Love Will Tear Us Apart

It doesn't say much about me really that the thing that initially attracted me to this programme was the Joy Division soundtrack that I came across while channel hopping. The gist is the same as usual - lots of santimonious people prophesizing doom for the Anglican Church if it lets its vicars get married - sorry, enter into Civil Partnerships - because it says so "very clearly" in Leviticus (the bit that doesn't talk about not eating seafood, wearing more than one type of material at any given time, and sacrificing doves after your period.) In the meantime, Richard Chartres, the Bishop of London who looks a bit like John Peel, threw all his toys out of the pram and sacked a vicar for being honest about his sexuality (hmm, telling the truth clearly an alien concept in the Anglican Church). Two things irritate me about all this. (Actually, a lot of things irritate me about this, but I'll stick to two for now.) The first is that it says a lot of things in the Bible, and I would think that, given the state of our world at the moment, dog-collared blokes engaging in a bit of bum sex is the least of our worries. Apparently this is "a fundamental issue". At least, it is according to the two old men who appeared periodically throughout the programme forecasting destruction and plunges into the fires of hell etc, who looked a bit like characters from a Two Ronnies sketch, but I can think of some far more fundamental issues we should be contending with at the moment. Off the top of my head, there's that little skirmish that's been going on in Iraq for the past couple of years, not to mention the threat of a nuclear holocaust. Oh, and world hunger. But I guess we should really put all that on hold while we all have a go at the "gays". The second thing I find a bit odd is this doom-and-gloom, oh-no-the-church-might-split-what-on-earth-will-become-of-it melodrama. Now, it's not like the church hasn't split before, is it? In fact, you lot whining on about this only came to exist in the first place because a fat bloke wanted a divorce and had a bit of a barney with the Pope over it. Now I like to think we've moved on s bit since the 16th century so I'm not advocating a good old rape and pillage and general destruction of St Michael's Camden or All Souls Langham Place (depending on which side you're on, and at any rate I think you'd get in a fair bit of trouble with English Heritage these days as most of those building are listed), but if the church does split, is it really the end of the world? No. No, it isn't, is it? Now I believe it was Homelessness Sunday this week, so grow up, get up off your arses and do something useful. Or, dare I say it, Christian.

Thank you.

Talking of religion, I have just stumbled across this on the BBC website and can't quite understand why You, The Public have voted Thomas a Becket your second Most Hated Briton. After Jack the Ripper. Not much comparison, really. Actually, I'm amazed You, the Public have even heard of him, and that might be the explanation. Maybe You thought You were voting for David Beckham. Either way, I can think of a few other historical figures who are probably more worthy of your dislike than him. Henry VIII, for example. General Haig? Oswald Mosely? Enoch Powell? Or, dare I say, Thatcher?

***

I came across a job today which I almost applied for. Then I noticed that, in amongst the blurb about how "you will be an ambassador for the university, and should maintain its high standards and reputation at all times" they had consistently spelt "its" incorrectly.

I received two letters today. The first was from Soho, saying thank you for the script, and they would get back to me in a few weeks; the second was from Hampstead, saying thank you for the script, they would get back to me in a few weeks, and could I fill in an Equal Opportunities Monitoring Form.

I did fill in an Equal Opportunities Monitoring form. In fact, I have filled in several in the past couple of weeks. I even filled in one for UCL, who emailed me this afternoon saying thank you very much for my application, and could I please pop into the office and sign it before the deadline? I am finding it increasingly hard to fill in these forms at the moment as the only job I really want is the one I have now. If/when I don't get it on 10th Feb I might show a little more enthusiasm.

It hasn't exactly been an eventful week. I have started to dream about visas and work prohibitions etc (I don't get out much). Today I went to the doctor, who diagnosed my two-week headaches as "tension", i.e. I have been formally diagnosed with Hypochondria, and I could have told her that. (Although secretly it's a relief for the sort of person who types their symptoms into Google in order to find out what terrible ailment they're going to die of to be told that actually they're not.) On the upside, I saw a woman this time, and she treated me as what I think the Catholics term "a human person" as opposed to Annabel Chong wandering into the surgery after a particularly busy night. Have a middle aged (and middle class) night in, in a lavender-scented bath bemoaning the fact that no supermarket in North London seems to sell fresh chives, and musing over the fact that, contrary to Ian Blair's outbusrt, I can name more black victims of recent prominent murders than I can white ones. The sad thing is that, one way or another, there should still be a need in 2006 to discuss it at all. Or indeed it's even sadder that anyone is being murdered in the first place.

More bizarrely, Nick Griffin has claimed at his trial today that Islam is "incompatible with British democracy". The BNP leader, of course, being such a bastion of British democracy himself. Git.

The TV is buzzing away in the background, so feel I must just comment what a great endorsement it is for celebrity that the person who won Big Brother isn't one. Or rather she is, because she's been on Big Brother. Which says it all, really.

