I had a bit of a stressful time with my accommodation application this week. I have secured a roof over my head, that wasn't the problem; no living in a cardboard box on the streets of Duisburg for me! No, the issue was that I thought, for a brief couple of days, that I would have to fly out to Germany two weeks earlier than I had originally planned in order to full-fill some minor clause in my contract. Instead of leaving in just under a month, I would have had to have left in fortnight.
Full. Scale. Panic.
As it turns out, the Germans are more than willing to be flexible and I don't have to fly over until I want to. Happy days. However, for that short period when I thought that I was leaving sooner rather than later, more than ever before (including the time I tipsily cried at the end of Summer Social because I was going to miss everybody) I was struck with the feeling that I don't really want to go abroad at all.
When I started this degree, I can't say I remember ever being entirely enthralled by the prospect of a year abroad; as far as I was concerned it the idea of surviving in a foreign country with only my language skills (lacking) and my charm to get me by was nothing short of terrifying. However, that would be something confined to my third year, way way into the future. I was a young and innocent fresher with a whole two years of university life stretching away in front of me. What was the point of worrying about something so far away, especially when I had a whole lot of other more pressing matters to occupy my time, such as making friends and getting drunk? None at all. The year abroad conundrum got pushed to the back of my mind and I forgot all about it. As I settled into university life, I got more comfortable, and I think I even managed to kid myself that third year would never actually arrive, that I could live in a sort of time loop, forever alternately bumming around with my housemates eating banana Malteaser muffins and spending Wednesdays at Corp drinking paint-stripper vodka till the wee hours. Obviously, physics bends for no student; my first two years of uni shot by in a haze of giggles and bad wine and now, in August 2010, my year abroad is staring me full in the face. Frankly, it's come as a bit of a nasty shock.
For although my whole attitude towards studying German may have changed since I started uni,* I don't think my attitude towards my year abroad has. I'm still less excited than scared witless. I'm still dangerously procrastinating when it comes to sorting anything out. I'm still enduring a constant parade of negative questions marching around my head: what if my German isn't good enough? What if I'm a terrible teacher? What if the people I live with hate me?
In addition to the cold, cold fear, there's also an element of regret. I lead a pretty cushy life here in jolly old England, one I'm reluctant to leave behind, even for just nine months. I love my family. I love my friends. I love Sheffield and my university. I even love my crappy home town and my crappy job, despite my constant complaining about the both, and it's because of all these things that, for all people keep telling me that my year abroad is going to be an amazing experience, that I'll love every minute, that it's going to be the best few months of my life, I still can't shake off the feeling that by not being here, I'll somehow be missing out.
I don't think I'm being entirely silly about this. I will genuinely, through being in Germany, be unable to do some really cool stuff this year. I can't see Tim Minchin, one of my favourite musicians and comedians, play to an audience of thousands with a live orchestra. I can't run for a committee position with Forge, something which would help me in my aspirations towards a job in the media. I can't spend so much time with my Godmother, who's over from Australia for the first time in three years. I can't, for God's sake, go see Frank Turner at the first Sheffield gig he's played since I found out he existed two and a half years ago, something which is cutting me particularly deep.
There's other things that I'm upset about missing that are less rational. For example, earlier I caught sight of a conversation on Facebook (that oh so invasive of mediums) between two of my best friends from Sheffield, discussing the prospect of a night out in Freshers' Week. I am, of course, in a stable enough mental position to be a-ok with the idea of my friends not putting their entire lives on hold just because I'm not going to be in town. Just about. No, it was that one of them suggested that they do Pop Tarts "in memory of G".** I assume this was in reference to a) the fact that I bloody love Pop Tarts and b) the one in Freshers' Week is generally close enough to my birthday to constitute as a celebration, meaning I have fond (if blurry) memories of celebrating my nineteenth there. Suddenly, though I know it's just another night out, I just couldn't bare the thought of them having a rave up without me, whilst I spent my twenty-first in a little room miles away, blowing out a lonely candle on a cupcake and singing happy birthday to myself. I found myself getting a little choked up. Pathetic, isn't it?
I'm being ridiculous, I know. Of course I'm going to enjoy my year abroad. Of course it's one of the most exciting things I've ever done. Of course I'll cope linguistically, even if it's tough at first. Of course I'll make new friends. Of course it'll be the best year of my life. Of course.
I tell myself all these things. Unfortunately, I don't seem to be listening.
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*I've gone from treating it as History's bit on the side to being a fully committed language enthusiast.
