I was going to write about books today, but my mind’s on other things. Perhaps after I finish reading Pratchett’s latest (Nation) I might write some kind of mini-review. Ironically, any book reviews that pretend to be intelligent and ‘deep’ tend to be completely unreadable… I should probably avoid doing that.

(Which reminds me, this year’s Bad Sex Awards were recently announced: http://www.literaryreview.co.uk/badsex_11_08.html, well worth a read, if you find my blog entirely untitillating… which is unlikely, but one never knows what kind of readership one has…)

Ah, screw it, I’ll give you some choice excerpts from the Bad Sex Awards 2008. Who needs to write quality prose when you have tripe like this available:

“…but he didn’t know what name to call her. ‘Mrs Rougement’ was the name he had always known her by. God, she was antique, but here they were. Her face gleamed with his jism in the spotty light of the motel room, there on the far end of East Beach, within sound of the sea. The rhythmic relentless shushing returned to their ears. She laid her head on the pillow and seemed to want to be kissed. Well, why not? It was his jism. Having got rid of it, there was an aftermath of sorrow in which he needed to be alone; but there was no getting rid of her. ‘Call me Sukie,’ she said, having read his mind. ‘I sucked your cock.’”

Yeah. That was the most PG-13 passage I could find, too.

I’ll stop with the excerpts now, lest my blog become un-worksafe.

Okay, ONE more.

“At last, she could no longer control the world around her, her five senses seemed to break free and she wasn’t strong enough to hold on to them. As if struck by a sacred bolt of lightning, she unleashed them, and the world, the seagulls, the taste of salt, the hard earth, the smell of the sea, the clouds, all disappeared, and in their place appeared a vast golden light, which grew and grew until it touched the most distant star in the galaxy.”

Really, if you want to read some more, you’ll have to do it in your own time… preferably alone.

It’s kind of hard to draw myself away from reading it, to write this, if I’m totally honest, but I’ll try.

I went out yesterday to try and take some photos, but they didn’t come out all that well. Sometimes the eternal grayness of England can be a little annoying. Then the clouds have an annoying habit of only dissipating when it’s almost twilight — I haven’t seen the sun since I took those photos, actually. I guess it’s even worse up in the Arctic circle, where they only have a few hours of daylight in the winter. Maybe they don’t have the greyness though…

That reminds me! I was invited to Norway! To … um… see some fjords! I think they have some pretty girls too, and lots of oil. And fjords; many fjords. They’re meant to be rather pretty though, and I’m sure they look all glassy, magical, crystalline and blue in the spring. EasyJet can probably get me there for the same price as a sandwich from an airport departure lounge. Reminds me of the time I spent about 8 euros on a tall glass of orange juice in Istanbul airport (en route to Antalya), a meager 40 times more expensive than the 20 euro-cent glass I had in the seedy, stinky, characterful back-streets of the Bazaar.

I think the thing I loved most about my trip to Turkey was Thermessos. I arrived at the bottom of a rather large hill (mountainous by my woefully understated natural-phenomenonish British standards), where a guy in a hut was quite obviously sleeping, whiling away the hours. I poked him gently until he awoke. I tried to communicate that I wanted to see Thermessos, the mighty, unassailable city! The city that Alexander the Great failed to conquer! He simply pointed up a rocky, mud path. That’s tourism in Turkey. A 2 mile mud path up a steep hill… which finally spits you out at the ruins of an ancient city that once had a sizable population. There’s something about standing in an almost-complete Roman theatre, one with 10,000 seats, and singing as loud as you possibly can. It was contrasted rather starkly by a trip to the Colosseum in Rome, which was jam-packed with thousands of tourists. Rome only really exists in its current form to facilitate tourism, it seemed.

Time to finish reading the smut… (Check out the one that features a character called Sebastian…)

The snow has melted! The sun is… almost shining! The ambient temperature is WAY above 3 centigrade (37F) now and heading towards a balmy 5 or 6. Soon the delightful showers of Spring will be upon us — and before I know it, April will turn to May. May, if you’re new to this blog or my life, is the month when everything happens — we have something like 10 immediate-family birthdays in May, and this year we also have a wedding! May is also the best month to be in England (potential tourists, take heed!) The weather’s fresh (with a hint of the warmth to come) and the late-Spring flowers begin to bloom. The bulbs of March and April fade away to be replaced by the delicious lime-green leaves of May and all in all it’s just lovely.