Not sure what this whole "tagging" thing is (although I'm sure it's not to be confused with "dogging"...) but everyone else seems to be answering these questions, so I assume it's the blogging equivalent of all those emails you forward to ten people. So here we go:

Four Jobs You've Had In Your Life
1) Student Adviser to art students (Best job in the world!)
2) Sabbatical Officer (Fluffy Welfare person) for a Students' Union
3) PA at the British Property Federation (surprisingly interesting)
4) Sales Assistant at the Ideal Homes Show, selling fence posts with soppy animals on top (surprisingly NOT interesting)

Four Movies You Could Watch Over And Over
1) The Big Lebowski
2) Sister Act
3) Pirates of the Carribbean (had to be a kids' film there somewhere)
4) Monty Python's Life of Brian

Four Places You've Lived
1) Great Mitton, Lancashire
2) Guernsey (don't EVER try it!)
3) Somerset (thrilling)
4) Bloomsbury, Finsbury Park, Camden

Four TV Shows You Love To Watch
1) Casualty (sad, I know...)
2) Have I Got News for You
3) The News (preferably News 24. Good old BBC)
4) Littl Britain (hmm... these are all rather flippant choices...)

Four Places You've Been On Holiday/Vacation
1) Windsor Great Park (I saw the Queen, she ignored me.)
2) Venice (feeding my Italian obsession)
3) Krakow
4) Bradford (classy person that I am...)

Four Blogs You Visit Daily (in no particular order, and certainly not including everyone)
1) Rachel
2) Chees'm
3) My Catholic
4) Credo

Four Of Your Favorite Foods
1) Only four??? Pizza
2) Wagamamas chicken katsu curry
3) My tomato risotto (with rocket salad, of course!)
4) M&S Extremely Chocolately Mini Bites (which I can't eat at the moment. Sulk.)

Four Places You'd Rather Be
1) Wrapped Round a Certain Chap's Little Finger (that isn't meant to be euphemistic in any way... necessarily...)
2) At a Morrissey concert
3) Belgo's, with a group of friends
4) In a theatre, talking about my latest sensation! (Er, how imaginative am I allowed to be here?)

Four Albums You Can't Live Without
1) Sarah McLachlan "Afterglow"
2) The Clash "London Calling"
3) The Smiths "The Queen is Dead"
4) Eric Clapton "Time Pieces" (wouldn't call it even a top-ten favourite, but it reminds me of some Good Old Days)


Four Vehicles You've Owned
1) Er.. I have a bus pass?

Four People To Be Tagged (do it! do it now!)
1) Again, bear in mind I'm not sure what it is...
2) My Catholic
3) Credo
4) Peter (would be interested in his answers)

Apparently Simon Hughes is also gay, or bisexual, or maybe neither. What is worrying is that the media think we should care one way or the other.

According to the News of the World, Mark Oaten, that delightful Lib Dem MP who pulled out of the leadership race ostensibly on account of the fact that he didn't have enough support from his fellow MPs, has recently been having an affair with a rent boy. How the News of the World came by this juicy piece of gossip I don't know, though I would be interested to find out if said rent boy was dressed as an Arab at the time of their encounters.

Not that I am one to care about piffling z-list celebrities like Mr Oaten, having met that great luminary of football, Dean Windass, on Saturday. (Er, he plays for Bradford City... so he's a luminary in the North... some of the North... the West Riding, anyway... well, ok, Bradford and Cleckheaton etc... among those who like football...some of those who like football... maybe). I tasted celebrity yesterday as VIP guest of Yeovil football club for the Yeovil-Bradford match, and during my three-course complimentary pre-game lunch I decided to part with a not-insubstantial sum of money, as I am told is fitting when one is a VIP, by betting that Dean Windass would score the first goal. As it happens he scored the only goal, and won me £35 in the process. I thanked him in the bar later, offered to buy him a drink and asked him to sign my programme. He sort of grunted at me, asked if I was a Yeovil fan (I don't think anyone has ever insulted me quite that much before) and sort of scribbled indecipherably on my programme before buggering off to grunt at someone else.

The Guardian has reported on the movers and shakers in the "Gay World" (wherever that is.)

Mm-Hm. What I want to know is: where are all the women? Where is Sandi Toksvig? Jeannette Winterson? Rhona Cameron?

Almost finished writing "The Man on the Doorstep". As for my other resolutions, they have predictably fallen at the wayside already. In my defence I tried to go to yoga today, but the teacher didn't show up.

Still job-hunting.
Still old.

It's been an odd week that ended in my turning 24, and the cards I received confirmed that 24 is old: all were entirely sensible cards adorned with flowers and butterfiles and suchlike, and not one had the word "arse" in it. Only two, in fact, included humour. The first, from Rachel and Chees'm, informing me (in case I'd forgotten) that I was abnormal, and the second, from a work colleague, including the rather delightful "Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show you that those who have the most live the longest."

