so little time... all the time. | may 22, 2003 22:50
ok, so, sorry about the whole like, editing the other post and you all thinking i hadn't written when really i had it was just hidden. so yeah - scroll down if you haven't already and read the rest of the big brother post...
This last week has been intense. Physically it's been a challenge, and mentally it's been utterly exhausting. I've been wanting my high ropes training since i arrived. After having been trained to do setup and belaying on a new zealand high ropes course - I was well looking forward to learning the access techniques and rescue procedures that I never had a chance to expereince. These last three days have been doing just that. Our high ropes course has various elements that demand a range of access and rescue techniques. It was mostly new stuff for me, so a lot to learn, and a lot to remember. It was a real buzz crawling out along girders fifteen metres up with only a couple of ropes wrapped around them holding you on... Then flipping off, climbing back up using just the girder, flipping off and rescuing someone and doing a dual abseil to the ground. The zipwire rescue is pretty impressive - dangling from a wire, descending to the kid, and finishing with a dual abseil. It's all too much fun really. i'm cut and bruised all over, but i don't care. The assesment is over two days, and I passed the whole lot today - meaning tomorrow is a cruisy day consisting of playing around being balast for the others on the course - excellent...
The arrival of the new roommate is getting closer... colour me scared.
weight::I did weigh myself a month ago and was a little distressed to find that i had lost seven kilograms. I repeated the weighing exercise yesterday and found I'd lost a further three and a half kilos. I'm now sixtyfive kilos. I'm quite sure that i am not shrinking, but no one can quite tell where that much weight could come from on me. It's not like there was much to begin with. So I'm eating more now.
my room:: Now i have my own room. Well, for ten days. A new training group is starting soon, and there is a distinct lack fo available space. The now vacant bed in my room will be filled by someone new. I'm scared.
flowers:: I've been taking some amazing photos of flowers lately. The centre is coming out in flower all over the place. I've been chasing those elusive squirrels, and rabbits too. But the best photos of late have to be those I took last night at the beach. While we were eating potatoes and bananas I set up the camera on long exposures and lit our faces with a flashlight. Some spooky photos that really capture the atmosphere of our little beach fire escapades.
January 2, 2001. Still exhausted from New Years celebrations, I’m lying on the beach baking in the intense summer heat. We’re drinking half frozen Raro. I get bored and start shaping the sand into various shapes and forms. I suddenly get a weird inclination to form the shapes of crop circle designs. Several hours later, dehydrated and covered in sunburn, I stand upon the dunes looking over my creation; a small three-dimensional formation lacking any sort of complexity but still impressive in its own special way. It has begun. Cut to May 3, 2003. Standing on the shores of Loch Ness in Scotland, overlooking the ruins of Urquhart Castle. I’m working in a team of five artists using eighteen tonnes of rock to form a spectacular twenty-five-metre radial design. The client? Channel Four; marketing for the fourth series of Big Brother in the UK.
Hoping to get away early, I asked for the afternoon off work so I could arrive in London a little earlier than expected. Sadly, I didn’t get away until after five. I walked out of the centre gates with absolutely no clue on how I was going to get to London. Luckily Tim drove by and picked me up. He took me about five minutes down the road, which I thought was a good start to my journey. From Wootton I got a bus to Ryde where I bought a return ticket to London for £43.70. That’s not bad given that it includes a ferry ticket and loads of trains. I even got to ride the Gatwick express; a nice new train with comfy seats and fancy doors. There’s something a little disconcerting about having to open a window and stick your arm outside to pull open the latch in order to exit most English trains.
Anne met me at Victoria Station. Victoria Station isn’t half as scary as what I thought it might have been. It’s kind of busy, in a London-ish sort of way, but at the same time, it’s so big that the hundreds of people walking around looking like they know where they are going sort of don’t really fill it up very much at all. We caught the tube on the Victoria line to Green Park where we switched to the Jubilee line and rode to Dollis Hill where they lived. There was much laughing and happiness and telling of stories before we all headed for bed. Upon waking in the morning, we all went out separate ways – them to work, me to the city.
From everything I’ve ever heard about London I can honestly say I had no real inclination to go there at all. Maybe just perhaps to see a few of the big landmarks that everyone talks about. However, I’m now beginning to think that everything I’ve ever heard about London has had about as much credibility as the large vat of custard that was poured upon me last week. London is big, yes. However, it’s not so big that it’s scary. London is not scary. No, really, it’s not. It’s not even dirty or smelly, well, no more so than any other large city I’ve been to. There is also a surreal lack of beggars.
So I saw Piccadilly Circus and Big Ben and the London Eye and blah blah blah who cares. They’re all pretty ho-hum really. Ok, so it was a little exciting being alone in the middle of London and seeing loads of famous things. But is it really that thrilling when you know that millions of tourists before you have already done it? Each year. You don’t feel very unique. I don’t think London is really about all those icons and landmarks.
