Mathew Browne

The last year was a bit hit-and-miss - the relief of finally obtaining my degree (and other things) seems to have been offset by poor luck later on in the year. Must be karma.

The Highs:

- Most important of all: Getting my university degree (possibly the most relieved I have ever been)
- Bagging a fantastic job at UCL
- Dad winning a top-of-the-range computer in a competition run by Computer Shopper magazine
- Dad then giving me the computer as a graduation present

The Lows:

- Some junkie burgling my parents house and making off with thousands of pounds-worth of jewellery
- The Missus losing £600 she’d paid upfront for a Tiny/Time laptop
- The ex-landlord fiasco (though it had a happy ending after many tense weeks)
- Two aunties dying within days of each other before Christmas

Maybe 2006 will turn out to be middle-of-the-road and plodding. We’ll see. Here are some predictions of things that definitely won’t be happening in the coming year:

- I become a millionaire (but it won’t be for lack of trying or desire)
- P2P file-sharing is destroyed by the MPAA and RIAA, once and for all
- I join a gym
- The Northern Line goes a whole day without disruption or delays
- I go a week without being targeted by a charity mugger around UCL or Tottenham Court Road
- I use the “I’m busy”, “away”, and “on the phone” status messages on MSN honestly. (Who does?)

Ugh. Back to work tomorrow. I have to spec, order, and set-up a web server. Which I know fuck all about. I think I’ll be pestering my friend on 7th floor to help me out… I’m not looking forward to actually getting up in the mornings again.

What a productive weekend. Other than selling even more of my Playstation games on eBay, I’ve done almost fuck all. Glorious.

I finally managed to upload my fireworks night photos (taken from my gaff), as well as photos of the free fireworks display I went to at Beckton Park the previous night from my camera to the computer..

I’ve switched the web photo album freeware I use, seeing as the last one made even the finest photos look like they were rendered on a Mega Drive. Having said that, the new one is hardly perfect either, but a vast improvement nonetheless.

The DLR extension has opened, meaning I now have not one but TWO stations to choose from in the morning. However, it’s not much of a choice seeing as they’re both equidistant from me, I change lines at the next station, and it’s Sod’s law I’ll end up missing the previous train by about 30 seconds anyway.

I caught a train on the new extension (only the second train to officially run, no less) and was overjoyed to see the confusion it caused to the numerous American and German tourists who got off at Canning Town expecting to meet the shuttle bus service to the airport. Of course, the whole point of the DLR extension is to replace the shuttle bus. I knew that, but they didn’t. I didn’t tell them either. Because I’m a shit.

Booked my train tickets to Wales during the Christmas holiday, marking the first time I’ve been “home” in 9 months. Am very much looking forward to putting back on the weight I’ve steadily lost over the last six months.

Thanks to some seasonal cashflow problems (thanks to the silly amount of money I spent on wrestling tickets), I’ve knocked on the head any plans for catching some shows this month. Gutting, considering there’s a World Championship Boxing show at Excel on the 10th. (Excel, for those who don’t realise, is a 5 minute walk from my flat.) I was also going to get myself some cheap tickets to see Status Quo. I’m such a Dad rocker, but about 25 years too young and not a Dad. In fact I probably would have gone with my dad-in-law, too. Nevermind, I’ll see them next year. If they’re not dead.

I’m consoling myself with the fact that there are two Guns N’ Roses tribute bands performing within commutable distance from me in the coming months (Croydon and Walthamstow, to be precise), along with Adler’s Appetite, who are effectively a third Guns N’ Roses cover band, except the drummer actually was in GNR.

All this talk of gigs is reminding me to finish the “all the gigs I’ve been to” page I started working on one evening and - as happens so often with me - I never finished. Which is what I really should do with this post. Over and out.

I’m such a prick for quoting myself all the time, but my site, my rules. Besides, this one’s a good’un.

Picture the scene: Packed tube train arrives at Bermondsey tube station. Did I mention it was packed? I won’t wheel out the tired “sardines” analogy, but I will say this: it was unpleasant and bloody uncomfortable. Helpfully, nobody got out at Bermondsey (or maybe they couldn’t) and I was the only person facing outwards as the door opened. A lone sour face sneered at me from the platform. If I was a kind person, I would describe her as ‘jolly’ or ‘portly’. But I’m not a kind person. She was a fat, rotund, greasy big tugboat of a woman. A chavtacular, grotesque mess. With an attitude.

In the most Sahhhf Landon accent she could muster, she growled at me “Can you move please?” Well, I could move, but only out of the train. A fact she probably wasn’t aware of thanks to her piggy face sandwiching her eyes half-shut. About three people shuffled politely but went nowhere, and I said back “I’m afraid there’s nowhere to move to”.

