Thirty Thousand Streets

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Tat

Today involved more recruitment interviews, this time north of Oxford street or, in 'Noho' if you're a sloganeering hipster ('Noho' being an acronym that I'm sure has 'Nohope' of being widely adopted)

It was, well, alright. The girl who interviewed me said she was sure she'd get me work soon. Then again, she would. It also involved a two hour mac test. Two hours. Jesus, what is happening to me? fair enough the interviewer did apologise, conceding: "we probably need to shorten it". No shit. Either that or pioneer life prolonging medical techniques by way of apology for wasting precious minutes of my life.

Just been to post a letter up Church Street, as the post box on Denmark Hill is 'out of order'. Quite how I'm not sure.

I've got this big metal tin box in my room, where I keep lots of random ephemera which I suspect it too important to chuck. This evening I delved into it for purposes of a general organise and spring clean. It was full of assorted tat from the intervening years when my mum bought it me one Christmas. Do you want to know what I found?

You do?

Well hush children, here is a sample of what I unearthed.

1. Numerous bank statements from the HSBC bank back when it was called The Midland.
2. Lots of Student loan correspondance.
3. Lots of yawnsome university literature with titles such as 'University Modular Scheme Assesment Regulations 1998' (I told you I only suspected it was important)
4. Notes for a university essay with quotes from trendy french theorists ("Dada and surrealism paradoxically revived objects to show them as irrationally split from modern, functionalist culture" etc.)
5. A typed out sheet of a web interview with DJ Q-bert of the Invisibl Skratch Picklz, where he talks about ducks a lot.
6. A poem I bought from a homeless man at the top of Christmas Steps in Bristol entitled 'SATAN WORKS AT MAC DONALDS' (sic)
7. About a dozen flyers for 'The Roots' at Bristol's Blue Mountain Club, 1997.
8. An invoice from Oasis Sound & Lighting Centre, 46 North Street, Bedminster for a PMX7 vestax mixer. As I recall, they did a crappy job of fixing said mixer when it broke later that year, glueing, rather than replacing a part. Cowboys.
9. A Technics 1200 manual dated 1989.
10. A photocopy of a bill from 1805, proclaiming victory over France and Spain and the death of Nelson, sent by my uncle along with a obtuse press clipping saying "Alcohol and prosac do not mix well". Er..
11. Various letters from a range of people, including: a letter sent by friend Will from India on grainy thin paper, a letter from my friend Dan Sarabji when he lived in Leeds (with roleplaying stats scribbled in corners), and some old letters from my long time ex-girlfriend Rekha.
12. Some Loctite superglue - which is about the most useful thing there.

I'm going to keep the letters and some other bits. The rest I might burn or something. Its annoying me. Unless anyone else wants it (serious bidders only please).

Then I'll have a nice new empty box, ready to fill again with yet more miscellany.

6 comments:

Peter Gasston said...

Are you from Bristol?

The Eyechild said...

No, Stockport.I studied there for three years in 1997 to 2000. Nice place.

gridrunner said...

Man... I have many boxes and drawers, each filled with random crap, of which I know only roughly 5% of is important. But that 5% is interwoven amongst the crap so inseparably it’s as if by some advanced encryption algorigthm.

I MUST sort it out soon.
And tidy my room.
And set my decks up.
And sign up with a doctor.
And pay off my student loan.
And...

Oh, maybe I’ll just go for a beer instead. I need a secretary.

Zeno Cosini said...

Philip K Dick called the sort of stuff you had in your box "kibble," and said the world would soon be entirely full of nothing else.

I don't want a secretary, but I do want a sack of tiny, disposable, spherical, multilimbed hovering robots called "Quoids" which, when released en masse into a room, will render it spotlessly clean and tidy in about thirty seconds, and then carefully sweep THEMSELVES into the bin before silently burning out.

Peter Gasston said...

OK. Interesting. I'm from a small village on the outskirts of Bristol.

The Eyechild said...

Wherabouts? I must admit I don't know it very well outside of the city centre, and Bedminster (or 'Inbredminster' if you're being cruel) where I lived for two years.

Bristol's a cool place.. kind of village meets city, and as much night life as you can shake a big sound system sized stick at..