Admittedly, the little tiny plaque in Southwark Cathedral telling me about the eight hundred year old building I was standing in fascinated me – as did the collection of art at Tate Modern. However, it was the conversations I had with some random guy in Tate and the rather eccentric guy in Cyber-Dog that really told me more about the nature of the city. It’s not the material things that make a city what it is. Imagine how many people go to London, or anywhere for that matter, and say they’ve been there, done that, it was pretty. Imagine how many people really have no idea what these places are like at all; simply had a look at the façade’s and failed to experience the true essence of the city – it’s people.
I digress; London was lovely. Come 6:30am Friday morning I was riding a tube enroute to Victoria Station. I wasn’t sure how I was going to identify the others, but I think it was Will standing on platform fourteen with five rakes that gave it away. After another pleasant journey aboard the Gatwick Express, we boarded a plane to Inverness, Scotland. Scotland is lovely too. Our hotel looked a lot like a shipwrecked ferry. We sat in the restaurant one night, the rain trickling down the angled windows, and wondered why we weren’t swaying from side to side. It was a somewhat surreal dining experience.
Our site was below the ruins of Urquhart Castle near Drumnadrochit, on the shores of Loch Ness. It’s a stunningly beautiful area. Loch Ness is incredibly dark and murky with a multitude of dark dreary shadows wallowing beneath the surface. It’s no wonder that so many myths and legends surround it.
I confidently say myth, for on the Sunday we did spy what we thought was Nessie swimming in the Loch. We were thrilled. We were terrified. We were destroyed when we discovered that some hooligans had simply tied the head of a stuffed toy to a bottle and floated it in the Loch. Ok, so it was us. But boy oh boy, it was a laugh.
The design we constructed in Scotland was a 65ft wide eye with seventy radiating lines. I’d like to tell you just how many tonnes of stone were used, but I’ve heard varying accounts. We were told that we started with 18 tonne. I estimate that one to two tonne of that was left over. Thus, I’d happily suggest that we used some sixteen tonne of stone. Ooooo ahhhh.
We had a team of eleven people working for seven hours to construct the eye.
Filming took place the next morning from a helicopter. They flew over loads of times trying to get ideal lighting conditions from a pretty dreary overcast day. The resulting segment that has been screening on channel four over the last two weeks is something really quite spectacular.
We flew out on Sunday night from Inverness to Glasgow where we changed planes and flew to Bristol. They were little planes. One of them had propellers. I was not amused. To tell the truth it was actually a bit of a laugh – perhaps the most turbulent flight I’ve ever had. The next plane was the same, but they’d lopped off the propellers and mounted a couple of wee jets on the tail. Charming. Oh, and we got little pretzel thingies. Mmmm Pretzels.
Before we left Scotland we bought seven new rakes. In addition to the five we already had. The lady in the shop laughed at us. Silly lady. She has no idea.
We had to drive for a couple of hours to get to Llanelli. We stayed at the Stradey Park Hotel. It’s lovely. Got something to do with Rugby from what I can gather. Our beach was about twenty minutes from there, on the Pembrey Sands. The beach was Incredibly mind-numbingly vast. Incoming waves seemed to roll forever across the almost flat sand. At low tide, you could have mistaken the water for a mirage upon the horizon.
Our team of five spent some six hours laying out a 210ft design with one hundred radiating lines; each with a set of pedantically measured points on it. There was a concern over the incoming tide for a while. However, we ended up waiting several hours for it to come in. Bizarre. Like watching paint dry. No, like waiting for a toaster to pop.
The helicopter flew over countless times gathering screeds of footage. Each time it landed, we’d gather round and try to get a peek at the miniature screen inside the cockpit to see how it looked from the sky. It was beautiful. Watching it on channel four at nighttime back here on the Isle is like a dream. The sequence begins with a slow sweep across the surface of the water, sweeping in over the sand and ascending up through the turn rotating around the eye. As the helicopter comes around opposite the sun the reflecting sand makes the design appear to explode out of the screen. Channel Four love it. I can understand why.
It was heartbreaking to leave. Arriving back at Little Canada had me wondering what I was really doing here. I couldn’t help but think that a better life lay beyond here; a life with money, real orange juice and toast that wasn’t bendy.
Two days later I saw the smiles on kids faces and I understood.
What struck me as weird about Brighton was not the distinct lack of people on the beach, not the large blackened collapsed monstrosity of west pier extending out into the water, not the excessive number of young homeless guys and not even the number of stones on the beach with holes in them. What struck me as weird about Brighton was the unproportionately high number of stationery shops...