She rolled her eyes, huffed a bit, then spat back condescendingly “Well if you moved a bit I’d be able to get in”. I responded, “Don’t flatter yourself”. And with that the doors closed and we shot off, leaving Jabba huffing and wobbly on the platform. The empathic giggling of fellow passengers echoed sweetly in my ears.

I* managed to get THIRD ROW tickets, ringside, next to the wrestler’s walkway, for WWE Raw at Wembley. And it’s going to be on the telly.

Fucking Excellent. I am very, VERY happy.

* - By “I”, I mean “the missus”. I actually “only” managed to get fourth row tickets. Evidently we both have lightning-quick internet ticket-booking reflexes.

I saw Melt Banana with Cez last night. It’s the first gig I’ve been to in a VERY long time. I remember a time when I was seeing gigs every other week. Memories.

This was a great but slightly frightening gig. I was on the perimeter of a mosh pit thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t one of the petite, very confused Japanese girls stuck in the middle of it being ping-ponged about the place looking pained.

Speaking of pain, the vocalist for the first support act sounded like he was in much pain “singing” as I was listening to him. He wasn’t a lyrical genius - I managed to decipher the words “NAHHHHHHHHHH” and “RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH”. And he never faced the crowd. Probably ashamed of his limited vocabulary. I think I summed it up best when I said “this is what nightmares sound like”. But that’s probably exactly what they were after.

Second band were good but forgettable. Cez and I spent much of it thinking of names for a wrestling entrance theme cover band, our latest fantastic idea that will never come to fruition.

Third band were trying too hard to be clever and prog-rockish. They ended up seeming pretentious and the singer got heckled to hilarious effect by the drunkards waiting impatiently for Melt Banana. To be fair, they were evidently excellent musicians but weren’t at all exciting. Three out of four of them wore should-have-gone-to-Specsavers-style glasses. I mean, come on. Glasses aren’t rock ‘n’ roll. I can say that because I wear glasses myself. At least wear sunglasses or tinted shades or something. Now that’s cool.

The ‘Nana were pretty good. I made the mistake of watching the gig sober, so resultantly they weren’t nearly as good as I semi-recall them being when I saw them (again with Cez) well and truly sozzled at the Mean Fiddler 3 years ago. Some spaced-out, drug-addled bastard was jostling for position with me at the front of the stage. Some well positioned elbows to his ribcage saw him off though.

I went to Newham council’s free fireworks display in Beckton yesterday evening, which was fun. Quite a lot of mouthy chav children and teens though, who - judging by the average age of the many single mums there - get laid more often than I do. The grand finale of the display was very impressive. It was as if the sky had mortally offended their mum and they were seeking revenge against it. (Hence the title of this post.)

Then I got a call from a friend I haven’t seen for months telling me to meet him in a bar near Trafalgar Square at 10:30. So me and the Missus go along, knowing that we’d only be staying about an hour so we wouldn’t risk missing the last tube home. And then we waited. And waited. After an hour I got impatient and we went home. Bit gutted really, especially as I didn’t even get a text to say “never mind, see you next time”.

I guess that’s a case of karma for you. Henry, another friend of mine, who was with said friend at the time, was running a play this week in Islington that I didn’t bother going to see. His timing wasn’t excellent - he booked it from November 1st through November 5th. This was up against the free fireworks display from the comfort of my living room on Saturday, which was the only day I would have entertained the notion of going. The weekday performances were at 9:30 in the evening, which proved problematic - I could either stay at UCL then travel up later, which would mean 4 hours of killing time, or go home then go back into London to see the play. This would have meant a 90-115 minute round trip to see a 60 minute play. Plus, in the case of the days where I have work the next day and presuming I’d be staying afterwards for a drink - which I’d be expected to - I’d have ended up home about midnight, which is waaaaay past my bedtime. (I need 10 hours sleep to function.) I haven’t had the balls to apologise yet.

My spirits have been lifted by the huge free fireworks display I was treated to this evening, all from the comfort of my living room balcony. On the dock, the local resident’s association had loaded a barge chock-full of pretty explosives. I took some pretty awesome photos, which I will put online later and change this sentence to be a link to it. So, if you just read that, I still haven’t gotten round to it.