**Though the other did rightly point out that that sounded like I'd popped my clogs, so they changed it to "in honour of".
Wednesday, 18 August 2010
Monday, 16 August 2010
Comedy: Edinburgh - Losing My Fringe Virginity
This week I hit the Edinburgh Fringe for the very first time. As a comedy fanatic, it's been a long time coming. Every year I considered it; every year I wrote it off as financially non-viable. This year, however, was different. Not that I had any more money, you understand. In fact, I probably had less. The difference was that I decided I frankly didn't give a shit that I didn't have much money, and could think of no better way to spend the little I had than on gigs and cider and more gigs at the coolest arts festival in the world. Also, the prospect of three uninterrupted weeks of solid Nottingham is enough to put anyone off their tea, and I was happy to spend £200 plus avoiding that prospect.
It was a week of firsts. It was the first time I'd been to Scotland, despite my mild obsession with the accent. It was the first time I rented accommodation off a man my friend found on Facebook. It was the first time I went to a comedy gig on my own. It was the first time I'd shared a flat with two street performers and a street performer's girlfriend.* It was the first time I heard "Fairy Tale Of New York" played at midnight in the middle of August on a ukulele.
It was, in short, an amazing week. But less of my personal experiences. This is a (sort-of in-part) entertainment review blog! In no particular order, time for my top five acts of supreme brilliantness what I saw this week at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival!
And that, folks, was my Edinburgh review. I could have written a hell of a lot more, about wicked acts and wicked venues that I haven't mentioned above, but then this post would have been twice as long and it's pretty damn long already. So I'll simply finish by saying this: if you went to the Fringe, good on you. If you're going, have fun. And if you've never been, then what the hell's wrong with you? Get yourself there next year.
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It was a week of firsts. It was the first time I'd been to Scotland, despite my mild obsession with the accent. It was the first time I rented accommodation off a man my friend found on Facebook. It was the first time I went to a comedy gig on my own. It was the first time I'd shared a flat with two street performers and a street performer's girlfriend.* It was the first time I heard "Fairy Tale Of New York" played at midnight in the middle of August on a ukulele.
It was, in short, an amazing week. But less of my personal experiences. This is a (sort-of in-part) entertainment review blog! In no particular order, time for my top five acts of supreme brilliantness what I saw this week at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival!
1) Josie Long: Be Honourable!
Jose Long is, in her own unique way, trying to get us to change the world. She has spent a year off studying politics, chatting to strangers (one of whom resembled a toad) and generally thinking of ways for us to all be better in our daily lives. Now she's passing on that wisdom.
As might be expected from a show encouraging us to be improved human beings, "Be Honourable!" discusses some fairly heavy topics: politics (and how the Tories are bad), the complacency of youth, finding contemporary role-models and the invasiveness of the media. However, Josie succeeds in tackling these themes with all of her trademark exuberance, putting a positive spin on areas where other comics would be prone to get bogged down in dour cynicism. In addition, sprinkled between these genuinely thought-provoking issues, are some lighter comic delights: dieting (tip: "You can't have any of it") and the importance of breakfast, as well as the pros and cons of Billy Bragg as an adoptive father and a section entitled "Things my stepmum has actually said!" The combination of the humorous moments of Josie's life intermingled with a manifesto to do good made this show an absolute joy to watch from beginning to end, and whenever I feel myself being less than honourable, I will remember it, read the handy booklet provided and bloody well sort myself out.
Also, she said she liked my scarf. Score!
2) Robin Ince: Carl Sagan Is Still My God
This was without doubt the most inspirational show I saw at the Fringe. Hosted by Robin Ince and featuring a variety of different guests every day, it was a celebration of the universe and pretty much everything in it. I'm no scientist, having not studied it beyond GCSE, but that doesn't mean that I'm any the less fascinated by it, and though the show featured some pretty high brow stuff it was not so over my head that I wasn't completely drawn in. The morning I saw it it featured rocket travel, the debunking of psychics (who Ince rightly described as charlatans exploiting the bereaved), the science of sex, a great deal about Richard Feynman and a demonstration about the workings of magic tricks from psychologist Richard Wiseman, who produced the single most impressive example of a mathematical illusion that I am ever likely to see. In addition, a comic whose name I've forgotten, though I desperately wish I hadn't, told an amazing joke about Where's Wally that I thought was so clever it has made its way onto that most coveted wall of fame, my "favourite quotes" section on Facebook. Intelligent and informative as well as hilarious, I left this show with a feeling of awe at the complexity of the universe, a feeling that only science can provoke.