But once May has passed, when all the important bits are out of the way and the best of British has been devoured, it’s time to fly. (I tried to work in ‘gonna fly now’ from Rocky, but failed — it just made me sound like a gangster-homie.)

It’s time to discuss where I’ll be travelling in 2010.  A few months ago I got lucky and scored a very well-paid writing job, so by the time May rolls around I should have enough money to go just about anywhere and do just about anything. It’s quite an exciting prospect! I can actually go on tour. When faced with a shanty, shared on-its-last-legs taxi, I can opt for the personal driver and tour guide. I can pay for the company and pleasure of not one, but nine concubines. Basically, this year, I have options.

First, though, I have to actually choose where to go. It’s time to get out of the Western world; out of Europe, out of America — but into … where exactly?

I have the plans for two primary tours bouncing around in my head at the moment: East Africa and East Asia.

BRING OUT THE MAPS!

East Africa Tour (Provisional, January 2010)

Countries visited: South Africa, Mozambique, Tanzania, Kenya

Via (uncertain): Zimbabwe (safer than I thought), Madagascar (bit out of the way, but safe), Malawi (safe, just not sure about)

Synopsis: East Africa is the safest part of the continent, which is obviously a huge bonus. Most of the countries on the list are also ex-British colonies, which means you’re generally safe and/or revered as a white tourist. The only real risk is being mugged, but being 6′5″ and scary lookin’, that’s not normally a problem. Other risks are Muslim extremism (but this is more of a problem further north, towards the Red Sea) and malaria. Really, I was quite shocked to discover just how safe my East Africa Tour could be.

Sightseeing-wise, Tanzania and Kenya have some of the best nature reserves in the world. Madagascar must surely have some unique vistas/plants/animals too. I have friends in South Africa and some connections in Tanzania. The only bit I’m not really sure about is Zimbabwe — but apparently it’s on the ’safe to travel’ list again, so… we’ll see!

I don’t know which direction I would go in — north to south or vice versa. Need to check flights and connections.

East Asia Tour (Provisional, January 2010)

Countries visited: Taiwan, Thailand, Cambodia, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia

Via (time/money permitting): South Korea, Japan, Philippines, New Zealand

Synopsis: Now this one’s a little more tricky and much more time-consuming! Africa’s just a few hours by plane, but Singapore is 12 hours away — as is the ‘hop’ from Japan to New Zealand! South-east Asia requires a lot of island-hopping — I don’t think the domestic/small-hop flights will be expensive, but getting to and from airports is always a pain. I could always limit my trip to just south-east Asia, dropping Korea and Japan entirely… but still, how do I get to New Zealand and back again? (I could fly to Los Angeles…)

Safety-wise, Asia’s on par with east Africa, but there’s more risk of terrorism. Tap water is undrinkable, there’s some malaria, some tuberculosis — less HIV than Africa though, hooray! It’s tempting to do a ’super safe’ tour to Japan, Singapore and New Zealand, but again… it would be an awfully long trip at great expense. I think I’d rather do a grand tour of just China.

If I did the entire circle — perhaps flying into Japan, and then going anti-clockwise? — I’d be looking at 3 months at least I think. I’m told you can lose yourself for weeks in New Zealand. As a photographer, I’m sure that’d be an understatement.

Gods, the more I think about it, Asia needs to be cut up into smaller slices. North Asia (Japan, Korea, China?), South Asia, and then New Zealand and the ‘wonders’ of Tasmania.

Analysis, Pros/Cons

I’m leaning towards the East Africa Tour simply because it’s easier to execute. It’s linear, with the only required flight being the one to Madagascar — for the same reason it would probably be cheaper too. Actual cost of living/day-to-day expenses are probably very similar — most of my money would go on tour guides, safaris and other excursions.

Africa’s also closer to home, which makes the whole thing a little easier to swallow. One thing I need to look into is relative English literacy — I assume it would be better in ex-colonial Africa.

Asia has culture though — those Far East cultures! The seat of ancient-and-then-modern religion! I bet Asia has better views too, with all that sea… and jungle! I’d have to include the Congo in my African tour if I wanted jungle, and it’s not very safe there at the moment.

