Going through all of my freelance writing I found this little piece written in January 2011 when I first began freelancing. It was for a website called "London Impact" which appears to have never really launched beyond Facebook. Not to worry, though, it means I can upload it onto here without any worries.
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Being an active member of the “alternative scene” (this is a phrase I will rarely ever use), I have, of course, spent a few nights in this goth-orientated club full off PVC, leather, flashing lights and industrial music. Not to forget the off face of piercings here and there.
But despite this possibly sounding like some huge fetish place, Slimelight is much like your standard London nightclub along the lines of Ministry or Fabric but with one difference: The music.
I remember my first time visiting this once-abandoned warehouse behind Angel station; it was with a couple of people I’d met that night in a pub which had been hired for a goth night. We got talking and, as the pub began clearing out, it was suggested we try and get a group together and finish the night in Slimelight. However, we were unsuccessful in gathering a large group together, so it was just two of us in the end but that didn’t ruin anything.
After an expensive taxi ride (when aren’t taxis expensive in London?) we were finally there and waiting in the line to get in. Surrounded by people with the aforementioned PVC and piercing, I knew this was my sort of place so, after a long wait, we were finally in the corridor leading towards the front desk.
Being slightly intoxicated the desk was cautious to let us in but we managed to convince them that we were in control and not going to do anything stupid (and we kept to our word, being the wonderful citizens we were) they charged us a tenner entry and we were in.
Not sure what to do with myself at first, I had a look around, bought a drink and visited the two available floors. From that point on it was a great night of dancing to rave music, drinking water (hint: when in a nightclub or bar and dehydrating, always ask for tap water - it’s free. This works in just about any pub or club and is better than paying £4 for a bottle of Evian), bumping into a friend and giving someone a piggy back.
So what is Slimelight really like then? Well, it’s a place full of decent, civilized people who, if you happen to accidentally walk into them, won’t start a fight and will accept a quick apology, loud music which one can dance to in anyway they like and nobody cares and a perfect environment for anyone who prefers unconventional to trendy. Not to forget nice bar staff, a pool room and cheap drinks.
In this sort of place, a visitor doesn’t need to know anyone to visit. He or she can simply waltz in, pay, buy a drink and get onto one of the dance floors and dance the night away from 10:30pm until 6:30am.
If you’re a person who would consider themselves “alternative” and not a fan of mainstream nightclubs then I’d recommend you take a visit to Slimelight. And even if you are a frequent visitor to Ministry of Sound, I’d still recommend you take a visit to this club. Despite the entry price being a bit high and there being no student nights, the world’s longest running goth club is a place anyone should visit simply for the atmosphere, diversity and civilised clubbers.
And to add to the fun, London at 6:30am is a sight which one may find very interesting.
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Monday, 3 September 2012
Friday, 11 May 2012
Tourist Bowling - another short story
This is a short story I began writing in November '11 and completed around the next month The idea came after I'd spent a day in Central London observing the tourism of the area. After a while I began to wonder what it would be like if someone just jumped into their car and plowed through all the tourists.
Admittedly, this is far from being one of my best pieces, but I think it has a strong storyline and some good phrases. Enjoy!
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Day in and day out I saw them walking around with their A to Z travel guides, "I Heart London" t-shirts and their fancy digital SLR cameras. Tourists fucking pissed me off. It was bad enough driving them around, but each time I had to stop at a green light because they didn't know the the difference between the stop and go figures I got one step closer to putting my foot down and simply speeding through them. I knew that one day it would inevitably happen. I'd be plowing through those creatures like a harvester through hay, sending them flying as rabbits do when hit by a car; And I'd smile, no, I'd laugh with both pleasure and amusement. Being arrested was almost a certainty, but it was the perfect idea.
The day it happened began like any other: I awoke, showered, shaved and had my usual breakfast of two slices of Marmite on toast. Beyond that, nothing was, or would be, normal. I dressed in just a plain polo shirt and blue jeans, nothing like the "presentable" crap I wore on a normal day, made up some lunch (if I lasted that long, or remembered to eat) and some bottled water - a man like me needed to remain liquidated if I wanted my performance to be up to scratch and perfect. Perfect killing. Now there's a phrase I never thought I'd relate to; plowing, killing, destroying. Three brutal acts performed in one day, and the only emotion I felt was hate. Pure, dirty fucking hate.
I sat in my cab in front of the fuck-ugly tower block I spent my long, miserable days living in and let the engine warm up. It had just gone 8am so tourists would still be asleep in their swanky hotel rooms, dreaming of the London Eye and Trafalgar lions. Little did those tourists know that these would be their final dreams, or, failing that, their final happy ones. I was their nightmare about to come true. I was the bomb on the underground. The flight which fell into the sea. Everything a tourist would shit himself over.
The drive towards Central was uneventful and as boring as any other day with a bunch of students being the closest to tourists I saw and although despicable, they weren't my target for today. For 20 minutes I drove, staring hard ahead, thinking about nothing but giving those tourists a flying lesson. It was still early but traffic was beginning to build, indicating that I was close. Then, slowly, the Gherkin building began to grow as it came closer. I could tell Tower Hill - location of the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, two major tourist hotspots - were just about round the corner. It was nearly time.
