just so many prayers entering his head at every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year - you get me? So many needy and un-needy people praying, whose does he put first? Answer: Everyone's!

But we must also remember that God has an incredible plan for each and every one of us - nicknamed "Fate" - and so it is up to those plans as to whether or not our prayers are answered straight away or never at all. Although it's easy to be, we should try not to be disappointed by a no-show in the results of prayers.

Oh, and for those who say that my prayers didn't work last night, who says I was praying for this year's World Cup Final?

Loving Father, thank you so much for the awesome power of prayer. Thank you that we can talk to you anytime we want, because you are still a listening God and you will always listen to us. Thank you that sooner or later our prayers are answered, and help us to remember that you are the ultimate reason for this. Amen.

Laters.

Can't Get It Out Of My Head

One of perhaps the most brilliant and yet most annoying aspects of music is when you hear a piece - be it a song, a movement in a symphony, even a television theme - that, however good it is or you think it is, embeds itself in your brain like a maggot burrowing into an apple.

Okay, that might have been a little extreme, but that's how it feels sometimes, especially when you feel negatively towards the invading tune. Thankfully, I don't often have this problem in negative terms, but maybe that's because I'm really not that picky on what I listen to. This does mean, however, that sometimes a tune that I feel is really good becomes very annoying very quickly because it settles itself into my head.

The latest unfortunate victim of this rather universal condition is a rather funky tune by a new kid on the block, David Jordan. "Place In My Heart" has a good beat, a bass line and rhythm reminiscent of Jamiroquai and a singer who can be compared to Mika, Prince, even an early Michael Jackson. It even has some rather interesting lyrics, not that I can actually find any site with them on at the moment (if anyone has them, please e-mail them to me!)

And yet, this song is so good, so memorable (for me, anyway) that it is very difficult for me to forget it. Even writing this is just asking for trouble, because now it's there even more than it usually would be. Usually it's at the back of your mind, like background music. Now it's right there, banging in my ears, even while I'm listening to Saturday Review, something completely different!

But should I be complaining? Shouldn't I just be glad that I can hear music, that music exists in my life? It would certainly be incredibly boring without it. I'll leave it up to you guys to make your own decisions.

Laters.

Mmmm...smells like delicious!

Okay, apologies for the rather poor grammar in the title. But the reason for the salivating is that when I returned home from church this morning, I opened the door to the stomach pleasing smell of roasting chicken.

You see, I've had my cousin staying with me for a couple of days, to show him what a university life is like (for me anyway). His mum and dad came round yesterday to join us for the Open Day the University was running and, as thanks for me putting him up, they very generously gave me a package of sausages, bacon and a whole chicken.

Unfortunately, due to timing and the unseasonably warm weather we seem to be having in Winchester at the moment, the meat was defrosting in the car throughout yesterday as I had not had a chance to put it in the freezer. So I have had to cook it today.

I was a little apprehensive, I won't lie to you, as this is the first time I have ever roasted a chicken. But with the expert advice from my uncle - this particular specimen took two hours min - it has come out perfectly.

I hope this doesn't offend any vegetarians, so I'll generalise a little here. What better smell is there than that of food cooking - any food cooking? Be it chicken, pizza, roasted vegetables, fish...you name it, I love it. It's one of the great things about our bodies, that our sense of smell contributes so much to our eating pleasure. The whole house is now full of the aroma of chicken, which is buried under a large sheet of foil and will soon be cut up for sandwiches and salads for the coming week. Whatever you eat, wherever and whenever you eat it, bon appetit.

Loving Father, thank you so much for the wonderful gift that is food, and thank you for the joy and pleasure we can take in eating and cooking it. Help us to always remember how lucky we are, how fortunate most of us are, and how needy and unfortunate others are. Let those who will rarely have as much food as we do be always in our thoughts and prayers. Amen.

Laters.

Comfortably Numb

My cousin Jake is coming to visit me today, and is going to stay here in Winchester until Saturday. He's put the university down as one of his choices. It means he has to come to Alpha with me tonight and to Weatherspoons Pub tomorrow at lunch for my cell social, otherwise he ain't gonna get fed. Smoker did suggest that she take him to Blondes, a nightclub here in Winchester. I don't think it would be quite his thing.

Still, its nice that I don't have any lectures tomorrow, so I hope to give him a pretty decent tour of the place before the open day on Saturday which is when his mum and dad are going to come down to check the place out for themselves. It's a pity the same can't be said for later on this month when my sister is coming to spend some time with me - I'm going to be in lectures every day she's here!

