2013 has turned out to be a rather spritely year. A late start to spring makes it feel like time is whizzing past, leaving little time for reflection. Of course being a naval gazer means it does not take long before I'm back, pontificating again.
This week I looked back over my goals for 2013 and laughed a little bit. It may come as no surprises to those who read this blog but most of my goals have fallen by the wayside. I am proud that I completed the Women's 10K in May. It was a hard slog and I didn't do enough training but by golly it was worth it.
There are some blog posts a-brewing in my head and I'm hoping to get some posted up here in the coming weeks. Hopefully these will contain the right dashes of pondering and self-deprication.
Showing posts with label pondering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pondering. Show all posts
Monday, 1 July 2013
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Why Libraries Are Important
I feel I'm going to be preaching to the converted with this post but here we go.
This morning the Museums Libraries and Archives twitter feed tweeted a link to this article posted by the Guardian about the closure of libraries in Yorkshire . The article itself doesn't concentrate on librarians views but more on the users (who are the important group here). Most users were rather horrified at the thought of their local library being marked for closure. The reporter visits an area called Eastfield, fifty miles from Scarborough. The library has been renamed a 'community resource centre' but it appears to live up to this glamorous title. According to the report only 1 in 4 homes in this area have access to the internet. The centre provides a vital resource by offering computers which is vital in the age of the digital economy. Many jobs call for basic computer literacy skills. I'm not sure if the reliance on computers is a good or a bad thing but that is a topic for another post. As well as offering computers the centre lends books and offers meeting room facilities for local groups. The average age of users did seem to be fifty and upwards. Either they filmed the report during school time or perhaps the local schools have well equipped libraries. I doubt the later is true.
One important issue highlighted here is the concept of digital poverty. I discovered this term when reading Don Tapscott's work for my Masters dissertation. As society and information moves into the digital domain, we forget people are left behind. Some people are lucky to afford to pay off their gas bill every month let alone splash out on a basic computer which still costs hundreds of pounds. You forget the monthly cost of paying for internet access as well (and the electricity to run it). This assumption that everything is online forgets that people need a decent amount of disposable income before they can consider having internet access at home.
Books, the internet, other information mediums are expensive. Libraries provide a vital centre point for access to information. That is where trained information professionals, like librarians, come into force. These individuals have spent time and effort studying navigation tools and access points for information. They know to make information available, how to help point people in the right direction. Yesterday I spent a good ten minutes trying to explain to a library user why articles they found on Google Books did not reflect the database systems and journals that the university had available. University is the first time for many people start navigating information for themselves. Without having trained individuals present to help guide them, people may find themselves overwhelmed with information whilst never finding what they are actually looking for. I am not being patronising, even after six years of being a student I still find information and research over whelming. How many times have you read an entire Wikipedia article without finding what you were looking for? That is why universities have subject librarians to help students. On a local level, outwith the education sector, a reference librarian can help the keen amateur, the confused high school student, the new parent wanting 'How to...' guides.
Although with the increase in tuition fees, many individuals may find university closed off to them. They will not have opportunities to learn how to gather and analyse information. Local libraries may find themselves picking up the slack with hardly any resources to combat it. Volunteers are useful (being a volunteer myself I have to speak up for them) but people that are time rich may lack the skills needed to provide a good service. Volunteers might be unable to see past the services they want from a library and be blind to what others want. They may choose to reduce the number of computers to make way for more Catherine Cookson books. Or sell off the DVD collection to raise more money for comfy sofas. Or they may choose to weed out books they find unsuitable for readers. Or decided to end the costly subscription to online journals because they don't see the point of it.
A user at my volunteer workplace with was so grateful for the service of the library. Without it they would not have a quiet, suitable place to study. Without the services of the librarian they would have not been able to find relevant material for their coursework. The librarian at this institution is a paid, qualified member of staff who is currently re-cataloguing the book collection. They have created a catalogue/access point that is suitable for the users of the library and is much more effort than labelling each book a different number. Without her experience and knowledge it would be impossible to navigate the available resources this institution has to offer.
Closing libraries is robbing people's entitlement to knowledge and learning. Libraries, learning and resource centres, information signals, whatever you want to call them are vitally important. In times when people's disposable income is being cut there needs to be access to resources. Not everyone can afford to buy books off Amazon nor do they have the internet access to use their service. This concept might be difficult for the Powers That Be to understand. After all, most of them were educated during an era of free grants for students. Most probably did not need to use their local library due to facilities they had in their parents' homes. They forget that not everyone has that luxury. Closure of libraries highlights the widening gap between Britain's rich and poor in society. The new poverty this decade we will see will be those who lack access to information. That is a truly depressing thought.
This morning the Museums Libraries and Archives twitter feed tweeted a link to this article posted by the Guardian about the closure of libraries in Yorkshire . The article itself doesn't concentrate on librarians views but more on the users (who are the important group here). Most users were rather horrified at the thought of their local library being marked for closure. The reporter visits an area called Eastfield, fifty miles from Scarborough. The library has been renamed a 'community resource centre' but it appears to live up to this glamorous title. According to the report only 1 in 4 homes in this area have access to the internet. The centre provides a vital resource by offering computers which is vital in the age of the digital economy. Many jobs call for basic computer literacy skills. I'm not sure if the reliance on computers is a good or a bad thing but that is a topic for another post. As well as offering computers the centre lends books and offers meeting room facilities for local groups. The average age of users did seem to be fifty and upwards. Either they filmed the report during school time or perhaps the local schools have well equipped libraries. I doubt the later is true.
One important issue highlighted here is the concept of digital poverty. I discovered this term when reading Don Tapscott's work for my Masters dissertation. As society and information moves into the digital domain, we forget people are left behind. Some people are lucky to afford to pay off their gas bill every month let alone splash out on a basic computer which still costs hundreds of pounds. You forget the monthly cost of paying for internet access as well (and the electricity to run it). This assumption that everything is online forgets that people need a decent amount of disposable income before they can consider having internet access at home.
