Where the Wind Blows

My room was pitch black save from the blue silhouette of my blinds and I wrapped myself in my bed sheets as the wind roared outside.  I decided there and then that I wasn’t going to Uni – not in this weather.  I considered it a risk to my life to even leave the house this morning.  My Twitter feed was inundated with storm chaos updates: fallen trees, floods, transport bedlam – Central Station had to be evacuated after the glass roof shattered.  There were also the flippant tweets like film adaptations for the return of “Hurricane Bawbag”; Bwabag 2: Desolation of Bawbag, being the best.

     I went downstairs to (what seemed like) total destruction.  Two fence panels completely destroyed; no internet, landline or Sky TV.  Without these commodities there’s nothing left for me to do in my world, nothing left of any value.  I might actually have to stop procrastinating!

     Gale force winds for a few hours and our daily routines descend into madness.  A state of emergency is declared as infrastructure halts and people can’t get to work, the shops, or whatever they were expecting to do today; children are sent back to exasperated parents and we pick up the fallen trees and broken glass. 

     It’s inconvenient, but it’s not devastating.    

     We forget what a nuisance the weather can be sometimes.  Really, we take it for granted every day.  You’ll have forgotten by now, but as I was moping about having no internet for one morning, I was reminded of the Philippines.  It’s estimated that up to 10,000 people have died from hurricane Haiyan, one of the strongest hurricanes ever to have hit land.  It puts our “Bawbag the Second” in perspective.  Our weather is irritating, that’s it.  We can rebuild minor damage in an afternoon; it’ll take the victims of Haiyan their entire lives.

     Now, all is still and the sun is breaking through the clouds.  “Bawbag” is moving south for the English to deal with and will probably be rebranded into something unrecognisable.  Tomorrow is another day. 

Jack Vettriano: A Retrospective

Exploring the work of one of the world’s most famous contemporary painters at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum

I was in a shopping centre not so long ago wandering about listlessly as I often tend to do.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, an image caught my eye.  I paused, looked back and stared.  The scene (a painting, in the midst of a gallery) presented a couple dancing, a gentleman in a dinner suit and a lady in a red dress, on a beach.  There are two people at either side who appear to be a butler and maid.  The background is dominated by a murky blue overcast sky, beginning to break at the top in white puffs of cloud.  This is contrasted with the golden beach: shinning in a glaze of water from a recent tide.  The sea, a blue strip, somewhere on the horizon.

    It’s a painting of detail.  Detail which culminates in a captivating story.  I want to know who this couple are and why they’re on a beach in such formal attire.  Maybe they’ve left the party seeking an intimate moment to themselves.  The butler and the maid are at their sides: both with umbrellas high in the air – I feel their frustration.  I also feel the wind on my back every time I look at the maid clutch on to her hat with her other hand to stop it blowing away.  They try to look as resolute as they can under the circumstances – they’ve been put there for a reason.  The couple need shelter.  Indeed, they seem completely unfazed as they waltz on the sands.  The foreboding, blustery setting is imperceptible against their elegance.  I could depict more of the detail: the lady has no shoes on; we can’t see any of the figures’ faces.  But realistically, upon first glance, you see the poise of the dancing couple; you feel their passion, their desire to love.  It’s romantic – and it’s worth nearly one million pounds.

     I walked by the gallery in the shopping centre several times to glimpse at the painting.  I went home but I couldn’t get the image out of my head.  I was left almost in agony because I had no clue as to the name of the painting or even the name of the artist.  Time passes.  Often when I feel moved or sentimental I’m reminded of the blissful couple.  Eventually, I meet them again.  This time on the cover of a lavish hard-back book with the words “Jack Vettriano” printed on the front. 

     Putting the pieces together now and my new-found love of art is taking shape.  So in true dilettante style I take to the internet to find out more. 

