Monday

If you do not having anything to say, then do not say anything. But alas (alack), regardless of my barren mental state I shall see what happens when fingers meet plastic. It’s Christmas soon. Today I'm being a right Scrooge. As usual it’s tempting to send a ‘Seasons Greetings’ card to every Christian I know, but that would just be downright rotten of me.

In my last post I think I may have mounted my high horse; one derived from my overly sheltered existence, and set about trampling those lucky enough to be labelled the ‘underclass’ by my good self. But, albeit with the unfortunate use of some clumsy words, I think I meant it. I don’t like people that don’t have widely ambitious and totally unrealistic dreams for themselves and for their societies. I honestly do find people that are firmly rooted in reality to be thoroughly boring. But to link university/further education attendance with a sort of ‘creatively delusional’ gene is wrong of me I suppose since I know plenty of horribly dry people that attended university as well as many a creative genius that did not. In fact I feel that the British educational establishment systematically hunts down and destroys the best of the best during high school and allows only the functionally harmless like my good self to advance any higher. But that’s another rant for another time. So I suppose what I was really trying to say in my last post was simply, ‘why isn’t everyone exactly like me?’ I think I will struggle with this mystery for some time to come.

Talking of me, (ha.) they just arrested some feller from Trimley near Felixstowe. Now whether or not he is the man responsible for putting Ipswich firmly in the headlines for the past few weeks is another matter – but I can trace one side of my family back to Trimley for around seven generations (or something similarly depressing). So it’s nice to know I’m from good stock.

Time has been a constant pain recently. Never enough of it is there? Is it a symptom of an advanced consumer society that I spend all my time reading reviews of films, books and interactive entertainment that I shall never have time to actually consume? Some sort of abstract state where I merely consume products about consumption and completely bypass the base product itself. Having said that I did recently purchase the Casino Royale soundtrack. I miss the days of Empire, everything was so simple then, and genocides aside – it did nothing but good.

Last night I was trying to tuck in to one of my professors books ‘Woman in Nazi Germany’. Ugh. It’s actually not a bad read – but the title – come on? It got me fermenting all kinds of crazy ideas in an anti-clerical sort of way that would simultaneously destroy the credentials of the history profession (and therefore spare me from their criticism) and put me on the outside as some sort of modern day Foucault. I still think it can, and needs to be done, but I shall save such modesty for another time.

I’m heading off to Café Nero’s in Ipswich. It’s the one place in that god-forsaken place where you are guaranteed to find cool teachers doing their marking and pretty much every sexually confused teenager in town (you know the ones – the ones with the good dress sense). Plus it’s a ‘book crossing’ zone. I feel at home in such a pretentious place. If you’d care to join.

It turns out this chap that’s been arrested keeps a blog. But I can’t find it. Perhaps his not the murderer at all but its just some elaborate PR stunt to increase the hit rate to his site…