Books, the internet, other information mediums are expensive. Libraries provide a vital centre point for access to information. That is where trained information professionals, like librarians, come into force. These individuals have spent time and effort studying navigation tools and access points for information. They know to make information available, how to help point people in the right direction. Yesterday I spent a good ten minutes trying to explain to a library user why articles they found on Google Books did not reflect the database systems and journals that the university had available. University is the first time for many people start navigating information for themselves. Without having trained individuals present to help guide them, people may find themselves overwhelmed with information whilst never finding what they are actually looking for. I am not being patronising, even after six years of being a student I still find information and research over whelming. How many times have you read an entire Wikipedia article without finding what you were looking for? That is why universities have subject librarians to help students. On a local level, outwith the education sector, a reference librarian can help the keen amateur, the confused high school student, the new parent wanting 'How to...' guides.
Although with the increase in tuition fees, many individuals may find university closed off to them. They will not have opportunities to learn how to gather and analyse information. Local libraries may find themselves picking up the slack with hardly any resources to combat it. Volunteers are useful (being a volunteer myself I have to speak up for them) but people that are time rich may lack the skills needed to provide a good service. Volunteers might be unable to see past the services they want from a library and be blind to what others want. They may choose to reduce the number of computers to make way for more Catherine Cookson books. Or sell off the DVD collection to raise more money for comfy sofas. Or they may choose to weed out books they find unsuitable for readers. Or decided to end the costly subscription to online journals because they don't see the point of it.
A user at my volunteer workplace with was so grateful for the service of the library. Without it they would not have a quiet, suitable place to study. Without the services of the librarian they would have not been able to find relevant material for their coursework. The librarian at this institution is a paid, qualified member of staff who is currently re-cataloguing the book collection. They have created a catalogue/access point that is suitable for the users of the library and is much more effort than labelling each book a different number. Without her experience and knowledge it would be impossible to navigate the available resources this institution has to offer.
Closing libraries is robbing people's entitlement to knowledge and learning. Libraries, learning and resource centres, information signals, whatever you want to call them are vitally important. In times when people's disposable income is being cut there needs to be access to resources. Not everyone can afford to buy books off Amazon nor do they have the internet access to use their service. This concept might be difficult for the Powers That Be to understand. After all, most of them were educated during an era of free grants for students. Most probably did not need to use their local library due to facilities they had in their parents' homes. They forget that not everyone has that luxury. Closure of libraries highlights the widening gap between Britain's rich and poor in society. The new poverty this decade we will see will be those who lack access to information. That is a truly depressing thought.
Monday, 3 January 2011
2011: The Year of Good Intentions?
Greetings everyone. I ushered in the new year by hosting a small soiree at my flat. By the time the clock struck midnight on 2010 (and closed that door behind me) around 25 people were crammed into my living room. It was a sea of people hugging and kissing and shaking hands and wishing everyone a Happy New Year. I wish I had thought to take more photographs.
2010 was not a bad year. Not the best year of my life (I think that belongs to the later half of 2002) but not down there with one of the worst (1997 was the start of a steep decline). In 2010 I:
2010 was not a bad year. Not the best year of my life (I think that belongs to the later half of 2002) but not down there with one of the worst (1997 was the start of a steep decline). In 2010 I:
- Completed a Masters in Science
- Turned 25 and had a wonderful time on my birthday
- Moved flats
- Got a new job more suited to my qualifications
- Went to my first professional conference
- Started cooking properly again
So what do I plan for 2011? In the last days of 2010 I started feeling a bit lost. This is a usual cycle for me and hits every couple of years or so. It didn't seem to matter when I was a teenager. After all, when you're fifthteen, you think you're going to live forever. That feeling starts to ebb away when you're twenty five. My mother retires this year. My mother is old enough to retire. "Life is too short" was the wave that came crashing over me this year.
And this time I am determined to do something about it. By coincidence an article appeared in yesterday's Sunday Herald which was part of a section of columnists writing about trends we would see happening in 2011. One article tackled the subject of alternative lifestyles; primarily a move away from the greed of consumerism and the constant need to acquire material goods. The first half of the article about minimalism really spoke to me. Despite my better attempts I have tried not to fall for the consumerism trap of always wanting more. But I have. My wardrobe is full of clothes I hardly wore and were expensive impulse buys. There are boxes of unread books stacked high in my bedroom. Enough is enough.
Part of the above article discusses a blog called Minimal Student. Last night I was up until two in the morning reading through the articles. The blog's writer, a girl called Jessica, seems to be writing just for me. Of course I know she isn't but that is the mark of a good writer; making the reader feel like they are the intended, and perfect, audience for this material.
I'm going to ferment on what I have read over the past day. Already I have taken baby steps by an extension to Chrome called StayFocused. It is a handy tool. You can list websites that you are allowed a certain amount of time to browse. For example my blocked sites include Facebook and Twitter which are bad for eating up my time. Initially I didn't realise that the time you set includes all the sites listed on your blocked list. So I had used up my allotted time by the end of breakfast time today.
Which meant I got stuff done. I put away the weekly shop Him Indoors ventured out to buy, cleaned out the kitchen cupboards, finished some work owed to someone else and caught up on some Write in for Writing's Sake admin. Late afternoon I settled down to watch The Usual Suspects in memory of the late, great Pete Postlethwaite who died today. Another reminder that life indeed is too short; he was only sixty-four.
I feel like I have collected my thoughts a bit better. Tomorrow I am going to spend time thinking. Proper thinking not just "Oooh what shall I have for tea tonight?" Then I'll come back here and decide what I am going to make of myself in 2011.
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Sunday Salon: What to Read?
As some may notice I have been floating around other book blogs the past week. Partly due to course work avoidance. Partly due to looming 'no job post-qualification' which means I need a project to keep me going through unemployment.