     What follows is a celebratory air punch when I discover Jack Vettriano is Scottish – he’s from St Andrews.  His career as an artist is almost a fluke.  Vettriano’s girlfriend got him a set of water colour paints for his 21^st birthday.  Since then he’s been busy.  In 1989 Vettriano sold one if his paintings for £180 and gave up his career as a mining engineer to paint full time. 

     As I’m looking round his Retrospective exhibition at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum I wonder which one it is.  When over 100 paintings from the same artist are showcased together it’s easy to see common themes.  Most paintings portray a lifestyle of glamour, money and hedonism.  There is often a feel of classic Hollywood and many paintings are inspired by the Riviera.

     One such painting that evokes the Hollywood era is “Bluebird at Bonneville” (pictured left).  The painting is of the famous car Bluebird which was driven by Sir Malcolm Campbell in 1935 when he broke the world record for speed on the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah.  This painting uses two colours: white and blue.  This is another outstanding use of contrast.  A quotation on the wall beside the painting from Vettraino explains: “I loved the pure blue of the car against the bright white of the Utah Salt Flats – it gives the sense of an almost dream-like quality.”  In 2007 the painting sold at an auction in Gleneagles for £468 000. 

     The bygone Hollywood era and the paintings of girls in beach cafés evoke a warm nostalgia.  But at the other end of the spectrum Vettriano is notorious for his collection of erotic paintings.  There are connotations of prostitution with men in suits and women in lingerie.  Most of the paintings you would include in the “erotic collection” elude to sex – never love.  One painting that caught my eye at the exhibition was of a woman draped in a white dress sprawled on a couch: she has her arm hanging down, cigarette in hand; she’s facing away as if exasperated.  The painting (pictured above) is called “After the Thrill is Gone” and like many other erotic paintings there is a subtext of despair. 

     Evocative or vulgar?  It’s a big problem for Jack Vettriano.  Critics have called his work “badly conceived soft porn” while another said he “doesn’t paint, he colours in.”  Vettriano hit back and said he focuses on the “power of sex” and the way it manipulates people.   

     I have all this in my mind when leaving Vettriano’s Retrospective exhibition.  But before I go I want to have one last look at my favourite painting of the dancing couple – which I now know to be called “The Singing Butler” (pictured below) and was painted in 1992 selling for roughly £750 000 in 2004.  It’s easy to see its appeal and why the artist makes a lot of money in royalties each year from print replicas.  Perhaps the art critics don’t like it for this reason: maybe it’s too “mainstream”; maybe art isn’t meant to be liked.  Technically, Vettriano isn’t the best artist that ever lived and he admits this.  But I don’t see the logic behind devaluing something simply because it’s popular. 

     I buy some postcards on my way out for my wall and I make sure to leave a comment in the visitor book: “captures the hopes and fears of a decadent era both then and now.”

 

Jack Vettriano: A Retrospective is an exhibition of the artist’s paintings from 1992 to 2013 and will be at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum until the 23^rd of February 2014.  Student tickets are £3.  Please visit http://www.glasgowlife.org.uk/museums/kelvingrove/current-exhibition/Jack-Vettriano-A-Retrospective/Pages/default.aspx

Fresher's and Alcohol: Mad to get Mad Wae it?

Fresher’s week reminds me of one of my favourite quotes: “I’ve been drunk for about a week now and thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.”  Wise words, from renowned author and alcoholic, F. Scott Fitzgerald.  I feel it reflects the Fresher’s experience accurately: a week of partying followed by the realistic truth that there’s work to do when it’s all over.   It’s true to say that a lot of Freshers will be drunk for roughly an entire week.  But is getting drunk at Fresher’s just harmless fun?  Or should students be thinking about their health, safety and finances as opposed to reckless hedonism?

     Alcohol, and all the hilarity, vomit and amnesia than come with it, is synonymous with Fresher’s week.  As the French will be obnoxious and as Scotland will be wet – Fresher’s will be drunk.  Attitudes towards alcohol are varied.  Even with Scotland’s notorious booze culture, it’s a divisive thing for many people.  The Scottish government are taking it very seriously – seemingly one step away from prohibition.  But all things considered I don’t think it’s necessary to worry about students drinking. 

