It's My Life (Bon Jovi)

That's what it is (apparently). The other day, as I mentioned, the issues of my future were raised by my mother.
What do I want to do?
I did write about this a while back. It's a subject that fascinates and confuses me (as does life in general).

The problem is, my mother is making me look through University Prospectuses and so on and start "thinking" about the future. I mean, I don't even know if I want to go to uni.

Truth is I just want to get loaded and have a good time, man.

HOW DO YOU SAY?

Smile - We Never Change: Coldplay

I don't feel like that any more :D
My girlfriend is amazing, I think she has magical powers.

I Don't Want To

Don't want to live life
Don't want to be exposed
Just wanna stay right here
Right here in the bubble

Where your knives can't cut me
Your words can't break me
You can't penetrate me

Don't want to feel love
If it means I'll feel pain
Don't want to step outside
Where there's only fear

Don't want to get hurt
Don't want to get bruised
Don't want to get let down
Don't want to have to choose
Don't want to take a risk
That could leave me on my knees
Don't want to make friends
If I'll make enemies




...and that's pretty much how I feel at the moment.

Rant #448623

The role of the lead guitarist in worship: to provide melodies, riffs and other assorted groovy sounds to support the overall sound of the band; also to take lead roles in instrumental sections, complimenting other lead instruments.
The role of the sound engineer: to maintain a balanced sound that is clear without being obtrusive.

If I play guitar in worship I play parts that I think will add to the overall sound which otherwise consists of a large rhythmn section.
Most keyboard players tend to stick to piano chords, the rhythm guitar, bass and drums normally provide a good foundation for the vocals.
Therefore apart from the vocals there are no other melody instruments most of the time. This can be helpful, definitely. However, it can be nice to have a fuller sound in which case bringing in more melody instruments is necessary.
Now when I say "melody instruments" I do not mean "screaming guitar solos, waaah, weaaaaaaaaah." I mean helpful and interesting musical contributions. This could be in the form of strings, wind instruments etcetera but in my opinion the electric guitar is the most suited to the poppy-rocky sound that is contempary worship music, and the most versatile of melody instruments available.

You see, on my electric - with a set of pedals - I can replicate many different sounds. I can keep a clear counter-melody in place or I can fill the overall sound with echoey, atmospheric noises.
And I'm not a great guitarist.
Instruments such as the flute or the violin are more limited - although to be fair there are some very technical musicians out there who can probably do more on their acoustic instrument than I can with a whole boxful of echoes and explosions.

Anyway, I'm not trying to put one instrument over another really. I love them all in their right places.
What does bug me is when the sound engineer decides when the guitarist should play and should not. I'm not talking about when I'm playing, because I have no idea what the sound is like front of house.
However, when I hear other people playing it is clear that the engineer is taking them out of the mix when he thinks necessary.

In my opinion, if a guitarist has been chosen to play then he's got to be sensitive enough and talented enough to know what he's doing. He ought to know when not to play, and if he does then why is the engineer taking him out?

Anyway, I could cover myself and say "I know it's not all about the music but..." or something but I hope you guys know what I mean. It isn't all about the music. But.

About God - Comfortably Numb: Pink Floyd

There lived a people in the great land of Raisin, and they worshiped the mighty god Scone. They lived in harmony with one another and were the most powerful nation to grace the face of the world.
However, one day a huge dispute over the pronounciation of "Scone" ensued. Did it rhyme with "gone" or with "tone"? No-one could agree.
The people who rhymed it with "tone" went North and established the Kingdom of New Raisin and there was warring between the peoples of Scone and Scone.
And thus it was: Raisin was divided, man fought man, temples to Scone were destroyed and temples to Scone were raised in their place.
And one day, a man called Frerrerererer discovered that if you put an "a" instead of an "o" then you make Scane - surely this was the perfect compromise. Surely.
But people were not ready to hear that kind of teaching, and Frerrerererer was burned on the stake.
War went on between the peoples of Raisin and New Raisin until one day, Fregal the Second of Raisin decided that it didn't matter how you said scone and that he would pronounce it to rhyme with "small dog" - tricky, but not impossible. This lead to much confusion among the religious elders and the general population, to the point where great philosophers were flocking to Fregal's throne to here more.
He taught them of Poetic License, of Rock Cakes, of Cream Teas and of other Sconey things. And they quarrelled amonst themselves, wondering what all this could mean.
Eventually the people of both lands began to form their own cults, some worshiping Chelsea Bun, others trying to rhyme Scone with "gun" or "kebab." This uprising so upset Fregal and his counterpart Jean-deluxe Tissue (King of New Raisin) that they both resigned.