Unfortunately nearly every blog I read has books on it I want to read. Two problems arise. One: a majority of the blogs I have found are American-centric. No disrespect to fellow readers on the other side of the pond but their book supplies seem a lot richer. My lack of funds means I am relying on the local library. Well *ahem* technically I still have access to the library near where I used to live which is part of another local authority. So I have access to two sources of books. Yet most books supplied by these bodies are UK-centric. It makes sense, of course. Library users in the UK are more likely to borrow books from writers known in the UK.
E-books are an option. That brings me to Two: Money. Again, with low lack of funds, buying books is something I'd like to avoid. With a looming Mount TBR I really should be tackling that instead of moping about books I can't borrow from either of my local libraries. But it is so tempting when I go into the library and see lots of books smiling back at me (not literally of course, that would be a bit weird!). Or read some fantastic reviews on a book blog.
For those who read many book blogs: how do you decide what to read? How much are you influenced by your fellow bloggers' reviews? Do you access your existing resources, such as a local library? Is there a magic book fairy that leaves you books under your pillow at night? Or kind relatives who supply you with book tokens on birthdays and other celebratory occasions?
Finally, I have not been reading as much as I'd like this week. My sleep patterns are a bit out of kilter. When that happens, I stop reading in bed to help kick start my routine again. There are other things I give up, such as no TV or Internet an hour before bed, but I really dislike giving up reading in my lovely, cosy bed.
Yesterday I gorged myself on the fantastic The Hunger Games: Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins. It's a fabulous YA series and has been touted by Ms as a great feminist book for teen girls. I was going to write a review under this post but I don't think I can do it justice at the moment. Because tomorrow, a deadline is a-looming and I still need to finish off two reports. That's what I get for reading instead of studying.
Despite the attempts by a mad, bad, volcano it is a lovely day here. Blue sky, lots of cheerful looking white clouds. Before I knuckle down to work, I shall be taking a short walk to pick up Sunday rolls and some newspapers for tonight's entertainment.
Saturday, 3 April 2010
Death of an ipod Touch
Earlier this week my second ipod Touch in a year died on me (this was a replacement after my first one had some sound problems). I took it to my local Apple store and was told it would cost £106 to repair or I could trade in the frazzled model and get 10% off a new model.
The thing is that I'm not too sure I want to. Sure, I loved my Touch when I first got it. It was so handy to check email, Facebook and Twitter while I was waiting for the kettle to boil. But recently I have become a little uneasy about how much of my life was being swallowed by this little device. Bit ironic posting about the Internet stealing my life on a blog but bear with me.
Sometimes I can't sleep and I would spend hours on the Touch, jumping from app to app. Check out the news? I had my Guardian app. See who else is up at this time? Twitter and Facebook. Still can't sleep? Then I have ZombieFarm to play (don't ask). Trouble is that this started to seep into my 'awake' time. A day before the Touch died, I was horrified to discover that I had spent an hour faffing around on it. An hour! Surely Facebook wasn't that interesting? Although I'm on study leave I still have lots and lots of work to do. Work that wasn't getting done because I was distracting myself with the sodding Touch.
So I have decided to go retro. Him Indoors has an old ipod that lacks the snazzy new Interwebs access that the Touch posses. By doing this I'm hoping I don't waste so much time on doing nothing.
And, on that note, I am going to log off and go to bed ;)
The thing is that I'm not too sure I want to. Sure, I loved my Touch when I first got it. It was so handy to check email, Facebook and Twitter while I was waiting for the kettle to boil. But recently I have become a little uneasy about how much of my life was being swallowed by this little device. Bit ironic posting about the Internet stealing my life on a blog but bear with me.
Sometimes I can't sleep and I would spend hours on the Touch, jumping from app to app. Check out the news? I had my Guardian app. See who else is up at this time? Twitter and Facebook. Still can't sleep? Then I have ZombieFarm to play (don't ask). Trouble is that this started to seep into my 'awake' time. A day before the Touch died, I was horrified to discover that I had spent an hour faffing around on it. An hour! Surely Facebook wasn't that interesting? Although I'm on study leave I still have lots and lots of work to do. Work that wasn't getting done because I was distracting myself with the sodding Touch.
So I have decided to go retro. Him Indoors has an old ipod that lacks the snazzy new Interwebs access that the Touch posses. By doing this I'm hoping I don't waste so much time on doing nothing.
And, on that note, I am going to log off and go to bed ;)
Sunday, 3 January 2010
2010: The Year to Gain?
And the festive period is over for another year. This season went more smoothly for myself and Him Indoors. Last year we were both ill in the run up to Christmas and could not be bothered with being sociable. On Christmas Day we visited both sets of parents and it went better than expected. I didn't eat too much (read: stuff myself silly) and felt the better for it. I also wore a dress on Christmas Day with my lovely new Doc Marten boots with roses up the side. Alas my camera has given up the ghost after many years of service so no pictures.
I have been mulling over making a post here. 2009 was not a great year for lots of reasons; most notably two deaths of matriarch figures in the family within a week of each other. The pain is still there for some family members left behind and I feel a tad helpless. There's not much I can do to help the grief. 2009 was a year for regret and petty guilt for not spending enough time with the people I cared about - still care about.
Resolutions are something that I am sceptical about. You set yourself up in the bleakest month of the year. All these fabulous goals for you to achieve by the end of the year. And, if you're like me, they are all broken by the end of February.
So I am going to keep it simple. 2010 is going to be the year for preparing to stretch my wings. The last days of 2009 were spent having a massive tidy up and clear out of the flat. I came to realise how much random crap and possessions I have in my life. By Bookcrossing standards I committed a sin by tipping two boxes of books into the charity shop bag without even making release notes for them. Shock horror! By then I felt so over whelmed with the amount of bags of rubbish, recycling and charity shop donations that I would have dropped a bomb in the hallway to help clear the mess. At one point we could hardly get out the front door.
