Introduction:
It's shit.
No wait, I lie. If you have >17 tattoos, a gold chain, like going abroad to eat roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and you perception of beer quality is inverse to its price, then Marmaris is for you.
Weather:
Brilliant. Dry heat, highs of 35-37deg, lows at night of around 27-28deg, rarely a cloud to be seen. Perfect for a nice little bit of sunburn.
Food & Drink:
Food was hit and miss - it was actually hard to find somewhere that served Turkish food- most of the places thrived on pizza/burgers/roast dinners/chips and (ironically) big greasy kebabs on a spinning stick. Unusually, the best evening meals we had were at the hotel restaurant. Prices varied little, usually around 18-22TL which is about £8-10.
Drinks were expensive. Lacking a units & measures act, you can ask for a beer (the local 'Efes' is nice, but gassy) and get anything from a half-pint to a half-litre and pay typically £2-5. Don't bother with spirits, but do try a fish-bowl - a (obviously) fish bowl filled with a cocktail of your choice. 'Bar Street' in the centre does what it says on the tin - you know you've landed, and with at a guess, 20-30 bars and clubs to choose from, it's yours for the take.
And as with any foreign country - stick to bottled water.
Culture:
We didn't go for any, and didn't get any. It's a nice place, though. As is to be expected, there's a bit of hassle walking by restaurants, bars and shops - the indoor bazaar is by far the worst though. Keeping your head down or engaging in a blatant conversation doesn't stop them shouting over to you and pulling your arm into their shop. Overall, the Turks have a subtle sense of humour and are very hospitable but again to be expected - they conversely keep a watchful eye on the tourists.
Being a 90% Muslim country, there are rules, but fairly liberal. Strangest thing we observed was how few women there were working. Most were in shops, but virtually none in any bars or restaurants.
To See / To Do:
There's loads if you want to do it. Personally, I was 'on a shoestring' and so didn't partake, but if you want there's plenty of fishing, scuba diving, boat trips, 4x4 trips, cultural excursions and whatnot. We opted for al-fresco relaxation (ie: sunbathing!).
Conclusion
Would I go again? If I wanted a pure-relaxation holiday, then I'd definitely choose Turkey - again at a similar time of year when it's not entirely swamped with tourists, but possibly not Marmaris.
Being the recent not-quite-official-but-in-limbo graduate that I am, I have been obliged to join the tax-paying masses and search for a job.
So I went in to town and signed up with a few; It went from optimistic to shite. I'm not going to slander them, so I've changed the name to Adecci. I sauntered in and all 3 staff seemed to be pre-occupied with the same 1 client. I waited. After a while, some young girl came over. We'll call her Gretel.
"Can I help you?"
No you daft bint, I'm standing here in a recruitment agency for shits and giggles. "Hi, yeah, I've just finished my degree in Marketing at Uni and saw that job in the window for a marketing assistant?"
"Got a CV?"
"Yeah sure, here you go..."
Ponders over it for 5 seconds... "No sorry, I can't see what you've done or anything, hold on a minute I'll show you." Goes to print one off...
"This one is mine. Go away and do it like this? See? Then just email it over to me" Does some pointing.
"Erm, okay yeah sure. Cheers."
I foolishly walked home and after a cuppa, looked over hers.
Rule 1. Never give out your own CV to a client. If you must, make sure it's half decent.
Shocking was an understatement. It was riddled with typos, grammar was awful, layout was poor, it was inconsistent, and catastrophically text-heavy.
Rule 2. If you're going to lie, be consistent about it.
Quote: "Job from summer 2005 - I worked as a something-or-other before going to University..." but then that's it. No other mention of University. So presumably either a) you didn't get in, b) you went but dropped out, and assumptively c) your CV is around 4 years old.
Rule 3. Make it exciting and don't be repetitive.
All I learnt about our mug here outisde of work experience was that she was good at sales and liked netball. That was it.
Rule 4. Don't have a unique name. (And if you must, keep your Facebook locked down)
Out of sheer curiosity, I googled her and her Facebook profile popped up. Haha... drunken skanktily clad pole dancing photos. Fool.
So I thought... I can't be fussy. I'll mildly adapt my CV and send it over, see what happens. I got this response:
I gave you a copy of an ideal c.v for you to model yours on. This looks nothing like the one that I gave you and also I still cannot make out what your exact job titles were. Re-do you c.v how I asked you to.
Hmm. Both stupid and rude! I was pissed off and couldn't be arsed anymore. I sent back this response:
Your C.V. makes no sense. It lacks structure, seems to thrive on vagueness, and is extremely text-heavy. For example, it begins under ‘Uniform Coordinator’ with ”Before I went to University...” yet it states nowhere what you did or even if you went to University. It is also riddled with typographical and grammatical errors. All your C.V. tells me about you is that you like netball and are good at sales.