     It seems a little naïve to expect a Fresher not to get ‘too pissed’ because it’s seen as irresponsible.  The university experience is about many things from academia to socialising.  But there’s one thing that makes it all meaningful: freedom.  The freedom to be who you are and express yourself; as well as the freedom of independence and spirit that students cherish.  But above all, is the freedom to have fun because at no other point in your life will you be as young and carefree.  

     But, with this in mind, there is certainly no freedom to be drunk, only the freedom to enjoy yourself.  The two should not be confused and students are aware of the dangers caused by drinking too much – do so then you won’t be enjoying yourself very much.  If you’re accepted into university in the first place then it’s because you have a certain degree of intelligence.  Therefore I’m sure most students know how to drink responsibly by experience and know the risks through education. 

     Putting aside the issue of alcohol, the most important thing for a Fresher to do is just get involved: have a blast – create memories and make friendships that will last a lifetime.  Remember, you regret only the things you don’t do.  Alcohol will undoubtedly be involved for a lot of people, but each individual knows what’s best for them: how much they can drink and how much they want to spend. 
    
     Fresher’s is about so many things from the budding academic within us to the montage of drunken memories.  But many people are left feeling conflicted and it’s a time of deep introspection.  Within the buzz of the Fresher’s Fair, under the flashing lights of the bar – uncertainty creeps into the revelry: why am I here? Do I fit in? Can I make this “uni thing” work? Will it be as good as my friends? Then what will become of me?  Sounds like something to ponder hungover – perhaps in a library. 

Review: World War Z

Angelina Jolie is not in this film – I just needed to get that bit of admin cleared up.  It was a solid forty minutes after leaving the cinema before the bubble burst and my illusion shattered – the leading lady in World War Z was never Angelina Jolie.  Of course, you all knew this and are giggling amongst yourselves. I get to the cinema often enough but my film trivia knowledge is truly appalling; and my awareness of Angelina Jolie truly ignorant.  However, I can tell you (with assertion) that Brad Pitt is most definitely in this film.  I guess that’s where my lethal assumption came from about Miss Jolie’s presence.  Otherwise, we’re looking at a well rounded, exciting, and (in more ways than one) familiar action-horror zombie experience.

     Glasgow’s the new Hollywood.  No, seriously: Glasgow really is the new Hollywood.  It was nearly two years ago when the zombie circus rolled into town and Glasgow city centre transformed into Philadelphia because, by logic, Glasgow looks more like Philadelphia than the city of Philadelphia does.  I’m not complaining, it was fantastic to view the set and feel involved in an international project.  One of the film’s first scenes is of a Glasgow bus stop that I’m convinced is right outside the Royal College Building of Strathclyde Uni.  Hundreds of Glaswegians turned into zombie extras, but they stayed true to themselves: only doing it for a hundred quid!  Just to say, I have no witty lines about the correlation between Glaswegians and zombies – you’ve heard them all by now so I’ll spare you. 

     Other than seeing Glasgow on the silver screen, I wasn’t sure what to expect from World War Z.  But ten minutes into the film, I knew exactly what was going to happen – just not how.  You’ve seen this film before.  Many times.  Perhaps not in the cinema for a while, but World War Z is structured adhering to the expected conventions of a zombie-apocalypse film; and also, the conventions of the new “disaster movie” genre that’s developed over the past decade.  If you had your heart set on a zombie film that pushes the boundaries or strives for originality then you’ll probably be disappointed. 

     The best way to watch World War Z is as an action movie.  The film presents a gripping story line and elements of danger that feel very real.  Thankfully, the film wastes no time in getting to the gritty zombie warfare: within ten minutes George Square is thronged with zombies heralding chaos that will never cease.  With a certificate of 15, the film crosses over to the horror genre occasionally with one or two scares and some scenes of breathless tension.  I think World War Z should be praised for finding the perfect balance between horror and action: it’s free from excessive gore and exaggerated life or death scenarios; it’s a zombie film for sane people looking for a thrill, not to feel disgusted. 