I have been watching the efforts (such a pithy word but I can't think of anything better at this time of day and only halfway through my first cup of coffee) of Ms Wolf to complete 1001 goals in 101 days. Post-uni it's something I'd like to try out and see how I get on. 2010 is going to be the year when I get more organised, a skill I seriously lack at times.
This post can be easily summed up by a conversation I had with Him Indoors this week. "I don't want to hit 30 and all I have achieved in life is an in depth knowledge of fecking Come Dine With Me. I want to do something." Not to blast the almighty CDWM but there has to be more to life than this.
I have been mulling over making a post here. 2009 was not a great year for lots of reasons; most notably two deaths of matriarch figures in the family within a week of each other. The pain is still there for some family members left behind and I feel a tad helpless. There's not much I can do to help the grief. 2009 was a year for regret and petty guilt for not spending enough time with the people I cared about - still care about.
Resolutions are something that I am sceptical about. You set yourself up in the bleakest month of the year. All these fabulous goals for you to achieve by the end of the year. And, if you're like me, they are all broken by the end of February.
So I am going to keep it simple. 2010 is going to be the year for preparing to stretch my wings. The last days of 2009 were spent having a massive tidy up and clear out of the flat. I came to realise how much random crap and possessions I have in my life. By Bookcrossing standards I committed a sin by tipping two boxes of books into the charity shop bag without even making release notes for them. Shock horror! By then I felt so over whelmed with the amount of bags of rubbish, recycling and charity shop donations that I would have dropped a bomb in the hallway to help clear the mess. At one point we could hardly get out the front door.
I have been watching the efforts (such a pithy word but I can't think of anything better at this time of day and only halfway through my first cup of coffee) of Ms Wolf to complete 1001 goals in 101 days. Post-uni it's something I'd like to try out and see how I get on. 2010 is going to be the year when I get more organised, a skill I seriously lack at times.
This post can be easily summed up by a conversation I had with Him Indoors this week. "I don't want to hit 30 and all I have achieved in life is an in depth knowledge of fecking Come Dine With Me. I want to do something." Not to blast the almighty CDWM but there has to be more to life than this.
Thursday, 26 November 2009
What is the Point of Data Protection?
This article caught my eye today. There are calls to make a rough census from 1939 public. I am amazed at the comments from people that say this information should be made public. No doubt these are the same people who get annoyed when they recieve telemarketing calls or junk mail. Or their personal data being used for other purposes, outwith their control.
When I worked for the NHS archive, you used to get a lot of people coming through the 'back door' to trace relatives. This usually applied to individuals who were adopted or who had lost contact with their birth parents. In the eyes of the NHS record keeping authorities, the ownership of someone's birth record does not lie with the child but with the mother. So if these enquiries came in then we had to ask the enquirier to follow a certain procedure. They either had to provide written permission from their mother to release the information or evidence of her death. You'd rarely hear from these people again.
This is why I believe the 75 year rule is fine and dandy for these kind of records. In Scotland, the census is locked tight for 100 years for the potential problems they could throw up. Like the situation described above. How would an elderly woman feel if someone turned up at their door one day and said they were her child given up for adoption? Hence the existence of agencies such as Barnardos who handle such enquiries. It is not always a person's right, or appropriate, for them to have such information at their fingertips.
Yes records have been kept so people can use them for informational purposes. But we also have to respect the data subjects recorded in these documents. That is why I believe the early release of these records should not be considered. Although the introduction of an application basis with evidence that individuals are deceased could be the way forward.
This surge of legislation does not automatically mean people have the right to access information that does not relate directly to them as data subjects.
When I worked for the NHS archive, you used to get a lot of people coming through the 'back door' to trace relatives. This usually applied to individuals who were adopted or who had lost contact with their birth parents. In the eyes of the NHS record keeping authorities, the ownership of someone's birth record does not lie with the child but with the mother. So if these enquiries came in then we had to ask the enquirier to follow a certain procedure. They either had to provide written permission from their mother to release the information or evidence of her death. You'd rarely hear from these people again.
This is why I believe the 75 year rule is fine and dandy for these kind of records. In Scotland, the census is locked tight for 100 years for the potential problems they could throw up. Like the situation described above. How would an elderly woman feel if someone turned up at their door one day and said they were her child given up for adoption? Hence the existence of agencies such as Barnardos who handle such enquiries. It is not always a person's right, or appropriate, for them to have such information at their fingertips.
Yes records have been kept so people can use them for informational purposes. But we also have to respect the data subjects recorded in these documents. That is why I believe the early release of these records should not be considered. Although the introduction of an application basis with evidence that individuals are deceased could be the way forward.
This surge of legislation does not automatically mean people have the right to access information that does not relate directly to them as data subjects.
Friday, 30 October 2009
And now time for a round up
Today I handed in my first essay of my post-grad career. It's OK, nothing outstanding and will (hopefully) do well enough to pass me and no more. My energy levels feel zapped and nothing seems to lift them.
Last night I went to the Glasgow's NaNoWriMo kick off party night. Due to my own stupidity I thought it started at 6pm and was wondering around looking for potential writers. Turns out, it started at 7.30pm, the time I had arranged to meet Him Indoors for a romantic meal at China Buffet King. After meeting some other NaNos I politely made my excuses and left.
My writing class this week was *ahem* interesting. I took offence to someone using rape imagery in their assignment and no-one agreed with me, in public anyway. Of course someone has the right artistic freedom but they don't need to be so smug about it. Interestingly, my poem received different interpretations from the age groups in the class. It's a poem aimed at Remembrance Day and about letters being censored from the front line. Older members of the class got that. Some of the younger members thought it was someone reading letter revealing someone was having an affair. Was very puzzled by that but appreciated the criticism. So I have re-written parts of the poem which I will also post here. At some point. If only you could scan a notepad into the computer and it would automatically convert it into Word.
Last night I went to the Glasgow's NaNoWriMo kick off party night. Due to my own stupidity I thought it started at 6pm and was wondering around looking for potential writers. Turns out, it started at 7.30pm, the time I had arranged to meet Him Indoors for a romantic meal at China Buffet King. After meeting some other NaNos I politely made my excuses and left.