I shall be taking my C.V. elsewhere.
Kind regards,
Rob Smith
N.B.: It is a wise idea to keep your personal and professional lives separate. If I can see what you did in Zante last year, then so can prospective employers.
Needless to say, I received a highly apologetic email back from her. I'm no model client, nor have a perfect curriculum vitae. But this is an exemplary lesson in precisely not what to do.
Latest victim of the recent MP's expenses scandal is Tory MP Peter Viggers. Sorry, Sir Peter Viggers - former lawyer, pilot and banker. And his illicit purchase and subsequent claim? £1,645 on a duck island. Yes, an island for ducks - something a little like this, perhaps:
Now excuse my ignorance, but two questions arise in my mind here. Firstly - how the bloody hell does something like that cost more than a year's University fees (before the 'top up' fees were introduced)?! It's a pile of mud in the midle of a pond. Let's say spade - £10, rubber dinghy - £40, mud - free, a fancy little ornament to amuse ducks - £50. Hmm, we're a bit short of the £1,645. So let's say he doesn't yet have any ducks. A badling of 5 ducks - ...er apologies, I'm not up to scratch on the current RRP of mallards, but they sure as hell don't cost £200 each!
Subsequently and secondly; a duck island...? Really? If I had that much money in my pocket I'd go and spunk it all on booze and hookers (but certainly hide it better than Jacqui Smith did). Someone of a more conservative nature (no pun intended) may buy a small car, a big TV, an Aga, so on and so forth. But a duck island? Jesus, these Tory MPs sure get some cheap kicks.
In his defence, it's not as bad as on Andrew Dismore - this Labour MP managed to claim £6,205 on stationery and postage. That's either 20,000 2nd class stamps, or 620,000 Bic pens.
Remind me never to get into politics.
It's been a while - half a year to be exact - but finally after 18 years of education, 5 different institutions (including pre-school) and somewhere in the region of 80 exams, I am finished!
Now with more time for floundering on my hands, I'm going to spend the next few months procrastinating, which in turn leads to more time for blogging!
For your amusement, please see below a picture of me about 2 years into my education. Stay tuned folks!
See:
http://www.missblackbritain.co.uk/
Now let's make one thing clear; I'm the least racist person you'll ever know. I'm English born/Chinese-English bred. I'm (generally) moral, and always very fair. And this isn't fair.
Let me just clarify the entrance conditions for this . Well, you've got to be attractive, British and black.
Reminds me of the Nuremberg Laws a bit. Ironic, how the game has flipped 180 degrees in 60 years. Now I'm sorry, but it still amazes me how people can get away with this today. 99% of members from both sides of the ethnic palying field want more integration, but this merely promotes segregation! If somebody decided to hold a Miss White Britain contest, there would be utter uproar, no question about it. If, hypothetically, we were living under some sort of apartheid then I could, maybe, understand it - but we don't!
Some people argue that the pageant was designed to help promote black role models for today's youth. But why is it adamantly necessary that black youths need black role models? Surely this further instigates racism and segregation?
Another related event is the MOBO awards (Music Of Black Origin) which apparently is meant to celebrate artistes of all ethnic backgrounds playing music which originated in Africa. So surely it should then be retitled a fairer 'Music Influenced By Persons Of African Or Afro-Caribbean Origin,' or MIBPOAOAO awards for short.
It's crazy. 'The white man' has apologised for slavery laws, actively promoted ethnic integration and immigration, yet some minorities just can't see the bigger picture and continue to do their own thing.
I think I should hold a Mr & Miss half-English-half-Chinese Britain competition, so that I can find a role model.
Bastard old man scared the crap out of me.
My Mum and Dad are now getting to that stage in their lives when they're beginning to occasionally be a few screws short of an IKEA wardrobe. You know what I mean - not totally compus mentis, but not so dribblingly senile that I can stick them in a home either.
Last week they flew out on holiday to Malaysia ("Home," says Mum, who despite actually being Chinese, has never stepped within 500 miles of the country). The evening before, my Dad sent me a comprehensive email of who/what/where to contact, where his money was stashed, etc, should the someday-inevitable happen. Then what?!
Later, it dawned on me. Okay, so they are (comparatively) old, but they sure make Queen Lizzy and Phil look decrepit. But what if they weren't to pop their socks due to old age? Aside from being distinctly less predictable, (but morbidly more exciting - "oh he died whilst wrestling a poisonous dinosaur in the Malay jungle..."), it's direct opposite makes it worse - that it isn't predictable. So I played it safe...
...my Dad's last words to me had been "make sure the arsehole gets his crap out before Friday" (and no, it's still there). Memorable yes, but significant - no. So before they got on the plane, I told them both how I felt. Not because I felt obliged, but because I meant it. And no, it's not a regular occurance. But it put my mind to rest. An inner peace, if you will. Observationally, it surprises me how many parents discard their offspring so casually, or even at best remain at arm's length. Makes me angry, but I'm not them and so be it. But what does it achieve? They are your blood, your heritage, your ancestry and the people who brought your screaming, bloody, umbilicalled soul into this world.
