Thursday

is no longer late night shopping day. it means bomb day. every train station looks like this. they drafted in 600,000 pork chops to look after 15mill citizens. 25:1 ratio. wow.
- posted by Daniel @ Saturday, July 30, 2005 0 comments

 
Disaster
Well, Nikko Citi don't think so. The Wide Area Disaster Recovery project is on hold. Because they don't anticipate any immediate disasters. Their lack of disaster is, of course, my world spanning disaster. The perils of contracting....
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, July 28, 2005 0 comments

 
living / partying / working
Yesterday, and when I wasn't trying to inhale the fumes of a bus, or a passing reefers, I felt at home. It really is a strange feeling, being alone yet completely comfortable. I can't wait to live here for permanent. but where am i going to get the cash from for another Small flat?

Sent a text message to Bryn yesterday, a man who has completely lost touch with reality "why doesn't this chick understand that she's the number one girl, and all the others dont matter..." and he's alive and partying hard in Chicago. which means i've gotta figure out how to get to tokyo via toronto and chicago. of course, Tony has remained silent of late, leaving me quivering as to whether or not the job is still available....

hmm. a big (arrogant to a disgraceful level) boss has resigned at a company i may or may not work with. a boss who liked to surround himself by many layers of incompetence, in order to distance himself from greasy techies. techies despise this, because it makes them feel less important, since the Director no longer cares about them, as they are far too far down the food chain. is the new guy going to axe a whole bunch of management so that he can be nearer techies? fear and rumourmongering are rife.
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, July 28, 2005 0 comments

 
Dialogue
So i was hanging out with some peoples yesterday, which included an Aussie chick, who, after an hour or so, i couldn't resist telling, bore a striking resemblence to my sister. "is that because i'm indian" was the indignant response. only sarcasm would do at this point, from me "yeah, i guess, because i dont really meet many indian people, so you all look the same". her comeback: "well, i dunno, I hang out with a lot of ignorant people". touche. "well, thanks for putting me to the top of the pile..."

Is standard of living definable and quantifiable? Aussies will argue that Australia has a higher standard of living than the UK (it is true, the whining at Heathrow is not that of the engines, but that of the Working Holiday Makers = barworking antipodes). Having travelled to Oz, I know this is complete tosh, and Europe slaps all over OZ and NZ. But why? I dont want a BigMac standard, or WHO definition. Why is Europe the place for salubrity?

Just called Denise in Namibia. Her: "Marry me". Me (thinking of the immigration laws):"Err, i'm not sure that would be of use to you". Her: "Come on, i'll cook for you every day". Me: "But... you can't cook!" Her: "All right, every second day".
- posted by Daniel @ Sunday, July 24, 2005 0 comments

 
Woosh
And i'm off. I've managed to convince the relevant parties that I am a disposable asset, and they've OK'd my dissappearance. Buying language books from amazon now. So, as long as Tony (my agent) doesn't welch on me.... See You In Tokyo, Baby!

- posted by Daniel @ Wednesday, July 20, 2005 3 comments

 
Rat Race - Team Monketeers
As disciplined as Monks, and as ingenuius as Monkeys.

It all started in a queue to use the perpertually disgusting outdoor portaloos. A Brazilian cameraman approached me, and asked if I knew of any Brazilians competing in the Adventure, he wanted to cover the story for his London paper. Seizing the opportunitiy for fame, I told him that my name was Souza (not sue-zaa, but soo-zaa) and he started paying attention. For the rest of the Adventure, we had a personal
photographer. Fabulous.

The Rat Race Adventure Edinburgh is supposedly a charity even for CancerBACUP. I am not so convinced, and think that The North Farce, along with Tiso and Mister Rat Race himself, make a tidy little number. The adventure began on Saturday morning, and we headed out to Princes Street Gardens for an equipment check. Ridiculously unnecessary items were included in the list, such as Push Bike Bell, Whistle, Headtorch, Waterproof Jacket, Map, Water Bottle and Hat . None of which were needed, as we were clearly not needed (other than to improve sales at Tiso LTD) and in the acse of the latter 3, were actually given to us in a goodie back after checkin. Grrr.