My writing class this week was *ahem* interesting. I took offence to someone using rape imagery in their assignment and no-one agreed with me, in public anyway. Of course someone has the right artistic freedom but they don't need to be so smug about it. Interestingly, my poem received different interpretations from the age groups in the class. It's a poem aimed at Remembrance Day and about letters being censored from the front line. Older members of the class got that. Some of the younger members thought it was someone reading letter revealing someone was having an affair. Was very puzzled by that but appreciated the criticism. So I have re-written parts of the poem which I will also post here. At some point. If only you could scan a notepad into the computer and it would automatically convert it into Word.
Thursday, 24 September 2009
The Truth is I Know Nothing
Last week was the dawn of my MSc course (I still cannot believe I am doing a course that is considered a Master of Science. My Chemistry teacher from 10 years ago would be pissing herself laughing). And it's bloody hard. Already I can think of at least 4 presentations I need to prepare or 'leading the discussion'. Why does the discussion have to be on ISAD(G) and not the contents of last night's Hollyoaks? Joking aside and to repeat my above point: it's bloody hard.
Apparently postgraduate teaching relies on discussion from the students (which must be a bit cheeky for those students who have forked out almost £4, 000 for fees alone) and this has been the basis of this week's classes. Despite working for a year in an archive, I am coming to the conclusion I know nothing. Well, nothing about the theory of archives. Point me at a pile of boxes and tell me to go box list, I will go box list. Ask me to tell you about the theoretical approach to this? Nah, can't do that mate.
Yes, we need to be taught theory. Understanding the theory allows us, as records managers, archivists and so on, to make the weighty decision of deciding which records are to be preserved for the "historians of tomorrow". And it is a tough decision to make. Some decisions are easy such as chucking out bank statements, junk mail (that actually comes through a physical and not a digital letterbox) and other rubbish. It is a common occurrence for someone to be clearing out their house, decide to donate to an archive and dumping a lot of rubbish into the boxes. Though I did make a nice sweep of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles badges which were going in the bin.
But, cynically, I can't help wondering about the practicalities of the job. In the first archive I volunteered in, the archives team was very small and the Archivist had a lot of other tasks lumped onto their daily 'to do list'. Worrying about theory can come to second when faced with the physical job. One fellow student worked for a corporate archive, whose first and foremost role is to serve the company, and remembers the entire office dropping everything one day to retrieve records for the CEO who wanted them like yesterday.
This is the job I want to do. Despite lacking tidy skills in my domestic life, there is a sense of achievement following the cataloguing process from start to finish. There is a cataloguing placement in a couple of weeks time and I'm looking forward to it. One option may involve getting the hell out ofDodge Glasgow for a bit and that's an attractive solution.
Enough naval gazing. Despite not having classes until Monday, there's still a hellva lot to do.
Apparently postgraduate teaching relies on discussion from the students (which must be a bit cheeky for those students who have forked out almost £4, 000 for fees alone) and this has been the basis of this week's classes. Despite working for a year in an archive, I am coming to the conclusion I know nothing. Well, nothing about the theory of archives. Point me at a pile of boxes and tell me to go box list, I will go box list. Ask me to tell you about the theoretical approach to this? Nah, can't do that mate.
Yes, we need to be taught theory. Understanding the theory allows us, as records managers, archivists and so on, to make the weighty decision of deciding which records are to be preserved for the "historians of tomorrow". And it is a tough decision to make. Some decisions are easy such as chucking out bank statements, junk mail (that actually comes through a physical and not a digital letterbox) and other rubbish. It is a common occurrence for someone to be clearing out their house, decide to donate to an archive and dumping a lot of rubbish into the boxes. Though I did make a nice sweep of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles badges which were going in the bin.
But, cynically, I can't help wondering about the practicalities of the job. In the first archive I volunteered in, the archives team was very small and the Archivist had a lot of other tasks lumped onto their daily 'to do list'. Worrying about theory can come to second when faced with the physical job. One fellow student worked for a corporate archive, whose first and foremost role is to serve the company, and remembers the entire office dropping everything one day to retrieve records for the CEO who wanted them like yesterday.
This is the job I want to do. Despite lacking tidy skills in my domestic life, there is a sense of achievement following the cataloguing process from start to finish. There is a cataloguing placement in a couple of weeks time and I'm looking forward to it. One option may involve getting the hell out of
Enough naval gazing. Despite not having classes until Monday, there's still a hellva lot to do.
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Sunday Salon: Lack of reading
This week I started my long awaited Masters. Granted, this has been an induction week and the 'real' work will start tomorrow. But it was still rather tiring and we had to prepare a presentation in a matter of days. The topic could be on anything we liked and I chose Bookcrossing. Despite nerves it seemed to go down well and everyone likes free books, don't they? However, the commute and change in hours has meant I have been quite content with sitting on the bus and listening to the contents of my iPod. One day I forgot to put a book in my bag and didn't realise until I got home, the cover picture staring at me, accusingly.
On Friday there was a course meal and I had a rather interesting conversation with an American girl. Obviously a lot of people had guessed I was interested in books due to my presentation. She found it rather interesting that I was "so well read" (ha! I have friends (who know who they are) that would wet themselves laughing at that description of my reading habits) compared to her friends back home. Many of them did not view reading as a leisure activity but as a means to an end. Read this book, write a paper on it, pass the class, end of.
I will admit studying English in my last year of high school did kill reading a bit for me. The over analytical approach to literature seems to forget the key concept of enjoy what you read. Or, at the very least, have some personal reaction to the text even if it's "I hate this book and I hope it burns".
Today I am reading. Unfortunately it's not for my pleasure but hopefully I will learn something from it. And, failing that, I still have the second Steig Larsson book winking at me from the coffee table. Oh yes.
