At last! I've finally managed to secure all the necessary funding, and I'll be starting my job as 11-14s Coordinator for YFC in January. The relief! No more pestering people for money. No more long lists of phone calls to make when I'd otherwise be relaxing. And I don't think it's any exaggeration to say that getting the money together has been a miracle. How else could I possibly have managed to raise £10,000 in three months? Praise God.

So, as of January 3rd, I will be YFC's all-singing, all-dancing, all-knowing 11-14s Coordinator, available for youth events, youth leader training, weddings, christenings and bar-mitzvahs.

In other news, my temping job at Morley College finishes tomorrow. It's been OK, but it will be a relief to move on. My boredom recently led me to poke around the Channel 4 history website, where I found tests to find out how black and how gay I am. Turns out I'm actually 50% black. So there. To celebrate, I downloaded 5 A Tribe Called Quest songs from iTunes. Heavy. And I can also put an end to the years of speculation, and tell you quite categorically that I am 16% gay. Which I think came as something of a relief to my wife. Basically it means I only fancy girls, but I moisturise and do the washing up occasionally.

Bored bored bored bored bored. I've been back at work for one day, after a holiday in Wales (wish I'd packed my snorkel for that, by the way), and already I'm so bored my brain is melting. Thank goodness I've got the YFC job to look forward to in the new year. So, I spent a large portion of this afternoon testing my mettle against pointless quizzes on the net. I scored 18 out of 20 on a Red Dwarf quiz (on the BBC website), and 14 out of 14 on The Simpsons (I probably should get out more, shouldn't I?) I can also tell you from the results of extensive scientific tests that the Red Dwarf character I most resemble is Kryten, and that if I was in The Simpsons, I'd be Ned Flanders. (Something of a disappointment. I was really hoping for Sideshow Bob. Honestly, how can you mark yourself high on desire for world domination, and still end up as Ned Flanders?) The most worrying moment of the afternoon was when I narrowly avoided my boss catching me filling in a questionnaire to find out which Desperate Housewife I am. (I'm a Susan, if you're interested.)

From all of this you can divulge the following:
1. If the test results are at all accurate, I'm essentially well-meaning, endearingly disorganised and rampagingly insecure.
2. I need to find something else to occupy my time FAST, before I start to believe I actually AM Susan from Desparate Housewives.
3. It's a really, really, really, really good job my employers don't know about this blog.

This is worrying. Apparently bird flu has hit Paris...

One more thing for today. I was wandering in to work the other day, when I happened to pass two guys about my age, walking in the opposite direction, and obviously deep in conversation. They were walking fairly quickly, so I only caught 2 words of their conversation. I'd share these 2 words with you, but I fear I'd be contravening the obscene publications act.

Immediately, and involuntarily, I made a judgment in my own mind about the sort of people these guys were. It's amazing the impact we can make on those around us, just in a word or two. And most of the time, we probably don't even realise we're making any kind of impression at all. Now, it'd be easy to get paranoid about this, and to tie ourselves in knots trying to make sure we always influence people for good, and that probably wouldn't do anyone any favours in the long run. But let's remember who we are. Let's allow God to influence people through us, actively ask Him to do that, even, and let's think before we speak, too.

(Yes, for those of you who know me, I know that last exhortation was a bit rich, coming from me, but I'm working on it, honestly...)

Housegroup blog

Inspired by what Mark Wilson said about recording what God has done, my church housegroup has started a blog. Check it out for moments of inspiration from my friends, as well as further self-important pronouncements from yours truly.

Life Principle #1

Leave memorials from things God has done.

Mark Wilson from City Gates Church came to speak at FHCC on Sunday. He said so much noteworthy stuff, that it wouldn't do it justice to record it all here, but I'll pull out one or two thought-provoking points. Firstly, he gave me a message from God, likening me to Tim Henman, which really would confuse you if you weren't there at the time. Suffice to say, I'm feeling encouraged that God DOES have plans for me, he IS pleased with what I've managed to do for him up until this point, and he ISN'T just a git who enjoys making me suffer.