As might be expected from a show encouraging us to be improved human beings, "Be Honourable!" discusses some fairly heavy topics: politics (and how the Tories are bad), the complacency of youth, finding contemporary role-models and the invasiveness of the media. However, Josie succeeds in tackling these themes with all of her trademark exuberance, putting a positive spin on areas where other comics would be prone to get bogged down in dour cynicism. In addition, sprinkled between these genuinely thought-provoking issues, are some lighter comic delights: dieting (tip: "You can't have any of it") and the importance of breakfast, as well as the pros and cons of Billy Bragg as an adoptive father and a section entitled "Things my stepmum has actually said!" The combination of the humorous moments of Josie's life intermingled with a manifesto to do good made this show an absolute joy to watch from beginning to end, and whenever I feel myself being less than honourable, I will remember it, read the handy booklet provided and bloody well sort myself out.
Also, she said she liked my scarf. Score!
2) Robin Ince: Carl Sagan Is Still My God
This was without doubt the most inspirational show I saw at the Fringe. Hosted by Robin Ince and featuring a variety of different guests every day, it was a celebration of the universe and pretty much everything in it. I'm no scientist, having not studied it beyond GCSE, but that doesn't mean that I'm any the less fascinated by it, and though the show featured some pretty high brow stuff it was not so over my head that I wasn't completely drawn in. The morning I saw it it featured rocket travel, the debunking of psychics (who Ince rightly described as charlatans exploiting the bereaved), the science of sex, a great deal about Richard Feynman and a demonstration about the workings of magic tricks from psychologist Richard Wiseman, who produced the single most impressive example of a mathematical illusion that I am ever likely to see. In addition, a comic whose name I've forgotten, though I desperately wish I hadn't, told an amazing joke about Where's Wally that I thought was so clever it has made its way onto that most coveted wall of fame, my "favourite quotes" section on Facebook. Intelligent and informative as well as hilarious, I left this show with a feeling of awe at the complexity of the universe, a feeling that only science can provoke.
3) Obama Mia!
When I saw this show title in the Fringe Guide, my immediate thoughts were a) that's an incredible pun and b) with a title like that, this show has to be so bad it's brilliant. In actual fact, it was one the greatest examples of musical theatre I have ever been fortunate enough to see. I can almost see your doubting faces now; a comedic musical about Obama's rise to presidency? Sounds ridiculous. I agree, it does sound ridiculous, and in a way it was. However it was also clever, charming and oozing with talent.
Imagine it... it's a few days before one of the biggest elections in American history, and the Democrat campaign is going from strength to strength. Then, disaster! Obama is suddenly in a coma and out of the game. What do his campaign team do? Calling the whole thing off is unthinkable. There's only one solution: they must hire a fake Obama. Enter Charlie, a zealous budding actor, whose photographic memory for political jargon is hampered only by slowness at which he reads it. Throw in a pair of reunited lovers, a hard-nosed campaign manager and an over-sexed senator and what follows is a hilarious take on global media and the American political system, as well as the humble musical genre. For excellent songs and an abundance of wit, everyone involved with Obama Mia, either in its conception or its production, needs a hearty slap on the back.
4) John Robins: Nomadic Revery
We've all been there, right, when your friend decides to go see some dark interpretive physical theatre sound-tracked by the experimental electronica band 65daysofstatic, and it's not really your cup of tea? Yeah, I know, it's a common conundrum. Do you pay the extortionate amount** to go see it when you're pretty sure you're going to be less than a fan, or do you find something else to occupy your time? Well, next time you find yourself in this situation, I suggest you do what I did; keep your money, or at least more than half of it, and go see John Robins instead.
It was probably the smallest gig I've ever been to. I arrived to discover the rest of the audience had spread themselves to the far reaches of the room, like school children harbouring under the mistaken belief that if they sit at the back the teacher won't pick on them. I plonked myself at the back and remained there for a good seven seconds until Robins took to the stage, pointed out that there were some lovely empty seats at the very front and we all guiltily shuffled forwards.