This is the bit where I throw the floor wide open for suggestions — I don’t expect much advice/info re: Africa, but you might have something to say about Asia!

If you’ve been stalking me on either Twitter or Facebook, the next piece of news probably won’t come as a surprise. Truth be told, I’m going a little crazy here in cold, grey, snowy, dismal England. I don’t ever recall having this much trouble getting through the winter — something has changed within me, something is not the same. It’s like… the rules of the game have changed and I’m no longer satisfied with sitting here in front of my computers.

So I’m going to NORWAY, baby. Middle of March through until some time in April. I will experience the FJORDS and… er… I don’t know — cute, blonde inbred Scandinavian Übermensch? (That’s a Google Images link by the way — I’m not going to go and pick favourites, sheesh.)

(Photo not mine — just showing you what a fjord can look like…)

But yes, despite the brief moments of testosteronic superiority, the real reason I’m going is the fjords. Often described as the most beautiful natural wonders of the world, the fjords of Norway line the entire coast of the Scandinavian Peninsula and make up 7% of Norway’s total area. For some reason, Norway has one of the lowest densities in the world with only 4.8 million people in the entire country. Considering they have one of the best standards of living, and a huge income from oil, I really have no idea why no one lives there. Maybe there’s a disease (like the Faroe Islands), or maybe it’s the ol’ ‘it’s too damn cold for 80% of the year’ thing.

My friend in Bergen has a house on (by?) Hardangerfjord, which is one of the biggest. Have a look at Svein Ulvund’s photos of the fjord and nearby — insane, eh? March is when they’re meant to be at their finest, after most of the snow has been and gone. I hope I can do them justice — and I may need to buy a new camera before I go…

Anyway, I’ll be going to Bergen and Trondheim — here’s a map:

I actually had no idea they were so far north… Trondheim is further north than my trip to the Faroe Islands! At this time of year, there probably won’t be much sunlight — but by the time March rolls around, it should be at least 4C or 39F… so not that cold, really. Yet again I’ll miss the Arctic Circle by a few hundred miles, dammit!

We’ll try to drive around a bit, but I think only one of my hosts has a car — we’ll likely stay close to Bergen and Trondheim. Maybe they have skidoos that we can buzz around and churn snow with? Our plans are still in their formative stage, but I’ll be booking flights in the next few days… so there’s no going back.

If anyone’s been to Norway (Chele?), now’s the time to throw in any advice. And does anyone live in Norway? Maybe I can pay a fleeting visit!

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Because it’s Tuesday, I have photos; mostly alternates for yesterday’s 52 Weeks. They’re not amazing, but perhaps they’re interesting — you decide!

(You might not be able to see it on your screen, but the leaf is reflecting a pink sunset — if you can’t see it, trust me! It’s pretty!)

(Again, there’s some lovely pinks and blues in this photo, but you might not be able to see them! I chased the birds around for ages, but they finally settled down in the tree for a photo. So kind of them.)

The last two are obviously a bit ‘experimental’ — my favourite bits are the golden ‘halos’ where the sunset hits the water at an odd angle. Very cool.

Thinking back, there were a couple of bullet point blog posts early last year, but I don’t think I’ve fallen back on that particular crutch since. But I’m doing it now: I’m invoking the Too Busy To Blog Properly clause of the Web Logger’s Constitution.

This weekend I left my bedroom. Actually, I’m scheduled to leave my bedroom next weekend too, so you might get two blog posts like this. My most heart-felt, belaboured but ultimately spurious apologies in advance. After being cooped up for six months, it does feel awfully good to breathe fresh air — I wonder how much oxygen remains in the recycled air of my bedroom…

Anyway, I was in Southampton this weekend, observing the yearly pancake pilgrimage (it takes all of my effort to leave that uncapitalized). There’s actually a photo of me post-pancakes from the same pilgrimage last year, and the making of the ultimate pancake. I’ve actually changed what I consider to be the ultimate pancake this year… but read on, for my awesome bullet points!