I turned and the road leading to the Tower Bridge crossing was ahead of me. This whole area within a 4 mile radius would soon be swarming with feral tourists. I parked behind the Tower Hamlets pub and waited with a book. It was 8:45.
By quarter past nine the tourists were starting to appear in crowds, climbing off of the roofless tour buses and piling out of Tower Hill station. I stood looking over the side of Tower Bridge at the blue and brown rippling waters while the travellers posed for cameras and tour buses were driven over the bridge each way.
I then made my way back to the car, studying the road as I went, noting the spots where tourists crossed towards the tower and bridge, still unaware of the fate that awaited them. Back in the car I put on some sunglasses and a hat to reduce the risk of being recognised, hit play on the CD player for some angry Amon Amarth and after letting the engine warm up, exited the car park towards London's tower of torture and death. The traffic was still light at this point and as I put my foot down to pick up some speed, my first victim stepped into the road. As the figure came closer I prepared myself for the hit. 3 seconds later I felt it - a hard thump on the bumper followed by a wail and the somersaulting body of a thirty something man. I had no time to stop, but in my rear-view mirror I could see the body land followed by a small camera which, like the body, bounced slightly then settled. A smile escaped my lips as I saw people run into the road towards the body which by now was either a corpse, or, at the very least, mauled beyond recognition.
I drove past St. Paul's, the Gherkin and Samuel Pepys business snob's bar along with numerous office blocks until I finally arrived at the long straight commonly known as Victoria Embankment. To my left was the Thames with the London Eye in the distance and to my right was a small green and side road lined with architectural buildings. It was picturesque with the sun low in the sky and worthy of admiration, but that would take time, and time I didn't have. The pigs would be after me soon and I had tourists to destroy.
The traffic moved at a comfortable speed with no to little amount of hold-ups and soon I could see the tip of the clock tower, something which those creatures like to mistakenly call Big Ben. The bunch of uninformed cretins. I was fast approaching another tourist hotspot: Victoria Square - the location of the Houses of Parliament and neighbour of the clock tower, Millenium Bridge and Westminster Abbey. Not forgetting a set of headlights where tourists didn't know the difference between the red 'stop' man and the green 'cross' man. I could take down five in one hit here.
Victoria Square traffic was at its usual heaviness, but I wasn't put off, it just meant more targets would be floating around.
As I waited at the traffic lights I heard a familiar London sound: sirens, and for the first time in all my years of living and working here I ducked my head down. It was obvious that they were after me, but I wasn't ready to be caught. Not just yet anyway. A few more deaths and injuries were due before they could lock me up.
I kept my head down and picked at my jeans until a set of flashing lights went past just as the traffic lights started to change. I was safe. Others were not. The cars ahead of me shifted and I turned left and onto the pavement where I sped up.
Some tourists escaped my path, others were knocked down like bowling pins. Their expressions would never be forgotten, they were looks of true fear. The type they've never felt before and, more than likely, would never feel again. One by one the car hit the feral creatures sending them in all directions. Those who weren't hit either laid flat on the patches of grass around the square or were crouched beside my victims which included Asians, Africans, Whites and even a judge or two. I didn't discriminate, I hit whoever crossed my path.
Having gone round Victoria Square, I sped towards my next destination: Trafalgar Square. I wouldn't be able to drive through the square, but a few road-crossers would be enough to satisfy my urges. The ringing of sirens was loud and irritating, but my current adrenaline rush, coupled with the heavy traffic, prevented any fear from taking away my fun. And so I continued, now on my way round the corner to Soho after aboloshing some Trafalgar tourists.
It was starting to cloud over with what looked like some ugly rain-clouds. If the rain came now I'd be slowed down, adding to the risk of being caught, so I sped up, desperate to terrorise Soho.
The CD I'd been listening to ended and the radio turned on to Capital. The news was on; "A red taxi has been seen driving through Central London and hitting vistors and workers" it said, "If you see this happening, the Met has advised the public to avoid the car and driver and to alert the police by dialing 999," the female continued.
So, they were on to me. It was time to turn the caution up a notch and be extra vigilant. It'd be hard, but I had no choice. It was either be vigilant or be caught, and I knew which I'd prefer.
Thinking quickly I decided to avoid Soho as it was too open and hit Covent Garden instead; the back streets were a-plenty which meant there were places to hide, and there was the plaza, filled with locals and tourists. Perfect to continue my path of destruction.
Again, I drove through the now busy midday London streets with my head low and attention high.
After avoiding the long and busy roads, instead taking the back, more communal streets, I made it to Covent Garden - a place of shops, theatres, street entertainers and, more importantly, tourists. They were everywhere, swarming the market and streets with their guides, pathetic tee-shirts and souvenir shopping. It made me want to rip my eyes out. With a quick drive through (as opposed to drive-by) I'd be able to take out hundreds of the things. This really was a genuine tourist hot spot and, judging from the volume of the sirens, my last.