     While the action is top quality, there’s a lag in the drama especially when it comes to the family relationships.  The acting is fine, not outstanding – just passing as convincing.  Brad Pitt’s not bad: ex-soldier turned family man – called back to action because he’s America’s finest.  He becomes separated from his wife (Mireillie Enos) and kids as they remain on the safety of a UN ship.  But right from the start the relationships between the family comes across as wooden and superficial.  One of the kids declares she wants a puppy for her birthday as they sit round having a pancake breakfast.

     Unfortunately, this means some of the adrenaline is lost because as a viewer we don’t feel there’s enough at stake because we just don’t care for the family who (apart from at the start) are in no real danger.  There could have been an interesting narrative strand developed with the family struggling without their hero father, but nothing worthwhile ever happens to them and they remain at the other end of the phone occasionally checking Brad is still alive.  Alternatively, a good story line could omit the family altogether and see Pitt play the lone wolf: quit the army but reluctantly goes back to save the world; in the end finding love, glory, new meaning… Unfortunately they wouldn’t touch my unsolicited script!  But I’d also like to point out that World War Z wins my award for worst sound bite of the year: “How do you know they’re coming?” “…They’re coming.”  They really should have tried my script. 

     The story does redeem itself by the end.  The solution to the pandemic is intriguing; also effective in the way it wasn’t too pessimistic, but not a happily ever after – it was realistic and worked well.  The last half hour was set in a medical research facility and made for some of the best cinema I’ve seen in ages.  Despite being your stereotypical zombie-doomsday tumult it seems to have appealed to audiences taking $118.8m at its opening weekend with Brad hinting at a sequel.  If they make another I hope they cast Angelina Jolie just to please me; and, of course, shoot it again in Glasgow – sorry, Philadelphia.

Lana Del Rey Live at the SECC, Glasgow

Not long before Lana Del Rey’s Scottish performance it was reported on The Scotsman’s website that the American singer surprised a Co-op cashier in Shawlands when she spotted the singer waiting at the back of her queue.  The store worker told Lana that she looked like “that American singer” and to her disbelief it really was.  Lana bought the cahier a copy of Vogue and signed it for her.  Before reading this I wasn’t entirely convinced of Lana’s seemingly random affection for the city of Glasgow.  She had previously tweeted: “all my friends and family are in Glasgow" and the city was where she was “happiest”.  It was also reported in the Metro that the all-American singer bucked the trend on celebrity travel when she touched down in Scotland on an Easyjet flight.

     I do struggle to consolidate most of my friends and family with Lana Del Rey: mainstream in popularity, but definitely not in style.  Most of the time you’ve either never heard of her; or you have, but immediately dismissed her as depressing.  Upon first listen, admittedly, her music does sound depressing – calling the album “Born to Die” probably doesn’t help.  However, to the right set of ears, you’ll understand that if you listen to her songs then they are better described as realistic and evocative.  Albeit, some songs will sound pretentious to some: your typical sad song with exaggerated references to sex, drugs and death.  But Lana Del Rey’s records are autobiographical, they tell stories - especially about life, relationships, money and the influence of America. 

     The appeal is there.  It comes not only from the lyrics but from the voice.  Lana Del Rey is classic, soul, jazz, pop all emanating from one woman.  The vocals are everything from tender young sweetheart to gritty urban woman.  The range is impressive and a Lana track stands out in the contemporary charts.  Being already obsessed with most of the tracks, the crowd just needed to hear them being performed.  Lana Del Rey never disappointed: the set was majestic with palm trees, lion statues and screens in gold frames; but most importantly, Lana sounded perfect – hitting every note, even the outstanding high and low ones that artists often omit during live shows.