• Southampton is about two hours away by train. On Sunday, when there are replacement bus services and you have to hop around from station to station like a backwards tourist, it’s nearer three and a half hours. This is one thing I hate about travel (cars specifically and trains to a lesser extent) — you take so long to get somewhere. When I went to the Faroe Islands, it took me longer to get to the airport, than from the airport to some fly speck islands in the middle of the Atlantic. I was away for weekend, but about a quarter of my waking hours were spent on a train. Lame.
• Last year we had biologists, this year we had philosophers. One of my friends in Southampton is a biologist, the other a philosopher — quite a disparate bunch of friends, I assure you! After a long afternoon last year spent with biologists — most of them doctors, or close to it — I wasn’t sure if this year was going to be better or worse. I’m at home with scientists and engineers, but most lab-dwelling ones tend to be even dorkier than me — if you think I spend little time in the presence of others, imagine what it’s like when you spend most of your time with microbes and tissue cultures… is it better to talk to yourself, or to a Petri dish?Anyway, the philosophers were OK. When you do a PhD in most subjects, it’s towards a specific target — to be a rocket scientist, a medical doctor, a master of a particular subject — but philosophers don’t seem to be like that. Do they want to be scholars of their favourite philosopher, or do they actually want to become a philosopher? Do you become a philosopher by reading a book? No. Do the books shape your thoughts into philosophical shapes? Maybe. Nothing wrong with scholars of course, but I can’t help but feel the world would be better with more actual philosophers. Maybe.
• Pancakes rule. The pancake master still reigns supreme. (That’s me, by the way: The Pancake Master). Philosophers eat less pancakes than biologists, you know? Last year it was three or four each! This year, only the friendly Greek Nietzschean guy could keep up with me! I created a new ultimate pancake: clotted cream, Canadian maple syrup and fresh strawberries. I used a little lemon juice to cut through the richness of the cream. It was very, very good. I had four of those.
• The New Forest is pretty. You probably saw this on Facebook already (check out my self-promotion! I’m so proud of myself), but the New Forest is, despite its name, a very old and well-maintained forest. It was originally ‘curated’ by William the Conqueror in 1079, a few years after his successful invasion of Britain — probably so he had somewhere to hunt. The quality of the soil is poor though, so there aren’t many trees — lots of scrub and shrub though. It’s basically a heath (and I rather like heaths!)

At this juncture, you’d expect me to break into photos… but I haven’t had a chance to go through them all yet. You get one now (which is also this week’s 52), and a bunch tomorrow.

Happy Monday!

Many years ago, I used to rant. Before this blog, and a few years before my stint on LiveJournal, I used to write rants. In fact, that was all I would write, for some reason. I don’t remember being a particularly angst-ridden teenager; I think it was more about being smart. ‘Ooh, he has such passionate and informed opinions!’ — who cares if I swore a lot and used viscerally-tinged analogy like a foamingly rabid dog, eh?

Somewhere along the line, probably at university, I learnt how to vocalize my thoughts in a more intelligent fashion. I think it’s because I was suddenly surrounded by thousands of people that I’d never argued with. That’s not to say I was particularly challenged at university, but after 16 years of same-old-same-old it was refreshing. The main thing, for me, is differing view points and opinions. Part of me (the scientist) hopes that ‘absolute knowledge’ is attainable; but the realist knows that there is just the world – and myriad interpretations thereof. We all see the world differently, and machines and measuring devices see the world in yet other unfathomable ways.

It has become my job (or purpose) to gather up all of those views and opinions to create a valid representation or model of the world we live in. After all, what good is science if human nature doesn’t agree with it? There might be some joyous, divine apotheosis of science and the amalgamation of views in the future — but that’s the future. For now, I will try to understand humankind’s interpretation of the universe we occupy. It’ll take a while, and it’ll involve a lot of travel, but fortunately I’m a patient man that likes taking photos — that’s three birds with one stone!

But back to the topic at hand. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, I lost my anger. I have buckets of aggression, but no anger. Unbridled passion, but no anger. I haven’t a clue where it’s gone. Most of you have never experienced me when I ‘get going’ in real life — it’s pretty odd, I get louder, I speak faster and with more intent… but I smile as I do it! Get this: I can’t grimace or frown. I’ve tried to frown many times, but it just doesn’t work. I don’t actually have the muscles for it.