I turned into one of the many backroads as fast as the traffic would allow and followed the crowds towards the famous market known to be popular with travellers and tourists alike, giving me the perfect final destination before the inevitable arrest happened.
As the giant market came into view I accepted the fact that I was about to be locked up and pushed my foot down, slowly picking up speed before plowing through the crowds, sending bags, bodies and cameras in all directions.
The car then began to slow down and gargle. As I rolled to a stop, I closed my eyes and smiled; it had been a good few hours running a trail of death, destruction and hatred through the city, but now it was time for it to end. I didn't care about being arrested - in fact, I was the happiest I'd been in a long time - and I looked forward to being with my own kind again, starting afresh in a pure British atmosphere.
Finally optimistic, I smiled more and thought to myself about new beginnings as the Met pigs dragged me away, telling me what a piece of shit I was.
Admittedly, this is far from being one of my best pieces, but I think it has a strong storyline and some good phrases. Enjoy!
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Day in and day out I saw them walking around with their A to Z travel guides, "I Heart London" t-shirts and their fancy digital SLR cameras. Tourists fucking pissed me off. It was bad enough driving them around, but each time I had to stop at a green light because they didn't know the the difference between the stop and go figures I got one step closer to putting my foot down and simply speeding through them. I knew that one day it would inevitably happen. I'd be plowing through those creatures like a harvester through hay, sending them flying as rabbits do when hit by a car; And I'd smile, no, I'd laugh with both pleasure and amusement. Being arrested was almost a certainty, but it was the perfect idea.
The day it happened began like any other: I awoke, showered, shaved and had my usual breakfast of two slices of Marmite on toast. Beyond that, nothing was, or would be, normal. I dressed in just a plain polo shirt and blue jeans, nothing like the "presentable" crap I wore on a normal day, made up some lunch (if I lasted that long, or remembered to eat) and some bottled water - a man like me needed to remain liquidated if I wanted my performance to be up to scratch and perfect. Perfect killing. Now there's a phrase I never thought I'd relate to; plowing, killing, destroying. Three brutal acts performed in one day, and the only emotion I felt was hate. Pure, dirty fucking hate.
I sat in my cab in front of the fuck-ugly tower block I spent my long, miserable days living in and let the engine warm up. It had just gone 8am so tourists would still be asleep in their swanky hotel rooms, dreaming of the London Eye and Trafalgar lions. Little did those tourists know that these would be their final dreams, or, failing that, their final happy ones. I was their nightmare about to come true. I was the bomb on the underground. The flight which fell into the sea. Everything a tourist would shit himself over.
The drive towards Central was uneventful and as boring as any other day with a bunch of students being the closest to tourists I saw and although despicable, they weren't my target for today. For 20 minutes I drove, staring hard ahead, thinking about nothing but giving those tourists a flying lesson. It was still early but traffic was beginning to build, indicating that I was close. Then, slowly, the Gherkin building began to grow as it came closer. I could tell Tower Hill - location of the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, two major tourist hotspots - were just about round the corner. It was nearly time.
I turned and the road leading to the Tower Bridge crossing was ahead of me. This whole area within a 4 mile radius would soon be swarming with feral tourists. I parked behind the Tower Hamlets pub and waited with a book. It was 8:45.
By quarter past nine the tourists were starting to appear in crowds, climbing off of the roofless tour buses and piling out of Tower Hill station. I stood looking over the side of Tower Bridge at the blue and brown rippling waters while the travellers posed for cameras and tour buses were driven over the bridge each way.
I then made my way back to the car, studying the road as I went, noting the spots where tourists crossed towards the tower and bridge, still unaware of the fate that awaited them. Back in the car I put on some sunglasses and a hat to reduce the risk of being recognised, hit play on the CD player for some angry Amon Amarth and after letting the engine warm up, exited the car park towards London's tower of torture and death. The traffic was still light at this point and as I put my foot down to pick up some speed, my first victim stepped into the road. As the figure came closer I prepared myself for the hit. 3 seconds later I felt it - a hard thump on the bumper followed by a wail and the somersaulting body of a thirty something man. I had no time to stop, but in my rear-view mirror I could see the body land followed by a small camera which, like the body, bounced slightly then settled. A smile escaped my lips as I saw people run into the road towards the body which by now was either a corpse, or, at the very least, mauled beyond recognition.
I drove past St. Paul's, the Gherkin and Samuel Pepys business snob's bar along with numerous office blocks until I finally arrived at the long straight commonly known as Victoria Embankment. To my left was the Thames with the London Eye in the distance and to my right was a small green and side road lined with architectural buildings. It was picturesque with the sun low in the sky and worthy of admiration, but that would take time, and time I didn't have. The pigs would be after me soon and I had tourists to destroy.