So, £80 for the entry fee, £10 to be told for 5 minutes how to use ropes, £15 to hire a harness and hat, £30 on suspiciously non-required equipment such as an OS map for £7.50. This was going to be an expensive weekend. I was already wishing bad karma upon Mister Rat Race for this.

Maps were handed out in a scene reminisent of Bob Geldof's tour of Africa 20 years ago. Right at the beginning it was clear that there are people here who are very very clear in their goals - Winning Is All That Counts. We got the map, and diligently marked off the 30 tasks waiting to be completed. Then we decide to bend the rules a little, and assign Raw to packhorse it back to the Small Flat with all our rucksacks, as they were completely unnecessary for all the tasks on the sheet.

Starting pistol fired at 1900, and Todd and I rush back to the flat, meet Raw outside, and head for the first task: canoeing behind Cargo. The trio who arrived a few seconds after us, rudely pushed in front, and we stood back for a second to make the decision on who was to run, whilst two paddled. Todd assumed the role of photographer, and ran alongside. Raw and I began a frustrating journey which was made inordinately long by our inability to steer in a co-ordinated direction.

I enjoyed ramming another canoe, and pushing them in the reverse direction. Arrrr; my heartys. We completed our first task, jumped (read: hauled ass ungracefully) out
of the canoe, and keenly looked toward Team Captain, master of organisation Todd, for Task #2, soon to be obliberated. “Where’s the map?” “what map” “I though you had it” “why would I have it” “you had it” “Did you have it”. We gave up looking shortly afterwards, but didn’t give up lashing into Todd about his complete lack of competence shown within minutes of the start. Then on to the meadows, where we figured there was something on the map – as far as any of us could remember. Hmm. The only way we managed to navigate was to tail other BlackShirts around, and complete the various tasks straight after them.

A few overzealous Rat Racers asking us along the way “where are your packs, lads?” my response was not sincere. Flipping beer mats was my forte, then something with a Frisbee, then some random checkpoints hidden in the middle of nowhere. Onto Bristo Square, where the organisers had arranged a minor assault course, which was to lay a major assault to my knee. There was a strange climb where we had to get to the top of a flight of stairs, with hands on one side of the railing, and feet on the other. A wise cameraman managed to get a side shot of us doing this, and stuck it on the Big Screen on Princes Street gardens a few hours later. At about 11pm that night, we bore witness to 16’ images of our 3 asses – and nothing else – bobbing up and down within camera vision. I wish that my 15 minutes of fame was less insulting.

After a while of running about, it got tedious tiring, and rather fruitless without a map. We headed back to the Small Flat for some chill time. After half an hour flouncing in the flat, we headed back out towards Dean Village, made a couple of targets, and then bought two double cheese burgers and four hoegaardens each to return to the gardens and see how we turned out. Amazingly, there were actually people even more rubbish than us, despite not stopping, having more motivation, and
having a map. I can’t see how it was possible.Mister Rat Race took his position on the stage and announced the map for the next day was available. We waited until the queue died down, grabbed our copy, and went to bed.

Sunday: 7am wakeup call.
walk up to the castle esplanade, and be noisy, for a noisy start. we cycled, ran, jogged, bustled, and got busy around the city and its outskirts abseiling and rock climbing until we found a 1973 BMW CS (well, ok, i found one, and checked it out) and then we all went to a pub for a large lunch and decided to sod the race, and do some more abseiling. which meant just cutting out a large portion of the race, and not bothering showing up to the more mundane events such as orienteering. we cut to the chase, went to the gyle, and surprised the Rat Race peoples that were waiting. "you're the first people here. Are you an elite team?" "err, no, we kinda missed one of the items on the course". immediately Woman in Red top was disgusted. "what do you mean you 'missed' it?". "well, we didn't really like queueing and we didn't like orienteering, so we came straight here". so they sat about discussing the concept of people actually enjoying the even rather than enduring it, and decided to very kindly let us use the space hoppers to bounce around the carpark. another event completed. we then head into safeway, buy some icelollies and stand around the carpark, having banter with two of the stewards that didn't hold us in comtempt, and standby watching the really keen people appear. These guys were the hardcore, living the Rat Race dream. They held their position at the traffic lights, and shouted "GREEN! GREEN! GO! GREEN!" when it turned amber. God, give me strength.... By this time, my knee had completely given up, and the only thing keeping it midly useful was the strength of Ibuprofen.