And the moral of the story was thus: Thou shalt only worship one God, and call him God for simplicity's sake.

The Big 200

With my last post I overstepped the 200 mark. Hooray.
Let's have a party.














Wooh! Fireworks!

Uh... yeah. Big wow.

Have a nice day :D

Update Coming Soon to a Blog Near You

I'm also tempted to relocate my blog, just because I don't like the URL.
But then I'd have to leave a note telling y'all where it is and that would be too much effort.

Anyway, I will instead explain the "Albin" in "albinblog."

Many a year ago, when the sun would set on the lawn like a dead peach, we watched a strange video in drama class about Kosovan refugees.
One such refugee was a small boy called Albin who played football and was attacked by bigger boys.
One of my dear friends pointed out that, in our football games, I was normally the one who got smashed to pieces (being so slippery and skillfull, there was no other way they could defeat me). This friends then pointed out that "Albin" sounded rather like "Robin" (they both end in "bin") and from then on, in football, the cry of "Albin, Albin" (in a hi-pitched, eastern-European accent) could be heard.

And so I decided to use it as an alias on the internet.

But then I realised it sounded rubbish, so I stopped.

And thus it was: Albinblog.

And now you now.

And some more and.

And now where I begin and you end.

And I end.

New Sporting Plan

A complete and unabridged conversation had by me and my cousin Tim online yesterday.

Tim: have returned from dull football match
Tim: you there?
Rob: i am that
Rob: tho i must dash rather shortly
Tim: moi aussi
Rob: hu was playing dull football?
Tim: watching
Tim: liverpool/real betis
Rob: aah
Rob: in tv room
Tim: 0-0
Rob: another 1
Rob: shocking
Rob: u kno, there should be a rule that if the match is gettin really dull they release lions onto the pitch
Rob: hungry lions
Tim: would result in more goals
Rob: lol
Rob: maybe
Rob: or less players
Rob: or both :S
Tim: indeed
Tim: would be like a roman amphitheatre
Rob: my point exactly
Rob: never a dull moment
Rob: slightly more gory than ur average football match
Rob: but only slightly
Tim: i pity the managers
Tim: £20 million on a player
Tim: then
Tim: gone
Rob: lol
Rob: indeed
Rob: in one fell er...
Rob: crunch of the jaws
Rob: well, their own fault for not commanding a better team
Tim: lol
Rob: would seperate the wheat from the chaff
Tim: i like this idea
Rob: we could officially propose it to the FA
Tim: we should
Rob: hu knows, we could even make it big
Rob: £££
Tim: :)
Rob: indeed
Rob: more like :D if it really kicked off
Rob: though lions would pRob:ably be quite expensive to maintain
Rob: keeping them live and agile but hungry
Tim: but dead players are easier to pay
Rob: true
Tim: wages would quickly drop
Rob: would solve the monopolising pRob:lem created by chelsea man
Tim: who would decide if the match was boring? could be crucial...
Rob: abrhomovich?
Rob: point
Tim: lol indeed
Rob: not the ref... they are chosen for their bad sense of judgement
Tim: not the crowd
Tim: too biased
Rob: perhaps the commentators -they seem to think they know best
Tim: good plan
Rob: "and owen has missd again. rite, release the lions"
Tim: would totally change the face of english football
Tim: could spread to other sports
Rob: like cricket
Rob: would be releasing the lions straight away
Tim: cricket players would die much more quickly lol
Rob: indeed lol
Tim: think it would work best with formula one
Rob: roadkill
Rob: could be most entertaining for sure
Rob: in the pit stops tho...
Rob: massacre the engineers
Rob: poor guys
Tim: more incentive to rush pit stops
Rob: lol
Rob: "faster, faster" *maul*
Rob: yes
Tim: lol
Rob: i can see it now
Tim: also
Tim: roadkill may be big enough to cause serious car accidents
Rob: point
Rob: and blood = slippery
Rob: ooh, what about ice hockey
Tim: true
Tim: lol
Rob: lions would be slipping allover the place
Rob: wouldnt work
Tim: classic
Rob: hmm...
Rob: polar bears!
Tim: lol
Tim: could try with random things
Tim: like
Tim: fish
Rob: point
Tim: would be dead exciting
Rob: as in goldfish or killer whales
Rob: lol yes
Tim: i was thinking goldfish
Rob: salmon maybe
Tim: but whales would be good
Rob: "and he's on the puck... no wait! he's lost it to a salmon"
Tim: lol
Rob: whales would take up rather a large amount of the pitch tho...
Tim: true
Tim: like maybe all of it
Tim: dolphins - would actually work
Rob: depending on the sport
Rob: point
Rob: indeed
Tim: dolphins love ball games
Rob: so they do
Tim: you still playing much sport?
Rob: football
Rob: minus the lions
Rob: tho i didnt attend training today
Tim: k
Tim: cool
Tim: lions in training would be cruel
Rob: yeah, a bit extreme
Rob: tho u'd get very good very fast
Rob: or very dead very fast :S
Tim: lol true
Tim: could practice with dogs, or something
Tim: anyway
Tim: i may dash now