     “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola” was the opening line of the concert taken from the sexually explicit track “Cola”.  Following this was a well chosen set-list including all the singles.  “Born to Die” was one highlight.  The UK top ten hit was performed with style: Lana stood back from the crowd and let us appreciate the tones of her voice and the profound melancholy of the lyrics.  Whereas “Without You”, a softer track about the triviality of fame and fortune in the absence of love, saw the singer intimate with the audience, sitting on the edge of the stage.  The crowd were ecstatic when she introduced latest single “Young and Beautiful” featured on the soundtrack for the new “Great Gatsby” film. 

     During live shows I like to take a minute during a favourite song to listen carefully and really appreciate the singer.  Quite often it’s a once in a lifetime performance to hear your favourite artist in your home city and I want to see how it compares to every time you’ve heard the singer on the radio , iPod or watched them live on Youtube.  The crowd get the chance to experience the artist and see why they’re famous: in person, as it happens and for two hours they’re no longer remote icons in our ears.  Lana Del Rey is a singer and her live performances showcase her talent – a talent that is arguably increasingly rare in contemporary music.

     At most gigs, you have a vague dislike towards everyone else in the crowd – after all, they are literally standing in the way between you and your favourite singer.  At the SECC that night I never liked the look of those desperate hipster teens: clad in their denim armour, platform style Converse and even one sporting a ghetto-style gold chain.  They all must have been colour blind and stumbled out of the same Topman outlet.  Fashion crisis aside, my problem was the crowd had very poor concert etiquette and most seemed too immature to know how to stand properly at a gig.  Of course, I’m not the author of the ‘concert rule book’; but queue skipping, aggressive pushing and starting fights in the middle of a packed crowd will most likely be found in the ‘don’t’ section.

     Gigs are always cramped, but it’s unbearable when you can’t even move your hands and you’re pressed against people at all sides.  Every time Lana approached the front of the stage you were thrust forward by vain people pushing from behind.  Instead of appreciating the music, you spent most of the time apologising to the indignant people around you and trying not to fall over.  I managed to survive only because I’m tall; but there was a chance of somebody being seriously injured if they fell or felt claustrophobic.  Unfortunately, this meant that some of the songs were completely ruined including “Ride” – one of Lana’s most personal and captivating singles.  Perhaps the discomfort is the price paid for being so close to the stage and getting some good snaps but it has never been as chaotic at any gig I’ve been to before. 

     But the majority of people made it to the end to hear “National Anthem” a track very much inspired by the superpower USA and its capacity for love, glory and fortune; but, as already well expressed, it’s often a semblance covering a hollow and superfluous nation. It’s a signature track for the star even if its message isn’t entirely significant to us Scots.  But it just shows the international appeal that Glasgow has to the big stars: they want to bring their music and their message and share it with their Scottish fans.  If you were lucky enough to be in the front row and still standing then you will have surely got an autograph and photo with Lana because she went along the row at the end while the strings played out “National Anthem”.  By that point, however, the riotous crowd had seen us pushed back about five rows!  Lana was out of sight, but her melodies and lyrics have been playing out in my mind since.   
Words and pictures by Chris Park

Speech: Why I should be the Next Features Editor

Hi everyone, my name’s Chris Park and I’ve just finished first year studying journalism and creative writing and english.  I’m going to tell you why you should vote for me to be your features editor next year.

     Nearly two years ago, I visited Strathclyde on an open day to see the campus and discover the Uni.  I’d come to listen to a presentation about why I should take journalism and study here.  But on my visit I was only interested in finding out if the Uni had a student newspaper.  When I picked up the Strathclyde Telegraph for the first time that day I knew this was the opportunity I’d been looking for: to write and work with like-minded people and help produce Strathclyde’s fantastic student paper.

     I never hesitated in signing up on Fresher's Week and since then throughout the year I’ve written countless articles for the Telegraph covering news, features, music and arts.

     But writing for features has always been my favourite.  This is because I’m passionate about writing.  I’ve got my own style and would look forward to bringing this to the features section. 

     I also think I’d make a great features editor because I know the student audience: I know what it means to be a student and I’ve always tried to write articles that students can enjoy and relate to.   For example, in the current issue I have an article published about student finance.

