tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82765942011-04-22T00:59:58.489ZAssorted narrative fragmentsnickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.comBlogger1091100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1135905689874393422005-12-29T23:50:00.000Z2005-12-30T01:25:15.696Z

It's customary at the death's end of a year to look back over the months past, and to measure the distance since that last raising of hopes at the deepest point of winter. I'm usually the type to indulge a near-term nostalgia, but this year I'm feeling less inclined to rise to the inspection. In a way, it's simpler not to think too hard about it. Highlights of 2005 were, in no particular order:

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1134587495445752532005-12-14T11:03:00.000Z2005-12-14T19:11:35.493Z

TurpitudeSometimes, we do bad things. It happens. We know it's not good, but we do it anyway, and sometimes there's just no alternative. What's my bad thing? Well. it's bad enough that Moses brought back one of the commandments not to do it.So they say, "don't break up a happy home", and I decided to behave and leave the married woman alone. Then comes another, and she's engaged, and I just can't

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1134501051633405702005-12-12T22:37:00.000Z2005-12-13T19:10:51.700Z

It's cold in my world at the moment. My boiler died, and is being replaced at a sickening cost to my pocket. When they quoted me the price, I almost vomited - let's put it this way, it's not going to be a generous christmas this year! Anyhow, today the installers have bashed huge holes in my walls, and as night is falling the prospect of sleeping in a perforated apartment looms. So it is cold and

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1133134302325249812005-11-27T23:31:00.000Z2005-11-27T23:31:42.333Z

Toby (My nephew) 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1133133711044660382005-11-27T23:01:00.000Z2005-11-27T23:24:11.203Z

What happens when you run out of things to say to someone? After a few years, you've exhausted everything good to talk about, and all the things that you had in common seem to have been eviscerated by silence and repetition. That's the way relationships go, and the way friendships go, eventually, because if you're honest with yourself there will only ever be a small handful of such connections

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1132358457890300362005-11-18T23:19:00.000Z2005-11-19T00:00:57.956Z

Well, did you enjoy the silence??! Yes, it has been a few weeks, but I was running out of interesting things to say, and the art of word had bolted.So, what's been shaking up and down the nickwong-o-cephalus?Well, my continuing professional escape drama rolls on and on. I'm through to a third interview for a job I desperately want, and man have they put me through the mill to get this far!! First

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1130190429718418352005-10-24T21:37:00.000Z2005-10-25T22:48:21.493Z

Everything changes, and everything must, eventually change. So my mood turned back up from a period of being down. Everything changes, and this is the hope to which I am currently clinging. Recently, I've been very positive. On Sunday, I met up with a friend I used to work with, who left to become a teacher. He told me about how things had changed since he quit and went into teaching. His life is

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1129848910990346322005-10-20T22:42:00.000Z2005-10-20T22:55:10.996Z

Recently, I've been fucking things up completely, and it feels like everything is just coming out wrongly. I just can't seem to shake the doubt... the confidence, the empowerment that should be there has gone awol. I swear, right now I could be the narrative voice of a Coupland novel.Maybe, sayeth the ego, I'm just at a juncture. Maybe, it's a kind of millenial moment, but without the

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1129161788755545422005-10-12T23:17:00.000Z2005-10-13T00:03:08.796Z

So, I got busted for speeding yesterday.I was driving back to London in my A3, pulled out into the fast lane, saw an open stretch of motorway gaping into the distance and put my foot down. The car surged forward, and I got that wash of satisfaction that only speed can deliver. I was just checking my rear-view to slip back into the middle lane, when I saw the flashing lights behind me. The cops

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1128982670670485632005-10-10T20:48:00.000Z2005-10-10T22:17:50.710Z

I saw Abby's list of songs she likes to sing drunkenly into her pillow, and was moved to write about my own experiences of singing drunkenly - mostly in an effort to get laid.Since Maverick and Goose burned "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" in Top Gun back in the Eighties, it has become a cliche. Hackneyed as the idea may be, in my erstwhile experience, singing drunkenly to a similarly drunk girl

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1127863445022614382005-09-27T22:48:00.000Z2005-09-27T23:26:42.883Z

I spent much of today carefully eyeballing the German consultant across the way. She has a permasmile, glasses that make her look like a secretary from a pornflick, and a rear end that just begs to be chewed on. I went through a whole pack of gum in the space of the afternoon, and if things continue I will have to pack something more durable, like jerky, to manage my masticatory fantasies.My

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1127586665657472782005-09-24T15:24:00.000Z2005-09-24T23:56:03.886Z

My posts have been pretty unhappy recently, so I'm going to try and make this a more upbeat one - both Abby and Lauren shame me with their positivity, as I languish in my navel-gazing. All my blogging negativity is due, in truth, to laziness - I'm not writing with any regularity, which mis-influences fluency. So, I have a plan to make better my verbal gunfire.I turn 29 on Tuesday, and I have to

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1127515575296085662005-09-23T22:28:00.000Z2005-09-23T22:46:15.326Z