Our Brazilian photographer appears once more, and snapped away. I've gotta try and track down his paper now. I hear that the Brazilian part of London is Harlsden, so i'm not so sure its worth the risk heading up there.
Last event, before we went home was abseiling in Murrayfield. Mister Rat Race himself was there to inform us "Guys, so i understand that you've missed a lot of the course. But I'm going to let you finish the last event anyway.". Cheers, scumbag, you've got our money, so give us the bloody rope. Then lots of photos running in and out of the changing room, and a lap offer for the first people that managed to get to the last event. A final pose for the ever present Brazilian photographer as a group looking straight to the camera with a single index finger pointing North for each for us. Message: Brazil, we're number one, so dont look any further baby.

Head back to the small flat, shower, change, relax, flounce about, and eventually head down to the Princes Street garden after party, to find us 3rd last in the overall tournament. Mister Rat Race was clearly not impressed, and penalised us appropriately.

Lots of people stopped us on the street to demostrate their ingenious, novel and keen sense of humour upon seeing 3 dudes with the same T-shirt, and a A4 paper saying "61" on the front.
+ When cycling, one woman asked "are you in a bicycle race?".
+ When running down the street a few people shouted "hurry up" or "you're late"
+ The best, however, was a cockney dude who stuck his tattooed arm out of his Vauxhall to commandingly yell "118, 118, Got your number!".

I'd probably do it again next year, but would train a little harder (ie do some training) first.


Photos, since the text was dull and outdated
- posted by Daniel @ Monday, July 18, 2005 0 comments

 
Friday & Early Saturday - Preparation Day
Friday night. Fly to EDI, dinner with Angarola, and try to drag him out of the house. Failed. Meander down to All Bar One, drink two bottles of wine. Pearson was, as is frequently, engaging conversation, although there was talk of wanting to buy yet another American car. Head down to Opium to meet Big Malky, to buy him beer in exchange for cycle helmet rental. Leave Opium in a hurry. Get back to the Small Flat, thoroughly enebriated, and have a quick stab at trying to assemble to Cannondale, unused for 1 year. Pass out next to bike on couch uncovered. Todd wakes me up at 8.30am having arrived from Glasgow an ridiculously early train, and I start trying to reassemble the bike.

Run around town frantically buying last minute things on the Compulsory List.
- posted by Daniel @ Monday, July 18, 2005 0 comments

 
Yet again, Fear
A simplistic snippet of Buddhism will talk of possessions, and the price or burden that they carry. I've found something in my character, over the past few months, which i've come to enjoy. Now that I have - possibly own - this element, will the enevitable loss cause me pain? Had dinner with Vessella tonight at a fantastic North African place - Phenencia. The argument, which as ever, I found myself unable to counter, was simple. When you feel something within you, despite knowing that it was always there, and has only now come to your attention, is still a possession and a perception. Ashes to ashes; the flame that burns so bright can burn to expiry.

The stock exchange bulls up and bears down. The cycle is mandatory. Love the bull, but know that bear of humility will end the party.