Secondly, (and here's where Life Principle #1 comes in,) Mark reminded me of the importance of memorials. If God does something good (and if you really think about it, you'll find he does something good very often indeed,) you should make some kind of record of it; write about it, take a photo, come over all Israelite and build an altar - anything which will remind you of God's goodness, and which, when asked about it, will enable you to tell other people about God's goodness. It builds your faith, and it helps you tell people about Jesus. Cunning, eh? And if we set up memorials for what God has done, it'll give our kids a headstart in getting to know God themselves. Mark even says he wants his kids to start from where he left off. Why expect the next generation to start from scratch and fight to get as far as we have? Why not give them the chance to do things for God we've only dreamed of? I'm with Mark on this. Let's give our kids our ceiling as their floor.

So, amazingly, the England cricket team can actually play a bit. Victory in the ashes is sweet indeed. 18 years of ridicule from those insufferably smug antipodean gobshites are finally over. Which was enough to put a spring in my step this morning, despite making my way to work for the seventh day of a job which a trained dog, nay, a trained canary could do. I'm amazed they haven't found a canary for the position actually - they wouldn't even have to pay him £6.50 an hour. It is a relief to be working at all at the moment, but I hope I find something a bit more stimulating soon. I'm practically gnawing my own hands off in sheer boredom. I wonder if the England team need anyone to polish their trophies for them?

Greenbelt

For the uninitiated, Greenbelt is an arts festival, taking place at Cheltenham race course every August bank holiday weekend. No showers, unfortunately, but plenty of thought provoking stuff to see and do. Greenbelt is basically a Christian event, but without the huge worship meetings you find at Soul Survivor, for example. The ethos is that different ideas are shared and explored, but you won't catch anyone telling you what to think. This year was my first Greenbelt experience. Good food, good beer, good company and lots to argue about. I'll be going back, I think.

Probably the seminar that will stick in my memory the most is Jonathan Bartley's exploration of post-Christendom politics. I won't attempt a complete description of his ideas, because I wouldn't do them justice, but the basic thrust of his argument is this:

• The church began as a minority movement, subversive to the government of the day in not just a religious but a political way
• When Constantine declared the whole Roman empire to be Christian, and institutionalised the faith, this dynamic changed profoundly
• We today need to accept that Christianity is no longer part of the institution of this country - effectively we're back to how the church began
• Our values no longer reflect those of the establishment, and we need to have the courage, the faith and the creativity to live out these values, even, indeed especially, when they are politically subversive

Hmmm. The church as a movement for anarchy. Does this mean I can go and set fire to things? And how do we square this viewpoint with the idea that "there is no authority except that which God has established" (Romans 13:1)? Is there any way of submitting ourselves to the government, while still subverting it?

The frenzy of summer festivals is over and I'm home. I'm facing life as a temp, and reflecting on what's gone before. In fact, now I've finished as church youth worker, I'm reflecting on the past three years, which have gone by in a blur. This, of course, is the point where the self-doubt kicks in. Have I really accomplished anything worthwhile? Would the church's youth ministry have looked any different now if they'd hired someone else three years ago? Was resigning just wimping out? I suppose deep down I'm still sure that resigning was the right decision, but the future still looks very uncertain. I'm in the middle of preparing something on "manna in the desert" for Graceland tomorrow night, and it's uncanny how similar my thought process at the moment is to the Israelites.

"Wow. The desert/unemployment isn't much fun. Was this really God's idea? Come to think of it, Egypt/church youth work wasn't so bad. At least I had enough food/money there. Shouldn't I just go back? I can't even provide for my family/myself and my wife. Manna/temping's all well and good, but I'd feel a lot more secure if I could plan a it further in advance..."

I know it's all about God teaching me to rely on him, it's just not exactly enjoyable. I just hope I don't have to wait 40 years to enter the promised land...

Life's been feeling like a bad game of monopoly for a while now. Fines, payments, bad luck, disproportionate rent and not much else. Finally though, it seems I'm turning a corner. A totally unexpected gift of £100 from a friend. "Insurance company balls-up in your favour. Collect £218.25." I've even managed to stay out of jail. Call it luck, karma, whatever. I reckon it's evidence of God's provision. My prayers have been little more than plaintive letters to my solicitor recently. I might not be on a huge spiritual high, (although a good week at Soul Survivor and a decent job offer would probably put me there,) but at least my prayers are becoming thanks for services rendered. And the new football season has dawned too. I wonder if the grace of God will extend to promotion for Emmanuel Lightning?

More changes!

