So we’re nearly two weeks in and I have to say, three thoughts have been in my head most frequently: “This is fascinating”, “wow I’m tired and or stressed”, and “sweet Buddha I could do with a drink”. The last, on top of my several ill-advised trips to the pub, would make me seem like an alcoholic only if you didn’t really get where I was coming from with the second one (trust me). I think since this course has started the number of smokers has gone from 3 to 5 and I can testify that the number of cigarettes I have a day has gone from a sensible average of about 2-4 to double/triple that.
Now that my Johnny Raincloud crap is out the way, and I promise I won’t return to it (honestly just needed to rant at least once about the subject on this blog), I can move back in to the first thought.
Whilst scanning Oxford street and Soho with video equipment slung over my shoulder, looking for potential interviewees, I had one of those moments where I realised I loved where my life was headed. Few people can say that, and even fewer can say it openly for the fear jinxing it or sounding like a smug ass hole in front of their friends. But really those with my passions especially – one of them being far-left politics, something that incessantly refers to the will of the people – seem to place less emphasis than they should on actually going out and hearing what people have to say rather than just dancing sacrilegiously and semi-naked on public property in order to make some obscure revolutionary point. Seriously can’t get that protestor out of my head from last November, most ballsy thing I’d seen in a while (pun unashamedly intentional by the way).
Coming away from my tangent for a minute, hearing people talk about something I love as much as music and them making me rethink how it was going to evolve isn’t something you can really put a price on.