The traffic moved at a comfortable speed with no to little amount of hold-ups and soon I could see the tip of the clock tower, something which those creatures like to mistakenly call Big Ben. The bunch of uninformed cretins. I was fast approaching another tourist hotspot: Victoria Square - the location of the Houses of Parliament and neighbour of the clock tower, Millenium Bridge and Westminster Abbey. Not forgetting a set of headlights where tourists didn't know the difference between the red 'stop' man and the green 'cross' man. I could take down five in one hit here.
Victoria Square traffic was at its usual heaviness, but I wasn't put off, it just meant more targets would be floating around.
As I waited at the traffic lights I heard a familiar London sound: sirens, and for the first time in all my years of living and working here I ducked my head down. It was obvious that they were after me, but I wasn't ready to be caught. Not just yet anyway. A few more deaths and injuries were due before they could lock me up.
I kept my head down and picked at my jeans until a set of flashing lights went past just as the traffic lights started to change. I was safe. Others were not. The cars ahead of me shifted and I turned left and onto the pavement where I sped up.
Some tourists escaped my path, others were knocked down like bowling pins. Their expressions would never be forgotten, they were looks of true fear. The type they've never felt before and, more than likely, would never feel again. One by one the car hit the feral creatures sending them in all directions. Those who weren't hit either laid flat on the patches of grass around the square or were crouched beside my victims which included Asians, Africans, Whites and even a judge or two. I didn't discriminate, I hit whoever crossed my path.
Having gone round Victoria Square, I sped towards my next destination: Trafalgar Square. I wouldn't be able to drive through the square, but a few road-crossers would be enough to satisfy my urges. The ringing of sirens was loud and irritating, but my current adrenaline rush, coupled with the heavy traffic, prevented any fear from taking away my fun. And so I continued, now on my way round the corner to Soho after aboloshing some Trafalgar tourists.
It was starting to cloud over with what looked like some ugly rain-clouds. If the rain came now I'd be slowed down, adding to the risk of being caught, so I sped up, desperate to terrorise Soho.
The CD I'd been listening to ended and the radio turned on to Capital. The news was on; "A red taxi has been seen driving through Central London and hitting vistors and workers" it said, "If you see this happening, the Met has advised the public to avoid the car and driver and to alert the police by dialing 999," the female continued.
So, they were on to me. It was time to turn the caution up a notch and be extra vigilant. It'd be hard, but I had no choice. It was either be vigilant or be caught, and I knew which I'd prefer.
Thinking quickly I decided to avoid Soho as it was too open and hit Covent Garden instead; the back streets were a-plenty which meant there were places to hide, and there was the plaza, filled with locals and tourists. Perfect to continue my path of destruction.
Again, I drove through the now busy midday London streets with my head low and attention high.
After avoiding the long and busy roads, instead taking the back, more communal streets, I made it to Covent Garden - a place of shops, theatres, street entertainers and, more importantly, tourists. They were everywhere, swarming the market and streets with their guides, pathetic tee-shirts and souvenir shopping. It made me want to rip my eyes out. With a quick drive through (as opposed to drive-by) I'd be able to take out hundreds of the things. This really was a genuine tourist hot spot and, judging from the volume of the sirens, my last.
I turned into one of the many backroads as fast as the traffic would allow and followed the crowds towards the famous market known to be popular with travellers and tourists alike, giving me the perfect final destination before the inevitable arrest happened.
As the giant market came into view I accepted the fact that I was about to be locked up and pushed my foot down, slowly picking up speed before plowing through the crowds, sending bags, bodies and cameras in all directions.
The car then began to slow down and gargle. As I rolled to a stop, I closed my eyes and smiled; it had been a good few hours running a trail of death, destruction and hatred through the city, but now it was time for it to end. I didn't care about being arrested - in fact, I was the happiest I'd been in a long time - and I looked forward to being with my own kind again, starting afresh in a pure British atmosphere.
Finally optimistic, I smiled more and thought to myself about new beginnings as the Met pigs dragged me away, telling me what a piece of shit I was.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
A story by my brother
As the title suggests, this is a story by my little brother. Being the typical 15 year old that he is, he's capable of everything - writing, reading the classics, being the Prime Minister and knowing the royal family. So, as proof of this, I gave him a writing task. He was required to write a story about a zombie raid in London (don't ask, I thought it'd be an easy one) and keep it around 500 words.
For someone who's never really written before (excluding schoolwork), it's not a bad piece of text and reminds me of how I used to write as a wee boy.
Now, without further ado, here it is.
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On the 22nd of September London was a perfectly normal city where normal people were doing normal every day things. This was untill scientists discovered an outbreak of some sort of unknown disease. This bemused scientists for a long while,they werent sure what the symptoms were and how the disease broke out. The first person they warned was the prime minister David Cameron.