After weeks of procrastinating, trying to overcome my natural technophobia, I've had another fiddle with the blog template. The result is the new "what's in the CD player" section in the sidebar. No simple piece of code to copy and paste this time, but it was still fairly easy and painless. And now, through this little insight into my musical tastes, you can see how effortlessly cool I really am. You lucky people.

My CV

I don't know if anyone who reads my blog is in a position to offer me a job, but just in case, my CV can be found at the following websites:

www.totaljobs.com
www.jobsite.co.uk

I'm still waiting for an offer that doesn't involve working on commission or sitting through 17 years of training before I earn anything.

Leadership Principle #2

Naughty boys make the best leaders. Apparently. I was confidently informed of this last week by an up-and-coming Christian leader of my acquaintance. His point was that people who naturally "kick against" ideas and people they disagree with are more likely to stand their ground under pressure, more likely to attract a following, and therefore make strong leadership figures. In secular terms, I can see the truth in this. Benito Mussolini would, for example, be a case in point. But is this true of Christian leaders? Can those who are exhorted to be humble and see themselves as the servant of those they lead hold to this philosophy of leadership in good conscience? Is this just an example of a high-profile Christian justifying his poor behaviour in earlier life?

Let's be honest. I've always been a bit of a goody-twoshoes. The most rebellious thing I ever did was flicking a chunk of my eraser at my german teacher when I was 13. (Yes, Mr. Harlow, if you're reading this, it was me. Sorry.) So is there any hope for an introvert intuitive leader? Can I still hope to command people's respect with a more cautious leadership style? Winston Churchill, I'm certainly not. But I really don't want to be Ian Duncan-Smith either.

Leadership Principle #1

I was reminded last week that the most important characteristic of a leader is his or her relationship with God. Somewhere along the line I'd forgotten this, but the more a leader tries to run things themselves, the less room there is for God to work through them.
It was rather galling to be reminded of this with only a month left working for the church, but something tells me this won't be my last experience of a leadership role. This principle may still serve me well in the future.

It's been a month since my last post. High time I added to my collection of rambling thoughts. So why the lengthy break in the rambling? Well, for the past ten days my church has had a second attempt at Soul in the City, and I was jointly coordinating it. This hasn't left me much time for anything else, except eating, sleeping and wondering what I'd do when I got my life back. In fact, what with preparations for SITC, there hasn't been time for much more than this for the past six weeks or so. Anyway, excuses over.
So, since my last post, this is what you've all missed:

• I was offered an interview for a very tempting communications job with a charity
• I was informed by this charity (very apologeticlly) that funding for this job had fallen through and that I should probably seek alternative employment
• Jo and I have begun seriously considering some rather off-the-wall options for our future
• I found myself being given a (hopelessly tongue-tied) phone interview for the position of Customer Services Officer for a high street bank
• I've also had some very enjoyable time away and been reminded that I really don't need to worry about anything, because God is in charge of my future
• And finally, my application form for next year's London Marathon has arrived. Another winter of early morning 6 mile runs, niggling achilles tendon problems, giving up alcohol and boring my friends by moaning about all of these beckons

Hopefully, now SITC is over, I'll be able to post more regularly. My first aim is to see whether I can post my CV somehow. I don't know whether anyone who reads my blog would be interested or capable of employing me, but it's worth a try...

I'm 26. Am I past it? Last week, I was reading the Wimbledon supplement in the Guardian, and noticed the ages of the seeded players. Of the men, only Sebastien "Grandad" Grosjean at 27, and Tim "Methuselah" Henman at a positively geriatric 30, are my senior. Of the leading women, only Lindsey Davenport is older than me. This was a sobering moment for me. It's not that I ever harboured ambitions of winning a tennis grand slam anyway, but it's becoming clear that my prospects of success in any sport are growing dimmer. I remember seeing Michael Owen score THAT goal against Argentina in 1998, and reflecting that he was a good six months younger than me. Even then, my chances of ever playing for Arsenal were becoming slim. My footballing services are currently engaged by Emmanuel Lightning of the Bromley and Croydon District League (3rd Division).
And this depressing reality extends beyond sport. Look at the worlds of music and cinema, or even politics. How many not-so-young pretenders make a serious impression in these areas after their early twenties? Is it paranoid of me to feel that I am descending into obsolescence, now that I am careering towards thirty? Or is my growing awareness and suspicion of the "cult of youth" just a sign that I really am getting on a bit and developing into a cantankerous old git? Maybe it's time for me to invest in a pipe, slippers and bag of Werther's Originals.

