Urban

Adam gave me a lift home from rehearsal yesterday. As several people remarked, it would actually have been quicker for me to walk, since he was parked more than halfway between my house and the rehearsal venue and it took us a while to get to the actual vehicle itself due to having a lift war with Izzy. But, it wasn't the (lack of) time saving in which I was interested: it was the car journey with friends. In Melbourne, I was in a car every second day, and sometimes, yes, we would drive places to which we could easily have walked (I remember several trips to the McDonalds in Clifton Hill; especially the one where Victoria snagged me the number of the Drive-Thru server). I know it's a ridiculous thing for which to be nostalgic, and that being in a car with my friends is more confining than walking with them, so there is no inherent gain to spending time in such a manner, but I can't help it: I remember the car ride to Michael's, where the CD player got stuck, and we listened to 'The Name of the Game' ten times in a row; I remember when Andrew took us driving out around the countryside, and then we parked right next to a couple dogging in a red bull vehicle, and they stopped; I remember Aspen and I considering running over pedestrians, just to see if we could get away with it. I remember all this, and the thing I take away is 'cars', not 'friendship', proving just how terrible a person I really am (because the pedestrians thing left if ambiguous).

I chased a fox around for a while last night, because that's just how exciting my life is. I don't often see foxes in Edinburgh, which surprises me, because they seem to be all over the shop in London. This particular vulpine was quite brazen- he was just sitting in my neighbour's garden, eating quite a large chunk of meat (I thought he was a dog at first), and he really only left when I was more than halfway towards him. And even then, he only went three houses up the road. He was obviously an urban fox, is what I'm saying, and what surprises me is how unafraid of foxes I am. I'm very nervous around animals usually, and this is a feral beast with both claws and teeth, but I followed him for a time, just to see where he was going. It seems a contradiction, when I will balk at a dog, which is supposed to be domesticated.

The time may be drawing near where I have to actually put my mouth where my money's already been spent and deploy my TEFL qualification: three separate interlocutors- my mother, Rik's sister and Lydia- have bought it up in the last week and I got an email the other day saying that now is the best time to look for jobs teaching the old English-as-a-second-language.
This terrifies me, much more than any fox ever will, because once I start applying for jobs post-uni, I am officially admitting there will BE a post-uni and that it is near. I know logically that my degree must end and that, were my tertiary education to be interminable, I would, in fact, not appreciate it. Uni's only good because it's evanescent- it's a time to experiment and do stupid things and sleep all-day and stay up all night and take on five shows at once because you can put the rest of your life on hold for a while. But the energy would dissipate if it had to be sustained for too long: I had much the same thoughts about Australia- I liked it because it was impermanent, and so I knew that I had to do all I wanted within the space of a year. In the end, I completed most of my Australia bucket list, but there were things left that I wanted to do, and I can see the same situation arising with Edinburgh. By which I don't mean the city of Edinburgh, but the university lifestyle I lead here; I know there will be classic student larks that I have not undertaken by the time I graduate. I'll probably never make it to Big Cheese or GHQ, or sled down the crags, or walk into a random lecture theatre, say 'your professor's ill and asked me to fill in' and then proceed to blag my way through a lecture (this might, in fact be for the best). And I doubt I'll make it to fifty shows. Oh well, better luck next degree.

Vino

I met Rik's girlfriend, Johanna, for the first time yesterday. This was a bold move on his part, as I have a habit of making an atrocious first impression, especially on my friends' significant others: I consistently referred to Ella as 'Mrs. Joel' during the early days of our acquaintance; and the second time I met Emma, who was introduced to me as Fraser's girlfriend only the night before, I completely forgot who she was and why I should know her. Naturally, things got better in both these friendships.
However, from what I remember I didn't do anything too awful. I did drink quite a lot, though, which is quite an easy thing to do in Rik's company. He's the only person with whom I drink wine, mainly because he's just so damn insistent on it; one of the first things he said to me upon my return was that, by hook or by crook, he would make a wine-drinker out of me. He has certainly succeeded to the degree that I no longer refuse his frequent profferings of vino- but I don't consume it with quite the vim he desires, I think. Part of the reason for this is that wine makes me so damn sluggish- it's a lethargic kind of intoxication, and it means it takes me a long time to finish one glass simply because moving the vessel to my mouth can take upwards of a minute. And the morning after is even worse- I woke up at half-nine this morning and didn't manage to actually get out of bed until one. And I was constantly moving in that time.