The boys in LondonTown are a hailing me as a contractor of legendary timesheets. The daily rate scheme is being contorted to allow me to invoice for Eight Profesional Days this week. Buw-ha-ha-haaa. Greed is good. However, i've been eclipsed by the man who billed for 40 days in one Earth Month. I know baby, you'd dig it the most. But d'you know what the strangest thing about Contracting is? It's the little things - Example: The total detraction from reality, living every day as if it were your last. Breathing out when you leave the office thinking "i can't believe i got away with it. again". That said, I despise offices. They are a the very pinnacle of subdued passionless existence. Al quite poignantly interjected when I expressed a hint out of doubt over going travelling: "But Dan, you work all your life to have new experiences, so how can you possibly use the term 'lost earnings'? This is the raison d'etre" Cheers buddy, this was the sentence I needed.....
- posted by Daniel @ Saturday, July 09, 2005 0 comments

 
So Damned Scared
Because what I want has happened, and it's all so good, so fast, and so intimidating. BAAAAAAA!!!! I can't think straight. No time for articulation - so so so excited!!!

And on another (completely separate) front - the bombs. It's scary today. Feel relieved that I didn't take the tube to work this morning. Most mobile networks are down, and landlines are getting swamped too. They're saying 90 dead in Aldgate so far.
- posted by Daniel @ Thursday, July 07, 2005 2 comments

 
(No Longer) Wanted: A Reason To Live....
My pores are now leaking neat Laphroaig. We hadn't met in well over a year, and communcation was thin, as it should be, because when you meet, there is so much more excitement in the air. Underwood took my liver out for a batting, we staggered between bars until London ShutEmDown, and then returned for a WhiskyVsPort showdown. Both parties were demolished. This morning, as I was unable to focus, we said our goodbyes at 0702am "I am unlikely to make the 7am train. And I am unlikely to stay awake for the journey to Nottingham. Expect a message from York, with expletives". Just got an email from him, which was articulate and amusing as he is in the flesh. These are the moments I live for.

Dan,

What a morning. 0755 boarded train, consumed 1 litre of Volvic then slept all the way to Notts. Arrived 0940. Taxi to work arrive 1000. Straight in taxi to The Park private hospital for meeting - arrive 1028. Taxi at 1200 to Nuffield Private hospital to meeting. Taxi at 1230 back to base. I need sleep. Sleep and burgers.

Having said all that, was very good to see you again. I think given enough Kronenbourg Blanc and port, you and I could probably talk endlessly and fill a few volumes with observations and theories about the human condition. An excellent evening. I liked the port thing. I think next time there should be a restaurant with relatively fine dining involved. Nottingham? Bristol? Scotland? That way we could build in a grape theme, try a couple of bottles of red, and then move on to the port and whiskey. I could drink port until death or bankruptcy.

Anyway, must get on with work and recover something of this day. Tomorrow am out of the office again. Things must be done, and it must be me that must be doing them. Bummer.

Are you surviving in the Sky?

G
- posted by Daniel @ Wednesday, July 06, 2005 0 comments

 
SaturdaySundayMonday blended into one
Party at Zajac's. Young swings by on a motorbike, afer destroying yet another Lotus. I welcome him into the Vauxhall Council Estate with a simple "This is how the other half live." His retort "Yes, i'm a bit concerned about the bike getting nicked. Let's keep it well within sight." Here, I met a lot of antipodes. The flat was crammed with them, with people living in all the rooms, in true visiting-london style. I had some interesting conversations at and with people, but this time, mainly with. I got lots of names for books that I "really _have_ to read" rather than names of places that I "really _have_ to visit", in contrast to most parties invloving pikeies. I was granted a reason as to why most antipodean men are rarely more cerebral than troglodites, disinterested in art, culture, politics, favouring instead plaid shirts and red meat. The rationale was simple. NZ is a large country, with few people. Urban dwellers follow arts, Country Folk shoot and hunt. Chicks love the latter. I sneer at the latter. Lucky them.

Later that weekend: Shifting a bed across town, through a park, does not make for your average Sunday afernoon. We attracted attention of the police, twice, and were subjected to several witless self satisified comments. It was a long, arduous and unanticipated journey.