By the way, the title of today's blog is inspired by what I'm listening to right now - it rocks!

Laters.

Finally, Some Writing

Conscious of the fact that the title of this blog is Trials Of A Struggling Writer, I thought today I would just update you all on what is going on in the paper-and-pen world of Jack Hardgraves. I know Wednesday's are usually Music Wednesday, and in fact I had planned to download the new Radiohead album and give you my verdict on it. But we still have no Internet at my house here in Winchester, and I don't think the library would be very pleased with me if I downloaded it here.

You may recall me saying that, during France 2007, I began writing what I hope to be a departure from the Green Ash books: a more grown-up, moody piece about real people and real life. This has been both uplifting and very annoying to attempt, and I admit freely that, as yet, I am no where nearer to finishing it. But late last week one of the main problems I was having in writing the book, working title Maria, was solved in perhaps the simplest of ways.

I'll try and explain. Last year I saw a documentary programme on BBC Three over here in Blighty which deeply affected me. It was about a small group of people who suffer from a mental condition where they feel that they are hideous, despite the fact that they actually look pretty normal. It is often mistaken for vanity, attention seeking, even OCD which it stems from. I had never heard about it before and was enthralled by the stories of these people on the programme. Immediately the seeds were sown for this new story. Although it has featured in a couple of fiction books, this illness affects 1% of the population of Britain alone. It would therefore, I thought, be good to use it as a plot device in order to educate people about it.

But a week or so later I had completely forgotten what the name of the illness was. In frustration I spent the last six months, whenever I had a spare moment, trying to find out more about it and what it actually was. I looked in psychological encyclopedias, medical journals, even dictionaries. But, obviously, not knowing what it was actually called really slowed me down.

And then, last week, a breakthrough. In a last-ditch effort to find information, I went to the BBC Three website. And there, after two or three licks, i found it. The condition is known as Body Dysmorphic Disorder or BDD. There were lots of handy links on the website, a link of which you will find here.

There is of course an argument that the only reason I'm using BDD is as a simple plot device, to get people interested in the book who might not be otherwise, to make it a piece of, if you'll pardon the expression, "grief porn". I swear to you all reading this now - that is not my intention. About 25% of all BDD sufferers attempt suicide because of this illness, because people just don't understand what they're going through. There needs to be more knowledge of this illness, and this seems to me a good place to start.

By the way, this hasn't stopped the Green Ash series. My plan at the moment is to write two Green Ash books, then a "serious" book, and so on and so on. I left my list of literary agents at home whilst away on holiday and the next time I go back is in November. So until then Where Wild Things Grow must rest in its digital status on my hard drive.

Here, then, are my trials, and, as you can no doubt see, I am indeed struggling. I hope now to be treated like Ronsil: I do exactly what I say on the tin.

Laters.

Phantastic Coincidence

So here I am, sitting in the library, trying to decide what to write about in today's blog, listening to Sunday's Elaine Paige show on Radio 2 which celebrates everything Musical related (how manly am I?) when she starts the show by letting me know that today (Tuesday) is the 21st birthday of The Phantom Of the Opera on the West End stage. Perfect, I thought, I shall wax lyrical about it.

Phantom was just one of the shows that began the re-birth of musical theatre. Without it I doubt there would ever be shows such as Wicked or Spamalot today; the spectacle, the rip roaring music, a pretty decent performance from Michael Crawford which really set the tone for big television/movie stars to try their luck on the West End. And yes, I am also a pretty big fan of Joel Schumacher's movie version - again, how masculine does that make me feel?

But the one thing that seems to be lacking these days is the movie musical - it doesn't seem to exist a lot these days. It was obviously huge in the 40s, 50s and 60s. In the 70s it started to die out as an art form, and, though it has made brief comebacks, we are now lucky if we get one movie musical a year.

But at least when we do get one it's a huge event. Last year's was Dreamgirls, and this year we have the long-awaited movie version of Stephen Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, directed by Tim Burton, my absolute favourite director of all time, and starring Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter. The first sneaky peak trailer is out there on the Internet - click on this here link to see it!

Johnny Depp - singing! If that's not a reason to feel excited, I don't know what is - okay, I need to go and drink some beer, look at FHM and lift some weights: manly stuff, grr.

Laters.