This is among several things that bring home to me how fantastic my colleagues are, which is irritating since I may well be leaving in a few weeks' time. Not, though, to go to King's to provide welfare advice: I received a nice letter which told me how absolutely super the candidates were and how terribly sorry they were not to be able to employ me. The gist, then, could have saved considerable amounts of paper if summed up in two words: "bugger off."

This letter, delivered on my birthday, might have been more upsetting had the week not started with me receiving a letter from Alan Bennett, who lives just around the corner, and to whom I sent a slightly soppy fan letter (not being an adept fan-letter-writer) after I read "Untold Stories" over Christmas. I picked up the letter on my way to Mass on Monday night and walked the lovely streets of Camden paranoid I would get mugged. Wallets and phones can be replaced; postcards from eminent authors cannot.

The text of said (slightly indecipherably handwritten) postcard was:
"Thank you for your letter and the kind things you said. I'm glad the book was some help - that it rang bells. I like the undertaker's remark" (a reference to the undertaker who, at my grandmother's funeral, greeted us with the comment "we've had two new ones come in last night!") "they are (I suppose necessarily) an unsentimental lot. Your grandmother seeing you as someone else isn't uncommon. Thora Hird used to do it (and knew she was doing it) and it didn't bother her. All good wishes and thanks for writing, Alan Bennett."

Which puts him at the top of the list and Morrissey (to whom I wrote last year and who used incidentally to live next door to Alan Bennett) who never wrote back quite a long way down it.

New Year's resolutions aside, my "things to do" list is getting ever longer. Not only do I have a wedding to go to and a 2nd division football team to meet next week, I have three films on my list I need to see, two job applications to finish and send off, a play which I am half way through, a dissertation to plan and a presentation to write on the evils of advertising.

Cigarettes and Alcohol

Despite (or perhaps because of, depending how you look at it,) Alan Bennett's plea that we all boycott huge chain bookshops in favour of independent booksellers, Waterstones has prominently displayed "Untold Stories" in the window and marked it half price. As such I would recommend anyone who hasn't yet to buy it as it's one of the best books I've ever read.

My mother, on the other hand, is now well into the PG Wodehouse biography I bought her for Christmas, and as such seems to have assumed the role of one of his characters, most probably aunt Dahlia, and suddenly it's "good-oh" instead of "good", "What-ho" instead of "Hello", and we're all "chaps".

That Charles Kennedy is an alcoholic is not news as such, just confirmation. About two years ago he gave a speech to the University of London Union about student funding which didn't make a great deal of sense, and he smelled of alcohol, was late showing up, and generally didn't make a very good impression. Phil Willis, on the other hand, was excellent, and went up in my estimation even further the following year when he almost gave me a job. At the time we were quite miffed with Kennedy and all branded him an alcoholic. When I found out last night that he was I felt rather sorry for him, and slightly guilty. I am pleased to see, though, that Andrew Pierce, the journalist I semi-stalked for a year after he came and talked to our school about, amongst other things, how much he hated Margaret Thatcher, is still the Big Political Cheese at The Times, and has been given the task of filling in the rest of us on the whole thing.

I did finally write some New Year's Resolutions and have already set abut following them. The first is the obligatory "do more exercise" and on Wednesday I joined the gym and swam 20 lengths of the pool. The second is to do more work on my MA. So far this has amounted to 20 minutes in the staff room scribbling notes from a book on industrial settlements. And finally, I am going to approach my writing more seriously. To this end I have made yet more amendments to "Ducklings" and sent it to the Hampstead Theatre.

The Royal Court has still not replied, which perhaps is a Good Thing.

Am currently covering Reception and mulling over my fourth and final resolution, which is to get another job.

Predictably, I am now the proud owner of:

"Put it on again" - Genesis
"Whiskey in the Jar" - Dubliners
Best of Emerson, Lake and Palmer
"Love Songs" - Beach Boys
"There but for fortune" - Joan Baez
St Trinians Box Set
something obscure but cultural by Borodin that had the word "Dances" in it.

Oh, what a cool person I am.

I am concerned that working in an art college has rubbed off on me, because this year, I was impressed by the Turner Prize. I wasn't impressed by the ugly shed that became an ugly boat before going back to be an ugly shed. I don't care how skilled a carpenter one has to be to do it, the point is, one has to be that: a carpenter. I have to be a skilled adviser to adviser someone who speaks no English that no, they really can't work illegally while pretending to be on a course. If I filmed it, would that make it art? I expect so. I also wasn't impressed by Carnegie's Black Square paintings, or her pictures of arses (although I think the judges termed them "The Female Nude", but they were still arses, and not as good as Yoko Ono's filmed "Bottoms" 40 years ago either). I was, however, rather excited by Jim Lambie's Kinks-inspired (and probably something-else-inspired too) swirly floors and shiny stuff, and would have personally awarded the cash to Darren Almond (who I keep wanting to call Marc Almond...) whose installation was all about the life of his Blackpool granny. Good for Darren.

It's on until 22nd, and just about worth the fiver it costs to get in.

Oh, Happy New Year, by the way.