I've been remiss in my blogging, and it pains me. I am fast approaching the year's anniversary of my existence in the blogosphere, and words fail me. It's funny how we await word sometimes, with impatience and expectation.Sometimes the words just gush out, and I'm on a train or driving my car, and the words evaporate before they can be captured properly. So much that I could have said that is

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1125868662243901422005-09-04T20:03:00.000Z2005-09-04T21:20:53.856Z

Everyone seems to be on a short fuse these days. My dad, my bro', my friends. Even I, with my known tendency to anger, feel positively serene in comparison.So, in a bid to avoid the wrath of late-summer blues-affected circle, I am retracting into myself and resuming my reading.I'm currently reading "My Ear at his Heart", a memoir by Hanif Kureishi (Note: Anyone who has not read any Kureishi

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1125732479133955652005-09-03T07:27:00.000Z2005-09-03T07:28:00.043Z

“I’m weary. But it’s not a physical weariness, it’s not as if I’m aching all over or succumbing to some debilitating muscular dysfunction. It’s more of a moral weariness.  I just don’t know what’s wrong or right anymore, whereas it all seemed so very clear not so long ago. And I’m only twenty-eight! Who’d have thought I’d be this jaded this young?”“Oh God, that’s not good…”So the conversation

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1123966084952155022005-08-13T18:34:00.000Z2005-08-15T21:31:54.146Z

In New York, just over a week ago, I walked into the Strand bookstore and picked up a copy of Jean Baudillard's "Cool Memories". It's a book I have borrowed from the library numerous times, but I felt compelled to buy it there in NYC as the resonances were full. The book is a successor to Baudrillard's previous book, "America", in which he extolled the experiences of visiting America, and "Cool

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1122247890152553902005-07-24T23:07:00.000Z2005-07-25T21:23:55.546Z

London is a strange place to be at the moment. Recent events have taken our news pages hostage, and amidst perfectly glorious sunshine there is persistent talk of the fatal actions of the fanatically disaffected.Fatalism abounds - it is as though outrage feels too simple reaction, too predictable, and perhaps therefore somewhat insincere. Instead, the eye of the mind looks inwards, homing in on

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1121290686477364252005-07-13T21:17:00.000Z2005-07-13T21:38:06.486Z

Forgive me in advance for poor prose.I tried writing about the London incidents since last Thursday, but failed. There aren't words to describe how I feel about it, and that is not to suggest I am seized by an extremity of feeling. Moral indignation doesn't say it all, apathy is unthinkable as well as unforgiveable and, as the website has stated - I am not afraid. It has emerged that the suicide

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1120518851169296832005-07-04T22:47:00.000Z2005-07-04T23:14:11.183Z

Maybe it's true - babies bring youth into the world and adults take on ae with their coming.I finally got to go see my little nephew over the weekend, a full five days since he emerged into the world. It was good to pick him and talk to him - not that he got any of my messages whispered as he looked and gurgled at me. Holding him, however, makes me feel older. That sounds a little simplistic, but

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1119921846214773822005-06-28T01:20:00.000Z2005-06-28T01:24:06.223Z

My new, as yet unnamed nephew, born at 11.05pm on 27th June 2005. Mother and child are both doing well. He reminded me immediately of my younger brother, and this recognition brought tears to my eyes. I cannot describe the extent of my joy!

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1119090795336114682005-06-18T09:57:00.000Z2005-06-20T18:09:56.930Z

Blog entries, fully fledged, that never made the journey from my keyboard to the blogosphere:"Antiseptic vs. anaesthetic""Baby Love""Specimen X""Beauty, Entropy"What does this say about how life is in the Nicosphere? That I've been thinking a lot about the trade-off between dealing with shit or just shrugging it off; that I'm feeling all manner of emotions in waiting for my nephew/niece to be

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1117478132296996092005-05-30T00:01:00.000Z2005-06-01T22:22:28.260Z

Moments are lost, forever. Opportunities spark into being, flicker for all of the time it takes to lose your nerve, implode into a smokey trail... and then emptiness.Friday night, I drank a couple of litres of a belgian beer that found its way to the back of my skull and began hammering at the walls of my mind. I was wasted within two hours of sitting down on the cafe bench and it was only 8.30pm

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1116404994205517122005-05-18T08:10:00.000Z2005-05-18T23:33:10.566Z

Ah yes, sculpture.Firstly, a bit of background. My interest in sculpture is longstanding, but it's a highly interior interest - I don't sit and talk to people at length about how much I love Rodin or Degas, I just spend time thinking back to experiences in the presence of the object. I guess the first image in my mind of a sculpture can be dated to 1985, when I was first introduced to Classics.

