To give closure to the last entry, however long ago it may have been: Sarah and I both got jobs at Next. I considered using this update to give everyone an amusing insight into Next's inner sanctum, complete with lots of sarcastic japes at the expense of their motivational notices and such, but frankly I feel that this would be churlish. Mostly I'm just grateful to them for having the blind faith to offer me a contract.
So Sarah will now be working in the Childrenswear department on Monday and Tuesday afternoons, whereas I will be in the stockroom on Tuesday mornings, 7-11.
That means some early mornings, but it might be quite nice walking into town at 6.30am, headphones on, seeing what, if anything, goes on at that hour.
Induction was yesterday. We filled in some forms, got the grand tour, and were shown some wonderful health and safety videos, which featured the cream of those actors and actresses who got a B for their GCSE practical but then decided to take a more science-y route for their A-levels.
My favourite part was in the bit about fire safety. The video was explaining that fire needs three things: oxygen, heat, and fuel. Of course, you needn't have taken a more science-y route for your A-levels to know that, but far more patronising was the sobering reminder that OXYGEN IS EVERYWHERE. Scary stuff.
In the evening a bunch of us went to Metros, but that's probably better left to word of mouth.
Joel.
Thursday 26 May 2011
Thursday 19 May 2011
The Great Job Hunt
Sometimes there's just no excuse. A week or two ago I could have told you that I wasn't updating the blog right now because I have a lot of uni work to get through and I can't waste time on such frivolity. But it's been ten days since I last posted anything, and for the majority of that time I've officially had Nothing Better To Do.
That's right, I've finished my second year of university. All the essays and recordings and whatever that I thought I'd never muster up the will to complete have failed to defeat me, although believe me I've found other reasons to worry. The main one is that this time next year I'll have FINISHED UNIVERSITY and will have to FIND A CAREER.
Which is weird for me because I still feel like I should be rehearsing for my GCSE drama practical.
Anyway, back in the present day it's been decided that I should take some kind of part-time job to fund my various vices over the summer. This is pretty much what I did last year, except hopefully this time I won't get the sack after three weeks because I can't paint well enough to be a cleaner (yep, still bitter). So I've got a group interview at Next on Saturday, after which I'll hopefully be employed as some sort of stockroom dude.
Sarah has also applied for a job there, although she'll be a shop assistant which means that she has to deal with customers. I do not envy her. Also, her interview is today so everybody think good thoughts between the hours of 2 and 3.
So there we are. I understand some of you have exams to revise for so I'll let you get back to that now.
Losers.
Joel.
Monday 9 May 2011
Will You Still Love Me McMorrow
Josh asked me to play a drum for him, that his support set at the James Vincent McMorrow gig might have a bit more clout to it. Being the professional and prolific session musician I am (recent gigs: joining in on Mustang Sally at my cousin's wedding), I agreed.
We rehearsed, 'we' being myself, Josh, and Ed. Ed is Josh's friend from university whom he had roped in to play keys. This merry band gathered on Claude Road - I bearing my floor tom, Ed his Yamaha keyboard, and Josh a great many cups of tea - and made a joyful noise until we deemed ourselves ready.
The evening's proceedings were well-attended, and the opening act in good voice. Verily, the pressure was on. People had paid money, and some had ventured from as far afield as Penarth, to have litres of syrupy folk music poured down their canals. And it was on Scriber & The Scribettes to deliver.
After our set, clad in my rather tattered "Save a Tree, Eat a Beaver" t-shirt, I enquired as to whether or not we did. I, of course, was rather pleased with our performance, but what did Wales think?
My impression was that they rather enjoyed it. The music was well-received, my hair apparently looked very good (my chestnut locks tumbling down my face with each earthy thump of the batter-head), and Josh's CD sales speak for themselves.
He sold at least 9, which means he can throw another eighteen pounds on top of the stack he was given just for showing up and doing a few songs. Some would suggest that such affluence leaves sufficient room for paying one's backing band, but others would criticise these cynics for selling out.
All things considered, then, a fine showing. Particularly commendable was, of course, the song that I had no part in whatsoever - the vocals-only 'Slow Runner', which can be found here. Josh belted it out, unaccompanied, in front of a packed room, and that takes balls.
Joel.
P.S. Oh, McMorrow was really good too. I got an indirect shout-out for being the first ever person to spot that he was playing a song by Phosphorescent in the sound check. Josh had his hand shook by the man himself, and duly proclaimed that it would henceforth be his wanking hand.
We rehearsed, 'we' being myself, Josh, and Ed. Ed is Josh's friend from university whom he had roped in to play keys. This merry band gathered on Claude Road - I bearing my floor tom, Ed his Yamaha keyboard, and Josh a great many cups of tea - and made a joyful noise until we deemed ourselves ready.
The evening's proceedings were well-attended, and the opening act in good voice. Verily, the pressure was on. People had paid money, and some had ventured from as far afield as Penarth, to have litres of syrupy folk music poured down their canals. And it was on Scriber & The Scribettes to deliver.
After our set, clad in my rather tattered "Save a Tree, Eat a Beaver" t-shirt, I enquired as to whether or not we did. I, of course, was rather pleased with our performance, but what did Wales think?
My impression was that they rather enjoyed it. The music was well-received, my hair apparently looked very good (my chestnut locks tumbling down my face with each earthy thump of the batter-head), and Josh's CD sales speak for themselves.