I wonder if this is what the Buddhist idea of Nirvana feels like. (I’m not going to flesh that idea out any further… at least not today…)

I don’t know where this is going. It was meant to be something about why I’m so calm, and seemingly rather wise. I think this post stems from the fact that someone recently misconstrued my aggression for anger, which irked me because they’re very different emotions. I’ve never hit anyone, for example; nor have I ever been in a fight. You only need to look at the differing derivations: anger comes from Ancient Greek ‘to choke or squeeze’; aggression comes from Latin ‘to approach, address, attack’. Anger is all about sadness, sorrow and a rage that doesn’t abate. Aggression is about meeting the world head on, sometimes with a resounding clash.

Why strangle someone when you can just address the situation instead?

That makes me sound rather boring and sensible.

I’m off to Norway in three days! Wheee!

I’ve now obtained a warm jacket (actually a snowboarding jacket — I’m so cool) and some very warm wool socks (again, snowboarding/skiing socks). Ostensibly, I will be walking — not a lot, but more than usual (i.e. more than none) — so the socks make a lot of sense. I actually need to get some new boots too — my current Timberland boots are 7 or 8 years old, but when a new pair cost something like £150 ($230), it’s hard to bite the bullet.

I have a scarf and hat (a deerstalker — still not sure about wearing it in public). The guys at the snowboarding shop said I should get a ‘buff’ — seriously, like a muff, but… buff. One of those neck warmer things. I don’t think it’ll be that cold or bitter in Norway though.

All that remains… is pants. I have none.

(Click for larger… though I can’t imagine why you’d want to…)

Both kinds of pant, British and American. I must buy some in the next couple of days (so that I have time to break them in). Do I go for the full, ‘long’ variety… or do I stick to boxer shorts? Do I wear denim and cotton (I don’t own jeans), or is there such thing as ‘warm’ trousers? I don’t want to wear plastic waterproof pants or trousers (for similar reasons). I have an old pair of wool trousers I think.

I mean, I have boxer shorts… not many, but some. A couple of pairs. And pants — trousers — I have… well, nominally two pairs, but I only really wear one.

This is the problem when I don’t go out much. It’s very easy to just whack on some underwear, slap on some trousers and a t-shirt, plonk myself down in front of my computers and while away 16 hours before reversing the process. Now that Norway is only a few days away and I’ll be spending three weeks in the presence of other human beings, I better get some more clothing for my lower half. (Incidentally, I recently bought an eight-pack of socks, they went through the wash once, and now only three out of sixteen socks remain — how lame is that?)

Anyway, other than that little dilemma, I’m all ready for Norway! I’ll be spending seven days in Bergen and eleven in Trondheim. There will be many fjords. And Nordic beauties — it’s about time a British emissary was sent to reclaim what was unlawfully stolen away by the Vikings! And… er… well, there isn’t a whole lot else to do in Norway. Their primary exports are fuels, machinery… and fish. They also love their woollen goods — so basically this is going to be like the Faroe Islands, but without the fuel or machinery. And without the dried sheep and whale.

I actually don’t know what we’re going to do, except walk and carouse. I’m staying with students in Trondheim, so I imagine that’ll be quite rowdy. But even then, I’m very curious to find out what people actually do in Norway. They’re not a standard ‘Western’ nation that deals mainly in services. There isn’t going to be a ‘downtown’ Trondheim. I guess it’s a more social lifestyle there? When 50% of the country’s income is from exporting fuel, life has to be pretty easy, surely?

The weather’s looking good, too. Bergen is a balmy 3C (37F) during the day, while Trondheim is a little bit nippier — freezing during the day, down to -5 (23F) or -6 at night. (Of course, if you figure wind chill into the equation it drops to about -15C, but who’s counting…)

As for the blog, I need to spend the next few days finishing preparations, and shifting obligations to other hapless victims/helpful friends. As before, I’ll put the blog into its ‘resting state’. It’s like cryogenic suspension, stasis, but not as cool. A new header will appear at the top of the blog to remind you where I am, and that for a month posts will be both sporadic^[1] and erratic. I’ll likely stick to early-morning updates, but it’ll depend on just how debauched and drunk I get. I needn’t remind you of what happened in Poland…

Oh, and if you want to buy some photos, I’ll try to get them onto Etsy in a timely fashion. I actually want to enable sales right here on this site, but that’ll have to wait until after Norway.

Bon voyage, or as they say in Norwegian: god reise — or, if the going gets really tough, luftputefartøyet mitt er fullt av ål!