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1116286266119380442005-05-16T22:38:00.000Z2005-05-16T23:48:02.290Z

Where to begin? Confusion in my work, frustration in my personal life, guilt in just about every missed commitment to anyone who means anything to me; in recent days, it has all been a cloud.Nothing seems any clearer, from day to day, and in this state of unknowing I have succumbed to a vague emotional, intellectual and motivational paralysis. If not complete paralysis, then at least a slowing,

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1115590729537694242005-05-08T21:40:00.000Z2005-05-08T22:18:49.650Z

Last night was spent considering the disappointment of my twenties. I'm turning twenty-nine later this year, I'm feeling completely underwhelmed by my meagre achievements and manifold shortcomings in what I've embarked upon. This is not intended to be a weary, negative litany on the dampening of youth. I'm hoping, through the practice of reflection, to extract the defining lesson of the past

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1115511849750419332005-05-06T18:15:00.000Z2005-05-08T00:24:09.896Z

I love reading Rousseau's opening paradox in the Social Contract: "man is born free, yet everywhere he is in chains". Rousseau comes out with some crazy shit for much of his writing, but each time I read those words I am never less than stunned by the simple insight of the observation.Familiarity abounds - the same place, the same people, the same names of the same days, the same look of

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1114810755764771212005-04-29T20:47:00.000Z2005-04-29T21:39:15.766Z

If you haven't seen the video for the song "Rocket Brothers", I thoroughly recommend it. The song is not new, I think it's from 2003, but I remember catching it on MTV briefly, being entranced, then forgetting it until recently.The music is interesting enough, however unspectacular, but the video tells a dark story in black-and-white cartoon strip, about a pair of scientists whose friendship is

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1114727580380100402005-04-28T21:50:00.000Z2005-04-29T08:17:11.443Z

Zandria has conceded to me that the Institute is nearing the precipice of closure. Cash flow is tight, and it may be that we jettison staff from next month if new funding doesn't arise.Digesting this news, it is beginning to dawn on me that the adventure of trying to save the Institute may be coming to an unsuccessful end. A lot is riding on the response from the Carnegie UK Trust - and we put

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1114644960741974572005-04-27T23:18:00.000Z2005-04-27T23:36:00.743Z

"Threw my bad fortune off the top of a tall building, I wish I'd done it with you..."I recently read an evanescent blog entry about songs that stay in the head... and I've been thinking about those that stick and turn in me like rotors. As someone who generally values discretion and tact, my issue is that when I get swept away by a song I end up singing it out loud, and I mean EVERYWHERE. In the

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1113521596160277332005-04-14T22:54:00.000Z2005-04-18T17:33:25.270Z

I moved back into my flat on Sunday, and am currently going through the pain of unpacking all my books from cardboard boxes.Buying books is one of my compulsive disorders. I think a fair proportion of my disposable cash per month (not much by the way) goes to aquiring fresh volumes for consumption by bedside-lamplight at night. I should qualify this by stating for the record that I am not one of

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1112912616084809542005-04-07T21:59:00.000Z2005-04-10T21:25:10.063Z

After a good few days of moping about, I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and told myself to sort it out. "Get yourself together, shithead! What the fuck are you dicking around for? Stop being an idiot, get back in the game!"I bounded into work, ran a delivery errand, took coffee with AC and then drew some blank sheets of paper in front of me. In a spurt of focus, I proceeded to sketch

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1112569940633586862005-04-03T23:02:00.000Z2005-04-04T22:47:59.720Z

I'm thinking about taking a risk - and this time, it's in my personal life, not my work life. My friend Linz is always saying to me, that I'm not impulsive enough, and that I strategise too much - and that I need to let myself be swept along by impulses sometimes.It's a paradox in life - risk and impulse. I hate making mistakes - but I like learning from them, as long as it's not too hard a

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1112223467122005062005-03-30T22:49:00.000Z2005-03-30T22:57:47.123Z

So, I wrote this story once upon a moment. It was rubbish, but for one part when the guy says to the girl, the fantasy:"You are my crust. You form on me, congeal and coat my thoughts. You are my end of days, and at the end of my days you form on my heart, gnaw through it like plaque, and when I awake into the afterlife, I carry you on scales over my skin. You are... my crust; you have emerged on

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1111708134493542902005-03-24T23:45:00.000Z2005-03-24T23:48:54.493Z

So, there I am, thinking of my three-five-double-"O" heartbreak and lust, trying to get though the day, ruminating on my alienation from god-knows-what... then real life comes and dumps me back on my arse.The hot water cylinder in my flat has a developed a crack, resulting in a pissing leak that threatens to invade the downstairs neighbours. Today, the plumber called me up with his sobering

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1111533103685514472005-03-22T22:34:00.000Z2005-03-22T23:11:43.686Z

"What if now, after all, what if everything you've got made you want more?" What if? by The Lightning SeedsSo the song goes.My readership is dwindling - perceivably to the outsider, and in my own inner sense. I think I am now talking to thin air - not that this is something unexpected. I felt, some time ago, that I was losing the curl of tongue. Recently, I've gone dark for a week and more, with

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1111187334190072682005-03-18T22:45:00.000Z2005-03-21T23:58:24.996Z

