Is It Timeshare?

After just having finished uni for the year, like most people I was desperate for a job. I trawled the internet and newspapers and eventually found a perfect opportunity: canvassing in an airport. Well, how hard could it be inviting holiday makers to complete a short survey and enter into a free prize draw?

Passengers asked to complete the survey were skeptical. Is it timeshare? Am I going to be bombarded with phone calls? Do I have to attend a meeting? According to the staff team leader, no, no, no. Having been told that no, it's not timeshare, no, there is absolutely no cold calling and no, it is just a free prize draw, you get one phonecall to tell you you've won and hurrah! Off you go on your free week of luxury.

However, sounding much too good to be true, and feeling unlikely to be told anything truthful by the company, I conducted a little of my own research. As it turns out, this is the real story: Tempted by the prospect of a free holiday, passengers hand over their name and a telephone number. Everybody who qualifies WILL win a holiday. Club la Costa will be a regular occupier of your phone line, congratulating you on your win and arranging for you to attend a meeting to pick up your tickets. At said 2 hour long meeting, staff will attempt to persuade you to buy timeshare at a "discounted price". If they fail, you may be fobbed off with vouchers. But, if you still are lucky enough to get the holiday, it will be on the condition that you attend 5 two hour long meetings during your holiday where, again, you'll be encouraged to buy timeshare. In the meantime, back at home your details are being sold on to other companies who will be ready and waiting to pester you from the moment your plane lands.

While it seems like an innocent holiday survey, it is anything but. Yes you can win the free holiday, but there are just a few catches. I would advise not to even bother unless you really don't mind the hassle of a million meetings. But if you are invited to join the survey, please spare a thought for the canvassers. They really are oblivious and are just doing, what they think, is an innocent no-strings-attached questionnaire.

Nagging Wives Club.

Yesterday saw a shopping trip to Cribbs Causeway with the aim of finding my Dad some new clothes. It was doomed from the start due to the presence of my mother. My parents rarely get along: they should have divorced years ago, and the bickering does not cease in public. My mum, who used to be a model, is rather image conscious, shall we say. My dad does not care what he is wearing so long as a) he can move in it and b) is not indecently exposed.

Our trip took us to Marks and Spencer where there were copious elderly couples. All the wives were picking out clothes and all the men trailed behind their spouse with a look of disgust on their face as they were forced to try on things they would never select willingly. The same snipets of conversation could be found in all directions. "Do you like that?", "S'alright", "I like it. Next!", "Can I try it on now? Can we go now?", "Oh stop pulling faces like that" and so on and so forth. Upon asking my dad what HE thought of a pair of deck shoes (which I don't think he wanted to admit that he did rather like) he replied "Oh, whatever keeps your mother happy".
In the end he resulted in a basket of clothes that (apart from the shoes) he probably does not like at all, but Mum does. And as a final insult, it was Dad who had to fork out for it all.

In a twisted roundabout way, I guess everybody'll be happy in the end. Dad will be dressed appropriately according to Mum's standards, which means she can't moan at him about his appearance. In other words, she may take a week's holiday from the Nagging Wives Club. Just a week though, something else is bound to crop up soon enough.

Upping Sticks

I recently moved out of my student digs and returned home to the land of free food and laundry. I always enjoy packing but it never ceases to amaze me how little stuff I have and need. My entire life can easily be packed into just one suitcase and a couple of bags. It seems sad that my life can fit into a car boot, but simultaneously it is rather convenient. Unless the UK gets itself sorted out, I plan to skip country in just a couple of years and a large accumulation of junk would not do.
I guess my life is just uncluttered: I don't hang on to any old junk, but it would be nice if I did have a little more to show for my 21 years.

The 4 Stages of Recovery.

Just like most students up and down the country, I have found these past couple of months very stressful. As someone who never usually gets stressed (I'm a firm believer in what's meant to happen will, and what will be will be.) on the rare occasions it does happen, I just don't know what it is or how to deal with it.

My stress recently has come from a number of sources: flatmates, the unexpected death of an old school friend, lecturers, exams, E-On/EDF energy (a whole other story!) and last night came the final blow: an absolutely abyssmal coursework grade of 45%. This is not just any old piece of coursework either, but a research proposal upon which my final year project will be based. 45%? I rarely get anything under 65. I saw the mark and stared in disbelief, before entering Stage 1: Denial.

During Stage 1 I laughed it off, I "lol"ed at it. I told a friend and joked about it. But then it hit me. Stage 2: Sadness. I realised that this was disaterous. I had a fail on my record. I cried and cried and thoughts of dropping out and leaving began entering my head, but I fought them back. I felt so stupid. How could I get 45% in geography? Geography! It's not rocket science! Well I know how it happened. Bring on Stage 3: Anger.