     If I’m elected features editor I’ll continue to make sure that the section is fresh, varied and enjoyed by all students.  Some ideas I have include a specialist section covering current affairs or politics or maybe even a section on science and technology which would appeal to even more people. 

    This year I’ve learned so much.  And I really love Strathclyde Uni.  Writing for the Telegraph has been an absolute highlight and I would feel privileged to start the next year as your features editor.

     My favourite writer, F. Scott Fitzgerald, once said that “action is character”.  I’ll always take the right action to ensure the Strathclyde Telegraph remains exciting, respected and always the best. 

Money and Me: The Love-Hate Relationship Students Know Too Well

I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to put that back because I know for a fact that you can’t afford it.  I’m sorry, but you can’t afford that top you’ve had your eye on, or to go to that new Mexican bistro that’s just opened up in the Union (which is, incidentally, very expensive).  How do I know this?  Well, because you’re a student of course.  I don’t need to tell you that the student lifestyle does not accommodate fiscal responsibility.  In fact, students are infamous for being in a constant state of economic crisis.  You’d even think the EU was run by students who have misinterpreted the continent’s idea of a “union”.  Even with loans, bursaries and student discount we just don’t have money on our side – or in our wallets, or bank accounts.

     One timeless solution is thrift.  For the past few weeks I’ve been implementing rigorous self-austerity measures that are so disenfranchising they would make George Osborne look like a socialist.  My friends hate me because I refuse to do anything that involves spending money – so, I pretty much refuse to do anything at all!  I’ve even adopted phrases like: it’s not “fiscally pragmatic” or “economically rational”.  The trouble is, when you become stingy, it’s almost impossible to stop.  Your mind-set changes: you become anxious and conservative – questioning the affordability of everything and calculating your budget down to the penny.
     If your budget is anything like mine then it could potentially reflect the larger economy.  A brief flurry of affluence usually entails high levels of spending (and thus happiness); quickly followed by a (predictable yet unpredicted) financial crash and consequent penury.  The worst part of it is that I honestly don’t know where the money goes.  I should really start keeping receipts and try to close the monetary vacuum.

     Believe it or not, I am in fact employed.  But wages tend to be spent before they’re earned.  There is a tinge of envy for those who seem to have an infinite flow of cash but don’t appear to have a job; especially when you suspect they have a current account with the Bank of Mummy and Daddy.  Nobody can judge who deserves what and when.  But, in my mind, I take the high ground and remember that every penny earned is worth more than every penny borrowed. 

     Perhaps unlike George Osborne, I am looking forward to the end of my austerity policy.  As soon as I have accumulated sustainable savings I will be able to spend money again.  But this time, I won’t be caught out when the river meets the waterfall.  I think long term money management is in order so I never have to panic about my finances again.  My plan is simple: no more impulse buying, save at least some money, and when buying something I’ll need to ask myself if I actually need it or do I just want it for the sake of it.  That advice isn’t new; it was given to me a long time ago.  I just haven’t had the willpower to follow it.  I believe this is a path us students must take to make it to adulthood. 

     Money is deceitful - it will play tricks on you.  It’s arguably the greatest manipulator of human beings.  No other external force has so much control over our lives: always on our minds, in our pockets, and often dictating how we feel.  But even more so, it can have a direct effect on our actions by deciding what we can or can’t do – our fate is often decided by numbers.  Some people know this and they understand it; they use that knowledge to varying degrees of good or bad, practical or wasteful.  But right now, we don’t really need to worry about money because we never have any to fuss over!  

This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald - How Worlds Collide

Arguably one of the greatest American writers of the twentieth century and potentially of all time, the work of Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald  defined a generation.  In fact many would claim he pioneered and led the people of 1920’s “Jazz Age” America – a term he coined himself.  A time when society had “woken up to find all Gods dead, all wars thought, all faiths in man shaken.”  After the abrupt horror of WW1 people realised that life was short: reckless hedonism became society’s preoccupation with the 1920’s being America’s boom period for industry and capitalism.  Every penny was dissipated on self indulgences especially alcohol – despite prohibition laws banning its sale and consumption. 