Having seen Robins at work already at the opening night of Fordy's Lock In,*** I was reasonably confident it was going to be an enjoyable show, but it surpassed my expectations. Robins' collection of anecdotes regarding innocence of youth and subsequently losing it were told with a level of affable charm rarely seen in conventional stand up, whilst it was easy to relate to his stories of noisy neighbours, embarrassment in front of those we fancy and the mystery behind the sad winky-face emoticon. His relaxed and endearing style engaged the audience immediately, not least because he noted that the rain must have driven out the rubbish people and left the legends. After a compliment like that, how could we fail to be a good audience, laugh extra loud and live up to our new legendary status? It was an effortless performance from and extremely talented and witty comic, and because of this I don't doubt that everyone left that gig in the same way as I did: full of warm good-humour.
Having seen Robins at work already at the opening night of Fordy's Lock In,*** I was reasonably confident it was going to be an enjoyable show, but it surpassed my expectations. Robins' collection of anecdotes regarding innocence of youth and subsequently losing it were told with a level of affable charm rarely seen in conventional stand up, whilst it was easy to relate to his stories of noisy neighbours, embarrassment in front of those we fancy and the mystery behind the sad winky-face emoticon. His relaxed and endearing style engaged the audience immediately, not least because he noted that the rain must have driven out the rubbish people and left the legends. After a compliment like that, how could we fail to be a good audience, laugh extra loud and live up to our new legendary status? It was an effortless performance from and extremely talented and witty comic, and because of this I don't doubt that everyone left that gig in the same way as I did: full of warm good-humour.
5) Jollyboat
I am horrified when I think that I almost, almost never caught this act. An hour before I was due to hop on the train back down south, my friend and I decided to while away the time by catching something free. We plumped for an act called 'Afternoon Delight', enticed mainly by the promise of free tea and biscuits. The biscuits were good, no question, but the stand up on offer didn't really tickle either of our fancies. Just as we were about to up sticks and leave (I did have a train to catch after all), we espied two pirates in the corner. Now, if you are not the kind of person who, upon seeing pirates, would risk missing a train in order to see what happens, then I'm sorry but we can never be friends. Obviously we resumed our seats, and what ensued was possibly one of the funniest five or so minutes I've ever experienced. A pirate musical mash-up, it left tears of laughter rolling down my face. I've since discovered that I cannot through description do Jollyboat justice (not enough pirating experience, I guess), but fortunately I don't have to because you can visit www.jollyboat.co.uk and see pretty much exactly what I saw right there on your computer screen. I'm devastated I had to leave Edinburgh before catching their live show in its entirety, because I am convinced it would have been nothing short of arrr-some. See what I did there? No? Oh, never mind...
I also at this point like to introduce the soon-to-be much sought after "Georgie's Edinburgh Awards". They'll be clamouring for them, just you watch.
The "Trooper" Award goes to Andrew Collings, who delivered a cracking live show at Bannerman's despite his PA system going down and having to reshuffle his entire act on the spot.
"Best Toilets" goes to downstairs at the Big Room of Just The Tonic, for having wallpapered them in sheet music and Scottish proverbs.
The "Heart Attack In A Glass" Award goes to cafe Chocolate Soup in Hunters Square for literally making chocolate soup. No, literally.
The "Only Pub It Is Possible To Get Lost In" Award goes to the Tron, because it is actually a maze.
And finally, "Best Street Entertainer" goes to the man I saw once who's act was entirely silent and who looked a little bit like David Tennant, for making a rude gesture at an obnoxious old lady when her back was turned because she refused to wave at him.
I also at this point like to introduce the soon-to-be much sought after "Georgie's Edinburgh Awards". They'll be clamouring for them, just you watch.
The "Trooper" Award goes to Andrew Collings, who delivered a cracking live show at Bannerman's despite his PA system going down and having to reshuffle his entire act on the spot.
"Best Toilets" goes to downstairs at the Big Room of Just The Tonic, for having wallpapered them in sheet music and Scottish proverbs.
The "Heart Attack In A Glass" Award goes to cafe Chocolate Soup in Hunters Square for literally making chocolate soup. No, literally.
The "Only Pub It Is Possible To Get Lost In" Award goes to the Tron, because it is actually a maze.
And finally, "Best Street Entertainer" goes to the man I saw once who's act was entirely silent and who looked a little bit like David Tennant, for making a rude gesture at an obnoxious old lady when her back was turned because she refused to wave at him.
And that, folks, was my Edinburgh review. I could have written a hell of a lot more, about wicked acts and wicked venues that I haven't mentioned above, but then this post would have been twice as long and it's pretty damn long already. So I'll simply finish by saying this: if you went to the Fringe, good on you. If you're going, have fun. And if you've never been, then what the hell's wrong with you? Get yourself there next year.