The entire module was so poorly run. The entire course is poorly run: the lecturers simply do not care about students and their performances. My geography department is rated number 1 in the country for research and is graced with the presence of world-renowned scientists. However, they like to keep their immense knowledge to themselves. Trying to get a meeting with one of them is like drawing blood from a stone. I even recalled an email sent to my whole tutor group from my tutor regarding a draft for said research proposal. It read "For all our sakes, don't even bother". As a tutor group, how are we expected be enthusiatic and want to work when we're told not to even bother doing a draft. Well, what can I do about it?

Stage 4: Revelation.
It's not all that bad really. The average mark for that module is indeed over 50% which although isn't fantastic, it's alright and there is scope to improve next year. And there's no point in worrying until results day anyway. Who knows, I might well have scored 90% in all my exams. I've done some research and am hopefully going outside the department next year to take a module in International Environmental Law. Perhaps the lawyers will care for me and help me where the geographers fail miserably. So only the future will tell. With a little encouragement and attention deserving of any hard working student, I might discover that I'm not so stupid afterall...

Angels and Demons

Having read the book years ago, I was thrilled to see the trailer for the new film. Tonight I made my way over to the cinema and settled in an aisle seat to fully appreciate the whole film (aisle seat neccesary for comfort and therefore concentration). The film began. The film ended. A disappointment to say the least. I expected much more from a film based on such a brilliant novel. The foundations were there, but what went wrong with the main build?

For a start, there is no way this film should be rated a 12. If men being branded and burning alive isn't enough to up the rating, what is? Well thats obvious to those who have read the book. In the novel the two central characters develop a 'more than just friends' kind of relationship which was notably absent from the big screen. Had just one sexual scene made it in the final edit, the film would have been allocated it's more suitable rating of 15. The second point to note with regard to the rating is this: apart from the twisted violence and squemish moments (e.g. a Cardinal having his eye chewed by a rat) what 12 year old could possibly even begin to grasp the conspriacy theories, understand what the Illuminati is or know the significance of the Vatican City, or even where it is? It's a clever novel, but the film just seems like a dumbed down counterpart.

Much of the film consists of either a) cars and sirens and screeching brakes or b) Tom Hanks mm-ing and aah-ing over numerous statues around Rome. I know the stautes are the basis of the paper trail, but the whole film seemed to be lacking a certain depth which I think would have been overcome had it gotten more personal. There's no reason to care for Robert Langdon or the woman scientist, what was her name? Vittoria?

Although the quality of acting cannot be disputed and some of the special effects are pretty good, Angels and Demons on the big screen is not a patch on the book. It was, is, a fantastic novel, and I fear that's where it's journey should have ended.

The Power of the Bath

When was the last time you had a bath? A real long bath, chest deep in bubbles? Well I had one tonight.

I must admit I have been terribly stressed and frustrated this evening, which is totally out of character. Being someone who is normally so laid back they're almost horizontal, the rare times I get stressed, I don't know what it is or how to deal with it. So after having screwed up work, ripped paper to shreds, stomped around a bit, had a rant to a friend and become just about ready to rip someone's head off, I finally decided to have a bath.

I stayed submerged for a good half hour with Magic fm's ten at 10 and some lavender oil on an oil burner and WOW. Just wow. My heart beat slowed, my muscles noticeably relaxed and I began to breathe a bit deeper. I slowly came back around to normal.

Post-bath those horrible stressy feelings have vanished. I'm back to my normal self. So next time stress hits, instead ripping a head off, I will save a life with a bath.

It's good to be selfish.

Being selfish is never thought of as a desirable characteristic in a person. As children we are told not to be selfish, share things, think of others. But what if being selfish changed your life for the better, and in doing so, just as good karma spreads, your 'selfish' act could radiate out and benefit a wider pool of peers?

I admit to being selfish. I do things that I want to do, I don't do things that I don't want to do and I live my life for me instead of wasting my decades constantly trying to make other people happy while my blood pressure raises to the moon and I lose enough hair to open a wig shop. You weren't blessed with your own life simply to waste it constantly trying to please others. Being selfish doesn't mean you have to be difficult and repel people to withdraw into your World of You, just as being selfish doesn't mean you can't do anything to help people. Even voluntary work can be a selfish act. Nobody volunteers for work because they hate it, they offer their skills because it gives them joy and makes them happy to know that they helped someone.

Life's too short to give it up for the sake of making somone like you. They'll like you because you do whatever they want. But somebody else can like you more because you're strong and independent and you stand up for what you believe in.
So the moral of this story (blog) is, live for yourself. Nobody else will live for you.