The disposable generation

Sam's post this morning on our wastefulness reminded me of a passage I read in Po Bronson's book, 'What Should I do with My Life'. Po is brilliant. Hugely thoughtful and reflective, he writes non-fiction social commentaries based on interviews and observations of the people he meets. Try 'Why Do I Love These People'as well. Here's his site. http://www.pobronson.com/ As an aside, he's from San Francisco. I'm developing a bit of a love affair with San Francisco and I've not even been there; I get the sense it's just full of smart creative people who aren't quite living the American dream as it's been sold. A little subversive, which would make sense for the city where hippies were born.

Anyway, the passage is as follows. This is my life in a nutshell. I am most definitely of the disposable generation and I am utterly bored of it and determined to change.

"In our generation's belief system, the world is a battle between the Boring and the Stimulating. We channel-surf through jobs and relationships, pushing the button at the first hint of slowing down. We've rejected the compromises of our parent's generation, who sought safety and security. Anyone who comes along and murmurs "stimulation is not everything" is quickly tuned out, because we don't want to hear it anymore."

Isn't that image of channel-surfing just completely spot-on?

In fact I think Po is my ideal man, and he's better looking than Alain de Botton too. Shame he's married. And living in San Francisco.

Compare and contrast? My dream date would be with these two, oh my goodness, the conversations. Alison J went to dinner with Alain and didn't even know who he was!! What sacrilege.

Edinburgh sunrise

There's so much I'd like to blog about at the moment. I feel I've begun the return to Scotland in earnest now I'm actually in Edinburgh, which is bringing up all sorts of thoughts and emotions. I'm excited about this next adventure and I'm loving getting to grips with what life is actually like here after over 10 years away. It is very different to London and the South East and since the arrival and establishment of the Scottish Parliament and our own political life, even more so. But tonight I am just way too tired for much intelligent thought. I'm working at The Royal Highland Show which in itself is a blog topic for another day. I've been doing 15 hour shifts; fifth and final day tomorrow. When I got the cab out to Ingliston this morning at 5am it was as clear as this, the orange warmth of the early morning sun reflecting off the Georgian sandstone in Newington as I chatted to the driver about growing up in Niddrie. For the non-Scots, Niddrie is very far removed from this view and indeed from all the usual 'Athens of the North' Edinburgh labels. My driver was telling me it was just grand before all the junkies moved in, people looked out for one another.

They've demolished most of it now, some of it is still waiting to go. Quite a contrast from the picture postcard above, isn't it?

Charity or private sector? No contest.

On my flight over the Atlantic, I had all these noble thoughts about being a good global citizen, working for a charity whose cause I really cared about, making a contribution to my community. You know.

Full of these noble thoughts, I applied for a role with the Duke of Edinburgh's Award. The closing date was three weeks ago and interviews were supposed to have taken place at the end of May. I just assumed they weren't interested in a corporate whore like me who had no experience of dealing with the 'operating authorities' (seriously, the terminology should have been enough to make me run a mile), but I decided to call and follow up.

Conversation roughly as follows. "Oh, I don't know what happened with that, I don't think it's been shortlisted yet. Ummm, sorry, I don't know. You'll need to speak to the manager when she's back tomorrow. Can you call back?"

I don't think it's been shortlisted yet? For goodness sake. How long does it take? And this from the woman who is managing the applications! It is her job to know where they are in the process! Yes, my patience would be too tested in a charity. Vicci keeps telling me to try and get job with Raleigh because I give a sh*t and could make it better. I couldn't. The inertia would send me into that critical, frustrated spiral I can be prone to in the wrong environment.

Rant over. I don't know what the answer to all of this could be. Performance-related pay would be a start, as would dealing with all the dead wood. But it would scare some people with higher security needs senseless and therefore be completely counterproductive. A more gentle carrot is needed. In searching for a suitable image, I came across The Rude Carrot Club. Take a look at the header image, how lovely.

Phew

For those of you following the job process: I didn't get it. A very close number 2 and they'd like to employ me in the future. I feel a sense of relief coupled with excitement. Now I can go and work in a bar during the Edinburgh Festival instead.

Hmm. Rehab isn't going well. Or perhaps it's going extremely well indeed, depending on your world view!

