Wednesday 21 March 2007

I Understand...

What would your first reaction be if you walked into a concert hall alone, knowing no one's around and seing a couple of these boys standing proud? No, not me, I am a sensitive and shrewd piano tuner with enormous amounts of willpower. A glorious Neeeeeeeunggg g g g (or glissando) down the strings is NOT acceptable. We piano tuners understand that instruments are delicate babies - touch them and you're dead meat. While I'm at it (trying to educate the public), please have some respect you ignoramuses out there who think that cigarette burns on the ivories or the unforgiveable glasses of wine on the piano top create some kind of 'ambiance'. If you ask me to tune your piano, I will beat you over the head with my tuning crank before trying to revive him.

I've had a wonderful day - a 5am start to my work experience (tuning pianos before the students arrive) with a master who really knows his wwwhhas from his wwwhughs. What a good day. I wonder how long the 5am enthusiasm will last... if it does, I'm a good'un.

Tuesday 20 March 2007

The Entertainer

Being deprived of theatre as a child (partly as my mum feared we would all be blown up if we went to Belfast in the 80s - no joke!... hang on, who ever takes any notice of bomb scares anyway?) I was really happy to be kindly treated to 'The Entertainer' (amongst other things) at the Old Vic last night.

Despite the fact that the entire cast (particularly Robert Lindsay and John Normington as the old grandfather) did us well and I had a few giggles, I was affronted that the writer, John Osborne and co. dared to use our money (or Jack's money) to depress us and defy us all by emphatically showing the detrimental effects of a life of sloth, greed, infidelity and general insensitivity. We all know what happens if you live your life as a selfish arsehole but I see that maybe these people need to be told (so well done, John Osborne!). The thing is though, idiots such as the 'entertainer' who ruin peoples' lives don't care so long as they come out of it alright. This man didn't have 'feelings'. I'm not going off on a rant that 'men don't have feelings' as I know many who do, but there must be a lot of arseholes like that out there to have a world as screwed up as this one.
Please note if anyone dares ask me to play the entertainer on the piano, I'll bang your head off the keys for accompaniment (unless you're Noel - to whom I'll smile sweetly and oblige in great pain)...

Friday 16 March 2007

London's Burning...


Is it just me, or are Londoners the grumpiest so and sos I ever met? I am really stressed out with my last final months of studying (or lack thereof), I am consistently let down by my temping agency (again today), bills are coming and money is tight. Compared to previous years I have more balls to juggle, but it's ok. Having left the firm my agency sent me to (by mistake), feeling a bit pissed off, I changed my mind and decided I was happy to walk around enjoying the sunshine (daydreaming of the day I have less worries), passing the stoney faced suits, before going back to do something productive.

Apart from the psychology of it, in this society we have much more freedom than others do to change our lives if we aren't happy - that's what I did (although I'm paying for it). It breaks my heart to read stories like this one of child suicides in England. I find it devastating to think that society has sunk so low, our vulnerable children are suffering. If I ever have money and therefore more free time, I'd like to think a few peoples' lives would improve.

Although I never liked living in Northern Ireland, when I was perplexed about something trivial or not, it always made me smile to hear a cheeky passerby dare to comment in that thick Belfast accent 'Crack aw smayle, gainger' or 'Is it al that bad, gainger?'. Londoners need to get over themselves and think about the wider picture. Life will never be good unless you make it; and I don't mean money either.

Sunday 11 March 2007

Let's all Have a Ginger Day



In response to my boyfriend's post, there are some things that need to be clarified. If anyone can take a joke, it has to be a ginger! I don't mind if someone gets a laugh but if black people think they have it bad, they should try being ginger! Who would tease a black man for being black? What would happen? At least racist comments against black people is recognised. We gingers are the minority in most countries and yet nothing is done to recognise or protect us! We also stand out a lot more than black people do.

Back in the days when I spent relentless months toiling to find a 'proper' job, I consulted articles on interview tips, all of which confirmed that one should never ever wear red to an interview - 'it's threatening; the colour of danger, giving bad vibes. First impressions and appearances are vital'... After a few interviews I became accustomed to the interviewers predictable and unprofessional reaction as I eagerly walked into the room - 'my word, what red hair you have'! and from that moment, my heart would sink imagining they had already drawn the usual ridiculous conclusions about me; that I was 'bad tempered, feisty, fiery, unpredictable' and therefore unreliable. I eventually got a job in marketing, not the tacky sales stuff, but involving proper research and business strategy, being more or less my own boss in a male dominated industry seeking to increase exports in Northern Ireland. After dozens of interviews, this one took me by surprise. I sat smouldering under the glistening sun in a conservatory, not being given the chance to say one word as the interviewer told me outright that I was clearly 'set apart' and that I looked 'right' (I didn't care if he was mystic meg magically knowing I was competent - I felt completely undervalued).