Jack who was a top London scientist worked long hours to learn more about this disease no one had heard of because there was no name for it. Jack done his tests by using someone who was In the early stages of the disease. The tests that came back had never been seen before. Bare in mind jack was a top London scientist he was confused so he called in a couple more scientists to check the results and they had no answers. Meanwhile the patient is locked up for safety reasons, this was because they didn't know what the disease was. For example, if It was infectious or not. When jack goes back to check on the patient he is asleep. When the patient is proded by jack a couple he wakes up with red eyes and attempts to bite jack. This makes jack immediately go to the phone to warn the prime minister that there is an out break of a very serious and life threatening disease that could spread worldwide. The prime minister is advised to leave the country as soon as possible.
On the 24th of september the disease is spreading across the whole of England and starting to spread worldwide. For the last 2 days jack has been saying with a couple army soldiers for security. There are four of them in total including jack. Matt,Sam and Alex are the army soldiers. They have been forced to kill the people who are infected with this still unknown disease. The main priority to them is to reach loved ones and to protect them from this vile disease. Jack has this theory that if you are bitten by someone who is infected or blood goes in your mouth or eyes then you become infected with the disease.for this reason they wear masks at all times to protect themselves. With matt, Sam and Alex being in the army they have weapons to kill the infected. The only way to kill the infected is to remove the head or destroy the brain. The only weapon jack has is a baseball bat to protect himself and to fight off the infected. It was too late to find a cure for this killer disease because it was to dangerous to go back to the lab for jack and the equipment to test on the infected would have been destroyed. Who jack and his army crew could do was stay alive and hope things would eventually calm down.
(The end)
When I read this and mentioned the Shaun of the Dead similarities (removing the head and destroying the brain & baseball bat), Tyla claimed (key word here) that it was accidental. Hmmm.
For someone who's never really written before (excluding schoolwork), it's not a bad piece of text and reminds me of how I used to write as a wee boy.
Now, without further ado, here it is.
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On the 22nd of September London was a perfectly normal city where normal people were doing normal every day things. This was untill scientists discovered an outbreak of some sort of unknown disease. This bemused scientists for a long while,they werent sure what the symptoms were and how the disease broke out. The first person they warned was the prime minister David Cameron.
Jack who was a top London scientist worked long hours to learn more about this disease no one had heard of because there was no name for it. Jack done his tests by using someone who was In the early stages of the disease. The tests that came back had never been seen before. Bare in mind jack was a top London scientist he was confused so he called in a couple more scientists to check the results and they had no answers. Meanwhile the patient is locked up for safety reasons, this was because they didn't know what the disease was. For example, if It was infectious or not. When jack goes back to check on the patient he is asleep. When the patient is proded by jack a couple he wakes up with red eyes and attempts to bite jack. This makes jack immediately go to the phone to warn the prime minister that there is an out break of a very serious and life threatening disease that could spread worldwide. The prime minister is advised to leave the country as soon as possible.
On the 24th of september the disease is spreading across the whole of England and starting to spread worldwide. For the last 2 days jack has been saying with a couple army soldiers for security. There are four of them in total including jack. Matt,Sam and Alex are the army soldiers. They have been forced to kill the people who are infected with this still unknown disease. The main priority to them is to reach loved ones and to protect them from this vile disease. Jack has this theory that if you are bitten by someone who is infected or blood goes in your mouth or eyes then you become infected with the disease.for this reason they wear masks at all times to protect themselves. With matt, Sam and Alex being in the army they have weapons to kill the infected. The only way to kill the infected is to remove the head or destroy the brain. The only weapon jack has is a baseball bat to protect himself and to fight off the infected. It was too late to find a cure for this killer disease because it was to dangerous to go back to the lab for jack and the equipment to test on the infected would have been destroyed. Who jack and his army crew could do was stay alive and hope things would eventually calm down.
(The end)
When I read this and mentioned the Shaun of the Dead similarities (removing the head and destroying the brain & baseball bat), Tyla claimed (key word here) that it was accidental. Hmmm.
Location:Chelmsford, Essex
Friday, 11 March 2011
Persistence Pays Off
As some of you know, I've been looking for a paid writing job for quite some time and not been having much luck. Until the last couple of days. The story is below:
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As of late, I have been without money (by which I mean £35 overdrawn, no income and living off of dry pasta and tap water - ah, student life) and have therefore been required to browse Gumtree looking for writing jobs which put some money in my pocket.
Although I enjoy doing freelance writing for nothing (which I’m doing with this article right now) I also have to feed myself, even if it’s with pocket money. However, to succeed in this I have spent hours at a time on the aforementioned website replying to ads which I feel I’d be able to write about and earn enough money to buy a tin of beans and some bread. This is where persistence comes in.
I spent my evenings replying to ads with a lengthy email which would include descriptions of my capabilities, what I’m willing to do or write about (which was just about anything) with an added link to my blogs at the bottom for some samples of my writing.
A few times this worked and I’d get the odd job here and there but recently I was having an extremely dry run. Until the evening of the 11th of March, that is. There I was, sat on a forum and Facebook, daydreaming of having a walk around London when ’Sunshine of Your Love’ suddenly started playing out of my mobile beside me. When I checked who it was, it was just a UK number which I didn’t recognise. I answered anyway.