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1. Did you know that ’sporadic’ comes from the same Greek root as ’spores’? As in, scattered far and wide.

Dolphins & Passport control

Seb: I’m only just back from Norway. I’ve been up since 4:30am and, try as I might, I didn’t manage to get any sleep the night before. Throw in the party the night before that, and I guess I’ve been up for almost three days…

It’s views like this that make all the pain and suffering and drinking and debauchering tolerable though. I sat by the harbour for two hours, watching the sun slowly set. From bright blue and gold, to purple and orange, and eventually to the darker sapphire and pink.

This is a few minutes after the peak, as the ambient light starts to fade, but as you know, I love my muted beauties.

Lots more stories and photos to share, but after I’ve had a little sleep…
* * *
Abi: Here it is. Several pages, a photograph and a microchip of hassel. I’ve not come out and announced this here yet, but I am flying to Australia in a day or two to see my sister, who lives in Perth. The whole thing was a bit of a last minute thing so I have not wanted to talk about it much here. I have also had the additional hassel of trying to renew my passport. The cost to renew the average UK passport by the usual 2 week method costs in the region of £80. You can opt for one week service which costs about £130 or one day turnround which I didnt even look into! The latter methods require you to actually be present at a passport office- something which my job would not allow me to do so I did what no sane person should do. I risked it. For the last 14 days I have been fearing that this important document would never appear, that my time off work would be wasted and that I wouldn’t get to see my Sister. Further panic was added to the mix when it dawned on me that it was Easter and thus a bank holiday, something which could potentially delay the post by a further three days!

And then, Saturday. It arrived. I’m just waiting for my flight details.

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Click either fine image to see it on Flickr, and any comments it may have garnered!

Wake up, Seb & Let’s turn this megawatt beam of optimism up to 11

Seb: I’ve spent much of the last week feeling a bit down… which is odd, considering I’ve just come back from Norway. And the fact that I’m never… down. Perhaps it was the cold and harsh readjustment of sitting down in front of three computers, obligated to work. From slouching on a sofa and playing video games and eating crappy student food, I guess that’s quite a readjustment.

I don’t think it’s that, though. It’s something else. I’m bored. The fleeting pleasure of sitting in the British sun, reading a book, drinking coke, warming my skin… is fleeting. I don’t feel entirely comfortable in my own skin at the moment and I need to suss out why. I get the feeling I’m not very fun to be around at the moment — which is weird, because I think I was very well received in Norway… so it must’ve changed after I came home…

And of course, meanwhile, as I rest up, Abi is having the time of her life half way around the world in sun-drenched Australia. Damn her! My grand tour to Asia can not come quickly enough…

* * *

Abi: I come to you this week 8 hours in the future! from the other timezone that is Western Australia. After a delay of about seven hours, taking in the delights (and humidity) of Singapore, I eventually landed in Perth and into the bosom of my family to a balmy 23(ish) degrees in contrast to the (not my words) BOILING 13 degrees my fellow Brits have been exalting.

The flight was long and not for the faint hearted, I do however love flying so this didnt phase me in the slightest. It gave me time to muse on how small the world is, how you can be somewhere in a day and how taking a step onto a plane is (give or take a few hours) really no different to any other step we might take.

I took this picture while in Singapore, the heat was unbelievable and the pool SO welcome after a long flight!

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Click either image for comments, notes, tags and MORE on Flickr!

Hello!

You may have noticed a deluge of shorter blog posts over the past week. They’re not quite stream-of-consciousness, but they’re also not quite refined, finalised, percolated-into-the-crystal-goblet cogent ideas. Which is kind of apt really, because I’m just churning things over at the moment. Flitting specks of knowledge begin to form into ideas — and then spin away into the corners of my mind. They re-emerge a few days or weeks later — usually when I’m sitting on the toilet — and only then do they start to make sense.

What I’m trying to say is: I’m currently a gargantuan, hairy ape chock-full of knowledge, but almost bereft of useful ideas. I’m sure they’ll come, when they’re ready, but I’m more than happy to keep absorbing knowledge in the meantime!