Sunday, 30 August 2009
Wot I Thunk About Writing
This blog has been rather quiet. I have an extremely bad habit of picking up new things with enthusiasm and then dropping them when other things happen. Mind you, real life has been hitting me with the shitty stick of late with Him Indoors not being very well, two deaths in the family within a week and all round stresses of everyday life.
Excuses, aren't they fab?
So my five week writing class trundled to an end. In the final week I had written a short story that I was rather chuffed with and received extremely positive feedback for. That has been sent off to a writing journal for the editors to consider publishing. Fingers crossed, tis has been a while before I've felt confident enough to send anything away to be published, hell written anything good enough to be sent away.
And, dammit, writing has been rather good fun. Last weekend I spent some time alone, staying in Edinburgh and taking in parts of the Festival. This seems to worry some people, my father especially for some reason, but I rather enjoy spending time on my own. I like being able to have four pieces of toast with chocolate spread for breakfast, I like deciding where to go for dinner, I like being able to sit in a park bench in the sun and write for hours without having to answer anyone or field worried "Where are you?" texts. Asides from the crapness of the hostel I was staying in (which would have been better if they invested in some double glazing) this trip is something I'd consider doing again.
The concept of writing retreats is something I had always poo pooed. "Oh yes, Fanny and Artemis were telling me how they were meditating on the post-modern themes within poetry written on birthday cards. Must go, we have a class at 2.43pm helping us to discover what surrealism is." And these retreats are not cheap, oh no. A quick glance through ones listed in the back of various writing magazines show people are charged a pretty penny for the privilege of sleeping in a tiny room and to shit in a bowl.
Now now, madam, you're being harsh. Surely this isn't always the case? Anyway, a writing trip spent somewhere on my own is something to consider. As long as I don't develop a life damaging condition like George Orwell did.
Back to the point in question and stop rambling. A couple of Mondays ago I attended the launch of Cargo Publishing, a new publishing house based in Glasgow. I remember being asked a couple of years ago if I wanted to perform some of my work at one of their artist nights, when they started years ago. I said no, too afraid I hadn't written anything substantial in years. The teenager that had spent hours living with made up characters had retreated. (On an aside, please do read Cancer Party the first venture from Cargo. More info can be found here. Any book black listed by the Scottish Catholic Alliance sounds like a damn good read to me).
Back to the rant from someone the wrong side of 20 (soon to be 25 *panics*). There has been a little spark of confidence put back into my imagination. Him Indoors has been partly responsible for that. Look at other people's work. Learn from it. And say in a loud clear voice:
"I can do better than that."
Here's hoping the next quarter of my creative life is more productive than previous years.
Excuses, aren't they fab?
So my five week writing class trundled to an end. In the final week I had written a short story that I was rather chuffed with and received extremely positive feedback for. That has been sent off to a writing journal for the editors to consider publishing. Fingers crossed, tis has been a while before I've felt confident enough to send anything away to be published, hell written anything good enough to be sent away.
And, dammit, writing has been rather good fun. Last weekend I spent some time alone, staying in Edinburgh and taking in parts of the Festival. This seems to worry some people, my father especially for some reason, but I rather enjoy spending time on my own. I like being able to have four pieces of toast with chocolate spread for breakfast, I like deciding where to go for dinner, I like being able to sit in a park bench in the sun and write for hours without having to answer anyone or field worried "Where are you?" texts. Asides from the crapness of the hostel I was staying in (which would have been better if they invested in some double glazing) this trip is something I'd consider doing again.
The concept of writing retreats is something I had always poo pooed. "Oh yes, Fanny and Artemis were telling me how they were meditating on the post-modern themes within poetry written on birthday cards. Must go, we have a class at 2.43pm helping us to discover what surrealism is." And these retreats are not cheap, oh no. A quick glance through ones listed in the back of various writing magazines show people are charged a pretty penny for the privilege of sleeping in a tiny room and to shit in a bowl.
Now now, madam, you're being harsh. Surely this isn't always the case? Anyway, a writing trip spent somewhere on my own is something to consider. As long as I don't develop a life damaging condition like George Orwell did.
Back to the point in question and stop rambling. A couple of Mondays ago I attended the launch of Cargo Publishing, a new publishing house based in Glasgow. I remember being asked a couple of years ago if I wanted to perform some of my work at one of their artist nights, when they started years ago. I said no, too afraid I hadn't written anything substantial in years. The teenager that had spent hours living with made up characters had retreated. (On an aside, please do read Cancer Party the first venture from Cargo. More info can be found here. Any book black listed by the Scottish Catholic Alliance sounds like a damn good read to me).
Back to the rant from someone the wrong side of 20 (soon to be 25 *panics*). There has been a little spark of confidence put back into my imagination. Him Indoors has been partly responsible for that. Look at other people's work. Learn from it. And say in a loud clear voice:
"I can do better than that."
Here's hoping the next quarter of my creative life is more productive than previous years.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Writing Creatively?
I know there are some people who read this that would kick my arse up and down the street for admitting the following.
Last night I went to a Creative Writing class. I know, I know, can you really teach someone Creative Writing? I had always answered no but last night my mind was changed somewhat. This class, I hope, will give me a good boot up the backside and get me writing again. Previously, I had always looked upon writing as a past-time, something I hoped would turn into a career.
I didn't realise you could treat it as a 'proper' job. The tutor handed out some quotes to 'inspire' us and I'm afraid to admit that the following struck a cord with me:
"I write when I'm inspired, and I see to it I'm inspired at nine o'clock every morning."
Peter De Vries
The course runs for five weeks. Let's see how I get on.
Last night I went to a Creative Writing class. I know, I know, can you really teach someone Creative Writing? I had always answered no but last night my mind was changed somewhat. This class, I hope, will give me a good boot up the backside and get me writing again. Previously, I had always looked upon writing as a past-time, something I hoped would turn into a career.
