My day out

Went to Media City the other day for a journalism open day. Now I have lots of lovely shorthand notes that I took whilst hoping that someone would notice that I taught myself shorthand.

Reading over them, I now realise that I need to 'lk into "ctzn jnlsm"'. This incorporates blogging, though I'm not sure this blog falls into that category. Another note simply says 'cntcs'. I have no idea what I meant by this, and expect that it probably means I am yet to perfect my shorthand technique. The note 'also prctc y shtnd its absml' backs this up quite nicely.

Although it was an overcast day, the complex was still incredibly striking.

From the day, I gathered that the course would cover the NCTJ-approved diploma course, much as a far cheaper FE college could. However, the facilities there were incredible, and the environment doubly so. When looking for work experience, to have BBC radio, BBC TV and ITV all on your doorstep- applications may not prove fruitful, but it's an exciting thought nonetheless.

Furthermore, guest speakers who work in Media City are invited in on a regular basis. This gives the students some insider advice as well as the chance to make some important contacts.

The staff were insightful and interested, more keen on sparking conversation than actually answering the questions I had about the course. This would have been amazing if I knew I had a place all tied down for me, but as I don't, and I really need more information, I needed to do a lot of digging. Here's what I got:

The Sachtastic guide to postgraduate education.

1) Money - This is the primary concern these days. Undergrads can stop their whining; it's postgrads that pay the real price. In my case, this could range from £5000 to £8500, but it could well be more. The main problem with this money is that it has to come straight out of the student's pocket- the government won't tackle it for you. There are multiple options. Firstly, there may be scholarships offered by the institution, though these typically go to local students, those with an undergraduate degree from the institution or those with first class degrees. There are many other ways of paying for a course- for more details, go to DirectGov. One last thing- for journalism courses, the Journalism Diversity Fund is an option. Students from socially, ethnically or otherwise diverse backgrounds can apply for the amount of funding of their choosing here.

2) Applying - Applications typically start around a year before the month of entry. For most institutions, including at the present time all those with journalism PG courses, students must apply directly. Some departments will want to know the grade achieved when you apply- this means applying after graduation, and taking a year out. In a lot of courses, this is helpful as it exhibits that the individual has had time to attain life experience. Remember to contact important people within the department before you make an application. I made sure to ask whether deferring my entry would be a problem, as I have no guarantee of finding funding in time- and you must be able to pay for a course when you begin one.

3) Requirements - This differs greatly, just as it did when it came to UCAS stuff. Generally, a journalism PG will require a "good 2:1". This does not mean 68%. This means a 2:1 in a degree course other than Finger Painting Studies or The History of Tinned Food Manufacture and its Wider Sociocultural Impact. If you are currently studying either of these courses, now would be a good time to rethink your career options.

One other thing about Media City- there are quite a few famous people pottering about. I saw 4/5 Dragons from Dragons' Den (where were you, Deborah Meaden?) whilst I was sat having a cup of tea and a bakewell in Costa. Below are a couple of photos that may or may not have been of Theo Paphitis. Get your magnifying glasses out- there's a reason I never considered photojournalism.

The pitfalls of being human

Humans are curious creatures. We have these strange things called 'opinions'. They divide us when they differ, and they unite us when they concur.

Unfortunately, they're not very useful for journalists.

The crux of journalistic writing is that either the piece is supposed to be completely unbiased and objective, or the 'house style' of the publication takes over, and the opinion shared is that of the editor. Either way, the personality of the man behind the keyboard is irrelevant.

I've wanted to get this piece out for a while, but I've not been sure exactly how to put it. Essentially, writing is easiest when one feels passionate about the subject. There are topics that I could easily write a thousand words on without even adjusting the grip on my pen. However, all these words would be loaded with my own opinions and feelings, and therefore not fit for publication.

Being opinionless is a skill in itself. In a job interview situation, how useful would it be to come across as the most interesting person the interviewer has seen all week whilst never inflicting an opinion on them?

Opinions are tricky things. Particularly when it comes to politics or religion, it can be divisive. Music can be risky ground as well. Admitting to a love of Gary Glitter's back catalogue could see you blacklisted, let alone out of a job.

Apparently, taking a qualification in journalism will help me cultivate my opinionless side. According to a careers lecture I attended last week, in eighteen weeks I could learn how to write without any kind of skew or inflection.

I seriously doubt that.

I know; having just imparted an opinion, I'm on shaky ground. The thing is, I've been writing for fifteen years now about the things I like and the things I don't like. How can I stop in eighteen weeks?