To help the future generation, one day I would like to expose the extra horrors that most ginger children will inevitably have to face (and it's worse for guys) and magically reform British society. Try reading some of the stories of these guys. I once had a male ginger friend who despite being in his late 20s just could not get over the fact that he was ginger (even though he was actually better looking than most). He got a bit depressed and blamed his romantic misfortunes on being ginger - probably because of the paranoia he had from the previous incessant anti-ginger brainwashing that he still carried around (and which he still experiences in the form of 'innocent jokes' directed from team members of his sport). It was clear to me that he had no trouble wooing girls, but they left him for other reasons. Despite my own abusive experiences, as a child I was profoundly confused by why I should have to be like everyone else to be left alone to get on with my life. I valued uniqueness, saw it as an advantage and regarded the rest as sheep (although one day I did hack off my long locks, to which my new name became 'boy' for a year'). I now see that if only gingers would get over it, they could allow nature and nurture of our genotype to unleash the superior and more resilient being.

To recompense how you err and reform society, I think everyone should have a ginger day! Wear a ginger wig and record your experiences!... or maybe not. I am happy to confirm that it is not blonds, but we gingers who have all the fun!... When we go on holiday, we are the tourist attraction! We get food, drink and entry into tourist attractions all gratuit aswell as personal tours by enamoured locals (although it's really not safe to be alone). Abroad, we are elevated to a semi-celebrity status. When I lived in Brussels, I even had my own personal stalker! In Ireland I have been hunted down by rich Americans who have gone back to their roots with the romantic notion of having a trendy ginger accessory. Old people also love us! - even when they have dementia, they can still remember the 'wee funny ginger one' (so we get all their money when they pop off). Although we have to forgive the pointing, children also adore us and hence their parents too (so its not that bad). Last summer I was sitting (in the shade obviously) in Holland Park when a young mother approached me. She was clutching her brat whose gazing eyes and cheeky smile reminded me of my nephew. He made my day. She said 'I'm awfully sorry but I think my three year old son fancies you, he keeps running over to you, pointed at you and cried when I tried to drag him away! I think he wants to say hello!' (I am not joking).

When an article featured in a Northern Irish newspaper about gingers being the best in the sac, I had to practically beat men off. That week a sober stranger came up to me in broad daylight in Londonderry town inquiring if it were true that reds are the best in bed, to which I was quick to retort that he would never know (filthy man). We also instantly make friends; we are memorable (another story), people think we're good craic and we're easy to talk to (perhaps because we never had friends!). However, do beware the next time you shout 'OI GINGA' across the street at us... depending on the mood, you never know what the reaction (if any) might be....

I'm Pleased with Myself!..

I wish I had an autie like me! Although I never really liked wee brats, some of them can surprisingly make your day a hundred million times better. In response to the following dialogue that took place between my sister and her 6 year old son;

My nephew: Mummy, do you think Auntie Jessica is going to bring me a birthday present?

My sister: No, darlin' - I don't want you to be expecting anything. You know Autie Jessica has been a poor student for a few years now and she hasn't got much money.

Nephew: You mean mum, like those poor African people?

Sister: No pet, I don't think she's as badly off as that, but don't be expecting a present.

-Interlude-

Nephew: Mummy, when is Auntie Jessica's birthday?

Sister: Not away until July... Why?

Nephew: When it's Autie Jessica's birthday, can we send her a card and put a tenner in it?! I don't like to think of her being poor...! (Awww...)

I bought him a present; probably the best present he has ever had - a massive, really disgusting indonesian insect with big hairy legs set in a block of perspex. Not only will it inspire his insect collecting escapades, it might also piss my sister off! I wish I could see his (and her) face when he gets it in the post. Awww...

Reminder - Pleeeease practice early tomorrow, it's not all that bad.

Thursday 8 March 2007

What?... Piano tuning?... Why?!

I once heard a desperate student describe piano tuning as trying to split an atom (to which some smart alec replied ‘splitting an atom is not all that hard’!) Each ignoramus I meet who is confused by our vocation and assume we should be blind, I challenge simply to tune a perfect unison (i.e. two strings at exactly the same pitch). Ignoring the other 186 strings including the middle scale, perhaps the ignoramus might comprehend the pain and frustration of being locked up in a sound proof piano booth for three hours wrestling to equalize 15 tonnes of string tension to an exact decimal point of a Hertz by ear (yes, it is loud)!

After my seven years of full time education I give my envy to those who have cracked it. For me tuning is more a test of psychology and perseverance; no kind of last minute cramming will do. Why choose piano tuning though? After long wonderings and musings in music including an unrelated 4 year-waste-of-time-degree (after which I managed to get a pretty good job), my bohemian blood finally clotted. So you need money to live, but am I happy and why can’t I have a job I enjoy in this day and age?

No matter how amateur a musician is most will admit that their instrument is their pride and joy, their only relief, comfort and pleasure in life after a hard day’s work or after whatever tribulation fate has brought. What more satisfying than striking the opening and haunting pianissimo chords of Rachmaninoff’s 2nd? Tchaicovsky's 1st, Debussy or Beethoven perhaps. If I can make someone happy (including myself) by improving someone’s piano then I will have done something lovely and appreciated (which doesn't pay too badly)!