Oh future!

I'm going to bring out my old motto. I have to say that the motto is not particularly optimistic, neither is it pessimistic, but more realistic, and in a small way, nihilistic.

Life, huh?

Do you not just hate it when you can't seem to get your life straight. And believe me, this is not one of these drunken, late night blogs where I will read it in the morning and be horrified at how personally pathetic I am, and then become even more horrified when I find 60 000 people have left comments going "hhmmm, what a cringe." No, this is more of a "I'm very very very happy, but I have no idea in what direction I'm heading in" type blog...

...and I think about this. Alot.

Maybe it's kind of stupid to worry about the future. I mean, let's face it, we have no idea. Only seven months ago, it looked like I was going to join the military. That's right! Coming back from New Zealand, I thought to myself, if I don't get into Westminster Film School, then I'll join the Royal Air Force for six years, make some money and then go to New York Film Academy. That was the plan. I mean, look below...

That was me, all clean shaven and short haired, only a couple of days before I went to "Her Majesty's Officer Selection Centre."

The plan was to be there for roughly four days...that's what we all had decided, that was in concrete. So we drove to RAF Cranwell where the worst snowfall in 20 years decided to drop most of it's bounty, and I left for my little room where I hung up my suit, shaved, combed my hair, and then went down to the Candidates Mess where I met the other fellows going for the job. They were all 25 year old University Graduates from Oxbridge and what have you, talking football and drinking pints of beer. Being 7 years younger then them, having just graduated High School and knowing absolutely nothing about football made me somewhat of an outsider, as I sat at the bar sipping coke out of a straw and commenting then and there about how the RAF was really just a back up and I would much rather make films. By 7:30, they had progressively migrated away from the sad, deluded, curly haired fellow playing with the toothpicks and so I went to bed. You must understand though, I wasn't sad or lonely, just rather bored with 'adult' conversation. I mean, it didn't even involve the odd excrement joke, the foundation for any decent conversation.

The next day, I was awoken by the wake up siren, so went to have a shower. I supposedly pushed in front of a bald candidate in the queue. He was big, a phone salesman by day and a bouncer by night, who had cigarette burns up his arms. He subsequently called me the imaginative 'c' word (the nasty one) and so my ego was bruised and pants soiled as he pushed his way past me. Later in the morning, we did Aptitude tests, which is where my story just about ends! I did them for 6 hours and they were all incredibly hard. One example is that they would flash on a number like 5678976543 for five seconds, then it would flash off and they would ask you to remember the 4th digit and the 8th. I guessed the whole time, which is why in the review the briefing officer just shook his head like I had a terminal illness and was beyond help. Anyhoo, I made none of the RAF positions available to me (surprise surprise) and so packed my bags and waited for Dad to pick me up. I spent the time playing by myself in the snow, reading FILM, drinking a pepsi and perusing the "SEX PROBLEMS" in Women's magazines.

But now, now I'm here. Film school. And I'm all hairy again.

(That's Zoltan behind me, by the way. He is Hungarian and has the greatest name in the world.)


But in that sense, all worked out in the end, did it not? But now I'm faced with a new choice...where exactly do I go?

Of course, I would very much like to be a director, as I'm sure would many people. To me, being a film director is the dream, but I'm not sure whether that is the choice I should specialise in! We have to think realistically, in my case anyway (it may be different for others) but employment wise, would cinematography be a wiser choice? Writing? Maybe I could just be a cameraman? Ooooh, how this plagues my mind.

And my room is an absolute tip. Perhaps I should get that in order before I start sorting out my life.