Bias is a part of us. Nobody can shake it off entirely. I admit, there are probably tactics you can use to disguise your controversial dislike of chocolate or that sneaking suspicion you have that the Pope might be a supervillain. It won't change you though.

When the word "peered" is selected over "glanced", it suggests a tiny undercurrent of suspicious behaviour. The word is not excessively loaded, but the hint is there of a personality behind the words.

This is why, in an interview, you can sometimes find yourself locking horns with somebody despite nothing really inflammatory having been said. I remember when I applied for college, the admissions tutor and I didn't get on. It was nothing in particular. Our conversations just became jarred and uncomfortable.

No matter how nice you are, you'll always be you. You can try and hide it, but it won't work. You're human. It's difficult, but you're going to have to live with it.

How to Love Mondays

I currently love Mondays. This is not because I have been visited by James Reed. This is because I don't work, and have nothing to do particularly.

However, I am trying to get a job. More specifically, I am working on my dream job of becoming a writer/renowned genius/unicorn-riding ninja. Unfortunately, the number of "useful tools" on the internet is so vast that they all are made useless. Let me give you an example by telling you the state of my web browser this morning.

I opened my emails. My emails suggested I look at a job that had just become available at the BBC. This reminded me that I still hadn't posted off my application to Focus. I opened the Focus website. As part of the application for Focus, I had to include my term dates. The Liverpool University website opens.

Next, an email from my mother reminds me that I haven't posted anything on Fiverr yet. Annoyingly, Fiverr wants an example photo of my work. I'm a writer. I have to now take a photograph of a piece of paper. Whilst not taking a photograph of a piece of paper, I remember that I haven't checked People Per Hour for a while. I suggest to potential employers that they google Sachtastic or Sacha Torregrosa-Jones.

I then realise that I may have made a fatal mistake. I google Sachtastic. Luckily, my website sprouts first, followed by, annoyingly, Roblox. I try to delete my Roblox account. The people at Roblox kindly inform me that there is not currently any feature for deleting my account. I wonder how this is legal and resolve to do something about it later.

The next link is for something called Scribd, which I signed up to last March and promptly forgot about. This would probably be a useful tool if I ever had time to write anything which wasn't instantly devoured by one or other of my projects.

So, my browser window is now a mess. Happy Monday.

Far from having nothing to do, I've suddenly uncovered all the things I should have been doing when I was in university. I also have to email all the publications I telephoned last Monday to tell them, in writing, why they need me to work for free for them for two weeks.

I'm also supposed to be revising my stripy little socks off for University Challenge, going to ASDA, doing my electronics tutorial and apologising to the editors I already have for not sending them anything recently.

I want to know how I ever coped before I had Mondays. I love Mondays. They enable me not only to get things done, but also to realise how much I'd forgotten needed doing.

Spare Time, or What's Left of It

In the Douglas Adams novel Life, the Universe and Everything, Slartibartfast expresses his intention to take up the octraventral heebiephone. As Adams explains, Startibartfast has "the wrong number of mouths", and any attempt to learn to play the heebiephone therefore would be, "pleasantly futile".

The point behind my latest diversion into the world of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is this: when I have something important to do, my spare time tends to be consumed by a far more complicated, and therefore more enjoyable, task. One which can be described in no better manner than with the words "pleasantly futile".

I have, at the moment, a very important thing to do. This is to revise my little blue socks off for my upcoming exams. This is of course, happening, but progress is slow. The problem is this- it can never truly end, thus rendering it a task which is unpleasantly futile.

Meanwhile, I have been using my Sunday and the fifteen minutes between revision hours attempting to construct a family tree for the entire pantheon of Greek gods. This is an incredibly slow task, especially as different writers give gods different origins and different names.

So far, I have positioned 59 different Olympians, mortals, Muses, Protogenoi, Titans and so on. I have written a biography for all but a handful. I am not yet proud of it, but I do feel a sense of impending pride.

I have hit upon something of a hurdle, however. After becoming tired of the many and varied progeny of Zeus, and returning to the primordial gods for some amusement, I hit upon the Wikipedia entry for Thaumas, the son of Gaia and Pontus (earth and sea). It said that he married and Oceanid.

Not thinking I had anything to fear, I tapped the link.

The writings of Dr. Wikipedia kindly informed me that the Oceanids were the children of the Titans Oceanus and Tethys, and there were three thousand of them.

Now I accept, being immortal, that you tend to have a lot of time on your hands. Boredom is going to set in eventually. "Tethys dear, shall we try for another?" "How long since the last one, Oceanus?" "About six hundred years." "Oh, that's a reasonable age gap, I suppose we could."