I didn't realise you could treat it as a 'proper' job. The tutor handed out some quotes to 'inspire' us and I'm afraid to admit that the following struck a cord with me:
"I write when I'm inspired, and I see to it I'm inspired at nine o'clock every morning."
Peter De Vries
The course runs for five weeks. Let's see how I get on.
Friday, 29 May 2009
New Experiences
Last week, Him Indoors convinced me to do something I had never done before.
No, not that you dirty muppets.
Go camping!
Now I've never been camping. The Mothership likes her home comforts shall we say. This woman's holiday is not completed until she has completed cleaned the apartment we're staying in and has bought in a month's supply of Mr Sheen (when we're only going on holiday for a week). Funnily enough, camping was not on the agenda. There are some childhood holidays in caravans that I remember but they were done through gritted teeth. Canvas was not a holiday option.
One major reason I dislike the idea of festivals is the camping and potential shared toilet facilities. I like my own toilet. I like having toilet paper available. I like washing my hands in my scented soap and drying them on a nice fluffy towel. Recently I was horrifed to learn that T in the Park does not have showers. Is this true? Can anyone confirm this either way?
However, Him Indoors loves camping and has been away with quite a few friends. I comprised and said we would go camping on a proper campsite with proper toilets. No shitting in the woods for me. He said yes. We would go camping for two days, stay with relatives for another two and spend the rest of the week in Aberdeen. The relatives stay in a village that boasts one primary school, one church, one Spar and two coffee shops all on the same street. So I was going through the stages of gradual urbanisation last week. I've lived in the city all my life. The closest I get to the countryside is getting the train to East Kilbride.
So, yes, we went camping. It rained. We even got hailstones. One night we couldn't set up the stove to make a cup of tea. It was freezing at night. Our sleeping mats were just a little bit thicker than paper. The second night, a group pitched up next to us and didn't go to bed until 1am. It rained.
But, in a way, I enjoyed the experience. The night the sun stayed out and we cooked our instant noodles. The walk we went up the cliff and discovered an abandoned church and graveyard. Watching the tide come in. Tis was nice.
Now we're toying with hiring a VW Campervan for our next venture. The freedom of camping appealed to me. I met one woman on the campsite, part of a retired couple, who were touring the National Trust of Scotland sites. Weirdly it turned out she had grown up around the corner from where I live in Glasgow. It truly shows how small a world we live in (or you can never go far without meeting someone who lives in sunny Glasgow). I envied her freedom a bit. You could spend one day travelling to another area of the country. And the drive up to the campsite on the east coast was wonderful. Both Him Indoors and I remarked that we forget what a beautiful country we live in. And how easily we forget this living in the city.
Another aspect of this holiday made me realise how bored I'm getting of Glasgow. It is highly likely that I'll have to move out of Glasgow once I qualify as an archivist next year. Initially I was relcutant to do so. I've always lived in Glasgow, my family are here, my friends and most of my social calendar. The thought of moving away did not appeal.
But this holiday made me realise there is a big world out there. In my 24 years I have not travelled very far. Most of my work colleagues have lived in various areas due to university or college commitments. Some of them call Glasgow home for the moment, some hope to return elsewhere when they finish their training.
But yes, I would like to try living in another city in the next couple of years. And who knows, by that time I might be able to drive that VW Campervan as well.
No, not that you dirty muppets.
Go camping!
Now I've never been camping. The Mothership likes her home comforts shall we say. This woman's holiday is not completed until she has completed cleaned the apartment we're staying in and has bought in a month's supply of Mr Sheen (when we're only going on holiday for a week). Funnily enough, camping was not on the agenda. There are some childhood holidays in caravans that I remember but they were done through gritted teeth. Canvas was not a holiday option.
One major reason I dislike the idea of festivals is the camping and potential shared toilet facilities. I like my own toilet. I like having toilet paper available. I like washing my hands in my scented soap and drying them on a nice fluffy towel. Recently I was horrifed to learn that T in the Park does not have showers. Is this true? Can anyone confirm this either way?
However, Him Indoors loves camping and has been away with quite a few friends. I comprised and said we would go camping on a proper campsite with proper toilets. No shitting in the woods for me. He said yes. We would go camping for two days, stay with relatives for another two and spend the rest of the week in Aberdeen. The relatives stay in a village that boasts one primary school, one church, one Spar and two coffee shops all on the same street. So I was going through the stages of gradual urbanisation last week. I've lived in the city all my life. The closest I get to the countryside is getting the train to East Kilbride.
So, yes, we went camping. It rained. We even got hailstones. One night we couldn't set up the stove to make a cup of tea. It was freezing at night. Our sleeping mats were just a little bit thicker than paper. The second night, a group pitched up next to us and didn't go to bed until 1am. It rained.
But, in a way, I enjoyed the experience. The night the sun stayed out and we cooked our instant noodles. The walk we went up the cliff and discovered an abandoned church and graveyard. Watching the tide come in. Tis was nice.
Now we're toying with hiring a VW Campervan for our next venture. The freedom of camping appealed to me. I met one woman on the campsite, part of a retired couple, who were touring the National Trust of Scotland sites. Weirdly it turned out she had grown up around the corner from where I live in Glasgow. It truly shows how small a world we live in (or you can never go far without meeting someone who lives in sunny Glasgow). I envied her freedom a bit. You could spend one day travelling to another area of the country. And the drive up to the campsite on the east coast was wonderful. Both Him Indoors and I remarked that we forget what a beautiful country we live in. And how easily we forget this living in the city.
Another aspect of this holiday made me realise how bored I'm getting of Glasgow. It is highly likely that I'll have to move out of Glasgow once I qualify as an archivist next year. Initially I was relcutant to do so. I've always lived in Glasgow, my family are here, my friends and most of my social calendar. The thought of moving away did not appeal.
But this holiday made me realise there is a big world out there. In my 24 years I have not travelled very far. Most of my work colleagues have lived in various areas due to university or college commitments. Some of them call Glasgow home for the moment, some hope to return elsewhere when they finish their training.