Spy Games - Van Diemen's Land: The Edge (U2)

My interesting discovery today was that A.D.H. is actually burgular-proof. Well, burgular-proof enough to stop a determined burgular who was nevertheless unwilling to resort to breaking and entering.

I had been a-walking my dear girlfriend to the bus-stop and had lingered with her there for a good twenty minutes in the freezing cold. I jogged home so as to warm myself slightly, and was rather pumped with adrenaline by the time I arrived home.
Not seeing the need to go in through the kitchen and get food and drink and other sustainables (as is often my way) I decided I would make my entry to the house a bit more stylish and climb up the scaffolding, open my bedroom window and clamber in. Easy.
Alas, my over-inventive mind wouldn't let me leave it at that. As I laid a hand on the scaffolding, I thought to myself "Hmm hmmmm. What if Sally, Ben and Nomes (who were decorating the ground floor room directly next to me) saw me and thought I was a burgular."

Can you see where this is going?

I decided to try and break in to my own house; as in properly break in. Although without breaking anything. I put up my hood so that a)I would be better camoflaged and b) so that my housemates wouldn't recognise me should they glimpse me. And to keep my delicate ears warm.
Anyway, if you are going to break into a house you don't want to be seen by anyone. To avoid detection I had to climb up the outside of the scaffolding - nothing but air between me and the ground 3 or 4 metres down. Well, mist too. And microbes I suppose, or whatever small particles there are floating around in the atmosphere. My point is, if I fell it would have hurt.
But I didn't fall.

Upon reaching the level outside my bedroom window I peered carefully in, noticed my dear brother Joey who, for the sake of my roleplay, was now an enemy. I could not enter that room without alerting security.
I sighed deeply (as all true movie stars do) and pondered.
I didn't actually need to ponder, as my speedy brain had come up with a plan already. However, pondering seem to fit with the mood of the scene (yes, this was becoming an action movie).
After pondering and thinking and looking grave for the cameras, I crept around the side of the house to the study.
Alas! The window was shut and locked. After a few minutes desperate struggle - in silence so as not to alert security - I crept on round, pausing at Perran and Ben's room. The shutters were closed, though not locked, and the window was partly open. Easy! Alas not.
At the fatal moment, I took out my mobile telephone to light my way as I climbed onto the balcony (at the same level as the scaffolding). *Buzz buzz* my sweet little angel Rosa sends me a text message, and in my shock I drop my phone, which clatters onto the balcony and alerts my mother (or rather, an enemy) who has just entered the room.
"Hello? Hello?" She called, and peered out of the window.
Fully in character now I had taken immediate action and was crouching below the window level, clinging to the wall, breathing hard in true action-hero style.
I remained undetected, but alas! (again). My mother shut the window and locked the shutters.

To cut a long story short I was out there running around for about an hour, being cunning and crafty but completely failing to find an enterance where I wouldn't have to smash through anything expensive.

I returned to my bedroom window. Joey was there, on the sofa, listening to music. The shutters and window were closed, but unlocked. Perfect.
I slid them both open, pulled myself carefully and quitely so that I was half inside the room and clasped Joey's cheek.

He leapt out of his skin. "Whuh? Whuh?" Coming to his sense a few seconds later, shock turned to rage. "What the flip? Wha... get out!"
Terrified, I leapt back onto the scaffolding and ran, watching the shutters close and lock behind me.