An All Too Brief Highland Fling

Reflecting this morning on how fleeting some moments in life can be. Jenny and Josh's wedding ceilidh was this weekend, they are over in Europe for a few weeks from Sydney and had a celebration for everyone who didn't make it to their big day last year. It was to be the highlight of my social calendar for the last 6 weeks, I love ceilidhs, I never get to go to them, and I knew I'd see a few people I'd not seen for years and years. We got stovies with oatcakes and cranachan for pudding. I even made a movie for Spencer's benefit, he tested me on all things Scottish every morning at the front desk and I feel the need to show him that sometimes I do live up to my heritage.

And now it's all over and it'll no doubt be another 5 years before I see most of these people again. I mean, it's not as if our lives are connected anymore. But still, there's something very poignant about such brief encounters with people who were such a large part of your distant past. Perhaps even more so as it was in the Hillside Village Hall. It's at least 10 years since I've been in there, it was the scene of all the 21sts if you were a Hillsider. (I was always on the fringe of the Hillside gang, living in Montrose, and therefore I went for the obligatory 18th in the back room of the Black Abbot instead.)

They had a wedding blessing the next day in the Hillside Church. I'm not sure the last time I sat through a whole Church of Scotland service. It was thought-provoking. I think I'm largely in agreement with many of the Bible's teachings but I have an issue with the language used and as a natural sceptic, with the need to have faith in an almighty God. But that's another discussion entirely. All of these beliefs and traditions and places are at my very core. Of course I've spent my whole life running away from them but they catch up with you in the end. Ultimately, you need to make some peace with what it means to have grown-up in a small town on the north-east coast of Scotland.

It's a London thing

London. What a place. It's 6 months since I was passing through en route to Utah and after the sleepsville of Salt Lake and the north-east coast of Scotland, it's quite an experience.

Admittedly, arriving at 7.30pm on a Friday night into King's Cross was probably not the best reintroduction to my former home. Busy, noisy, stressful, push, shove, ignore your fellow man - all in the seemingly intensely urgent quest to get where you need to be and finally get the week over with.

But also, what a place. Funny Women's Awards on Friday night at The Albany. Iain's friend Helen is a new role model. Part-time classical music producer, part-time Royal Albert Hall tour guide and full-time aspiring comedienne who spends every spare night gigging all around London, the comedy capital of the world. She's doing a show at the Fringe so if you get up to Edinburgh this year, check her out.

Sunday night at the filming of Brendon Burns Live with Rachel and her interesting flatmate Jude, who came here from Dublin in 1971, squatted in Peckham and it all went from there. I'd have loved to have been part of that scene, I'm not sure it's possible to do that anymore. Way too much money needed nowadays. Brendon won the Perrier Award at the Festival last year. It's good stuff, not all laugh-out-loud funny, but thought-provoking. Jude is a friend of Brendon's and told me all his stories were true. He turns his own pain over his breakdown and booze and drugs problem into such fabulous comedic material. One of my favourite lines: "What really gets me is these people who buy cocaine and fair trade products. Wake up, you wankers!" That probably needs a little context and a stronger delivery than I can manage in words. But oh so true. If he looked more closely in their fridges he'd find milk thistle extract to help detox your liver and Alpro soya milk because dairy is bad for your sinuses (along with the cocaine, of course). Credit allows debit = balance?

Sunday afternoon in Selfridges, gazing in sheer wonder at these Vertu mobile phones, a snip at around £10,000. Selfridges is really one enormous toy box for adults. It is truly a sensory delight. We tonged our hair with the best new irons on the market, discussed Laura Mercier products and grimaced at revolting Gucci handbags.

I'm typing this on a MacBook Air, which is so responsive it practically works through thoughtwaves, in a beautiful pad in Marylebone, just opposite Madonna's London residence. Alison is allowing me to live a little of her highlife. I have some of her cast-offs to try on shortly. Cast-off is a very loose term, we are talking Missoni dresses and Armani suits here which I can have on loan as part of my back-to-work project.

Oh consumption, consumption, consumption. Guzzle, guzzle, guzzle. I both love it and hate it all at the same time. It confuses me.