     In his time, Fitzgerald was a popular contemporary author but his reputation dwindled towards the end of his life and he sought a comeback writing screenplay in Hollywood. The skill displayed in Fitzgerald’s writing is superlative: dialogue and description conform flawlessly creating effortless scenes that are vivid and memorable.  But today, Fitzgerald’s critical acclaim and renowned stature comes not only from the grandeur of his prose but from his documentation of an era in American history.

     This Side of Paradise was Fitzgerald’s first novel and was written with a particular aim in mind; indeed, almost with a certain desperation.  Fitzgerald wrote to his agent: “I have so many things dependent on its success – including of course a girl.”  The novel was written to win the favour of high-society belle, Zelda Sayre.  After dropping out of Princeton University, failing to see military service and struggling to have his writing published Fitzgerald was dependent on the success of his first novel to show him to be an accomplished man. 

     It was a novel two years in the making and essentially with two complete redrafts.  Initially called “The Romantic Egotist” after the vain and narcissistic central character Amory Blaine.  The book follows Amory’s life as he tries to make his way to adulthood with a sense of identity, outlook and success in both love and work.  The reader’s attitude towards Amory is often ambivalent: we find his self-absorption borders on arrogance, we distrust his idleness and become weary of his introspection; yet we do admire him at the same time.  Fitzgerald notes that even with a personality readers will find selective, Amory’s sense of identity is resolute.  Furthermore, the reader empathises with his hopes and dreams, longing for the character to find a meaningful vocation whether art, politics or religion.

     However Fitzgerald never loses sight of the bigger picture: Amory is but a contingent of a lost generation of those who want everything (money, stature, romance, vitality, purpose) for nothing.  Amory’s longing for a meaningful vocation is so he can procure everything he craves for in life especially love, success and even the answers to life’s fundamental questions. 

     Whereupon I reflect and realise that Amory could quite easily live among us today. His strengths, weaknesses, triumphs, and failures can easily resonate with people even in this day and age.  This Side of Paradise is 93 years old and what has changed since its publication in 1920?  Very little.  Of course, we have progressed technologically, but the rudimental essence of the human condition never changes.  Lost and alone; increasingly disillusioned; desperate for love, money and meaning; suffocating in our own cultures of desire for everything material, everything spiritual and everything sensual.  Perhaps a different time from the people living in Fitzgerald’s Jazz Age; but today’s “YOLO” generation have assumed the very same attributes.    

     I began reading This Side of Paradise just before I started University here at Strathclyde and I found a direct parallel between myself and the central character because at the start of the novel Amory is a Fresher at Princeton.  It was reassuring to read about Amory’s sentimental depictions of his college life and I found strange comfort in the gothic spires and throughways of the archaic institution.  Fitzgerald has given me so much truth about what it means to live in a world of restless fear and chaos, moral confusion and desperate ambition.  When he died in 1940, all of Fitzgerald’s work was out of print and he regarded himself as a failure.  As I muse over my own writing or contemplate my own life’s direction, I often wonder to myself: what would he think if he was alive today; what would he write in time not so different from his own. 

The Majestic Interruption

     The TV was rubbish that night, as it generally was every night.  But still, I was glad to be indoors. Outside, the rain fell in lashes and cut through you like a volley of arrows; the wind blew waves of surface water across the pavement turning them into rivers.  The Met Office had issued a weather warning across central London.  I was very glad to be indoors.

     I was tempted to watch a sad film.  It would go well with the bottle of wine that I’d opened.  I was just about to get up to browse my DVD collection when there was an unexpected knock at the door. 

     Who was that?  At this time, in this weather?  Really?

     I approached the door: cautiously, but more annoyed than anything else.

     Upon opening I was met with an elderly woman: left beleaguered by the weather, I couldn’t see her face for some ridiculous pink hat she wore - made worse by the long pink overcoat.  She was small and I thought facetiously that she looked like a marshmallow – a drenched marshmallow. 