My achilles tendon remains violently inflamed, so for a 4th successive weekend I have been unable to go for a gym session, play football, or just go walking into town... and yet, during weekdays, I have been dragging my sorry corpse across the capital's unforgiving footpaths for the sake of work. So I ended up, in bed, on a Sunday morning, the morning after a beer and wine supper, listening to

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1110758358916125872005-03-13T23:42:00.000Z2005-03-13T23:59:18.920Z

The weekend seems to have evaporated ahead of time. How can 48 hours have passed so quickly? I recall the euphoria of Friday afternoon, having needed this brake more so than many before.I did begin one task, at the least. I began my letter to Pandora, and stopped after about 4 hours. I have retained only four lines of the first attempt. It is proving much more difficult than expected. I mean, it

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1110239764377750002005-03-07T23:41:00.000Z2005-03-07T23:56:04.376Z

Everything is a blur. I wish I was 18 again.Monday night, a night that remains in my veins, keeping my head rolling like a cannonball and my fingers out of kilter. Tonight, I met up with my old university friend, Simon for pints of draught bitter and shots of single malt. Simon is my first friend from uni - when I moved into my room, in my first year in my first hall, he was in the room opposite.

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1109723802509436512005-03-02T00:05:00.000Z2005-03-02T00:49:39.693Z

Today was a big test. I logged onto my business email and picked up the promotions list.Context: As a large corporate, my erstwhile employer practises an annual promotion process. It's a repulsive, hypocritical process that has a track record of rewarding the unworthy brown-nosers and disregarding the people who are spending all their time actually delivering on their work and hence have not the

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1109552409978042542005-02-27T22:55:00.000Z2005-02-28T23:54:02.276Z

An aching premolar, a swollen Achilles tendon, and an inescapable wave of indolence. These are but three excuses I can cite for the repetitive silence. The experience has allowed for one good result however - an awakening to the wonders of aspirin. My usual option for painkillers has been ibuprofen or paracetamol, although I often wondered if they were having any effect at all. Aspirin has proven

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1108297756127030902005-02-13T17:15:00.000Z2005-02-13T17:21:23.236Z

Two weeks in the sun... and then back to the biting cold of the Northern Hemisphere. Yes, I landed back at Heathrow last night to the darkness and windchill so dramatically at odds with the tropics I had left.Throughout my stay in Mauritius, humidity levels were high. When the rain fell, it came down in sheets. I seem not to be able to pick up any colour - minor burns on the shoulder when I went

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1108297686966761252005-02-13T12:28:00.000Z2005-02-13T12:28:06.966Z

My Bro-in-law (l) and my brother (r) 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1108297609819693412005-02-13T12:26:00.000Z2005-02-13T12:26:49.820Z

Green island 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1108297552204458942005-02-13T12:25:00.000Z2005-02-13T12:25:52.203Z

Grandmere's house - see the banana trees in the background! 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1108297406964944202005-02-13T12:23:00.000Z2005-02-13T22:46:27.900Z

The infinity pool 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1108297111774458982005-02-13T12:18:00.000Z2005-02-13T12:18:31.773Z

The beach at dawn 

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1106782686644776902005-01-26T23:36:00.000Z2005-01-26T23:38:06.643Z

I wrote this on Sunday but failed to post it: Another lost weekend. It's incredible how you can build up for the two days of escape and then blow it all on a memory-loss. The one memorable event of this weekend: Saturday evening - dinner at my gay uncle's place. A restauranteur and aesthete with superb skills in cooking and flower arranging (I kid you not - this guy is good!), he put on a

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1106232280963142582005-01-20T14:13:00.000Z2005-01-20T14:44:40.963Z

Ok, I've sneaked away from my desk to write a quick entry - it's office time, but I'm working my final 5 unpaid days before I become accountable to a wage, and this just couldn't wait. A massive internal storm is mounting in my mind. It has been triggered by the shock realisation at how much not earning over the past six months has eroded my bank balance, even as I have tried to diminish my

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1105921162451812842005-01-16T17:07:00.000Z2005-01-17T16:17:28.913Z

A little silent this week, I know. Why? A heavy dose of work, a sore throat, ill-advised whiskey macs (advised as an antidote to the impending cold), a variety of things... So what's been on mind this past week that I want to share? In a word, music. My way to and from work is soundtracked. I put in the mp3 player's earbuds the moment I open the door, right until I get to my desk, and when I

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1105136993561139122005-01-07T22:28:00.000Z2005-01-09T23:50:53.153Z

Well, perhaps not everything, but something and in fact, the most interesting part about my family background. Why is this something that comes up now? As I may have mentioned, I'm heading over to Mauritius at the end of the month - much of this impending trip is about visiting family, of which I have much in that remote island in the Indian Ocean. This time, however, I am going to spend time

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1105136704178523142005-01-07T21:10:00.000Z2005-01-07T22:27:31.546Z

OK, a brief update on the internet dating project. The news is that there is no real news at the moment - this is not the case because I am failing to attract reciprocal interest, but for technical reasons. I have been tinkering with the short textual description that needs to be added to your profile when setting up. Having pared away at the cheesier bits, I finally reached a balance of sanity

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1104885041791944672005-01-05T01:01:00.000Z2005-01-05T00:50:18.590Z

OK, well, I've only gone and done it. Testament to my wave of New Year confidence, I have created a profile on Dating Direct. It seems to be the in-thing at the moment - well, according to The Times Saturday magazine anyway. I know there are those out there who will roll their eyes, chuckle or whatever. Yes, it's traditionally a geekily sad thing to do, and yes it suggests a little desperation.