So, since we last spoke, I’ve read three of Kurt Vonnegut’s novels. Slaughterhouse 5, Breakfast of Champions and Cat’s Cradle — in that order. Maybe you have to be high on LSD  to fully appreciate Breakfast of Champions, or heavily into meta-fiction… or something. Slaughterhouse 5 and Cat’s Cradle were both superb however. I don’t think Slaughterhouse 5 is as anti-war as people make it out to be. Anti-humanity, maybe. I also wish that he actually gave his books proper endings, rather than just fizzling out. Still, he does have his moments of perfectly-observed brilliance — especially in Slaughterhouse 5. I’ve picked out one passage to share. It’s long, but so it goes:

There was a lot that Billy said that was gibberish to the Tralfamadorians, too. They couldn’t imagine what time looked like to him. Billy had given up on explaining that. The guide outside had to explain as best he could.

The guide invited the crowd to imagine that they were looking across a desert at a mountain range on a day that was twinkling bright and clear. They could look at a peak or a bird or a cloud, at a stone right in front of them, or even down into a canyon behind them. But among them was this poor Earthling, and his head was encased in a steel sphere which he could never take off. There was only one eyehole through which he could look, and welded to that eyehole were six feet of pipe.

This was only the beginning of Billy’s miseries in the metaphor. He was also strapped to a steel lattice which was bolted to a flatcar on rails, And there was no way he could turn his head or touch the pipe. The far end of the pipe rested on a bi-pod which was also bolted to the flatcar. All Billy could see was the dot at the end of the pipe. He didn’t know he was on a flatcar, didn’t even know there was anything peculiar about his situation.

The flatcar sometimes crept, sometimes went extremely fast, often stopped-went uphill, downhill, around curves, along straightaways. Whatever poor Billy saw through the pipe, he had no choice but to say to himself, ‘That’s life.’

You’d need to have read the book for this to fully make sense, but basically: Billy sees the world in three dimensions; Talfamadorians experience the world in four. The entire passage feels like it’s dedicated to the bullheaded blindness of humanity.

Anyway, with Vonnegut out of the way (I really wish he’d written more short stories — he’s better at those), I’ve now moved onto Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. The first 40 or 50 pages consisted of two introductions by irritating I-know-longer-words-than-you-ner-ner-ner scholars, and then a retrospective introduction by Aldous himself. After three nights, I’m finally onto page 2 of the book itself!

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In other news, I passed my driving theory test again. 50 out of 50! I also booked my driving test for September! I’ll be going to Wales for 4 days — three days of intensive tuition, followed by a test on the final day. Exciting!

I’ve also booked my flights to Montenegro, for the end of July. I’ll spare you the exhaustive history of the country — instead, have a pretty photo of the Bay of Kotor:

And unlike drizzly, grey, underwhelming Norway, I’m almost guaranteed good weather! Yay July! Yay Mediterranean!

A couple of weeks ago I was contacted by someone I’ve never met before via Flickr. He had found my stream by searching for hornets and obviously liked what he saw, because he emailed me to ask if I had any more hornets that I could send him. Really, I was cold-called and asked if I could capture a hornet and send it across the country so that he could have his wicked way with its… antennae… and… mandibles.

He even told me how to deal with the hornet, once I’d caught it. ‘Freeze it’ he said. ‘Just pop it in the freezer for a few hours and then send it over.’

And so I did. Two weeks had passed, but last night a hornet flew into my room — and I flew into action! I cowered behind my door, biding my time, as always (I’ve been bitten by hornets before). Eventually he settled down on the woodwork of my sash windows and KABLAM! I struck, catching it ‘neath a cup. Then I murdered the poor bastard by putting him in the freezer. It was actually the first time I’ve intentionally killed an insect. I felt rotten.

Why though? Why did some guy want one of my hornets?

To draw it! He’s a frickin’ artist and an incredibly talented one at that. He likes insects (and collects and rears insects!) — and who am I to deny him one of my many hornets?

I killed, but it was in the name of art! Worse things have been done for creative ends.

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I fly off to Montenegro on Wednesday. I’m aware that I still haven’t written much about it. It’s very hot and humid in England right now, and typing with sweaty fingers is horrible and laborious. But, yeah, Montenegro is actually a vacation for me. I will take some photos, but the primary purpose for this trip is to relax. It’s hard to describe just how mentally exhausting my current lifestyle is. I need to unplug for just a little while.