After a 20 minute conversation/interview which involved questions about what I’d be writing about, am I interested in journalism and about possibly becoming a teacher I was told I’d receive a call in approximately two weeks confirming whether I’d got the position or not. Hanging up, I felt extremely optimistic as the interview seemed to go well, emails had been positive and I felt that I’d answered the questions well and with a verbal sign of confidence. This had to go on Facebook!
Do I think I’ve certainly got the job or do I keep an open mind and apply for the odd one here and there just to keep me on my toes? I’ll go for the latter myself but remain optimistic about the former.
It’s taken three months of blood, sweat and tears (Note to self: Stop exaggerating) but I‘m there (almost).
Moral of the story? Should you be turned down for one job, don’t think that’s the end, just keep applying and you’ll get there in the end.
And remember these three words: Persistence pays off.
----------------
----------------
As of late, I have been without money (by which I mean £35 overdrawn, no income and living off of dry pasta and tap water - ah, student life) and have therefore been required to browse Gumtree looking for writing jobs which put some money in my pocket.
Although I enjoy doing freelance writing for nothing (which I’m doing with this article right now) I also have to feed myself, even if it’s with pocket money. However, to succeed in this I have spent hours at a time on the aforementioned website replying to ads which I feel I’d be able to write about and earn enough money to buy a tin of beans and some bread. This is where persistence comes in.
I spent my evenings replying to ads with a lengthy email which would include descriptions of my capabilities, what I’m willing to do or write about (which was just about anything) with an added link to my blogs at the bottom for some samples of my writing.
A few times this worked and I’d get the odd job here and there but recently I was having an extremely dry run. Until the evening of the 11th of March, that is. There I was, sat on a forum and Facebook, daydreaming of having a walk around London when ’Sunshine of Your Love’ suddenly started playing out of my mobile beside me. When I checked who it was, it was just a UK number which I didn’t recognise. I answered anyway.
After a 20 minute conversation/interview which involved questions about what I’d be writing about, am I interested in journalism and about possibly becoming a teacher I was told I’d receive a call in approximately two weeks confirming whether I’d got the position or not. Hanging up, I felt extremely optimistic as the interview seemed to go well, emails had been positive and I felt that I’d answered the questions well and with a verbal sign of confidence. This had to go on Facebook!
Do I think I’ve certainly got the job or do I keep an open mind and apply for the odd one here and there just to keep me on my toes? I’ll go for the latter myself but remain optimistic about the former.
It’s taken three months of blood, sweat and tears (Note to self: Stop exaggerating) but I‘m there (almost).
Moral of the story? Should you be turned down for one job, don’t think that’s the end, just keep applying and you’ll get there in the end.
And remember these three words: Persistence pays off.
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Sunday, 20 February 2011
Semester B - Week 2 (Continued)
Here is the second part of my assignment described below. This is the dramatic script. I'm still not too good as writing for TV so this is far from my best piece but hopefully it'll get me somewhere in life.
Hospital bed is being pushed down the corridor by nurses dressed in blue uniforms.
Pete (laughing) - I’m getting my head cut open in 10 minutes. Can you film it for me please?
Nurse - We’ll see what we can do.
Debbie (Mum) - Be quiet now, and don’t worry. I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.
Bed is pushed into a small room and Pete is injected with anaesthetic. Counting down from 10, he falls asleep, ready for the operation.
4 Hours later
Pete’s eyes begin flickering open and he’s finally awake.
Pete (thinking) - Where am I? Who are all these people in these beds? My operation has just finished.
Nurse walks in with parents.
Mum - Are you awake?
Pete - (Mumbles)
An hour later Pete is wheeled back to his hospital room where he will spend the next week attached to a machine to monitor brain activity.
Grandparents are sat in the room, waiting. Both ask how it went.
Nurse - It went very well. We got the wires attached with no problems. Through the next week we’ll be taking records and checking all activity of the brain when he has a seizure then we’ll analyse and decide whether it’s safe to remove the tumour or not.
Family member - Are you hungry?
Pete - Yes.
A week of lying in bed with wires coming out of the head has begun.
Hospital bed is being pushed down the corridor by nurses dressed in blue uniforms.
Pete (laughing) - I’m getting my head cut open in 10 minutes. Can you film it for me please?
Nurse - We’ll see what we can do.
Debbie (Mum) - Be quiet now, and don’t worry. I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.
Bed is pushed into a small room and Pete is injected with anaesthetic. Counting down from 10, he falls asleep, ready for the operation.
4 Hours later
Pete’s eyes begin flickering open and he’s finally awake.
Pete (thinking) - Where am I? Who are all these people in these beds? My operation has just finished.
Nurse walks in with parents.
Mum - Are you awake?
Pete - (Mumbles)
An hour later Pete is wheeled back to his hospital room where he will spend the next week attached to a machine to monitor brain activity.
Grandparents are sat in the room, waiting. Both ask how it went.
Nurse - It went very well. We got the wires attached with no problems. Through the next week we’ll be taking records and checking all activity of the brain when he has a seizure then we’ll analyse and decide whether it’s safe to remove the tumour or not.