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1104772351968486502005-01-03T17:08:00.000Z2005-01-03T17:13:23.740Z

Anyone looking for a Gmail account? I have 4 invites to give away if you're interested. Google are only providing accounts on an invitational basis - email me if you want an invite. I've only just started using Gmail, and am hence not able to sing its praises just yet - but I have heard a lot of good stuff about it. For more info, go to Gmail

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1104370501189124872005-01-03T01:57:00.000Z2005-01-03T17:00:04.106Z

This entry began as a rambling, disconnected review of the year 2004. I wrote several paragraphs before heading down to celebrate the New Year weekend at my sister's in Bristol. Tonight, as I was driving back along the M4, thinking about how to finish my reflections on the year gone by, I decided to scrap what I had written. I think it had something to do with the moon. The sky was layered

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1104368245826850132004-12-29T23:24:00.000Z2004-12-30T01:35:43.746Z

The wreckage of the Indian Ocean rim is presently all over the news - in another week or so, it will simply be, to us, all over. Such is the longevity of our attention, and the market-mindedness of the media. As my christmas passed with modest cheer, and little event, I have spent a while contesting the situation in my mind. After the donation to an aid agency has been placed, and as the news

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1103847325375631322004-12-23T18:42:00.000Z2004-12-24T00:15:25.376Z

What a day. I made the colossal mistake of agreeing to drive down to the Tesco and grab the last-minute extras that we forgot to pick up over the past three weeks. Whereas I had anticipated a tranquil break, it turns out we may be descended upon by "the clan" and hence it was necessary for me to gather cans of coca-cola, booze and microwaveable volume-produced sweetmeats. The roads were hell -

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1103586823536921792004-12-20T23:41:00.000Z2004-12-21T00:22:15.303Z

An observation on the current controversy on summary detentions under the Anti-Terrorism, Crime and Security Act. The government's use of internment without trial is something that has troubled me a lot. It's the kind of specious "greater good" argument that dictators such as Pinochet, or (dare I say) Saddam Hussein, used to validate their crimes against humanity. For such a thing to be

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1103502263274859332004-12-19T23:30:00.000Z2004-12-20T15:59:04.376Z

I've been thinking about something a friend said to me in an email: "I'm getting to know about you more through this site than in face-to-face conversation". I was startled to read this comment, but it underlined something I have been starting to feel recently. That is, from being originally an undertaking of novelty at a low point, my blog is becoming something reassuringly close to me. Writing

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1103150136304317662004-12-15T21:37:00.000Z2004-12-15T22:35:36.303Z

Wednesday night, the apex of the week, not a night for going out. With my bro' out of town, and not being in the mood to do anything of note, I went out into the garden and lit up for the first time in ages. Nothing like a good smoke on a crisp, cold night. It's a balm for the soul, a stimulus for memory, and who could but feel only love for the immediate, heady spin after the first deep draw. A

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1102981642313648772004-12-14T20:47:00.000Z2004-12-14T23:45:07.370Z

So, I had the interview today. It didn't go very well - not because I didn't take opportunities to show my intellect, but more because there was no chemistry generated at all. I was really disappointed with the people interviewing me, a deputy director of the unit and a senior civil servant. There was no warmth or engagement, or even a proper grilling, and it felt... banal. The questions were

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1102718760056704032004-12-10T19:27:00.000Z2004-12-12T00:27:10.060Z

My eyeballs are aching. The xmas party last night overspilled into the Motion bar, and had me rolling home at around 4am, not getting to sleep for another hour, then getting up for work at 8am. I had a lucozade and some toast, but that gave me a burst of energy that lasted until 11am. At 11.01am the turbo lag kicked in and I was rendered almost useless. Today was not the day to be off form. My

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1102462600875410982004-12-07T23:32:00.000Z2004-12-08T00:19:38.390Z

Rewind to Saturday night. Standing in the basement bar, with the fine music ("She lives in my lap"), tall long island ice teas in hand, surrounded by hot clientele, but nonetheless my mind was far from where I was in the moment. How can it be that on a night where all circumstances, environment, ambience and climate appear so conducive to oblivion, I still felt so distant? Nothing could move

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1102372958290048762004-12-06T22:36:00.000Z2004-12-07T00:33:34.500Z

All this talk of single malt has put me into a story-telling mood. With the power of the internet at my calloused fingertips, and aware as I am that this would otherwise be deadly boring(!), I have added colour and dimension to this post with a few lame pictorial aids - enjoy! OK, my love affair with single malt begins in 1995 at Warwick University, when a sophisticated finalist bought me (a