But yes, I would like to try living in another city in the next couple of years. And who knows, by that time I might be able to drive that VW Campervan as well.
Sunday, 4 January 2009
American Man with an Opinion
I always seem to attract people who like to talk. Maybe I have one of those faces. Once I spent three hours chatting with an Israeli tourist in a Pret A Manger in Glasgow about, well, nothing in particular.
On Friday I was meeting a friend at the bus station. It being the first 'business as normal day' post-New Year the place was mobbed and full of people either returning to Glasgow after the festive period or getting the hell out of this crazy city. I managed to find an empty bench and a few seconds later an elderly gent sat next to me. Elderly, I'd say he was in his early sixties. We got chit chatting and he asked me what I was doing at the bus station. I explained I was waiting for a friend and we were going to the cinema to see The Reader. For those that don't know, part of the plot is concerned with war crimes in World War II.
The gent nodded and said "You know, people talk about war crimes as if they never happen anymore. But what is going on in Gaza at the moment...to me that's a war crime. And on both sides may I add. Hamas ain't innocent but the Israelis are just as bad."
War crimes are the de jour phrase at the moment. This morning I read in the paper that a Rwandian singer called Simon Bikindi was sentenced to 15 years in prison for using his music to incite violence during that fateful time in 1994. Not a politician, not a member of the military. A mere singer. Could the actions of Robert Mugabe be classed as war crimes? He seems locked in conflict with his own people, officials from neighbour states, the United Nations and just about anyone else who disagrees with the suffering and pain he is inflicting on his country.
I am not even going to pretend I know enough about the Middle East situation to comment. All I shall say is that it is ordinary people that are getting hurt, being killed. And surely that makes it a war crime and, if it doesn't sound too pompous, a crime against humanity.
On Friday I was meeting a friend at the bus station. It being the first 'business as normal day' post-New Year the place was mobbed and full of people either returning to Glasgow after the festive period or getting the hell out of this crazy city. I managed to find an empty bench and a few seconds later an elderly gent sat next to me. Elderly, I'd say he was in his early sixties. We got chit chatting and he asked me what I was doing at the bus station. I explained I was waiting for a friend and we were going to the cinema to see The Reader. For those that don't know, part of the plot is concerned with war crimes in World War II.
The gent nodded and said "You know, people talk about war crimes as if they never happen anymore. But what is going on in Gaza at the moment...to me that's a war crime. And on both sides may I add. Hamas ain't innocent but the Israelis are just as bad."
War crimes are the de jour phrase at the moment. This morning I read in the paper that a Rwandian singer called Simon Bikindi was sentenced to 15 years in prison for using his music to incite violence during that fateful time in 1994. Not a politician, not a member of the military. A mere singer. Could the actions of Robert Mugabe be classed as war crimes? He seems locked in conflict with his own people, officials from neighbour states, the United Nations and just about anyone else who disagrees with the suffering and pain he is inflicting on his country.
I am not even going to pretend I know enough about the Middle East situation to comment. All I shall say is that it is ordinary people that are getting hurt, being killed. And surely that makes it a war crime and, if it doesn't sound too pompous, a crime against humanity.
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Return to Regular Service?
It looks like this blog could be returning to a more regular service. Only one exam stands between me and the rest of my life. Which is liberating and scary at the same time.
One thing I will be joining is the Sunday Salon which the wonderful Ms Wolf introduced me to. I do feel intimidated by the various amount of reading challenges people are on. I am considering starting my own titled 'Reading what I bloody well want after four years of being told what to read'. Not as snappy as some but it could work.
For the moment I am going to discuss something a little morbid. I suffered a family bereavement a couple of weeks ago. Alas this is usually followed by a funeral. Something about religious funerals has always bothered me. This is written from a mainly Christian perspective because I have not been to another faith's funeral ritual. In the past year I have attended two sketchy Church of Scotland funerals. As far as I was aware both individuals being remembered had not displayed any strong religious tendencies and the decision to involve the Kirk came from their families.
Attending both these services convinced me I want a humanist funeral. Neither minister knew the deceased and pieced together tid bits given by the family members. Each sermon ended with the usual advert for the free meal or an extended welcome for those present.
Fuck that.
When I die I want my friends to talk about "Remember the Flaps story?" or "Remember the kick arse nights out we had?" or set off some fireworks or something. Something which celebrates my life and what little achievements I may have made. Funerals are for the living. So why don't they have a bit of life to them?
Oh and funeral directors are robbing bastards. At the last funeral there was an extra charge of £100 because it was held at the weekend. Ignore the fact the family had little choice in the matter and the weekend was the first available time after the death.
One thing I will be joining is the Sunday Salon which the wonderful Ms Wolf introduced me to. I do feel intimidated by the various amount of reading challenges people are on. I am considering starting my own titled 'Reading what I bloody well want after four years of being told what to read'. Not as snappy as some but it could work.
For the moment I am going to discuss something a little morbid. I suffered a family bereavement a couple of weeks ago. Alas this is usually followed by a funeral. Something about religious funerals has always bothered me. This is written from a mainly Christian perspective because I have not been to another faith's funeral ritual. In the past year I have attended two sketchy Church of Scotland funerals. As far as I was aware both individuals being remembered had not displayed any strong religious tendencies and the decision to involve the Kirk came from their families.
Attending both these services convinced me I want a humanist funeral. Neither minister knew the deceased and pieced together tid bits given by the family members. Each sermon ended with the usual advert for the free meal or an extended welcome for those present.
Fuck that.
When I die I want my friends to talk about "Remember the Flaps story?" or "Remember the kick arse nights out we had?" or set off some fireworks or something. Something which celebrates my life and what little achievements I may have made. Funerals are for the living. So why don't they have a bit of life to them?
Oh and funeral directors are robbing bastards. At the last funeral there was an extra charge of £100 because it was held at the weekend. Ignore the fact the family had little choice in the matter and the weekend was the first available time after the death.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)