Introducing...

Five things you almost certainly don't know about me:

1. I can speak German.
2. I was baptised the day after I was born because my chances of survival were small.
3. I am just two degrees of separation from Bill Clinton.
4. I can remember dates and numbers effortlessly and then can't forget them again.
5. I drink real ale.

I know that doesn't really tell you anything important about me but I thought it would be more interesting than the usual name, rank and number stuff. If you want ask me something then leave it in the comments and I'll decide whether to ignore it or not..

Anticlimax?

It wasn't quite as cloudy as I thought it would be last night so I did get to see something of Mars. A bright pinhead in the sky above the house across the road. After all the hype I half expected some fireworks or rolls of thunder, but no. It was just there, swinging it's way slowly and silently across the sky.

But it wasn't an anticlimax. It was a little awe-inspiring to see our nearest planetary neighbour from my living room. It's also reassuring that everything runs so smoothly in this universe of ours that we can predict it so well.

Ah, enough of that metaphysical crap. It was just a pretty light in the sky.

Blinded by Light

Of course, a cloudless night sky does not always guarantee you a view of the stars. The night sky is getting steadily more orange in this country, even in rural areas, destroying the beauty of the heavens. All because of the way we light our streets at night.

About six years ago I was staying with a friend of mine in the old East Germany, where the streets were only sparsely lit, if they were at all. One night was completely cloudless and there was no moon. After getting back to the house from a bar we went out into the garden and just lay gazing upwards. There were more stars visible than I think I had ever seen before. The Milky Way stretched across the sky, a great river of twinkling lights, and all of the normally visible constellations were magnitudes brighter and sharper. The beauty of it all took my breath away and I made the effort to remember it because I knew it would be a long time before I saw the stars as clearly again.

How hard can it be to use street-lighting more effectively? To ensure that the light produced goes down towards the street not up into the sky? Think of the money that could be saved by using external lights more efficiently.

Think of how beautiful the sky could be at night.

Obscured By Clouds

So, Mars is closer to the Earth than it has been in almost 60,000 years.

Great! Let's all rush out now and get hold of whatever stocks of telescopes, binoculars and magnifying glasses we can, crowd the streets at midnight and ooh! and aah! at the red planet. Maybe we'll even spot some little green men, since we're so close.

Just one problem, though. Unless you live in the Shetlands or somewhere, you won't be able to see a thing. One of the biggest astronomical events for millennia and we can't see it happen because it's going to be cloudy. Bloody typical.

Shakin' that ass

I wish I'd been there to see this happen.

Last week sometime, my Mum noticed my youngest brother's mobile phone lying around. He's always leaving it somewhere or other and consequently has trouble finding it. Sure enough, later on Mum was sitting on the sofa watching the television or something with one of the cats lying beside her when he came in asking her if she'd seen his phone.

"Erm, yes, i have but I can't remember where. Have you tried looking on the bookcase in the dining room?"

"It's not there. I've looked everywhere."

"Why don't you try ringing it, that'll tell you where it is?"

"That won't help, it's on vibrate only."

"Well if you will leave it..." You can guess how the rest of it went.

Anyway, a few minutes later he had obviously decided to follow Mum's advice after all because the cat suddenly leapt up from where she had been sleeping peacefully, eyes wide with shock and hurt. She turned around and looked at her rear end in surprise as if to say "How did I do that?" and then, scraping together what dignity she could, left the room as it dissolved into hilarity behind her.

Somehow I don't think she'll be sleeping on any mobile phones again in a hurry.

Welcome

Before I start, I'd like to welcome you all to Clear Blue Skies.

At the moment it is a work in progress. Content-wise, I think posts will vary wildly in theme and style and I have some ideas for "projects" that I will be playing with in the weeks and months to come. As for the look of the site, I am completely new to website design and have no html experience at all. As that changes, so will the site. All hints and tips gratefully received, just remember that I may not know what you're talking about. :-)

On with the writing, then...

So, this is my first foray into the world of blogging.

My first post.

Numero uno.

I was going to write something about this being the beginning of some grand adventure but I couldn't think of the words I wanted (which bodes well, don't you think?). However, inspiration has not completely failed me so I give you words written by someone far more talented than I could ever hope to be. J.R.R. Tolkien.


The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.


That'll do nicely.