When did you last tell your Mum and Dad that you loved them?
People - they come, they go.
I was reading about random acts of kindness recently. The usual; help an old lady cross the road, buy a homeless guy a burger, give a kid a balloon. Predictable, possibly original, usually money orientated, and more often than not, anonymous.
But when was the last time you did something for someone you know? And I don't mean buying them a pint or some other frivolity, nor giving them a lift somewhere because they asked for it and you happen to be free. I mean going out of your way to make someone you know smile, or making their day just that little bit easier.
In today's world of Generation Y, mates may come and go, friends may loiter, but who are your true friends? Go beyond the call of duty. Fuck money - what use is it today when a quid doesn't even buy you a Crunchie and a Fanta?
Try it. Watch them smile.
I was reading a close friend's blog earlier, and whilst pondering over the world's climate change and whatnot, it made me think.
- There are 193 recognised countries (+52 of lesser significance - more on that next time!) in the world.
- ~6.6bn people
Quick calculator-button-punching time.
If we average it out, each country accounts for 0.52% of all.
Each country has an average of 34.2m people (around the same as Algeria or Canada).
Leicester City's population accounts for 0.54% of that of the UK's 60.7m total. It would take a town just smaller than Glasgow to account for 1% of the UK population. You - Mr Must-Try-Harder - account for 0.00000164% of the total UK population.
If everyone were to fit onto a typical football pitch, then you would have to measure 4mm x 4.5mm. Which is smalled than the base of a footballer's boot stud.
Which brings me to the point of all this. Voting, getting messages across and general attempted democracy. There was recently a Facebook poll for something useless like "I Bet I Can Find One Million Users Fancy Ur Mum" or something menial. So what if you do?! What does it prove? Well, statistically speaking, that 1.67% of the UK think your mum's fit. The other 98.3% disagree.
In reality? Your vote and voice counts for nothing. 'pologies all. It's depressing, demoralising, even morbid.
Solution? Shout. Doesn't matter if it makes any sense or not, just do it loudly. Worked for George Bush!
I began writing this a few years ago, and add to it sporadically. I intend to keep adding until I'm married, or reach 30 - whichever comes first. It's a mixture, there is no order.
Any suggestions, comments or own-lists?
- Ride a motorbike
- Own a supercar
- Go to Japan
- Go to the Seychelles
- Stay awake for more than 72 hours
- Work Christmas Day helping the homeless
- Write my autobiography.
- Learn to ballroom dance
- Drive on the Autobahn
- Donate £1000 to charity, anonymously
- Walk on the Great Wall Of China
- Take a roadtrip with my best friend
- Climb a mountain
- Ride the Orient Express
- Go in a hot air balloon
- See the Pyramids
- See the Northern Lights
- Visit all 7 continents
"Don't be selfish - share! It's polite." - my Mum (1990), Surrey.
Anyone who's ever watched a film knows of Odeon.
Anyone who's ever bought a DVD knows of HMV.
Anyone who's ever downloaded a film knows of aXXo.
This morning I recall pondering about piracy, when my girlfriend was downloading the latest episode of some American sitcom, and I queried as to why she had left fully-downloaded past episodes as 'live' on the program. "I like to seed!" was the response. How polite!
So, therefore, where do you draw the line? When your entire bandwidth is taken up with people leeching your music and films? When said files are classed as not new? Or when you feel that any more and it would go from amateur politeness to professional profiteering?
Personally, I do download illegally. I've paid for music before, too, but merely because I was given a voucher as a present. If I recall, Jack Penate and Boy Kill Boy promptly took pride of place... in my iTunes folder. But not in my CD rack, because it wasn't tangible. And not on my mp3 player, because the file format was too obscure and security constricted. So what did I then do? Downloaded the same 2 albums again, but this time illegally. Only then could I listen to the music on my mp3 and on CD in the car. In a round about way, I kind of justified it to myself in that I had formerly paid for my share of the music.
In the past, I've regularly shared CD's - you get talking with a friend about a new band, and lend them your CD. They may listen to it (personal use, only), copy it, or rip it to their computer. Then they themselves may share it with their friend, by sending it over a local network. Before long, butterflies have caused hurricanes and it ends up being shared to all and sundry online. So, should fingers be pointed, who gets the blame?
What about 'rare and obscure' music? I've got some rare early 1990's live Oasis tracks in my collection - could it be socially beneficial to share them? Or by doing so would they lose their rarity value? It's only polite to share!
Two questions - who is to blame, and where is the line drawn? I'm inclined to blame my Mum for not bringing me up properly...
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