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1102288686101382782004-12-05T23:14:00.000Z2004-12-05T23:36:01.376Z

At the twilight of another lost weekend, the highlight of which was last night's visit to the Soho Bar (to be written up another day this week), a little reminiscence of an earlier period. Clearing through old files this afternoon, I came across a folder of documents I had forgotten - thumbnail sketches for my first, shortlived, and only serious escapade into creative writing. I have wanted to

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1102085941101784282004-12-03T14:59:00.000Z2004-12-03T15:08:20.276Z

A good night - drinks at the Langley for my friend Christian who's leaving the firm and moving on to new things. Apparently, my legend still lives on amongst the team I left behind - good gossip and good humour was exchanged. Music loud, inciting dance. A succession of drinks: 4 coronas, 2 slippery nipples, 1 caiparinha, 3 glasses of cheap champagne. It took an hour to get a cab. Walking down

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101948991871001692004-12-02T01:28:00.000Z2004-12-02T00:56:31.870Z

Finally, I am writing the long-promised words on The New York Trilogy. First a bit of background to how I came across this book in particular. Quite simply, Paul Auster was next on the list. I keep a list in my pocketbook of the authors whose work I need to read. Incidentally, before him came Dambudzo Marachera ("House of Hunger" is superb), and after him comes Willa Cather. Of Auster's work, I

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101897252605259252004-12-01T10:34:00.000Z2004-12-01T10:34:12.606Z

Barely a couple of hours into work, and already I am wanting to be back in bed. Slept badly, woke unnecessarily early, and am generally in a bad mood. Want to kick something, hard, but I don't think I'd be allowed to stay if I did so. Am already aiming to leave early this afternoon - library's open until late tonight, so a few hours of refuge beckon already!

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101858080378228742004-11-30T23:38:00.000Z2004-11-30T23:41:33.186Z

Jesus, what a crazy dream I had last night. In it, my brother's girlfriend was a psycho. I came down to breakfast, made a cursory comment about her making noise and she stabbed my shoulder with a fork. I staggered to the cupboard, drew out a pyrex dish and conked her on the head. That's all I can remember. Weird...

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101725555358285842004-11-29T09:29:00.000Z2004-11-29T10:52:35.356Z

A persistent cough, first felt on Thursday, exacerbated surely by heavy drinking on successive Friday and Saturday, is keeping me up this Sunday night. The robitussin having failed to stymie the grating at the upper reaches of my respiratory system, I have turned to the written word to soften my night. Notebook resting on my lap, acoustic music (Dylan, Travis, Keziah Jones) harping through the

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101256320958648082004-11-24T01:01:00.000Z2004-11-24T00:59:59.026Z

This evening, I went down to a public debate at the ICA on Nanotechnology. The "science of small things" is getting to be the next big thing in the politics of science, and I felt it would be remiss of me to pass up a bit of education, so I packed up work at 6:30 and trotted down the Strand towards Trafalgar Square. Walking down to the venue, I felt a shiver of guilt as we passed beneath

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101166767643409962004-11-22T23:26:00.000Z2004-11-22T23:39:27.643Z

Margarita returned. She had "excused" herself temporarily, and was now waiting only for me to do the same. A trade in the discipline of human material, if you will. I had slept fitfully in her absence, my doze broken by neck tensions, clenched hands. The inadvertent hunger tugged at the inner reaches of my gut and - in thinking of her - my thigh... My throat was beginning to rasp, the nascent

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101051545280020722004-11-21T15:35:00.000Z2004-11-22T09:46:17.100Z

This weekend was spent down in the South West, at Paul and Nadine's wedding, and a fine weekend it was. I worked with Paul from 2002 until early this year, he was my supervisor and we became friends through long, hard hours designing process and organisation in the most unglamorous of locations. Having to travel all over the UK for work, he eventually left the firm to train as a teacher and

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101050689857580272004-11-21T15:24:00.000Z2004-11-21T15:33:35.906Z

Paul's Wedding: Niamh and Chris

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1101050646996891722004-11-21T15:21:00.000Z2004-11-21T21:03:49.746Z

Paul's Wedding: Clodagh and I

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1100650447902189802004-11-17T01:07:00.000Z2004-11-18T00:46:03.986Z

For nights, I lay awake, supine, my rise-and-fall, breathing, until I noticed the sound of my own exhalation. Outside, the hammering had finally ended, and the clouds had quit the night sky, bequeathing moonlight to the pavement. As I wandered outside to inspect the completion of the road-digging, the light from the bar burst forth, caught the moonrays flush on the jaw, and I spun around to

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1100649710428250482004-11-16T23:23:00.000Z2004-11-17T00:01:50.426Z

Frustration abounds. I am finding my experience of the not-for-profit sector demanding in its need for adjustments in style. The professional culture I have been schooled in whilst part of the corporate environment is clashing with the correctness of the voluntary sphere. It would appear a natural contrast - people join the voluntary sector because they are good people, with good intentions and