Family member - Are you hungry?
Pete - Yes.
A week of lying in bed with wires coming out of the head has begun.
Semester B - Week 2
This week we had to take a significant day in our life/lives and create three pieces out of it: a poem, dramatic treatment (stage script) and fictional treatment.
As I'm not a fan of poetry, I put this back to the last minute but it seemed to come out okay, I suppose seeing as poetry is usually just written in a style which may people may call bollocks. After this post I'll be sticking up part two of this week's assignment and hopefully by the end of the night be able to stick up part 3 so here it is:
Lying on a bed
Travelling down a hallway
With tubes in my arms
And parents by my side
Sending me soothing words
Nervous but excited
Tired but awake
Curious but knowledgeable
And aware of what’s to follow
After I fall asleep
Waiting in a room
Surrounded by tools
A needle points towards me
And gently enters my arm
Before I know it, I’m asleep
Finally asleep
Surrounded by surgeons
It’s time to start
Cutting things open
With a sharpened medical blade
Move forward 4 hours
Eyes flicker open
Wondering where I am
I’m in a hospital ward
Sterile, white and cold
Gosh, I’m in G.O.S.H
Surrounded by fellow operationees
All attached to machines
Making strange noises
Bleeps and buzzes and hums
With wires in my head
And tubes in my arms
I’m unable to move
From this bed with locked wheels
And plain white sheets
Parents arrive at my side
Ask if I’m okay
Not okay but alive
But still extremely tired
And able to sleep for a day
I’m lying in bed
On my road to the cure
Of an epileptic life
To be free from worries
And able to have more fun
The road is long
This is just the beginning
But I’m willing and ready
To be attached to a machine
For the long week ahead
As I'm not a fan of poetry, I put this back to the last minute but it seemed to come out okay, I suppose seeing as poetry is usually just written in a style which may people may call bollocks. After this post I'll be sticking up part two of this week's assignment and hopefully by the end of the night be able to stick up part 3 so here it is:
Lying on a bed
Travelling down a hallway
With tubes in my arms
And parents by my side
Sending me soothing words
Nervous but excited
Tired but awake
Curious but knowledgeable
And aware of what’s to follow
After I fall asleep
Waiting in a room
Surrounded by tools
A needle points towards me
And gently enters my arm
Before I know it, I’m asleep
Finally asleep
Surrounded by surgeons
It’s time to start
Cutting things open
With a sharpened medical blade
Move forward 4 hours
Eyes flicker open
Wondering where I am
I’m in a hospital ward
Sterile, white and cold
Gosh, I’m in G.O.S.H
Surrounded by fellow operationees
All attached to machines
Making strange noises
Bleeps and buzzes and hums
With wires in my head
And tubes in my arms
I’m unable to move
From this bed with locked wheels
And plain white sheets
Parents arrive at my side
Ask if I’m okay
Not okay but alive
But still extremely tired
And able to sleep for a day
I’m lying in bed
On my road to the cure
Of an epileptic life
To be free from worries
And able to have more fun
The road is long
This is just the beginning
But I’m willing and ready
To be attached to a machine
For the long week ahead
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Hello, new freelance work!
So, have I mentioned a few times previously I was having a bit of trouble with my previous freelance work and was dropped from it without a full mention. However, with an exchange of emails between myself and the owner of MY Egg Nest, Mr. Owner contacted another colleague who runs a different site and is now sending me some work to do.
Two pieces are completed. One is confirmed as fine and dandy, just waiting for the next one to be confirmed.
This means a number of things: no confusion, a job/something to do in my free time (other than the usual stuff) a bit of monies so we can attack Camden again and play lemonball and I can finally eat some expensive junk food. Oh, and my portfolio can continue to grow.
So, despite my legs feeling dead after a trek from Beckton to Tower of London and back, today/night has been a good one.
Both links are now online. This is what I'm now writing about for monies:
Average age for retirement on the rise
Pension time bomb
Two pieces are completed. One is confirmed as fine and dandy, just waiting for the next one to be confirmed.
This means a number of things: no confusion, a job/something to do in my free time (other than the usual stuff) a bit of monies so we can attack Camden again and play lemonball and I can finally eat some expensive junk food. Oh, and my portfolio can continue to grow.
So, despite my legs feeling dead after a trek from Beckton to Tower of London and back, today/night has been a good one.
Both links are now online. This is what I'm now writing about for monies:
Average age for retirement on the rise
Pension time bomb
Monday, 10 January 2011
Beckton/UEL publication submission (non-academic)
This is a piece of writing I submitted for a new site about to pop up called ldmimpact.co.uk. It is a detailed review/information piece about the area I'm currently living in which is Beckton and UEL. Hopefully, if it's good enough, it'll be considered for online publication. Fingers crossed.
------------------------
Beckton, a place of Asda, retail parks and an academic arena known as The University of East London, Docklands. Being a student and resident of the aforementioned university, I have the pleasure, and sometimes displeasure, of the looks, sounds, smells and weather of this small area.