The Smart burst a tyre. This is particularly irrirating, as I never seem to use the car, and have therefore resigned to sell it as soon as possible, with the intention of replacing it with a Ducati. Less weight, more power. No rollcage. McEntee has already decided two wheels are better than four. Pearson tells me this is foolhardy, fearing not for me, but that her beloved to do the same. More fool him for having someone to answer to, and only now wishing to stare down the side of a mountain. Time for me to feel some adrenelin, and enjoy these days of zero responsibility. And that was Saturday night, along with my first night in the Small Flat, over a month after official move-in.

My flight to London this morning had Gordon Brown onboard. He flew business class too, which in some way irritated me, because I knew I was paying for him to sit slightly ahead of me. I guess he should be grateful that he didnt fly privately, despite surely being one of the worlds 50 most powerful men. I hate flying business class. With one noteable exception, I am yet to meet a personality next to me. In economy, people are more ever so slightly more excited about the journey, the trip, the holiday, the visit, the weekend - or whatever it may be - and their mood spills out to a conversation. And I love talking to random people. No need to befriend, pretend to want to see each other again, cut just exchange a banter that will dissolve the tedious journey into stories and jokes, with a fresh face to convey.

G8. I am going to be condescending here, because this is something that I feel I actually know slightly more about than the average protester. I can't see why debt relief would change a thing. From a fiscal perspective, the debt has been accrued through more out and less in. Surely, the only real correction can be achieved by increasing output? Which means going to Tesco, and saying "Oi, no more buying EU subsidized food, except fresh produce. We want foreign food. Let Kenyan farmers get our money." The cynic would argue that the kenyan farmer would be some already-rich-polygamous-expat-DelMonte-type-dude who doesn't need our money. But market forces mean that he would invest more in Kenya, and develop the export economy. Taxable economy. Debt relief would help, sure, but can it even be placed in the Top 5 Priorities? Big business would argue YES. Rationale: More to lend again, squander on ridiculous engineering projects, and make the loaning countries companies' rich. I'd like to what Mark Thomas thinks of all this.

Dinner with the parents yesterday. Lots of intense stories about things I didnt really relate to, now that I feel so out of touch with the daily events in their life. Throughout the conversation, I was haunted by the same feelin that has been growing inside me for some days now. I am whittling into nothing more than a money hungry smug insecure failure. Everything i've ever hated, and more. I met Campbell after 2 or 3 months yesterday, and I didn't particularly care. He's always despised me, and I really don't care that he does. He has genuine reason to - he represents a large insecurity in my laziness, and ordinarily I am quite vicious toward him. Then enter Fong into the equation, and it leaves me feeling no guilt about having no time for people whose social interactions rely so firmly on derogation and humiliation in a hideously sincere way. Campbell is, of course, convinced that I am already everything I fear I am becoming. And for that, I will not forgive him, or myself.
- posted by Daniel @ Tuesday, July 05, 2005 3 comments

 
Taking down a peg
I saw some sesame paste in the supermarket yesterday, and really wanted to buy it. But I stopped myself, because it was Made In Israel. So to remind myself that I did the right thing, in settling for some Skye Salmon instead, I want to put up a picture of a dead Palestinian child.



I just had an interview with a bank in Tokyo. It was a complete and utter disaster. Technically, I was a little rusty, but that wasn't the real problem. Idiocy occured right toward the end of the 30minute interview, in which a reasonable rapport had been built up, and he asked me why I wanted to work in Japan. New environment, work ethic, bank, standards etc all blurted out my face. I then couldn't resist telling him that it was a pay cut, to demonstrate how keen I was on this move. "but this is a top japanese bank" he was flabbergasted "yes, i think the agency is taking a large large cut. i get about twice here". FOOL FOOL FOOL. i am still shaking from the forthright arrogant lunacy and disbelief that I actually said this. Cut my tongue now, please. The interviewer can only be thinking "So, our money is not good enough for you, is it?"

Well, until the next time. For now, I am stuck on this fricking island of apes. And I feel that I deserve to be, for being conceited to such an inexplicable degree.
- posted by Daniel @ Friday, July 01, 2005 0 comments