Rob and Roberta was accepted to BedFest earlier this week, meaning it will have broken even more ground for the Kelly Canon, as no one but me calls it, being the first Kelly script to be performed in more than one country. I've also taken it down from the Writings page (and deleted the link from that Rose Middlehurst's wall) for the time being because I don't want to spoil the surprise twist ending to those who have yet to read/see it, A.K.A. most people.

Goblin's Story is heating up, by which I mean both that rehearsals for the show have increased in frequency and intensity and that the sexual tension between Jonathan and Adam, two of the minions in my heinous group of scoundrels, is becoming unbearably prevalent.

They're just so lost without one another.

Theirs is a rare chemistry- the kind of Grant-Hepburn, Astaire-Rogers, Colbert-Gable, Lockwood-Sparks relationship that can elevate a piece of art to new heights of sparkiness. I'm delighted to say that they're both involved in Rob and Roberta, though, somewhat sadly, not playing legendary super-couple Flyby and Cheeto.

And finally, throughout my life, I've been called a bear and today that prophecy came true.

Feel pity for Craig, who walked in on me taking this picture.

Good lord, I'm terrifying sometimes.

Death/God

Firstly, I would like to welcome Emma Patten to the blogosphere, and not to blow my own horn, but it was totally my idea.

This week has been devoted to runs/performances for Death/God, and I'd almost forgotten how much I hate tech/dress runs. It seems I was actually totally spoiled in Melbourne, because the theatres had central heating, not that they really needed it. Bedlam does really need it, desperately, but remains resolute in its chill, and as the saying goes, 'if you can't stand the cold, stay the heck out of Bedlam.'
Death/God, with which I fulfil my dream, admittedly somewhat tenuously, of working with Woody Allen, for it sprung forth from his pen, ended up being slightly more stressful than I had imagined, because an hour before we went up, our lead fell ill, prompting him to be replaced by a complete unknown with no experience and only grit and gumption to keep him going. Then, we didn't have anyone to staff the theatre, so we weren't legally allowed to open and then there was a genuine and rather pressing fear that someone would be choked to death live on stage. Of course, I would expect no less from mother bedlam on the night that I returned to her stage.

After all, the first time I was there, I evaporated.

In second year, I remember having a conversation with Callum wherein he lamented the dearth of intimidating Bedfellows, since this had lead to him playing a thug no less than three times. Poor, innocent Callum, a thug. Well, two years later it was my turn, in Death/God, portraying a mob enforcer with vague Catholic overtones. At the height of my nastiness, I snatched an umbrella off someone. Method.
At the helm of Death/God was Emily, a second year engineer and one of my favourite new additions to the Bedlam roster. If she weren't a second year, I feel I would probably count her among my friends now. But, as my mother constantly reminded me in my infancy, 'animals don't count as friends'.
Death/God had a very sizeable cast and thus included a lot of Freshers. This lead to that thing that most fuels this blog and my very existence: narcissistic introspection. I was forced to consider how other people, especially those who don't know me well and are unaccustomed to my sometimes brash persona, view me: Jonathan, with whom I shared a scene, said I was 'a lovable asshole' and Hona, whom I had briefly spoken to in a pub, said I had 'a heart of stone'. Someone with whom I'm more well-acquainted said that I gave the impression of being 'more violent than I actually am', but that I'm actually OK when you know me. On the other hand, I was also called a cunt twice during the runs. So, swings and roundabouts.

Last night, we had a panto fundraiser in the form of a murder mystery- I played Velma, cos the ladyfolk of Scooby doo are simply more interesting. Afterward, we went to play pool and air hockey and I fucking won, again! Yes, both times in my life that I have won a one-on-one sport, it was that most virile and physically demanding of endeavours: air hockey. I then topped this evening of intense masculinity by performing poetry in an underground bunker. Smell that? It's testosterone. And it's mine.

Essaches

The title for today's post comes from my sister when she was two years old, and my mother, pregnant with me, would get up at five am to work on her dissertation for her MSc, and my sister would sometimes ask if she had been 'having essaches'; this is a wonderful portmanteau which I am now stealing.