Three thousand, though? And that's just the daughters. The sons were known as Potamoi. Care to guess how many of those there were? That's right, another three thousand.

When I tried to find out the names of all these children, Dr. Wikipedia pointed out that only a "relatively small portion of their names" were actually given in Greek writings. It surprised me that Hesiod hadn't taken up the majority of his Theogony with listing them. In fact, fewer than two hundred Oceanids and Potamoi are named in all known Greek works.

All I can do is speculate then, that none of them were called Blue Ivy.

I must admit, the prospect of filling out another six thousand biographies, the latter 5800 with the word "Unknown", has moved my task from the realms of the possible but daft, into the land of the impossible and barking.

Back to revision then. Or learning the names and locations of all 27 French regions.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Oceanids

Stupidly Clever

These days, I am giddy with anticipation at the fact that I am as close as I have ever been to appearing on University Challenge. This is coupled, however, by the grim reality of the fact that I am far less prepared to do so than I was at this point last year.

I had a class test this week, a lab on Monday, an essay due the same day, a presentation the following week, an assignment due that I am too busy to even think about looking at. What’s more, this has been going on for a year now, and all of the general knowledge I had previously accumulated has been replaced by Physics.

That’s not to say I’m not a formidable quiz opponent. I certainly have the broadest base of knowledge of anyone I know- but is that enough?

On the entry form, I was asked what my specialist area of knowledge was. Baffled by this, I put “all-round”. I have no idea whether this will play to my advantage or not.

Isn’t this how things should be, though? We are human beings; whereas birds can fly and fleas can jump, the one thing we can do is think.

In any case, I have a 100-question exam next Tuesday. I have no idea what format the questions will take. There are no past papers, nor clues as to what form the test will take.

It’s the most exciting, and the most terrifying exam I will ever take. There are no real negative consequences if I fail- aside, that is, from the lack of positive consequences. Still, I do want those positive consequences.

Think about it. What’s your gift, your talent, your ability? What are you good at? Don’t you like it when people realise?

The older I have become, the more the educational system has wanted to limit what I can study, attempting to make my knowledge more and more specific. The fact of the matter is, that I am a jack of all trades and a master of sweet Fanny Adams. I want an opportunity to show what I still know.

I am not some sort of “mad scientist”. I am not a “bookworm”. I’m a well-rounded human being, and, no matter how much my schedule seems to want to make me fail, I am beyond determined to prove myself.

If it goes well, I’ll let you know how it goes. If it doesn’t, I’ll be too busy sulking.

Back to Business

A little update on my life.

I have become employed, and as a result, am getting straight back into social media for a number of reasons.

Firstly, and most importantly, as a creative outlet. The job I start in September is in residential marketing and sales. This job involves a lot of hours, a lot of legwork and very little gain. I can cope with that, though. All I need to do is keep my university life, my work life and my home life in perfect balance.

At the moment, I'm working in a lettings agent's, and thoroughly enjoying the intense customer service experience. I'm one step away from answering my own 'phone with "Good Morning, Sacha speaking; how can I help you?", all the while grinning like a fool in the hope my smile somehow makes its way down the line and makes the caller want to buy stuff from me.

I expect, after a fortnight selling door-to-door I will be utterly fluent in salesperson's spiel and, without a blog, utterly incapable of addressing anybody in any other fashion. So the blog returns, to begin with, on an approximately weekly basis.

Secondly, hungry for power and status as I am, I'm looking to do a little networking. Aside from developing my interpersonal skills through the medium of sales and marketing, I'm looking to ultimately move into freelance journalism and possibly the golden grail of published authorship.

As everyone who ever told me to get my head out of the clouds and concentrate on a real career path will know, any kind of media career can be tricky to break into. It takes time, dedication and a fair measure of being in the right place at the right time. However, by successfully networking, and by getting my name out there as much as possible, I hope to be in as many different places as possible at a number of different times, and thus begin to live the dream.

This will be a long journey, however, and I will keep you posted.

Finally, it's because I need an audience. Because of my own vanity, yes, but also because writing for an audience differs so greatly to writing for oneself.

So, I call on you, my audience, to give me the greatest, and most detested gift that can be given to a writer- your criticism.

I'm still looking for an angle to take in my blogs- sideways rambling has served me well up to a point, but with employment and the associated need for direction comes the feeling that this can't last forever.

First Week

We had a project, on my lovely Physics course, to send a manned mission to Mars. Don't worry if you weren't involved, it's a lot less fun than it sounds.