I'm a Londoner

It's been about two weeks since we got the keys to our new flat but tonight will be the first night we will have spent here. L left her job a week ago and has spent the time ferrying a couple of car-loads of stuff down to Finsbury Park and today my parents hired a van to bring all of my things down from Stevenage.

So, at the end of a tiring day here we are, boxes and bags everywhere, loads to sort out but happy that we are finally living together. The last two years or so that we've been in different parts of the country (me in Stevenage and L in Manchester and then Birmingham) has been tough. Only seeing each other for a couple of days every two or three weeks is not the easiest way to have a relationship but we've come through it. Now I just hope we can cope with being in the same place.

Now, you may be asking, why Finsbury Park? Neither of us know anything much about which areas of London are the nicest to live in so we just wanted to find somewhere and then start looking more long-term. The only criteria we had was that it be in North London (to make it easier to visit our families) and not be (too) expensive. I'm sure there were other areas we could have looked at but Krapy Rub Snif (as my brother likes to call it) was the first one we came to. Simple as that. We only have to be here for eight months so if we don't like it we can soon move on. The bonus for me is that it will only take me 35-40 minutes to get to work and from Monday I start at 8.00, which means I'll be home by 4.45 every night. Very nice, indeed.

The flat itself is at the north end of Finsbury Park, right at the bottom of Crouch Hill. Our road is just off a major junction at the bottom of the hill and there are two pubs; The Larrick & The Old Dairy; within fifty yards of our front door. The Larrick is the closer of the two at just two doors away. I can see us looking at the clock at 10.00 and deciding to pop out for a pint or two before closing. Nice.

Anyway, I'm knackered so I'm going to finish there and head to bed. Of course, I might go out for a drink first...

Change of Direction

I only worked half a day at Dixons today. One of the nice things about temping through Reed is that you get a certain amount of paid holiday to take so I didn't lose any money by not working this afternoon. I'd worn my suit to the office for the first time, too. Of course, I got a few comments, most of them sarcastic but I didn't really care; I had an interview to go to.

Twelve o'clock came round and I left to go down to the town centre. The trouble with where the Dixons warehouse and offices are in Stevenage is that it's a long way into town and even a long way to the nearest bus stop that will take me there quickly. Still, the interview wasn't until 2.00 so I had plenty of time and it was a nice enough day so I didn't mind having to walk.

I got into Kings Cross and down to Monument on the tube without any problems and finding my way from there to Mark Lane, which runs just past the entrance to Fenchurch Street station was easy enough. I found the right place and went up to the second floor, where the company had a fairly small office. The receptionist had just got me a cup of tea when the MD came to get me.

I had no idea what to expect but what I got would have been one of the last things I thought of.

The guy explained a bit about what the company does (consulting services for insurance companies) and what the job is (whatever is required, it seems). He may have asked me whether I knew anything about insurance but if he did it was only in passing and the answer was unimportant. Less than ten minutes in and without having asked any searching questions at all he said to me "When can you start?".

If I'd been taking a sip of tea at that point I'd probably have choked on it. My mind raced. I only had to give a week's notice to Reed but Dixons have been good to me so I said two. He didn't look best pleased with that but accepted it anyway and then asked his second unexpected question.

"What do you think we should pay you?"

Now my brain just stalled in mid-thought. I had no idea what the job, and me doing it, was worth so I managed to stammer something to the effect of I don't know and what were they prepared to pay me. Almost as soon as I said it I thought I'd made a mistake but the guy came back with an answer that was about as much as I'd have asked for anyway.

At that point the interview was effectively over but my tea still wasn't cool enough to drink so we chatted on for another few minutes before I stumbled out in a daze.

What had just happened to me?

I gathered my thoughts on the train home. Just a few weeks ago I had a very good job opportunity much nearer home but, because I still thought I had a chance of getting onto a Management Accounting training scheme somewhere, I didn't follow it up. Have I really decided to drop that aim, now? After all the effort I've put into it over the last 18 months?

More than that, have I dropped it in favour of working in London, which I swore blind I would never do while I was still at university.

It appears that the answer to that question is yes.

So, in two weeks I will begin the lifestyle of the commuter. Gone will be the twenty minute walk to work, leaving the house at 7.40 and being home in time for Countdown. Instead I will be spending two hours a day on buses, trains and the tube. Still, at least I'll have Plenty of time to read, now.

And what does this mean for my future? This is a change of direction I didn't foresee and I've got no idea what it will mean in the long term. But, ever the optimist, I'm sure it will be just fine.