Eventually I made my way to the ground floor and opened the window to my father's office. Trying the shutters, I discovered to my dismay that they were also locked. I battered on them but to no avail.
However, the noise alerted my father who rushed in, pulled open the shutters and stared out into the face of the burgular. A few seconds later he realised; it was his own son.

And so I was caught. And the moral is that A.D.H. is impossible to burgle at that time of day. Shocking.

In Immense Pain

I feel like I'm being sandwhiched between hammer and anvil; rock and hard place.
No, actually I feel like I've swallowed a large lead cannonball but that it is sitting in my rib-cage and behind my stomach at the same time.
It is very uncomfortable.

I may die.

A MESSAGE
Hi there folks; some of you may know me.
If you don't, you're in for a treat.
I'm a 16-year-old guitarist/singer/songwriter from Bristol with
a) Lots of songs
b) A bad haircut
c) A stupidly over-intense passion to rock
c) No band
If you are a Bristol-based bassist or a drummer (or an anythinger) with 2+ years experience, an open, musical mind and enough free time to commit to semi-regular practices then I want you. Really I do.
This is me resorting to the joys of the web and hoping that one of my unsuspecting friends will forward this to you.
If you are interested please email me (rincewind_mkii@hotmail.com)
If you try and spam me I will eat your dog.
Thanks for your time

Like A Mad Beast - Stronger: Delirious?

Despite having been working like a mad beast these last few days, I still find myself with lots of spare time and my thoughts are only going one place at the moment.

Can I just make an official notice here that women are dangerous. More volatile than a Tiger with Tourette's. More explosive than a truckload of tobasco bean and atom-bomb sauce. And completely, totally and utterly insane.
And I'm very lucky to have one of my own.

Anyway, that's what I've been thinking about recently. That and small dogs and cups of tea.

It's best you don't ask.

Heinemann: Advanced History

A book I'm using for studies in my History course tells me about Girolamo Savonarola that:

In 1498 he was executed, hanged and burned.

Executed, hanged and burned? He must have screwed up pretty abdly to get killed three times.

A Creative Outlet

My Alpine Adventure

The Adventures of Roberto de Michael - a relative of Miscalle, who's trashy, half-destroyed diary once had extracts posted on here.

Enjoy. Please.

Time for Change

I'm thinking about changing the layout of my blog a little... maybe making it a bit more orange...
Yeah.
If you don't think I should, maybe leave me a comment crying out, "No, please, no! Don't do this. You'll destroy us all," or something equally dramatic.

If I get more than three comments in protest (by three different people, mind you) I will leave the blog as it is.

Of course, if you'd like to suggest some changes that could be made, maybe even leave some interesting bits of code I can steal... let me know.

Stuck - One Step Too Far: Faithless

An old ex-christian friend sent me an email with a story he'd found entitled something like "An Amusing Story Detailing the Hypocrisy of Christianity."
It's not that I couldn't find flaws with the story (which was very cleverly put together), but I tried to write a response and completely failed.
It felt good at the start, but was going nowhere by half way.

Maybe I just don't bother working at it.
Maybe I just don't have the talent.
Maybe my concentration levels are too... hey look! A small dog.

Treat Yourselves

Dude, you guys are gonna love me for this. Talk about wanting to fill some space... okay, I'll explain. Below is a story I was gonna use as coursework but have now scrapped because I got flamed. Apparently it's not conventional enough. Or something.
Anyway, this should set you all up 'til my next blog entry in 2037 or something. Enjoy.

A Short Story About Nothing In Particular
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there lived a young man named Robin.
He had all the qualities of a hero - that is: dashing good-looks, the ability to make a ridiculously stupid decision and pull it off quite spectacularly and, of course, a tendency to outwit the bad guys, get the girl and live “happily ever after.”
Now, despite these obvious failings Robin was not such a nasty chap. On the contrary, he was rather charming, friendly and above all generous. And thus it was that one day, at that time of year when the sun sits in the sky all day like a large, spherical lemon and refuses to set even when it’s past bed-time (if you are forced to sleep under the stars this can be rather frustrating), that Robin decided to go and steal some money from somebody with far too much, and give it to his friends, compatriots, comrades, colleagues, associates, amigos, buddies, dearest chums, ex-roommates, ex-girlfriends and other assorted riff-raff.
It was on this day that our tale – the tale of The Great Thing Robbery – begins.

