Warning... what you are about to see is an image containing dismemberment. Probably not suitable for the very young, the squeamish or fans of Spongebob…
Time. You always either have too much or not enough. It always goes too slow or too fast. It makes you stress or it makes you bored. Worse still, it turns you into an old fart.
It’s like that one arsehole kid in school who thought it was funny to jump out from behind a corner and yell “BOO!” – usually when you had your hands full of something likely to stain when you’re drenched in it. That arsehole has been hiding round the dark corner of my life for a good long while now, waiting patiently to give me the biggest scare of my life. Well, second biggest. Sitting at the end of the Pirate Ship ride at the Moomba festival years ago was enough to make me think I was gonna die. That thing is deceptively scary.
(image via http://www.iappsoft.com)
In 6 weeks I will have been in the UK for 5 years. That means it’s time to sort out my UK residency, hence the panic. In 2008, five years felt like an eternity. It’s always been something that I’ve relegated to the “oh yeah, I’ll deal with that one day” portion of my brain. Man I wish I could run that part of my brain like a computer, like an Outlook diary, so I’d get invitations and reminders and all sorts of blips and bleeps and handy pop-ups.
To avoid being shipped back to Melbourne, I first have to pass a “Life in the UK” test. Which means there’s a book to read.
And facts to memorise. The reading’s fine I guess, it’s the memorising bit that hurts. Can any of you UK readers answer these…
No, neither can I.
You know, there’s a page at the front of this book which says anyone who can read English at ESOL level 3 and above will have no difficulty. But for anyone who came to the UK a few years ago and has been learning English from scratch, it must be bloody hard. I mean, even I’ll struggle and I’m an Australian, someone who speaks a version of English, one that allows me to kind of understand most of what the Scots are saying to me if I ask them to repeat it a few times. Continue reading
Well if you’re a diligent little blog reader and actually read all the comments of the blogs you peruse, you’ll know that I have a job. Albeit a temporary one. But as Bardon so eloquently put it in those same comments, all jobs, like life, are temporary. In any case, I’m declaring myself still a bum till I get a permanent job and therefore the title and this blog’s raison d’etre is still relevant. Yes, just like your average bonkers cult leader, I like to interpret the written word until it has meaning that suits my purposes. Life’s less disappointing that way.
Now if you only got so far as the title of my last little rant, you may have come to the conclusion that I did in fact resort to creative means to land this little vocational assignment. But you’d be wrong. I may be exploring new professions these days, but the world’s oldest is not among them. Yet.
So why’s it taken me three weeks to write about this stupendous (???) development? Because I’m buggered. Jesus Christ, this getting up and going somewhere every day, pretending to be someone with manners, who doesn’t swear and gives a shit is exhausting!
But there’s plenty more time to moan about that later. Right now I’d like to show you what I did last weekend. I could probably write a little story about the whole day, but I’m just going to post some pics instead. Seriously, words cannot do justice to the beauty of Scotland. Well yeah actually they probably can, but I’m tired and it’s Sunday. We working people need to rest up for the week ahead you know.
So here’s Ben A’an in The Trossachs. The Lochs are Katrine and Archray, but buggered if I know which one’s which. click on the pics if you’re the type of person who likes to check out the little details in life.
As you can see, Ben A’an is slightly attractive, and allegedly an “easy” hill climb. Personally I thought I might rupture a lung a couple of times, but I guess they mean it’s a short (1.5 hours) climb and the path is not too challenging since most of it is laid with rocks as steps. Even better, all this stunning scenery is only one and a half hour’s drive from Edinburgh. If I still lived in London, it would have taken that long just to get out of the city.
So if you’re heading north any time soon, make the most of what I’m constantly being told is an astoundingly good Scottish summer and get yourself out into the hills for a day. Just be prepared for the shame of a five year old racing past you as you wheeze and splutter your way to the pay off. Or maybe that was just me…
Recruitment agencies – Angels sent from the gods to make your dreams come true? Or about as useful as a one legged man in an arse kicking contest?