I actually didn't know until yesterday that my mother was pregnant with me when she was doing her MSc in psychology- in fact, if I'm honest, I didn't know until yesterday that my mother had an MSc in psychology! Though, in my defense, and to her credit, she has never once boasted about it or used it to pull rank, which is what I would've done in her position.

I had an essay due in at noon yesterday; despite my propensity for being a perennial last-minuter, until this point in my university career I have never actually had to, in the vernacular of my peers, 'pull an all-nighter on an essay' (it's the use of the preposition 'on' in this phrase that I like so much- in other contexts when you pull something 'on' something it's either a gun or a con). This streak was broken yesterday, when I stayed up for a grand total of thirty hours in order to get this bastard out.
It was strangely easy- I didn't actually feel tired until around eight in the morning, by which time I was already well into the second draft. What was annoying was that, even though I found the subject matter- 'can one acquire language if one isn't exposed to it early in life?'- very interesting, I just couldn't put pen to paper about it. Every time I tried, it was like my fingers and the keyboard were both positively charged magnets- they adamantly refused to meet.
Eventually, though, I managed to spew out a few thousand words and slap a bibliography on it. I will know before the beginning of December, I have been informed. Can't wait.

A couple of days ago, during a rehearsal for Goblin's Story, Laura asked me if I have a pool of anger from which to draw for the purposes of being the nefarious nasty Nurgle.

What a dick.

Immediately, James Beagon burst out laughing because he knew me during first and second year and the thought of anyone questioning my ability to rage back then would have been laughable. After all, I was voted 'Most Likely to Punch an Alpaca'.


Plus, I used to do this.

But it was nice to know that people who have only met me recently don't think of me that way- they don't know me for shouting or apoplexy. Who knows for what they do know me, but it's a boon that I've moved on at least a little from just being angry. It's like when Charlotte and Simon said they had a hard time imagining me as the livid neo-fascist that I described in my accounts of Pre-Melbourne Rory, it makes me feel that I've improved.

Fireworks

I ran into Flo the other day. For those not in know, Flo was the only other Burgher who I knew in Melbourne, though I'd really only say that we properly met one another in Melbourne. This is the first time I've seen Flo since coming back, and it was nice to have a tangible link to that year, especially since she echoed many of the same sentiments I've been expressing recently: it feels like longer than four months since we left; it doesn't feel like we were there for a year; it seems like it didn't really happen; and, most importantly, Edinburgh feels like a goddamned fridge-freezer in a way that it just didn't before we left- Melbourne has stripped us of our ability to withstand the weather here in the frozen wasteland that used to be Scotland. This last one is particularly interesting, because Flo is from Dundee originally- so it's not just me with my inferior English blood being a wuss; doing a year abroad actively changes your genetic make-up and makes you better than other people more susceptible to changes in temperature.

Another unexpected side-effect of my time in Aussie-land is that I have a newly acquired disdain for Christmas decorations. Seeing them out of context (i.e. in a land which is pretty much green all year round and where it's light and hot during winter), made me start to view them in a completely different light. And I now can't help but harrumph when I see weird blue star shapes in the windows of the shops on the high street.

Jason giving his famous Hannibal lecture about how ridiculous it is that Australian Hallowe'en decorations include orange leaves, when it occurs during their Spring.

I can't help but feel that this is the start of my transformation into that thing I hate the most: a contrarian. Those people always complaining about Christmas and birthdays and anything else that makes people happy becoming something designed to make people happy (admittedly, with the added cost of massive consumerism) rather than the original pagan festival/unmarked day/whatever. I like getting excited about silly things- it adds spice to life- and this newfound ennui is an unwelcome change.