By the third day, everyone had practically given up, accepted the futility of the task, and just concentrated on getting to know each other. This essentially involved winding up the other groups, producing long lists of non-essential items to be incorporated into the mission.

These included four cows, dessicated (to save weight). These would be fed pineapple on the journey, and then reconstituted on the surface of Mars for use as transport. They were also necessary to provide fresh milk throughout the three-year journey.

The Mars habitation required, for the purposes of boredom alleviation, a swimming pool, sauna, hot tub, basketball hoop and balcony. We determined that the most efficient and cost-effective way of heating the habitation was with a wood-burning stove, which, despite the habitation being only 2.5 metres tall, required a 30 metre chimney. We had to provide details of all of this to the heatproofing department, who wrote down the dimensions down without argument.

They did have issue, however, with our balcony. Not the fact that we had a balcony on a single-storey building, which, now I think about it, is an obvious flaw. No, they took issue because the dimensions specified that the balcony had 15 metre walls. When called upon to explain this, I eventually cracked, and admitted that the balcony did not actually need to be that tall.

The next question was, of course, why we needed a balcony in the first place. The explanation given was so that we could have a good view while we were smoking. I think a penny dropped for the heatproofing department here. They pointed out that we would need to carry a lot of cigarettes for the entire journey. I explained that we were only taking half the cigarettes we needed, and that we would grow the rest of the tobacco in the hydroponics facility once we were on the surface of Mars.

Another requirement we had was for a cat flap. In response to the question, "Why?", I like to imagine that someone would answer, "For the cat." In fact, there was no cat. There was, however, an autistic cheetah called Barry who had spades for hands, but who signed in on our list with his back paws. He was also, I think, writing a musical, and may have been female at one point.

So, I've met more interesting people, and I'd imagine that I may keep a few of them. I'd imagine that I said that last time, but there really are a multitude of fantastic people here.

I'm also coming to the realisation that this city is an absolutely brilliant place to live. Even without the superlambananas, it's rich in culture and history. It's also a great place to be a student, and I think that the next three years of my life are ones which I will treasure for the rest of it.

Just to give you some idea of the delights I've been sampling:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A21897192

Blanks

I haven't posted for quite a while now. I'll try and update you, but there will be a few blanks.

I quit college, and am now at the University of Liverpool reading Physics. It's Freshers' Week, so I am currently dying from a sore throat. It's really been fantastic though.

Let me fill you in on some other stuff first though. First of all, I spent the 18th (Saturday) driving fast cars, which was fantastic. I was driven around at high speed in a Porsche 911 turbo RS before getting behind the wheel of an Aston Martin DB9. Yeah, I did drive around in third, but that thing is amazing. The gizmos are neat, the decor  just makes you feel like a child, because its so futuristic that it doesn't look sci-fi. It looks real and just as if it is the best that car design will ever achieve.

I drove in the rain, but I still drove fairly fast, lapping five times in ten minutes, as opposed to the average four. I scored 92/100 on whatever rating system they use.

The next day, I was down in London for Chelsea-Blackpool with a formerly football-ignorant friend. My navigation aside, the afternoon was absolutely amazing. Chelsea won 4-0, with all the goals coming in the first half. On television, this would have made for a dull second half, but seated (infrequently) in the Matthew Harding stand, we were treated to, and participated in, some of the greatest terrace anthems you will ever hear.

And of course, the classic, "Where's my eight-nil you c**ts?"

I think my friend even sang along to one or two of the chants. If you fancy a go, or fancy a listen, check these out:  Carefree; Chelsea, Chelsea; In Your Northern Slums; Didier Drogba; Celery; Hello, Hello; F**k 'Em All; Blue Flag; Chelsea, Champions (sung as a call and response by adjacent stands); Chelsea; Come On Chelsea; Dennis Wise; Follow Malouda...

There were more, but we won't go there. There were also a couple of anti-West Ham songs. I don't think we much cared who the opposition were by the end.

The next day, I went to university. Everyone had already moved in, so I'd missed all of the introductions, but my room is opposite the kitchen and sees a lot of traffic. I've met more amazing people in the last five days than I can name. And if they end up reading this blog, hey. :)

Education For Leisure

If I could have written earlier, I would, because there's so much that I now have to tell you.

Firstly, I went to college. It isn't bad; that's probably the best that can be said about it. In my Physics lesson, topic of the day seems to be any kind of weaponry. In my first Mathematics class, I was asked to fill in a short form, with a question at the bottom that asked us if there was anything that we thought the teacher ought to know. I wrote:

"DO NOT WORK WELL WITH OTHERS

AS DO NOT SUFFER FOOLS."