Has anyone else noticed that professionalism seems to be a dirty word in the church? In the run-up to my church's Soul in the City mission this summer (yes, we are doing it again, and yes, I am aware of the irony in this, in view of the previous post), my colleague Anj Keel has produced booking forms for potential mission delegates. The idea is that we send these forms to our contacts around the country, and are then inundated by enthusiastic young Christians for 9 days in July.
Now these booking leaflets are good. Very good. Glossy, colourful, and, of course, proudly bearing the Soul in the City logo. Unfortunately, it was brought to my notice last week that these leaflets are so good that people are getting the impression that the Sydenham/Forest Hill project is the official Soul in the City mission! Now, I can understand the leaders of other SitC projects being frustrated by people getting this impression, but it's telling that their first instinct is not to produce publicity of their own which is even better, but to criticise our publicity for being too professional!
Perhaps this highlights a tacit belief within the church that it's in some way wrong to aim for excellence. How many appalling sketches have we sat through in church services? How many times have we been presented with unimaginative, monochrome church magazines? But how often do we get anything approaching quality at a church event? What are the chances of even getting a decent cup of coffee after the service? If we really believed that our God was the King of Kings, wouldn't we be motivated to make everything we do in his name excellent, rather than settling for mediocrity?

It's here! My thoughts on urban mission, and particularly Soul in the City, are now available at...

http://www.blahonline.net/features.php

I expected the piece to be quite severely edited, since it was about twice the length I was asked for, but it's been posted in all it's rambling glory. Expecting the death threats for questioning Soul in the City's effectiveness any time now...

You've probably never heard of Book Aid. (That's Book Aid, not to be confused with Live Aid). Until this morning, neither had I. It's a very small charity, run out of a disused church in Grove Park, southeast London. But since 1987, they've been dutifully supplying second-hand books for Christians in the third world. Sounds like a worthy, if unglamorous and almost humdrum activity, until you begin to grasp the sheer number of books they've shipped. In 18 years of steadily collecting, packing and dispatching books, they've sent 200 containers of material on their way. This apparently works out at a whopping 20 million volumes. Just try, for a minute, to imagine 20 million books. It's quite staggering.
I only discovered Book Aid this morning, when a friend asked me to help them move some of their stock to their new premises, a warehouse in Sydenham. Yes, it was hard work, and yes, I do have scratches all the way up both arms from carrying steel bookshelves, but I think it was worth it. I love discovering people who are quietly and cheerfully doing extraordinary things for God. When Bob, one of Book Aid's workers, told me he'd spent 17 years collecting, packing and dispatching books, my immediate thought was to wonder how he coped with the crushing boredom. But it gradually occurred to me that here was a group of people, sending quite incredible quantitites of books to people who needed them, and they had, until today, completely slipped under my radar. I wonder how many other people are quietly and patiently, with little or no recognition, doing amazing things in God's name? I suppose this is what serving God is all about. Just doing what you know God wants you to do, not making a fuss, and keeping going until it's finished, or He tells you to stop. We'll probably never know half of what people do in God's name, just because they work as servants, and get on with it, never expecting credit.

I love my church. I just want to make that absolutely clear. I really love it. For someone who professes to love his church, I do seem to spend an inordinate amount of time being snide about it, but I honestly do love it. This morning, I was reminded why.
As part of this morning's service, we took communion. Now, I don't usually expect to experience God through our morning services. That probably sounds terrible, but when you consider that I'm always thinking through what I'm going to teach the youth group that morning, often I have to give a notice or lead prayers, I almost always have half a dozen people I need to talk to afterwards, and I'm not a morning person at the best of times, you can imagine why I find it difficult to concentrate on worshipping God. But this morning, God took me completely by surprise.
I was serving the bread and wine with Jo. The faithful arose and shuffled forward to meet us. The first person in the queue arrived.
"The body of Jesus, broken for you," I intoned. He tore off a small piece of bread, put it in his mouth, and moved on. Next.
"The body of Jesus, broken for you."
At around this point I glanced at the queue that was forming. Hmmm... there's rather a lot of you, isn't there? Rather a lot of people Jesus' body was broken for... Oh... I started to get the point. They kept on coming, one after another. Almost all people I knew, mostly people I knew well, and for every last one of them, "The body of Jesus, broken for you". Not just broken for us as a group, but for each one of us as individuals. The line continued; teenagers, mothers with small children, pensioners, people with struggles, people with problems, people with huge problems. And Jesus' body was broken for every last one of them. He loves every last one of them.
By the time I'd served the last person in the line, it was all I could do to avoid blubbing. In a way I really wasn't expecting, and at a time I really wasn't expecting, God reminded me why I bother. He really does love the church. I love it too.

