Pick a project (or two)

With the great summer holiday yawning out in front of me like the Grand Canyon, I'm terrified. For once in my life, there's not much at all I need to do, so I need to work on something extracurricular, something beneficial to me as a person, as opposed to me as a physics robot.

So what do I do? I have no idea. I'm going to try and renovate my dolls' house whilst training to become a Football Association referee, paint some pictures for my new flat whilst writing a novel and start a scrapbook whilst dabbling in getting a basic overview on all the world's religions.

I'm an obsessive learner and hobbyist. I can't help but try and accumulate skills, strings to my bow. Despite numerous internet searches, it seems that nobody has sought to pathologise this fear of idleness just yet, or to research why or in what individuals it tends to occur. Which is probably a good thing, seeing as I'd probably try and develop a working knowledge of that as well.

I can't stand being uneducated or incapable. I'd like to think that you could engage me in conversation on pretty much any topic, and I would come out of it not looking like a fool. Then again, though I try and justify my behaviour, there's no real thinking behind it most of the time. I just think "wouldn't it be good to try and write a novel about this?" and off I go.

I never find that the wheels on a project have come grinding to a halt- very little can stop me when I have something in mind. No, the only thing that will ever put a project to bed is the birth of a new, and therefore infinitely more exciting project.

There is no way on this earth that I am alone in this. Numerous fictional characters exhibit the same trait. Wallace, from Wallace and Gromit, starts every film having just established himself as the local pest control officer or window washer or cheese-seeking astronaut, and is accompanied by various impressive, yet clearly half-baked contraptions.

Wallace is a jack of all trades. A cruel man would also call him a master of none.

Mastery is tricky to define. To call yourself a master is a tall order, and can be done through the acquisition of formal qualifications or to earn your living in that fashion. For us eager amateurs, though, it's a rocky road. To be an amateur used to be an admirable thing. It means "lover". We love what we do. Over the years though, it acquired a sting. A sting which meant amateurs aren't good enough.

I am a jack of all trades, and I am the master of my art. I am engrossing, and powerful in my ways. I am a trier, and never accept failure. In fact, I would go so far to say that any person who dismisses the work of an amateur dismisses their own abilities far more.

When you sneer and call someone amateurish, you spit in the face of their attempts to better themself. Nobody starts out a master. And nobody will end up a master without dabbling a little.

Incidentally, as a final, and appropriately off-topic, word: to all those who commended the Ukranian officials for stripping the England brass band of their instruments, shame on you. They may not be good. They may only know one song. However, they're different, and special to us. If you want to sound like every other awful team in Europe, go on. But we don't have the lungs or the spirit of the Dutch or the Irish. We do pomp and ceremony and delusions of grandeur and for that, we need brass.

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.