His response, that those around me were not fools, was met with a raised eyebrow.

I do not mind them, and I will help and have helped them with their work. If only to stop them going "x minus four all squared... erm... x squared minus four x minus four... why does the back of the book say that's wrong?" Mostly, darlings, because it is.

No, it's all very fine and well and lovely (though incredibly noisy and busy and where can I eat a sandwich in peace?) but it's not for me. It stops me being bored, though I was reminded today of the Carol Ann Duffy poem 'Education for Leisure', which used to be on the GCSE syllabus.

According to this (http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2008/sep/04/gcses.english), that isn't the case any more, it being taken off due to some complaints about killing a goldfish by flushing it down the pan. Oh, and knife crime, but it's the goldfish that really sticks in the throat. Or the U-bend, ba-dum-pshh.

I liked 'Education for Leisure'. It prompted one of my best quotes. In response to the line, There is nothing left to kill, I assessed that the narrator was suffering from a lack of imagination, as, "There is so much more to kill." I was not implying that he should kill everything, just that he should perhaps have investigated the avenues open to him before reaching for the bread knife.

Perhaps he should have spent a little more time with the goldfish. Not having killed a goldfish myself, I know not what stress relief/boredom alleviation it brings, but I can imagine that flushing it away is barely a satisfying way to end its pathetic fishy life. It's over in a flash, blink and you miss the moment where the force of the water snaps its little flexible spine. What's more, there's no body to examine.

If I was going to kill an animal, like, in a planned way, I'd want to gain something from it scientifically. The narrative voice in the poem is evidently one of an idiot. It's someone who considers Shakespeare to be in another language. Well, there's our proof: idiot.

I've covered the Education bit with college; Leisure was mentioned in the musical Blood Brothers, which I watched in London on Friday night. I was blown away. The narrator was incredible, particularly. There was a standing ovation at the end; I wanted to give one in the middle but I thought it best to find out how the play ends.

The realism in the final scene was so strong, with police officers shouting through megaphones from the back of the theatre as if we were part of the events. I laughed so hard; it was technically brilliant.

The narrator looked so pleased with himself, too, at how everything unfolded. He was so subtle, and yet made such an impact. In case you hadn't guessed, five stars.

On Saturday, I went to watch the BBC Last Night of the Proms in Hyde Park. It's a bit of a tradition, though only the third time I've seen it live. Three times is probably enough for my short life.

Bjorn Again weren't my cup of tea (they're an ABBA tribute band), but I warmed myself by dancing along. We also had a nice bit of opera with Kiri Te Kanawa and Jose Carreras.

Moment of the first half was probably seeing the look of inexpressible fury on my brother's face at being denied the presence of John Barrowman, who was playing at The Last Night in Salford. Apparently, a video link to his performance just wasn't good enough. I am now looking to buy him tickets to his tour, despite my meagre wealth. I shall talk to my parents; my mother saw how utterly devastated he was. It was hilarious. I've never seen him so truly angry.

Brian May was really good, so good I forgot to film him. We had to wait for Neil Sedaka, who I didn't realise was pretty-much singlehandedly responsible for all of the cringeworthy songs of the 20th century. His performance started dragging the second he walked onstage.

My brother alleviated boredom by finding and stalking Jon Tickle, of Brainiac fame. And I do mean stalking, he followed him to the toilets. The boy has no shame.

Original Video - More videos at TinyPic

The above video was filmed on my mobile, and rather hastily thrown together. It's Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance, a Last Night staple, and one of my favourites. It was certainly done much better than God Save The Queen this year, which was shambolic. The Czech conductor had taken it upon himself to begin the National ANTHEM (yes, anthem, not lullaby) as quiet as possible.

As a result, nobody in the park knew what was going on. Nor, apparently, did the vision mixer who was supposed to be giving us the lyrics to each tune so that we could sing along.

Another huge insult to this great festival of national spirit was the American flag waved by the soprano who sang 'Rule Brittania'. The only thing good about her (she had awful diction) was that she was wearing a brilliant Vivienne Westwood creation, though I've seen that one ages ago. Maybe something newer, you know?

Try as they might, they can't kill the Last Night though.

Oh, and I also watched Merlin. Thumbs down for Bradley James' bare torso (where has he been? Obviously not the gym) but thumbs up for epic potential. No idea how Merlin's going to make it through this series without thoroughly outing himself. He's too obvious. I do think this will be the last series though; it looks too good for them to want to follow it up with another series.