Robin and his old pal Little John (an unfortunate name on all levels and not in the least bit true) had been travelling for three months.
After a brief detour around Scotland, they finally reached their destination: London.
What with King Richard being on Crusade, and half the population having been killed by the plague, London was fairly quiet. Nevertheless, Robin and Little John found someone who gave them directions and soon enough they were outside the bank.
“Right then Robin, what do we do now?”
Robin frowned thoughtfully. “We need guns. Lots of guns.”
And there was guns. And Robin saw that it was good, and he grinned. “Wow. These are pretty hi-tech for a twelfth-century story, huh?”
He winked at the cameras and began choosing weapons which took his fancy, muttering to himself as he went: “The small, square one. ‘Glock’ hmm? It’ll do. Large, long, a telescope with a cross? Ah, for aiming. I’ll have five. Huge, resembles a log. Seems to shoot these round things… excellent.”
He strapped the weapons to various parts of his body and covered them with his cloak. He stepped back from the shelf, smiling mischievously, swayed gently and then keeled over.

An hour later, having returned some of the heavier guns and having armed Little John in a suitable manner, Robin was ready to storm the bank.
Robin and Little John crept stealthily towards the bank. Night was falling fast, and there was no-one around, not even a mouse.
They entered the bank by a ground floor window (the door being far too obvious an option), hid behind a small lump of cheese and debated what to do next.
In the bank, the evil Captain Hook was getting rather frustrated. His dear wife Cheryl had mistaken his infamous hook for a coat-hanger, taken it away with her on holiday to Luxembourg and had left him, aha, empty handed. He swore and he cursed, and he cursed and he swore, and the more he swore and cursed (and cursed and swore) the more parched his throat grew, until he sent for a glass of ASDA smart-price lemonade. And it was at this point that Robin and Little John burst into his office.
“Let me see those hands in the air!” yelled Robin, aggressively.
Hook held up a Royal Flush. His bosun Frederick the Wise held up a Full House.
“Hah! I win,” cackled Hook gleefully. “When I left you, I was but the learner. Now I am the master.”
On cue, Robin shot Frederick in the forehead and he collapsed, crying out as he fell “It is finished.”
Robin and Little John looked at each other, raised their eyebrows, shrugged, did a little dance and sung all twenty-seven verses of The Last Song of the Drowned Mermaid who Lived on a Lonely Rock in the South Pacific but Spent Her Holidays in an Unnamed Location, Bavaria, Germany.
Hook looked nervous. “If this is about the thing with the thing, I can explain everything.”
Robin lowered his rocket-launcher kindly. “No, no, no. Fear not my little feathered, bespectacled, mittened chum. We just want to rob the bank.”
Hook grinned toothily. “I can help you out there.”
“I’ve hurt my leg,” said Little John lamely.
“Do you have an umbrella?” asked Robin wetly.
“No chance! I just burnt myself,” said Hook, hotly.
At this point they stopped punning and proceeded with business.
“So, what can I do for you sir?” Hook inquired.
“The entire contents of all the safes in this bank please,” said Robin politely.
“And a cup of tea,” said little John thirstily. “That wasn’t a pun,” he added hastily.
Hook smiled conspicuously. “Oh damn and blast, I left my keys on a beach in Florida. I’ll just have to go and get them.”
Robin looked at him suspiciously. “Is it not written, ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s donkey?’”
Hook saw what Robin was up to. “Ah yes, but does it not also say ‘The wringing of the nose bringeth forth much blood?’”
Little John smiled hopefully. “And it is also written ‘add five pints of milk and stir until dissolved.’”
Robin and Hook glared at him, and he quickly hid in a basket of apples.
“Just get the damn money, ok?” Robin ordered impatiently. “I’ll take care of the locks using the old Alohomora spell I learned off Hermione.” He grinned. “It’s a good one, to be sure.”
And then there was silence.