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1100137068472384602004-11-11T01:32:00.000Z2004-11-11T01:37:48.473Z

Outside they're digging up the road. At 1.30am. Here I am, about to hit the pillow to set myself adrift to think about world order and clever ladies drinking cocktails (a dubious combination, but strangely rewarding - what better to discuss with a clever lady than visions of global harmony?), and a pneumatic drill is beginning to pound through the glazing. How long will it last? I cannot know,

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1099784709787076452004-11-10T23:29:00.000Z2004-11-11T01:54:31.316Z

OK, so finally I have my laptop open in bed, it's 1.25am and an entry in the blog after a lull in my posting. Several events have conspired to my absence from my own little corner of cyberspace. Obviously, the outcome of the election across the pond was the big thing. On the Thursday afterwards, I went down to the LSE for a public debate on US foreign policy in the 2nd term. Robin Cook was there,

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1099351210164516582004-11-01T23:13:00.000Z2004-11-01T23:20:10.166Z

I read today that Britney is a Republican who has publicly endorsed Bush. Christ almighty... It boggles the mind that those swing voters who are probably suffering identity crises (such is the limitation of the undecided) may make their minds up based on Britney's preference.

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1098802391080738562004-10-26T14:31:00.000Z2004-10-26T14:56:14.103Z

"The changing of the seasons, the cold slicing winds, the falling leaves, sunlight on green grass, snow on the land, London particular. Oh what it is, and where it is and why it is, no one knows, but to have said: 'I walked on Waterloo Bridge', 'I rendezvoused at Charing Cross,' 'Piccadilly Circus is my playground,' to say these things, to have lived these things, to have lived in the great city

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1098376735089147282004-10-21T16:27:00.000Z2004-10-21T16:38:55.090Z

I've just spent half an hour buying a wedding gift from one of those online catalogues. Went onto the website and was stunned at some of the stuff department stores are flogging these days. A high-tech cheese knife costing £25? For a fucking cheese knife! How much "high technology" could there be involved? Enough to merit £25?! I checked out the picture of this curd-cutting weapon - OK,

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1098314202887544742004-10-19T14:58:00.000Z2004-10-21T00:02:01.166Z

"Dear Nick. Thank you for applying for the above post. I received dozens of responses and was impressed by the calibre and high quality of candidates applying for the position. I regret to inform you however that you were unsuccessful in your application on this occasion. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your interest and also wish you all the very best in your future career

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1097877060801440992004-10-15T21:35:00.000Z2004-10-15T21:51:00.803Z

I'm in a gutter of self-indulgent angst at the moment. How can insecurity suddenly descend upon the brain? I have just been thinking about everyone I'm up against in my search for employment in the policy sphere, and a sense of inferiority is beginning to engulf me. They may each be a genius, for all that I know. Younger and smarter - youth and genius. I mean, when I think of this I am

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1097855265734051502004-10-15T13:16:00.000Z2004-10-15T21:35:08.870Z

Well, I continue to wait for the responses to all my applications - as my last post reflects, I am having to develop ways of waiting. I'm developing techniques now. Ideas have tucked themselves up inside, set themselves into siege, and I am seeing how well they hold out to my pressing. Here is technique #1 - the drain seat. Stillness and waiting - elegant bedmates, would you not say? The waiting

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1097600611102881622004-10-12T16:46:00.000Z2004-10-12T17:03:31.103Z

Waiting is a skill, for which talent is in scant supply. For me, at least, this truth is immediate and certain, as I count time until deadlines and closing dates. Waiting is inextricable from wanting. Nothing is worse than having to wait for something you want, and this is a sentiment that clings from infancy, through adolescence, into prime, beyond maturity, until your ultimate age. Waiting

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1097508744115814762004-10-11T15:17:00.000Z2004-10-11T15:32:24.123Z

I only picked the news up this morning, as I read the obituaries in the Independent, but Jacques Derrida died on Friday. His death was overshadowed somewhat by the death of Christopher Reeve a couple of days later, but the significance of his passing persists. My academic experience of studying Derrida is rooted in my postgraduate days. A full course module of my MA was dedicated to Derrida

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1097450674454781912004-10-10T23:01:00.000Z2004-10-10T23:24:34.456Z

Thanks to the wonder of the BBC A/V player and my trusty broadband connection, I was able to review the second presidential debate over in the US. When I read the commentaries in sources such as the NY Times, ABC News and of course the BBC, it seemed that a lot of attention was being paid to the stylistic elements of each respective performance, rather than on the meat of the issues. I was far

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1097081583542560132004-10-06T16:53:00.000Z2004-10-06T16:57:04.190Z

Amidst all this excitement about the US elections in less than a month, let us not forget the lessons of yesteryear...

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1096992980426067022004-10-06T13:13:00.000Z2004-10-06T12:39:42.056Z

Well, results of the GRE came in today - and it was as expected. Scored in the 96th percentile for both verbal and analytical components, but my maths result was woefully average. I don't think it's that I can't do the maths - see "Maths vs. your own logic" post - I didn't get myself programmed up. It adds up to the same thing - should have done Maths for A-Level, idiot for giving it up!