I’m sure anyone who’s had even one go on the recruitment agency merry-go-round will probably choose ‘B thanks Eddie’ (sorry, you gotta be a skip to understand that one). I’ve had one interview so far in 2 months of searching and for some reason that agent has gone all Helen Keller on me. He won’t answer my calls or emails. How immature is that? Was he not told that part of his job is to tell people they didn’t get it? I’m not gonna cry. Geez.
Oh, wait. Before I start my proper tirade, let me show you a picture. Check this out.
Can you see that? The mist over the water? Here, I’ll go closer.
How spooky’s that? It’s called the Haar, the Scottish sea mist. Behind me, as you can see in the pic above, it’s a sunny, mid-twenties day. Crazy. Apparently later on (Autumn/Winter??) they roll all the way into town, giving the whole of Edinburgh a truly Dickensian feel. I can’t wait for that, although I’m not too excited about the potential frizz ball my hair will be from walking through mists all day. Still, I could wear a flowing robe and carry around a big sword and pretend I’m in Avalon. For example.
But back to being pissed off… Continue reading
Surprise surprise I’m still a bum. Things move so slowly in the jobs market here in Edinburgh. I’ve been in the process of going for this one job for a month now and even if I get it, the start date won’t be for another 2 weeks. Cripes. Is it that hard? Do you like me or don’t you? We’re not doing open heart surgery fellas. Just go with your gut.
In the meantime I figured I’d act like I’m on summer holidays during the hours I’m not searching for a job (ie – 8am to 9am). So I bought a bicycle.
I haven’t had a bike since I stopped riding mine in Melbourne after they brought in the mandatory helmet laws. I’m not really one for health and safety. Or looking like I belong in some kid’s Leggo set.
I also figured I’d need somebody with whom to indulge this new hobby so I made friends with a neighbor. Unfortunately, this is what ‘going for a ride’ means to him…
I can honestly say a new friendship has never hurt so much, so quickly. After he promised to pretend I was his granny just out of hospital from her third hip replacement, he took me along the Water of Leith, which you may not know is a river/stream/trickle that runs straight through the middle (and a bit to the left) of Edinburgh.
Most of the path looks like this…
You know, sometimes I think they got it right in ye olden days. Sometimes I think we should stuff all this human rights and PC malarky. Sometimes I think we should just ask ourselves “What would 19th century Scotland do?”
Who’s heard of Burke and Hare? Anyone who’s been to Edinburgh and gone on a ghost tour, probably. Or, like me yesterday, anyone who has had a little squiz at the Edinburgh Surgeons Museum on Nicholson Street. For everyone else, Burke and Hare were two Irish workers who found themselves in possession of a dead body when Hare’s flatmate died in late 1827. Since the guy was so rude as to die (of natural causes) still owing his last month’s £4 rent, Hare decided to try to sell the body to a doctor at Edinburgh University as a way to recoup his money. As you do.
Surprisingly the sale was quite simple, and since bodies weren’t easy to come by in those days, they were encouraged to bring more. So Burke and Hare went into the murdering business. 10 months and 15 bodies later, they were finally caught. Hare was offered immunity if he testified against Burke (because he was the stupid one so they figured Burke was the mastermind), and Burke was hanged in January 1829.
And in the best ‘eye for an eye’ piece of justice I’ve heard in a while, the day after he was hanged, before a crowd of more than 20,000, Burke was publicly dissected in a theater of the Edinburgh University’s Old College. His skeleton can still be seen at the Anatomy Museum today.
But… and here’s the cool/gruesome part… he was also skinned and tanned. Pocket books (wallets) were made from his skin and allegedly sold on the streets. And if you go to the Hall off Surgeons Museum you can see one for yourself. You’re not supposed to take photos, but who am I to listen to rules?
Gross right? But kinda cool gross.
In 1832, a mere four years after the murders, the limitations on using dead bodies for medical research were lifted. Oh and in case you’re curious, the going rate for a body back then was anywhere between £7 – £10, roughly £700 – £900 in today’s money.
I don’t know about you, but most times after I accidentally see the news, I can think of quite a few people who would make rather stylish leather goods…