Hook emerged from the cellar, smiling happily. In his arms he held five-hundred and fifty-thousand-million pounds. In gold. He handed it to Robin, who fell over again. Little John helped him up, and they put the gold into their getaway car which had conveniently appeared in the corner of the room. Shaking Hook by the hand, and with such comments as “Pleasure doing business with you, sir” and “I’m sure we’ll see you all too soon” and “Nice tie,” Robin and Little John went on their way, calmly driving straight through three-foot-thick walls and security gates.
They arrived home later that day and distributed the gold as they saw necessary.
Back at the bank, Hook was found guilty of High Treason and was hung, drawn, quartered, put in a plastic bag, mailed to his neighbour’s mother-in-law and then savaged by a small grey rat. And as for Robin and Little John, they lived…
Happily…
Ever after…
The End

Realistic Anti-Realism - Monkey Gone To Heaven: The Pixies

Seriously, it's a dangerous world out there.
Get these anti-realist people (if you are an anti-realist, just smile and walk away slowly...)
If everyone's own truth is right for them as an individual then there is no right or wrong at all. Ever.
Mind you, if you don't believe in God you might as well be an anti-realist. Where else would the "one universal truth" or whatever come from?
I'm too freakin' knackered to go any deeper, so: on to fresher pastures.

I sat down to work today and just came up with this. I've got a melody in my head somewhere too:

Here we are
Falling down
Getting kicked
Out of the clouds
Please talk sense to me baby
I wanna understand wanna understand
Where we come from
Where we have to go

There we go
Watch us walk
Slower than
A snail's crawl
Please talk sense to us baby
We wanna understand, don’t understand
Where we come from
What we have to do

Hear you talking
With your demons
Flee from angles
World upside down
Please talk sense to them baby
They need to understand, gotta understand
Where we come from
What we need... what we have... what we need...

You know, I'll stop posting my lyrics on here sometime. Its just, y'know, every now and then I feel the urge.
Ok, so sue me, I'm out of material and I'm filling space. Guilty.
Now go! Put babies on spikes. Buy a small dog. Whatever.

Robin Mitchell's World of Blog - Now Is The Time: Delirious?

This is my world of blog.
Watch me blogging.

Ok, girlfriend, guitar, church commitments and, uh, work have overtaken me so I'm not my usual write-a-blog-entry-every-five-minutes self.
Sad.

Well, read some old entries. They're still there.

Robin Mitchell's World of Work - Some Crazy Classical Music

Welcome to my world of work.
This is me working.

Gah!
I don't know why I have such issues with work at the moment. I sit down, read the question(/whatever), write a line and then bam! I can't do anything else. My mind wonders over to the guitar, to other things I could be doing, to Rosa (in that order, mwahahaha). Ten minutes later I can write something else (with enough mental effort) and then I get maybe a paragraph done, I slip into the working mindset and am just about to write something profound when "Rob, come here a moment" and I'm fixing a problem for Joey and then suddenly I can't remember what the hell I was going to write.
Shocking!

Anyway, this brings me onto a much bigger point which is this: Why the hell should I work anyway?
The way I see it God has clearly not given me the gift of work. Working is not my ministry. I think therefore I should leave it to people who have been blessed with such gifts and should just be allowed to run around and trip over things like a fool (something I have been gifted with).

I suppose next you will all be saying "Well Rob, if that's your attitude why should I be working? I'm not gifted with work, but I try my hardest and achieve the best I can" and you know what? I say "Stuff you. This is my blog and if I don't want to work on it then damnit I'm not going to work on it. Or anywhere else. Yeah, just watch me."

Do you ever get it when you wish you knew what the hell you were talking about?

DUDE!

I did actually try to restrain myself from writing this, but here goes:
DUDE! I have a girlfriend!
Me and Rosa are official.

*Smirks like an undeserving fool*


Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe

A Ton Of Brainpower? God In Heaven: Delirious?

I find myself plagued with doubts about so many things at the moment. To make it worse I'm varying between that extreme and the opposite, which is taking a happy-go-lucky-don't-give-a-toss approach to life, the universe and everything.

I think that when I have time to think (eg. now) I slip into the first mindset - nervous, uncertain, fearful, doubting - and when return to the real world I fool about like an idiot and avoid responsibilities on all levels. Which is kind of fun.
But not at all productive and very, very bad.

Ok, it strikes me that, being in a fearful, uncertain mood, I may be exaggerating just slightly.
And I would add that the positive of being in the first mindset is that I am more open and responsive to God. Ooh, got to rush.

*Several Hours Later*

Man, guess what my current grades are? D's.
I am apparently working at grade D level.
*Jaw drops*

Yeah, I was kinda annoyed. Hence why I'm gonna storm off and not write any more.

I'm not lazy *innocent look*

BlogThings Quizzes

Do you think these are true for me? Let me know...

Your Blogging Type is Confident and Insightful

You've got a ton of brain power, and you leverage it into brilliant blog.Both creative and logical, you come up with amazing ideas and insights.A total perfectionist, you find yourself revising and rewriting posts a lot of the time.You blog for yourself - and you don't care how popular (or unpopular) your blog is!