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1096992668447112542004-10-05T16:05:00.000Z2004-10-05T16:11:08.446Z

Sad indictment of my nerdity as this may be, but having seen the first Bush-Kerry debate, I'm getting stupidly excited about the VP slug-out tonight. I normally don't stay up late to watch an event unless it's election night or fight-night in the States (yes, I'd even pay-per-view Sky to watch a boxing match - but that's another argument). I love the way they do it Stateside - polished, so

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1096990827941933572004-10-05T15:26:00.000Z2004-10-05T15:53:19.033Z

During my period of lurgy-incubation, I picked up an article in an FT Magazine stacked up from a week ago, talking about a crisis facing political parties. In the article, there was a ministerial quote decrying the nefarious influence of consumerism and entertainment, which I felt was very revealing about the fuzzy discourse regarding the role of politics in society, which is shared by

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1096977111716182952004-10-05T08:20:00.000Z2004-10-05T11:52:48.773Z

A week without a post - all due to a turn-of-the-season cold. Yes, I have been laid up in bed, coughing and sniffing, downing spoonfuls of expectorant and liquidized meals. Having not had an illness at all when I was killing my body at work, I am tickled by the irony of succumbing to the lurgy when under no such stress or strain. It's a big week - well, bigger than the last few. Interview

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1096303693580312232004-09-27T14:07:00.000Z2004-09-27T16:48:13.580Z

At 28, I'm nowhere near where I thought I'd be when I was 21. That said, I'm nowhere near where I thought I'd be a year ago. Expectation - that's the curse of the annual commemoration of the day you are born. On your birthday, you ask yourself this - when you were born, what did your father think you'd be doing at 28, or 30, or 35? How far have you met those expectations? A measurement of the

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095878507173168192004-09-22T18:32:00.000Z2004-09-22T18:41:47.173Z

I'm losing it - just totally losing it. My mind has been stuttering, into gear, then out, I mean to do something then I don't. I am forgetting everything, minute to minute, sentence to sentence - and I'm ending up ignoring everyone. Family are getting pissed off with me, friends think I'm being aloof... Pull it together, pull it together, pull it together... Rusty, rusty brain... what

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095423300171055392004-09-17T11:12:00.000Z2004-09-17T12:39:45.836Z

After a while out of mind, I am thinking about Pandora again. But happily, today, like an idiot. At odd moments, I have inadvertently disclosed her name. You may have picked this up, when asking to borrow my password, when looking in my notebook. I wanted to write all about her, get out what it is about her and why, but now that I try, there are only fragments remaining of this discourse:

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095364430321079472004-09-16T19:33:00.000Z2004-09-16T19:53:50.323Z

Putting it out to rent was the hardest thing. Getting the keys to my flat a year and a bit ago was one of the high points of the last 5 years of my life. It felt like... progress, in a dyed-in capitalistic sort of way. Two bedrooms, a bathroom and shower room, my own entryphone, a lounge long enough to turn three cartwheels... and a lighting scheme perfected only after much experimentation and

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095201030280990502004-09-14T22:27:00.000Z2004-09-16T19:30:26.380Z

I can walk into Waterstones in any corner of the blessed isle, and never be satisfied. A vaccuum between, at one end of the scale, Penguin classics and the latest chick-lit at the other. They say books should not be judged by their covers... yet in Waterstones, this is the evident parade. There must be some kind of Marketing science to a Waterstones book display, where paperbacks with enticing

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095168222349779132004-09-14T13:18:00.000Z2004-09-14T13:23:42.350Z

Well, I took the GRE test this morning. Not as good as I can do, I think - I didn't really perform on the Quantitative component. Ah well... Multiple choice - a hideous exercise in identifying impostors, totally lacking in philosophical merit. The exercise is based always on a ruse - you have to isolate the dissemblers, rather than make a positive stride to the truth. Well, what do you expect

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095095169649871742004-09-13T16:52:00.000Z2004-09-13T17:06:09.650Z

Argh!! Tomorrow morning (8:30am!!), I have to do a maths test for the first time since 1993. Revising using GCSE-level text books, I have only vague recollections of formulae, and quirky techniques ("to divide fractions, first invert the fraction you are dividing by, then proceed as with multiplication")... I have been trying to circumvent the little tricks, and putting faith in the power of "

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8276594.post-1095088512409613922004-09-13T15:03:00.000Z2004-09-13T15:15:12.410Z

Aha, progress at last... At approximately 15:05, I received a call from a girl at the Institute for Citizenship - to pre-empt the feminists, I say "girl" here because she had a girl's voice, which is not to detract from her womanhood, of course. She called to inform me that my interview had to be re-scheduled, as the "chief executive" had suffered a family tragedy. I indicated to her that I had

nickwong8http://www.blogger.com/profile/08768898243397792403noreply@blogger.com0