I have had a complicated with fireworks ever since I was three years old and a firework went off right behind me while I was sat upon my father's shoulders, which understandably made me somewhat...recalcitrant towards fireworks shows.
This is a shame, because one of the few interesting things to happen in Ironbridge every year is the Power Station Fireworks Show, which is so utterly spectacular that it makes us all forget the horrible, horrible things that that station is doing to our air. I especially had a problem with the noise- I remember covering my ears and then complaining that my ears were too warm because I was wearing gloves (I cannot overemphasise how irritating I was as a child). Anyway, I eventually began to get over this insecurity and actually enjoy watching technicolour explosions in the sky, especially the one time Becky gave me a ticket to the Virgin Fireworks Concert in the park. That was just magical.
Anyway, I had a rehearsal last night, and some of the Fresher members of the panto cast were discussing climbing Arthur's Seat to view the pyrotechnics from on high and I flashed back to when I did this in my own first year and realised that none of the people I climbed that hill with- Dillon, Callie and, if I remember correctly, Rosie- are here anymore. This made me sad even though all of them left of their own free-will and, in the case of the first two, they weren't expected to stick around and it would just be odd had they done so.
Due to an essay which I am meant to be writing even now, I ended up watching the various Meadows-centric fireworks displays through the Library windows, which may actually be the perfect way to do it: with none of the noise that used to cause me such duress, and the warmth of a building that students aren't paying to heat. Lovely.

And, finally, I saw Gem yesterday. Gem is someone with whom I had a fraught relationship- she would utterly agree with me about this. However, before I left, I apologised and lamented that she and I had not been friends. She agreed, and we left with a hug. When I saw her yesterday, it was smiles all around. It's nice to see that buried hatchets don't always have to resurface.

You can sleep when you graduate

The Bedlam Hallowe'en party was this weekend and I was faced with the quintessential student dilemna: the party started at half midnight and ended at five in the morning, but I had a commitment at nine the next day and a full day of studenting thereafter. On top of this, this was my projected final Bedlam Hallowe'en party, so I decided to do the immature thing and just stay up all night and complain about it later, because I can be mature when I'm older.

I had a great time, got quite smashed, danced a lot and then was chased down by the corridor by this ghoulish spectre:

by the light of day, she doesn't seem so horrifying, but at the time I was so scared, I actually fell onto the cold, unforgiving floor of the Box Office, begging not to die and, bizarrely, laughing my lungs sore.

The panto rehearsals have begun, and I have been given free rain to ad lib some of my lines; the thing is, that my last rehearsal ended up just being me and Craig Methven, and adlibbing in front of Craig is like showing your chemistry homework to Stephen Hawking- you may have got the answers right and he might give you a smiley face, but you can't help but feel he'd have done it better.

Last night there was a fundraiser for Goblin's Story, which involved a Shrekian mixing of fairytales, as well as a Carterian reimagining of all those fairtale characters as horrible, deeply disturbed people: there was a cannibalistic fairy, a kleptomaniac leprechaun and a gingerbread man who kept handing out his children to other people to eat. The fundraiser took the form of an interactive adventure, in which participants went from one character to another, trading coins for information or necessary items and supposedly helping the characters along the way, but I couldn't help but feel that the real way to help these characters would have been industrial grade therapy.

And finally, I got lost while walking to the Omni centre on Saturday- I then got lost walking to Lothian Road on Sunday; these are both places I have been many times and I don't tend to consider the route as I'm walking there. But it seems I might have to start, because I discovered that roads don't seem to lead where I think they do. It's times like this that I remember I've actually only really been living in this city for a month and a half.

Time Flies by in the City of Light

I climbed Calton Hill today for the first time since coming back: it was night, freezing cold, but very beautiful. Edinburgh from above is so pretty, and very bright- I know light pollution is a blight of modern life et cetera, but all those man-made lights glowing in the darkness was actually quite captivating. I will miss this city when I leave, and I acknowledge that I've been very lucky, aesthetically speaking, in my choice of university city.
It's reading week for me, which means that I have no classes- yay!- and also that we're halfway through semester- boo! There is so little time left in my uni career, that I can hear it dwindling, like a fuse being burnt through. My Dissertation Supervisor actually wants me to move on to the data collection portion of my experiment, whereas I had envisaged myself doing so around late February. Once the data is in, I have to start analysing it, and then I have really crossed the rubicon. The point of no return.
Esmond and I took a walk on Monday, and wound up at debate corner, where we sat on benches and realised that we don't argue like we used to. And, it's odd, but I sort of miss having near diametrically opposed views to my best friend- I could always count on him to bring up a (completely incorrect) stance that I hadn't considered, and I liked the challenge involved. Still, having a relationship based on mutual respect and shared values is good too. I guess.