What's" Your Blogging Personality?

Your Blog Should Be Orange

Your writing has a star quality - it's charming, bold, and flamboyant. You write what's on your mind, without fear of embarrassment later. You are one of the most honest bloggers around, and people appreciate your daring persona.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

Your Career Type: Artistic

You are expressive, original, and independent. Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art. You would make an excellent: Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary.

What's Your Ideal Career?

You Are an Emo Rocker!

Expressive and deep, lyrics are really your thing. That doesn't mean you don't rock out... You just rock out with meaning. For you, rock is more about connecting than grandstanding.

What Kind of Rocker Are You?

You are

What Rejected Crayon Are You?

You Are 60% Weird

You're so weird, you think you're *totally* normal. Right? But you wig out even the biggest of circus freaks!

How Weird Are You?

You Are Balanced - Realist - Powerful

You feel your life is controlled both externally and internally. You have a good sense of what you can control and what you should let go. Depending on the situation, you sometimes try to exert more control. Other times, you accept things for what they are and go with the flow. You are a realist when it comes to luck. You don't attribute everything to luck, but you do know some things are random. You don't beat yourself up when bad things happen to you... But you do your best to try to make your own luck. When it comes to who's in charge, it's you. Life is a kingdom, and you're the grand ruler. You don't care much about what others think. But they better care what you think!

The Three Dimension Luck and Power Test

Demos

I've been recording some acoustic demos which I'm going to stick on a C.D.
Unlike my other ones to date these ones are in time, and some of them are even in tune.
Also the amount of noise is drastically reduced.
Someone once said to me, "Robin, the thing I like about your music is that constant hiss. It's such an original sound, and it covers over the guitars and vocals so well."
Well, my 4Track has seen that hiss off so that it is just lurking in some of the quieter corners. It's still there, of course. It wouldn't be me if it wasn't recorded through a 1930s amplifier containing enough dust to fill a quarry.

Community Living: Rennovations and New Additions

Rennovations and New Additions
A.D.H is undergoing some maintanence at the moment. The outside of the building is surrounded by scaffolding, which in turn is covered with little green men in red hats who smash windows and put new ones in.
This is part of the process of rennovating A.D.H, which is sort of what is happening at the moment.

I suppose the whole thing began when Joey and I heard a large thud when sitting in our room during some heavy rain. We looked out of the window to discover that large blocks of stone, long an attractive aesthetic feature of the roof, where now becoming features of our balcony.
These stones are about twice the size of a mans fist and are stuck beneath a prapet-overhang-thingy (note technical terminology there kids) around the edge of the roof.
Over the years maybe an eighth of all these lumps of stone have fallen down.
Now, imagine a solid block of stone nearly the size of your head falling from maybe forty feet and hittting you... yeah. It's gonna hurt.

So, someone decided they should get checked out, and why not do up all the windows at the same time, maybe a few touches of paint, some repair jobs, dig a swimming pool (I wish)...
And thus we are surrounded by scaffolding. And little green men.
You think I'm kidding, but they're everywhere. One spoke to me the other day - I was expecting an Irish accent offering a pot of gold, but our actual exchange went something like this:

LGM: Is that a toilet down there mate?
Rob: *stunned silence*
LGM: *waits expectantly*
Rob: Oh. Yes, yes it is. Ahahaha.
LGM: Reckon you could open the window for me?
Rob: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh! THE LITTLE GREEN MEN ARE TALKING TO ME! *opens window*
LGM: Thanks a lot mate.
Rob: *takes medication*

So anyway, while the exterior of the house is being done up, things inside seem to be wanting to join in. Our washing machine committed suicide, shortly followed by our oven, so now we have a huge new washing machine that dominates one corner of the laundry area.... and a shiny new oven.
Next up: new residents.

Ahahaha.

They think I'm joking.

Blog Blog Blog Blog Blog Blog Blog Blog - The Final Countdown: Europe

Hello! It's me! Back from beyond the wireless.
There was a problem with the gateway or something... I don't know... anyway, my computer wasn't recieving anything. Hence why I was Rather Annoyed.

And now I've gone and topped up my phone a day too early to get free texts.
Shocking!

I may go and live in a cave somewhere, away from all things technological.

Or I may just keep sittin' here typing like a fool.

Hmm.