Recent updates

OK. Thanks to Elliott's sage advice, I've now transferred my mugshot to the sidebar. It was actually gallingly simple, once I found out how. I'm trying to work out whether I can be bothered to remove yesterday's post which included it.
I'm also ammassing a quite eclectic list of links. For the spiritual, check out Grace, a monthly alt worship gathering. For the spiritual bit slightly cynical, Ship of Fools will probably be right up your alley. The Barn (youth wing of FHCC) should also be worth a look. For the thinking footy fans, you'll most likely have already discovered When Saturday Comes anyway, but it's always worthy of a visit. And for the bored or downright puerile, Kontraband is a godsend. It certainly made my Friday afternoon bearable.

So here, finally, is the promised self-important photo of yours truly. I can't remember whether, when the photo was taken, I was making a conscious effort to look deep and philosophical, or whether I was just sulking. At any rate, I hope to shift it to the sidebar, once I suss out how.

This is me, trying to look deep and mysterious

I've somehow found myself helping to lead Graceland, the church's semi-regular evening alt-worship service. (No, we haven't got a website yet...) If alt-worship is the buzzword, then really what we're trying to do is, quite simply, to seek God. It's more relective and experimental than our morning worship services, and there's more room for personal thought and self-expression. I find it encouraging that it does, after all, seem to be possible to be a Christian while still retaining the ability to think.
Planning for Graceland has got me back on one of my favourite hobby-horses, the question of what church is actually for. At the moment, I'm chewing over Bonhoeffer's ecclesiology: put very simply, the idea that church is a place where relationship is restored- our relationships with each other and with our creator. This definition appeals to me because it's simple and elegant, and has the ring of truth about it. I think it really sums up what worship and prayer are all about, and it encompasses the Bible too, which explains more what restoring relationship means in every day life. I find this definition quite liberating too, because it leaves so much scope for worshipping God and building community in new and different ways. So having a meal with a group of people who are seeking God can be every bit as much an expression of church as singing hymns, lighting candles or enjoying God as revealed in his creation.
Am I getting woolly and liberal in my old age? I just love to explore new ways to worship God. It strikes me as a particularly worthwhile exercise, since the traditional (or at least most common) modes of church seem to be becoming less and less relevant to the world outside the church. The gospel never changes, of course, but isn't it time to exercise a bit of courage and try expressing it in new ways?

Let's face it; we were lucky. The golden opportunities Ruud van Nistelrooy missed. The sheer number of times they hit the post. The at-first-glance perfectly good goal that the ref ruled out for offside. Freddy Ljungberg heading a van Nistelrooy shot onto the crossbar and back into the middle of a frenzied penalty area, to be gleefully hacked to safety. The gloriously unpredictable Jens Lehmann, despite spending all day with a thousand-yard stare, against all odds playing out of his skin and all but winning the cup single handed. But in the end, who cares? If it was any team other than United, I might feel a slight pang of guilt, or at least sympathy, but, hell, they had it coming. I'm afraid that when They are concerned, any residual sportsmanship that I carry around gets completely forgotten.
As it happens, even seeing the match was a minor logistical miracle for me. A couple of weeks ago, not realising it was cup final day, I'd agreed to go and watch one of the boys from church dancing in a London Children's Ballet production. It was only a few days before that it dawned on me that this would present me with a problem. Now, let's make something clear: it's not that I don't like ballet. I flatter myself that I'm broad-minded enough to appreciate a wide range of artisitic disciplines. In fact, I enjoyed the performance. It was very professional. Nor was I reluctant to support Jacob in his endeavours. He's clearly very talented, and deserves to be encouraged. The issue is this: I'm an unreconstructed (undeconstructed?) postmodern male. I like football. I'm not ashamed to say so. So, the only course of action open to me was as follows:
1. Watch the first half of the match on TV.
2. Rush into central London to see the ballet.
3. Make my way home, desperately trying to avoid TV screens, fellow Arsenal fans, radios, pubs where the game had been shown - really anyone or anything that could possibly give me any indication of the result. The upshot of this was me, running through central London, with my eyes shut and my hands over my ears. I hope the bruises heal soon. And I must say, those Japanese tourists were very understanding.
4. Spend the evening studiously avoiding TV news reports.
5. At 11.40pm, worn out by nerves and paranoia, slump in front of the TV in my pyjamas, to watch the highlights.
6. At approximately 12.25pm, stuff a cushion into my mouth, so as not to wake my wife with my yells of "Have some of that, you manky Scots git!!"
To my amazement, it worked. But just recalling the day's progress wears me out. Who'd be an Arsenal fan?

