Perverted by language

Listening to: This Gift by Sons & Daughters


Dialect word of the day: Jings (an expression of surprise)


Happy New Ears to you all!

Well goodbye to 2008, a year roughly divided between the mundane and the horrible, although things picked up a bit towards the end. In my teens/early 20s I would religiously compile lists of my favourite records, books and films. However inertia, limited money and general haziness on when stuff was released has made me less likely to do this, although I would say I've enjoyed This Gift by Sons & Daughters very much, so by default is my album of the year. I would have also mentioned Fleet Foxes but all and sundry seem to be raving about that, so it would hardly be an original pick. Biggest disappointment was the re-issue of Dennis Wilson's Pacific Ocean Blue, which is soft rock stoner nonsense, not the lost classic it's purported to be.


2009 has been exhausting so far, I have eventually started my job with the badass street punks at the council, whilst still donning my lovely cape at the weekend. I am permanently tired and bewildered by the effort of maintaining one job and getting my head around the complexities of a new one. The basic problem is that my ability in interviews far exceeds my actual ability to perform the job in question, perhaps I should give them fair warning and tell them that I am basically a buffoon with a talent for flanneling my way through interviews, get the disappointment out of the way early. Nevertheless it is very odd being back in a social services office again, I'd forgotten how as a species, social workers are extremely foul mouthed. In every social services office the f-word has been the building block of most sentences, perhaps Social Workers en masse are attempting to play down their image as sandal wearing, yogurt knitting do-gooders, by using the kind of language that would make a sailor blush.

Give it a few weeks and I'll probably be effing and jeffing with the best of them. Well I say that, but I am actually a rubbish swearer, it always sounds slightly forced and if I'm trying too hard to shock, impress or be 'one of the lads.' I blame my parents for bringing me up too well, despite years of illicit practice I still can't swear convincingly or spit properly - no one knows how the children of the aspirant lower middle class suffer.

That was the week that was

Listening to: Bandwagonesque Teenage Fanclub
Dialect word: Weejie (someone from Glasgow)

Finally! Work!

Well at least the prospect of it, an end to my enforced idleness is nigh! An interview with Social Services on Wednesday and I got offered a job in their Youth Justice team. This was something of a surprise to me as I didn't think I'd done particularly well in the interview, and came across as a bit of a know-all. However they looked fairly impressed when they found out I could complete an ASSET and I guess that probably swung it. The post is only for six months and they needed someone who at least knew their way around.

After the phone call on Thursday, which I fully anticipated to be of the 'thanks but no thanks' variety, I was pretty euphoric and took Jess out for a meal at Tex Mex and very good it was too. To cap a very decent day, John Betjeman's Metro-Land documentary, was on BBC Four and given that it contained Architecture, Underground trains, Social commentary and John Betjaman himself being all charming, it couldn't fail to delight me.

My views on the suburbs have scarcely changed since I was a teenager; their mediocrity and characterlessness bore me to tears a juvenile and patronising attitude I have been unable to shift. Betjamen is more nuanced and ambivalent than me , whilst he pithily comments on the gnomes and car washing denizens of Neasden, and the Croxley revels that "date back to 1952" Metro-land also looks at the idealism and aspirations of those who after the carnage of the First World War desired a rural idyll within easy commuting distance from London and how that informed the deeply conservative, faux rustic Tudorbethan style semis that sprung up in a ribbon pattern along the line. The sheer popularity of this vision combined with comparatively low interest rates, during the 30s effectively killed the vision and led to the anonymous, identikit suburbs that litter outer London.

However if you take a trip on the Metropolitan Line, what is utterly striking is how brave and futuristic the tube buildings are. Eastcote is a cracking exapmple. Designed by Charles Holden, at roughly the same time, they look clean, simple and bright, whilst the suburban semis around them look fussy and chintzy.


Jess was off work this weekend and we went shopping for fancy dress costumes for the Hallow e'en party in Leith, sadly no Robin Hood outfits to be had at short notice and we had to innovate. She opted for Dusty Springfield and got a super maxi dress in the Grassmarket and I've gone for Rod Stewart circa 'Do ya think I'm sexy' I believe that Rod is the patron saint of Scotland and I hope the locals will appreciate my homage to the great man. I was also pleasantly surprised by the ease with which I obtained a pair of l leopardskin leggings for the occasion. My delight at securing the said items almost outweighed the humiliation of standing in the queue in BHS grasping a pair of leopardskin trousers intended for a 15 year old girl.

Almost but not quite......