   “Oh thank you dear, one is so grateful you answered at this late hour of inclement weather.”  She addressed me in a pompous, nasally voice, “well you see dear, our automobile has seemingly stalled just outside your house and I was wondering if I could perhaps utilise your telephone?”

         Before I could even say anything she turned around and, in one loud screech incongruous to her size and demeanour, yelled out: “Phil! Phil! Come on she’s letting us in.  Bloody hell, hurry up!”  She looked at me and smiled; then walked up the steps into the hall without invite.

     I raised my hand to object but before I could speak I felt something push past my legs.  I looked down and saw two small dogs had just run into my house after the woman.

   “Oh, I am terribly sorry.”  This was a new voice, a man’s, from behind coming up the path, “I couldn’t stop the little buggers.” He chuckled, obviously finding this amusing; I didn’t.

   “Yes, yes that’s right”, it was the elderly woman I could hear: on my phone in my kitchen! “Yes, Buckingham Palace please”.

      I froze.  Startled and bemused.  I went into the living room and picked up the bottle of wine: studying the contents for anything unwonted that could have brought on this hallucination.

     Giving up, I turned listlessly to the old man: “Do you take wine, Phil?” I enquired politely.
   “Oh no thank you dear, not with my bladder.”  He chuckled again.  I burst into hysterics.

2013 - The Year to Stay True to Your Self

     How’s the diet going?  Did you ever lose those calories?  Start saving for that holiday?  Join the gym, new hobby, five-a-day? Of course by now your New Year’s resolutions are in full effect and you are beginning to see a whole new you with these revolutionary life changes.  Your once distant hopes and aspirations, the person you longed to be for all that time, are beginning to shine through right in front of your eyes like a beautiful – wait, what? What do you mean you never stuck to your vows?  Don’t tell me you were drunk at the time.  How could you let yourself down like that – future you is in tears!

     Seriously though, don’t worry. It’s fine – I don’t blame you.  You never really had faith in your empty promises and after all you really were drunk at the time – remember, in the small hours of New Year ’s Day?  Didn’t think so.  Unless of course you’re one of the mavericks attempting a “dry January": an entire month alcohol free.  I think you’re crazy, January is the month when booze is required most to get us through those exams, celebrate their end and provide solace when the results come out.

     By now it’s estimated that 88% of people who made New Year’s resolutions will have abandoned them, according to a survey by Channel 4.  But the discerning amongst us may have recognised the futility of making these resolutions and therefore decided sensibly (like me) that their only vow is not to actually make any. 

     Trying to make big changes takes energy – a lot of energy; a lot of mental energy and then inevitably: mental anguish when we fail. We set the bar so high it needs red aviation warning lights.  Then often it’s only a matter of days before it soars to the ground – landing right in top of our self-esteem. 

     But don’t reproach yourself into misery.  Penalising yourself for something that was, statistically and historically: doomed to failure, won’t do you any good.  Psychologists suggest that the tasks we set at New Year are far too great to be achieved and willpower is like an energy that must be accumulated over time then spent wisely.  Often people make multiple promises and willpower is dissipated quickly on just one task leaving us spent for the completion of any of our resolutions.

     This year I did think of some vague aspirations because it’s always good to set goals just keep us on track, give us something to work to.  They were standard and included: more exercise, reading more, finding a better balance between work and leisure and (the one that’s most likely to fail) economise.  They’re not my “resolutions”; I didn’t even waste time writing them down; and I don’t have that transitory outburst of determination we often get at New Year to make sweeping changes to our lives.  But I have made a simple commitment to endeavour to do what’s good for me – just like what we tend to do on a daily basis anyway.

     So I guess my undefined resolution is to maintain the rationale of everyday life… Ok that’s the most bizarre resolution I’ve ever heard; perhaps I’m better sticking with my original plan: not bother making any resolutions because they’re pointless – past me you are a genius!