He sold at least 9, which means he can throw another eighteen pounds on top of the stack he was given just for showing up and doing a few songs. Some would suggest that such affluence leaves sufficient room for paying one's backing band, but others would criticise these cynics for selling out.
All things considered, then, a fine showing. Particularly commendable was, of course, the song that I had no part in whatsoever - the vocals-only 'Slow Runner', which can be found here. Josh belted it out, unaccompanied, in front of a packed room, and that takes balls.
Joel.
P.S. Oh, McMorrow was really good too. I got an indirect shout-out for being the first ever person to spot that he was playing a song by Phosphorescent in the sound check. Josh had his hand shook by the man himself, and duly proclaimed that it would henceforth be his wanking hand.
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Taking P-Town, Pt. 1
The idea came about, inevitably, when we were supposed to be working.
The three of us had gathered in my room for the afternoon to put a serious dent in our various assignments, but after about four hours it was going badly. I had barely started an essay on how to manage a record label. Cliffey was desperately trying to find some useful information about shamanism. Sarah, to be fair, had done a pretty good job of revising for her various exams, but Cliffey and I insisted that we would have done far better if it all we had to do was revise.
We wouldn't, at all, but that's besides the point. I think I suggested that we start our own record label (not that the book I had been referring to for all of, ooh, 300 words had made it sound easy or anything) and sign all our friends, and somehow this mutated into the idea of organising some sort of festival, and seeing all our friends play live.
It started out as playful banter, but Cliffey quickly decided that it would actually be something worth doing. Sarah suggested using one of Penarth's many bandstands to host it, and both of them seemed to think it could - nay, should happen.
I was skeptical. How would we get electricity for the amps and things if we were doing it outdoors? We could do it acoustic, but then how would we be able to hear the vocals? What if it rained? You know it's not really gonna happen, right?
But they were persistent, and eventually I suggested hiring the church hall in Penarth instead (why we didn't even consider having it in Cardiff I'm not sure; maybe we decided that there's enough live music here already). That way it would be far easier to power everything, and the show could go on regardless of weather. Plus, I added confidently, it would be free, because I played at someone's birthday party there once, and I'm pretty sure they got it for free, probably.
This seemed to go down well, and it didn't take long before we'd completely forgotten our work day and started to think of people who could play The P-Town Festival (a name of which I do not approve; Cliffey has assured me it's just the working title until we think of something better). We all have our connections to various bands of various standings - I once emailed a member of The Crimea and got a reply, my friend's mum is the landlady for two of the less popular Campesinos, that sort of thing - but we were each fairly certain that we could put together a decent lineup, even if it wasn't exactly going to be T in the Park.
There were also myriad suggestions for other activities that could be going on. Provisionally speaking, it sounds like there will be a lot of cakes, with Sarah's sister, my dad, and...someone that Cliffey knows all potentially chipping in. And possibly some sort of rummage sale. And fancy dress.
(Cliffey wanted a bouncy castle, but I grumpily pointed out that we were organising a music festival, not a church fête.)
So the next step, as it stands, is to survey the venue. I suggested that we head down to Penarth on Sunday, and that's the plan as long as Cliffey finishes his shaman essay by then.
Right now it could go either way.
Joel.
The three of us had gathered in my room for the afternoon to put a serious dent in our various assignments, but after about four hours it was going badly. I had barely started an essay on how to manage a record label. Cliffey was desperately trying to find some useful information about shamanism. Sarah, to be fair, had done a pretty good job of revising for her various exams, but Cliffey and I insisted that we would have done far better if it all we had to do was revise.
We wouldn't, at all, but that's besides the point. I think I suggested that we start our own record label (not that the book I had been referring to for all of, ooh, 300 words had made it sound easy or anything) and sign all our friends, and somehow this mutated into the idea of organising some sort of festival, and seeing all our friends play live.
It started out as playful banter, but Cliffey quickly decided that it would actually be something worth doing. Sarah suggested using one of Penarth's many bandstands to host it, and both of them seemed to think it could - nay, should happen.
I was skeptical. How would we get electricity for the amps and things if we were doing it outdoors? We could do it acoustic, but then how would we be able to hear the vocals? What if it rained? You know it's not really gonna happen, right?
But they were persistent, and eventually I suggested hiring the church hall in Penarth instead (why we didn't even consider having it in Cardiff I'm not sure; maybe we decided that there's enough live music here already). That way it would be far easier to power everything, and the show could go on regardless of weather. Plus, I added confidently, it would be free, because I played at someone's birthday party there once, and I'm pretty sure they got it for free, probably.
This seemed to go down well, and it didn't take long before we'd completely forgotten our work day and started to think of people who could play The P-Town Festival (a name of which I do not approve; Cliffey has assured me it's just the working title until we think of something better). We all have our connections to various bands of various standings - I once emailed a member of The Crimea and got a reply, my friend's mum is the landlady for two of the less popular Campesinos, that sort of thing - but we were each fairly certain that we could put together a decent lineup, even if it wasn't exactly going to be T in the Park.
There were also myriad suggestions for other activities that could be going on. Provisionally speaking, it sounds like there will be a lot of cakes, with Sarah's sister, my dad, and...someone that Cliffey knows all potentially chipping in. And possibly some sort of rummage sale. And fancy dress.
(Cliffey wanted a bouncy castle, but I grumpily pointed out that we were organising a music festival, not a church fête.)
So the next step, as it stands, is to survey the venue. I suggested that we head down to Penarth on Sunday, and that's the plan as long as Cliffey finishes his shaman essay by then.
Right now it could go either way.
Joel.
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