As I look out of my bedroom window on the second floor of Redbridge House, also known as the Yellow Building, I can see a big green building of the same size covered in windows. We call this place Shepherd House.
If I look to my right on the other hand, I can see the flowing water of the docks and a feeble, leafless tree being attacked by the high winds of January.
Beyond the docks is the London City Airport. Some might consider it a noisy place, especially when the planes start up their engines at seven in the morning. I, however, am used to the roaring of those flying machines. Due to this “skill”, I can continue my daily doings (I would say routine but what student has one of those?) and even sleep through the roar.
We then have the path beside the buildings which often smells of illicit substances and has kids riding their bikes up and down. If you’re lucky you might get involved in a 2am snowball war.
Outside of campus is the Docklands Light Railway, commonly known as the DLR or Cyprus. Outside of that there is very little of interest other than the community centre which many of us believe teaches the skill of graffiti and beyond (if anyone can confirm this, please get in touch) and a chemist. However, we can’t forget the newsagent’s slash off-license which provides us poor students with the pleasurable park bench cider and Polish beers.
Those who are fans of the smell of eggs will be glad to know that by standing outside of Templars, aka party, house you can have yourself a nice whiff of said smell. Those who aren’t fans of such should prepare themselves. I find a scarf does the job just fine.
Some people seem to be slightly unwise in these buildings as, at this moment in time, I can see through many windows, although unfortunately, nothing interesting is happening. If we’re lucky though, the view directly opposite from the kitchen shows another kitchen. I’ve found in the past that owners of the other kitchen are fans of three males dancing at the window.
When it comes to tenants in this place I often have the pleasure of catching my flatmate attempting to sing ‘Arabian Nights’ in its original language. From the repetitive wording, I’d say he is unsuccessful in that department. Keep to your sports, Tino, singing doesn’t suit you.
Would I recommend this are as a place to live? Yes and no, depending on what you’re looking for. If you wish to live in an uneventful place, seemingly in the middle of nowhere but with three retail parks nearby, Beckton is your place. If you wish to live in a lively area, keep well away.
---------------------------------
That's it for the first piece of writing. I've also contacted another person in regards to some writing but so far he hasn't replied.
From this point on I'm going to start sending out pieces for publication in the hopes that I can get some work further than the assignment submissions office.
I'll post up when I get notice of whether it is due for publication or not :)
------------------------
Beckton, a place of Asda, retail parks and an academic arena known as The University of East London, Docklands. Being a student and resident of the aforementioned university, I have the pleasure, and sometimes displeasure, of the looks, sounds, smells and weather of this small area.
As I look out of my bedroom window on the second floor of Redbridge House, also known as the Yellow Building, I can see a big green building of the same size covered in windows. We call this place Shepherd House.
If I look to my right on the other hand, I can see the flowing water of the docks and a feeble, leafless tree being attacked by the high winds of January.
Beyond the docks is the London City Airport. Some might consider it a noisy place, especially when the planes start up their engines at seven in the morning. I, however, am used to the roaring of those flying machines. Due to this “skill”, I can continue my daily doings (I would say routine but what student has one of those?) and even sleep through the roar.
We then have the path beside the buildings which often smells of illicit substances and has kids riding their bikes up and down. If you’re lucky you might get involved in a 2am snowball war.
Outside of campus is the Docklands Light Railway, commonly known as the DLR or Cyprus. Outside of that there is very little of interest other than the community centre which many of us believe teaches the skill of graffiti and beyond (if anyone can confirm this, please get in touch) and a chemist. However, we can’t forget the newsagent’s slash off-license which provides us poor students with the pleasurable park bench cider and Polish beers.
Those who are fans of the smell of eggs will be glad to know that by standing outside of Templars, aka party, house you can have yourself a nice whiff of said smell. Those who aren’t fans of such should prepare themselves. I find a scarf does the job just fine.
Some people seem to be slightly unwise in these buildings as, at this moment in time, I can see through many windows, although unfortunately, nothing interesting is happening. If we’re lucky though, the view directly opposite from the kitchen shows another kitchen. I’ve found in the past that owners of the other kitchen are fans of three males dancing at the window.
When it comes to tenants in this place I often have the pleasure of catching my flatmate attempting to sing ‘Arabian Nights’ in its original language. From the repetitive wording, I’d say he is unsuccessful in that department. Keep to your sports, Tino, singing doesn’t suit you.
Would I recommend this are as a place to live? Yes and no, depending on what you’re looking for. If you wish to live in an uneventful place, seemingly in the middle of nowhere but with three retail parks nearby, Beckton is your place. If you wish to live in a lively area, keep well away.
---------------------------------
That's it for the first piece of writing. I've also contacted another person in regards to some writing but so far he hasn't replied.
From this point on I'm going to start sending out pieces for publication in the hopes that I can get some work further than the assignment submissions office.
I'll post up when I get notice of whether it is due for publication or not :)
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