The future is bright, as the advert says.

Laid Up

Let me just set the scene, time-wise. It's the middle of May in my last year at Manchester University and my finals are just a couple of weeks away. In fact, my German Oral exam is in just a couple of days. At this point I was doing a bit of revision; probably not as much as I should have been doing but, having had a 54.5% average in all the exams to date, I needed either an absolute miracle or a huge disaster to graduate with anything other than 2:2, so it would have made very little difference.

At 12.30 a.m. I got home from L's room in halls, where I'd spent the evening of the 10th. We'd done some work, been for a drink in the hall bar and then chilled out for a while. I had a busy day ahead of me, starting with a nine o'clock lecture and finishing with a party in the department so I went straight to bed. At that moment I felt absolutely fine; a little tipsy, maybe, and tired, certainly, but other than that I felt in perfect health.

Two and a half hours later I woke in agony. I had the most awful pain in my gut and I spent thirty minutes trying to find a comfortable position to lie in, thinking that I must have eaten something bad. No matter how I lay, the pain didn't subside at all. By now, my mind had turned to darker thoughts and at 3.30 I got dressed and called an ambulance, fearing the worst.

Because it was the early hours of the morning, I didn't wake either of my housemates, who each had to go to work in just a few hours, or L, who I didn't want to worry, and got carted off to Manchester Royal Infirmary without anyone else knowing. Looking back now, that was a mistake but my sleep-addled brain thought it was doing the right thing at the time.

From here on the memories start to get hazy. I was initially taken into casualty in a wheelchair (doubled over and clutching my stomach) but was soon transferred to a trolley in a cubicle. I can't remember how long it was before I was seen but by breakfast time I had a tentative diagnosis of appendicitis and a wave of morphine was rolling over the pain and lapping at the edge of consciousness.

I was eventually admitted to the ward and around lunchtime phoned L, who (despite my intention) had indeed worried when I hadn't turned up to the 9.00 lecture we both attended. There's no easy way to say "I'm in hospital but don't worry, I'm fine" without the person on the other end of the phone starting to panic but I managed somehow.

I had more morphine and slept. L was sitting by the side of the bed when I woke. She'd had some trouble convincing the nurses to let her in outside of visiting hours but the fact that, with the exception of my brother, my family was all down south finally won them over. She stayed around for most of the afternoon with me drifting in and out. At some point it was pretty much decided that I had appendicitis and would require surgery but it probably wouldn't happen until the following day. I'd been nil-by-mouth all day, just in case, but they still wouldn't let me eat. With the stomach cramps I had, I'm not sure I'd have wanted to even if they had.

L went back home for dinner and round to my place to let my housemates know what had happened and to pick up a few things for me, which she dropped off on her way to the party. She was reluctant to go but I persuaded her to; visiting was only until early evening and I was likely to be drowsy anyway.

Of course, then they decided that they could squeeze me in for the operation that night. I tried calling L's mobile but she'd left it in her back in the Maths society office so it just rang and rang. I did manage to talk to my parents, though, so at least somebody knew.

I think it was about 8.30 p.m., seventeen hours after admission, when I was taken to theatre. I suppose someone must have explained the procedure somewhere along the line but I don't remember it now. The only thing I can recall is the huge syringe of anesthetic, thick and white, and how cold it felt as it travelled up my arm...

I didn't sleep that well after the operation. A nurse came round every hour to check my blood pressure etc and that woke me up each time, no matter how quietly the nurse tried to do it. Thankfully, the painkillers were muting the pain in my belly down to a dull ache.

The following day I slept more soundly, completely missing one set of friends who came visiting and in the afternoon was moved onto the surgery ward, where the only space available was a side room (nice). My parents came up to see me and so it came to pass that the first time they met L was in a hospital room. Not ideal.

I was in hospital until the Friday morning and spent most of the next week at home, doing very little. I have to say, the university were very good about it. My oral exam was rescheduled without any fuss and I took my first couple of maths exams in a separate room, where I could sit a little more comfortably and take little breaks if I needed to.

I went along to a local clinic a week or so after the operation to have a look at how the wound was healing. I was surprised to learn that, instead of using stitches, my stomach had been stapled together! They were removed with a nifty little gadget and I was left with a scar seven inches long that will stay there for the rest of my life; a permanent reminder of what happened.