Praying for London

I'm trying to encourage my church youth group (11-14 year olds) to pray for London. (Isaiah 62:6-7 and all that). But how to pray creatively as a group? I hit on the idea of photocopying a London area train map, blowing it up to 4 times its original size, to the point where it practically covers the floor of an average-size meeting room. We're going to write and draw prayers all over it - covering London in prayers. Cool, huh?
Which isn't to detract from the main business of the weekend; the FA cup final. Us v Them for the fifth time this season. Do we stand a chance without St Thierry? Will those odious Manc thugs even let us touch the ball without kicking us into the stratosphere? It's over 24 hours until kick-off and my stomach's churning already. This is not good. It's at about this stage in proceedings that fans of either side look for omens in everything. We beat United in the final in '79. They've never retained the trophy. Jose Reyes apparently knows someone whose mother-in-law's dog's best friend's uncle had his path crossed by a black cat last week. We can't lose!... Nurse, more valium, please.

Today I escaped from under a pile of admin to meet Jonny Baker, my old mentor, for a curry. As expected, this was a stimulating experience. Jonny's one of those people who have a way of making you think deeply about what you're doing and why you're doing it, which is always a helpful thing to do. Even if it did give me slight indigestion.
I managed to convince him to let me loose on the blah website, which discusses cross-cultural mission and the like. Check it out at www.blahonline.net . I think I mumbled something about church-based mission in an urban context, particularly last year's Soul in the City bonanza. I think I might have picked a few holes in the Soul in the City model, which I find equally exciting and worrying. Exciting, because I always enjoy being provocative. Worrying, because I can't help feeling I'll be vilified if I dare to say a word against Soul in the City. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. And perhaps it's not Soul in the City that's flawed; perhaps it's my methods and my church's approach to local outreach that need altering. Hmmm. Some research necessary here, methinks. Once my article's finished and uploaded, I'll let you know here.
In the meantime, check out www.soulinthecity.co.uk for more on Soul in the City.

Finally, after much tutting, grumbling and muttering of expletives, I've worked out how to post photos. (See below for the results.) Once Microsoft Publisher decides to start playing ball, I'll post a suitably pretentious photo of yours truly. In the meantime, satisfy yourself by gazing on the beauty of my beloved wife (but not for too long, or I'll start getting jealous), and the loveliness of my friends from church.
Question of the day: Who should be first against the wall, come the revolution? My vote's currently with Bill Gates. Microsoft Works? Oxymoron, if you ask me.

Introducing my friends from church. We don't generally hang around in the woods, but this is the aftermath of a recent game of pooh sticks.

The happy couple... This is Jo and I on our wedding day. (Yes, that's me on the left...)

Welcome to my world. I think you'll like it here. The sun always shines, the birds sing in perfect four-part harmony and anyone caught taking themselves too seriously immediately has their trousers removed.
It's all looking rather minimalist at the moment, but this site will soon be brimming over with news, thought-provoking views, music and book recommendations, and a fair amount of humour. (Well, at least a fair amount of stuff I find funny. You might find it about as funny as a colonoscopy.)
I think you'll agree it's high-time I introduced myself. So I will. My name is Simeon Whiting. I'm 26, a londoner, and married to Jo. I'm currently employed as a youth worker by Forest Hill Community Church, but you find me at a very intriguing juncture in my life, whereby I've just handed in my notice, effective of the end of August, to try my luck as a writer. As you can imagine, this decision has raised a few eyebrows, not least those of my parents, who were labouring under the misapprehension that I was a good, responsible boy. So I'm now seeking employment in the media industry, which is proving tricky for someone with five years' experience as a youth worker and none whatsoever in journalism. Still, at least I've got my natural charm to fall back on. Oh dear.