I am currently selling my huge Playstation game collection because (a) I could do with some extra bread (b) I don’t have the storage/shelving space to accommodate them all (c) I don’t have the time to play them anymore. So, at the time of writing I have 205 listings on eBay, with more to go on. The great thing is, I always bought the games in job lots where the average cost per game never came to more than £2(*) but individually many of them are worth more. Some a LOT more. Sadly, eBay’s listing fees, completion fees, and Paypal fees (if applicable) will eat away into my profits like a hungry fat bird.

* The exception to this rule is the game Kula World, which I bought for £35. It usually sells for £45-£50 second-hand. Owing to the fact that no-one bought it while it was originally out, only for it to be declared a classic game later, this is one of only a handful of games that has actually gone up in value. I’m keeping it not because it’s value is going up, but because it is - as correctly hailed by game critics in hindsight - a classic.

When I left the flat this morning I spotted a notice advising residents that Thames TV was filming an episode of The Bill in my area all day Monday. How cool.

It’s really belting it down outside. If it rained any harder I’d need gills to breathe. Unimpressed.

Got a brand new teaching pack to make at work now - something about mathematics in medical imaging. The challenge is making that look fun, because it certainly doesn’t sound it.

I’m feeling creative, I think I’ll break out the easel and paints at the weekend. I haven’t painted for about 4 months now, though having said that I’d gone about 6 years prior to that. My last painting was a somewhat-unsuccessful attempt at the Northern Lights. I used Interference acrylic paints, which give a shimmering effect and reflect light at different angles. In theory it should have turned out great. Unfortunately, it didn’t - I painted over the Interference with black and it made the black shimmer too, which is really stupid considering I was trying to paint a silhouette.

I just found out I’m being moved to a small desk on the second floor. Great.

The Northern Line finally reopened, but was predictably packed. Some idiot was standing way over the yellow line, so his shoulder and the bag over it was in the path of the oncoming train. Oblivious to this, he stood there until a nearby good samaritan forcibly pulled him away with all of one second spare. Should have pushed him, the prat.

I have started compiling a list of what I want for Christmas. It may seem early but Sainsburys now stock crackers, therefore it’s officially the run up to Christmas. Only three things populating said list right now. Must think.

Fortean Times reported a great story today about an image of the Pope appearing in a pancake. I simply had to post the picture. I mean, look at it! I need to cook more… maybe the face of God himself will appear on the underside of an overcooked fried egg that I can sell on eBay to an internet casino and make a tidy wad of cash.

I just watched a fantastic episode of South Park where some kid sells Cartman his pubes. Cartman does this because he wants to be a man, not knowing that you have to grow your own rather than buy them. So the rest of the episode revolves around Cartman trying unsuccessfully to get revenge on the kid, right until the end, where he finally gets his revenge by getting the kid’s parents shot dead. I’m so not doing it justice. I forget how funny South Park was, back in the day.

Work is a bit stop-and-start right now. We’re nearing the end of the work I’ve been doing for the last few months, and submitting a grant proposal for more funding, so I’m spending frantic half-hours completing “urgent” work then waiting a few more hours for dsome delegated tasks to trickle in.

This is probably my dullest entry yet…

It started off shit, but this evening we’ve been treated to a vast, free fireworks display from the other side of the dock. I suspect it’s come from Excel but I don’t know…

Oh well, it’s free.

Some fat Canary Wharf gimp got on the tube this afternoon and promptly plonked himself against the wall, crushing the roses I’d bought for Louise as it’s our anniversary. I asked him to move, he merely rolled his eyes, shuffled a bit and sniffed, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact. And never breaking contact with the wall, ensuring that the roses were sandwiched for the rest of my journey. Perhaps even more annoyingly, despite the fact the tube was rather crammed, he opens up a massive broadsheet in front of him, nearly having several people’s eyes out. One poor guy had to tilt his head back to the point where he was almost looking straight up, just to avoid getting paper cuts all over his mug.

I wasn’t impressed. Neither were my fellow passengers. But I got my revenge.

We stop at Canning Town - where I change for the Docklands Light Railway. I pull the remains of the roses from between Bloated Gimp and the tube wall. He shrugs his shoulders and sighs as if vertical-steamrollering my flowers inconveniences him more than me. Bloated Gimp isn’t getting off, but helpfully stays almost omnipresent in his blocking of the door. As the train slows to a halt I position my right foot behind his laptop case, which was on the floor next to the door. Can you see what’s coming? Doors open. Aaaaaaand… SMACK! I stride out, booting his laptop so hard it made an audible crack, and knocking it about a foot onto the platform. And the beautiful thing is, I made it look like an accident. Eyes straightforward, I then made a hasty getaway, ignoring cries of “Oi! Ginger! Watch it! Oi!” and boarded my connecting train.

Math: 1, Bloated Gimp: 0.