That little word “spontaneity” came to mind so I decided to jump on a school bus that was headed for Hastings. For I’d learnt during my time here in England that Hastings is further along the South coast past Brighton. I convinced Lou to join me on this journey at quite short notice simply for the reason that anything spontaneous has the possibility of being absolutely exhilarating. This was my downfall, for I thought I had managed to convince her of that “fact”. Instead, Lou was using the opportunity to get herself home to Kent. So midway towards Brighton she decides that I should instead join her in Kent. I laugh. We’ve all heard about Kent.
As the bus pulled up to Devils Dyke I jumped off, waved bye bye to everyone and started walking. Evidently, it’s quite some distance into Brighton from Devils Dyke. I stopped to ask a road worker and he suggested that I “catch a bus. For buses,” he said, “are cheap in Brighton. And regular. There’s a stop just over there,” he said. He lied. There was no stop and I don’t think that £1 is cheap for a bus. Compared to the Isle of Wight then yes, perhaps that is cheaper, but compared to the rest of the world no, that is not cheap for a bus-fare sir. After walking for a while and having not found a bus stop I came across policeman one and policeman two. I knew I’d find policeman, for I’d seen the telltale signs of drivers blinking their lights at oncoming cars, complete with a curious little grin that suggested they felt rebellious or something. Poor dears. So I found Policeman one, and Policeman two, who by chance was currently issuing a ticket to a woman who was taking it very well. She thought it somewhat of a comical situation. Weird lady. I hesitated, and then asked Policeman one how much further it was to walk into Brighton. He gives me a blank look. He has no idea. He chats for a moment though while I wait to see if Policeman two can help. Policeman two also has no idea, but they suggest that walking is adventurous of me. I tell them I’m an adventurous sort of guy. They laugh. (Is it that hard to believe?) (I am, really.) But, they take pity on me, I’m sure, and give me a ride into Brighton. The conversation is rich. We talk about Sports. As you’re probably aware, I know as much about sports as I do about the ethics of nuclear biochemistry. They don’t seem to notice. I smile sweetly as they drive me around Brighton for fifteen minutes trying to find a hostel. They fail miserably. Policeman two gives up and drops me off at the information centre, they wish me luck, and I wave and wander towards the little i symbol.
I selected Brighton Backpackers from a list of Hostels. There was a Walkabout Hostel, but I am trying to avoid Walkabout bars at all costs. They’re these pitifully Australian establishments scattered across England to keep homesick Aussies happy by serving Fosters in a room painted green and yellow. I mean really.
I should have known though, from the bright yellow, orange, blue and green painted grotesque façade that Brighton Backpackers was a place to avoid. Sort of bohemian in nature, with a style dating back to the sixties, the hostel was a visual explosion of random murals, hotchpotch paintjobs and mismatched furniture. The receptionist wasn’t overly interested that I’d come along. From what I could gather, they cater more for the long-term clientele. Linen was stacked on a couch in front of the television. The room was filled with twenty-something’s watching the Simpson’s. Later, the room was filled with twenty-something’s watching something else. I didn’t much like the reception area. I paid my £11, took my sheets and began the arduous process of finding my room. From reception you go through a locked orange door, into a hallway that is hardly long enough to accommodate you before you go through the green door, turn right, through two more orange doors, one push, one pull, left, up three sets of tiny narrow stairs and through the door with loads of paint on it. Then it’s a case of finding an available bed.
The dope-smokin’ French roommate was a little too much to handle, so I decided to head out for a walk to the beach. There is no sand. I giggled a little bit and went up the hill to find some shops. I was bored, so I went back to shower and change before I went out for dinner. Back at the hostel I met two Australian guys; Greg and Michael. They’d just been for dinner, so I walked with them to the £3 pizza place called Picassos. I then met up with them later and we went to a few clubs. I wasn’t expecting much, after all, it was a Monday. I was pleasantly surprised to find the clubs all packed with people. The people couldn’t dance, but, still, they were there trying anyway which was sort of charming and somewhat amusing.
We got back to the hostel some time around two. Some twenty minutes later Italian guy is in the street yelling at something. German guy in the room next door yells out the window for him to be quiet. Italian guy yells back at German guy. He says, “You want sleep? If you want sleep then you buy a house up there on the hill, if you want party, you stay here in the city. You can’t afford to sleep, you have to p a r t y.” German guy isn’t impressed. He yells back. Italian guy notices the accent. “Hey, where you from man?” German guy answers, thereby starting a conversation. German guy gets sick of it, and asks Italian guy to be quiet again. “Hey, German guy, you know what? You will wake up in the morning and all you’ll be able to think about was the crazy guy on the street man. The crazy guy on the street. ‘Cause I’m crazy.” Italian guy was at this point restrained by his well embarrassed girlfriend and taken away. And finally came sleep.
Roadworks started at eight. Breakfast was a banana and a rice-crispy milk bar. The three of us went out for a hot chocolate. We talked, we laughed, then I had to go and meet my colleagues. It was at this point that a billion litres of custard were poured upon my world.
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