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*One of the performers turned up on our third morning briefly and unexpectedly whilst I was sleepily making a cup of tea, causing me for a while to believe I'd either imagined him or there was an Iggy Pop-lookalike ghost haunting the top floor apartment. Fortunately he turned out to be real and I turned out not to be mental.
** Definition of "extortionate" (taken from the Students' Dictionary): upwards of ten quid.
*** Where my I made the mistake of saying I was from Redhill and indirectly got called retarded by the host.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
So, A Description Then.
I've decided to start a new blog. I know, such bravery. It's going to be a bit different to my old one, in that it will (I hope, anyway) encompass more things. This is why I've given it the title 'What The Whatever?' a title devised to convey the idea of variety, and absolutely nothing to do with my lack of imagination.
I've by no means forgotten my other blog 'What The Folk?', though it has been somewhat neglected in recent times. The fact is, though, that I'm going to be doing a vast number of exciting things this year that I want to write about and the majority of these will not fall under the banner of folk music. If you want to read any of the stuff I posted on 'What The Folk?', of which there isn't a lot, you can find it all here: http://www.whatthefolkblog.blogspot.com/. This is not the end of my somewhat solitary folk journey, however. I plan to bring 'What The Folk?' back with a vengeance in just over year's time, hopefully in conjunction with a radio show of the same name (that is if the lovely people of Forge Radio deign to let me back). It'll be (probably) wicked. Stay tuned.
Anyway, to business. A description of the all new and all shiny 'What The Whatever?'. The hazy idea I've currently got trundling round my mind goes something like this: I want it to be a diary of my year abroad (any one who knows me is no doubt aware that I'm spending the next year of my life teaching English in Germany, a prospect I'm currently finding 50% exciting and 50% totally bloody terrifying). At the same time I still want it to be inclusive of the music and arts reviews I enjoy writing so much. My making 'What The Whatever?' about literally whatever I feel like blathering about should, in theory, mean I get to keep everything I write in one place.
To distinguish post types, I thought I best have some sort of coding system. Therefore, posts dedicated to my (hopefully vastly exciting) life alla Deutschland will be prefixed as "YA" for "year abroad". All others will have a similar description in the title of the post, for example "music" or "comedy" or "politics" (hey, it could happen). Thus, confusion is avoided and everyone has a nice time.
I realise that most people are uninterested in the ramblings of twenty-something nobodies who have too many opinions, therefore I maintain that anything I choose to blog about is generally just practise for me, helping towards my journalistic aspirations. However, if you do have a spare five minutes to have a butchers at some of these ramblings, it would be lovely to have you along for the ride. As ever, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Let blogging commence!
I've by no means forgotten my other blog 'What The Folk?', though it has been somewhat neglected in recent times. The fact is, though, that I'm going to be doing a vast number of exciting things this year that I want to write about and the majority of these will not fall under the banner of folk music. If you want to read any of the stuff I posted on 'What The Folk?', of which there isn't a lot, you can find it all here: http://www.whatthefolkblog.blogspot.com/. This is not the end of my somewhat solitary folk journey, however. I plan to bring 'What The Folk?' back with a vengeance in just over year's time, hopefully in conjunction with a radio show of the same name (that is if the lovely people of Forge Radio deign to let me back). It'll be (probably) wicked. Stay tuned.
Anyway, to business. A description of the all new and all shiny 'What The Whatever?'. The hazy idea I've currently got trundling round my mind goes something like this: I want it to be a diary of my year abroad (any one who knows me is no doubt aware that I'm spending the next year of my life teaching English in Germany, a prospect I'm currently finding 50% exciting and 50% totally bloody terrifying). At the same time I still want it to be inclusive of the music and arts reviews I enjoy writing so much. My making 'What The Whatever?' about literally whatever I feel like blathering about should, in theory, mean I get to keep everything I write in one place.
To distinguish post types, I thought I best have some sort of coding system. Therefore, posts dedicated to my (hopefully vastly exciting) life alla Deutschland will be prefixed as "YA" for "year abroad". All others will have a similar description in the title of the post, for example "music" or "comedy" or "politics" (hey, it could happen). Thus, confusion is avoided and everyone has a nice time.
I realise that most people are uninterested in the ramblings of twenty-something nobodies who have too many opinions, therefore I maintain that anything I choose to blog about is generally just practise for me, helping towards my journalistic aspirations. However, if you do have a spare five minutes to have a butchers at some of these ramblings, it would be lovely to have you along for the ride. As ever, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Let blogging commence!
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