Why is it called an Internet Cafe?

Some time later.

I now am a fully trained, but not yet fully disclosed, private tutor. This means that, although I can work, I can't since I am still awaiting proof that I am not a danger to my prospective students - hopefully this proof will arrive shortly and I the pennies will follow.

Apart from (in fact with) this the last seven days have been my best in London. I will regale you with the highlights:
On Tuesday I enjoyed my first visited to the Emirates Stadium, which was graced on that occassion by a beautiful exhibition of 'Wengerball' as we 'Gooners' call it - and Carlos Vela, with almost a single flick of his right shoulder (that's right shoulder) restored almost all of the faith that I reported as having lost in a previous post.
On Thursday I registered and enrolled at UCL - which is a great great place - which brought me some new friends and some intellectual stimulation, both of which had been somewhat absence from my capital city existence.
On Saturday we had our first dinner party and inflicted the pungent odour of Garlic upon two of our best friends, which might not sound like much fun, but is to us.

The best news, almost, is that the next week promises much more of all of these. I am particularly excited about testing my intellectual mettle against the supposed cream of British Acadermia (it is no exaggeration to say that the majority of my new cohort is Oxbridge-bred) in the somewhat unfamiliar realm of late French Romanticism.

Apologies for the increasing sparcity of posts on this page, AOL have yet to acknowledge our flat and Internet Cafe's aren't much fun. In fact the obnoxious woman enjoying (very audibly) a YouTube broadcast of a Beyonce concert is about to drive me out of this one. Off.

A Happy Daze

Well, it turns out that Jason's Father stupidly believed that I was offering to teach English. Not only that but he informed me that he would pay half my fees up-front with the remainder to follow when he was satisfied that our 12hours together would leave his son 'fluent' - needless to say I passed on that opportunity.

However, I do now have a job - hoorah - as well as two further interviews tomorrow. And, pending CRB (proof, I believe that I am not a paedophile) clearance I will be a fully regstered Tutor to the stars (apparently the agency for whom I work - who charge a princely £55 for an hour of my time - count the illustious Mr Abramovic amongst their clients).

It seems that I am now in a sense at least a Knowledge Salesman; although it could be very legitimately and reasonably argued that I am more of a Prostitute of Knowledge, and you may rest assured that the light-roasting of my dearly held principles that this private position requires is not lost on me, and does cause me some degree of pain and sleeplessness: money does, after all, talk very loudly sometimes.

You may also rest more assuredly knowing that my health and well-being have taken an enormous turn for the better now that I have a permanent address. Our flat is very big and really rather lovely - as well as available for a more-than reasonable overnight rate should you require/wish some time in this Quagmire (I mean city).

That's it for today, and if you miss the self-(indulgently)-loathing tone of the previous posts then I apologise. It seems that you can't be a troubled writer AND live in a generally well-appointed and expensive furnished flat, which does dent my future dreams somewhat.
Regards,
Calum 'Smiler' Mechie.

I saw t4's Steve Jones on an escalator.

A young Frenchman named Jason('s Father) has requested the honour of becoming my first client. Jason and I are hopefully about to embark on a thrice weekly voyage of discovery spanning the next month - what a fortunate fellow.

Perhaps as a consequence of this rare piece of encouragement, or perhaps to address what I feel is a general melancholia, I think I'll list some things that I like about living in London.

1. I like it when a tube arrives at the platform at exactly the same time as I do - secondary to that I also very much enjoy leaping through the closing doors, and watching other people just missing a train on which I am already seated.

2. I like seeing chauffeurs in Mercedes Maybachs trying to squeeze past the millions of bendy-busses (that's 18 metres worth of bendy-bus) that wheeze around the city centre.

3. I like walking really fast while pretending to Tourists that I know exactly where I'm going (this is facilitated by hubris, my phone's access to googlemaps and sheer luck).

4. I like how the southern attitude towards Scotland and the North of England - which are, you would think, synonymous - reinforces my anti-union sentiments. Quite honestly if they're not going to take our money in their McDonald's and Primarks then we shouldn't bother sending it to their parliament.

That is, perhaps, it.

Leads.

In a previous life I was privileged to enjoy the opportunity of observing real office life firsthand. This is a slightly strange experience for many reasons: the sudden insatiable thirst quenched only by copious quantities of cooled water that gurgles as it is dispensed; mysterious oscillations in the rate of time's passage; the exorbitant cost of not even mediocre sandwiches. Strangest, however, is the language, and one term that I heard often in that time was 'lead-gen'.

Lead-generation (to give the above its full airing) is - as far as I could tell - the process by which an introduction is developed into a marketing campaign, and hopefully a sale. As alien as this idea was to me in my naivety I have now realised that lead-generation is a more than useful skill, indeed a necessary one, in the pursuit of gainful employment. I have practiced this technique now on the multifaceted job-market of London Town, with varying degrees of intensity, for approximately two months and finally am able to report that at least two leads have been generated - Hoorah.

In The 40 Year-Old Virgin Seth Rogen's character observes:

'See back when I was growing pot I realised that the more seeds that I planted the more pot I could ultimately smoke'. You see we're all at it: Lead Generation, beautiful.

Anyway, hopeful something meaningful now comes from at least one of these saplings if only so as to free me from the (admittedly self imposed) obligation of recording my search for my fortune.

Thanks for reading.

p.s - If you dislike my style and feel that there are too many commas, dashes and brackets then I apologise (but at the same time I urge you to acknowledge that I resisted the urge to describe Rogen, above, as indulging in 'Weed-Generation'). Frankly I love parentheses like the Pope hates condoms and I don't think either of us will change our views in the near future (for the record that is not too blue, condoms are an entirely necessary part of life and indispensable protectors of lives - I am not responsible for their existence).

The Streets (not the band - if you were hoping to read of the latest exploits of Monsuier Skinner et al, please, accept my apologies).

The London Streets are frustrating places to exist, partly because of the epidemic of co-existents, and partly because of the unholy amount of time it takes to cross them, but mainly because there are just so bloody many of them.

Before moving to London I often heard people remark on their being 'just so much going on' down here. In my experience however, without wanting to shatter that golden image, there usually isn't. Today I walked along about 100 of those bloody (see above) streets, and I can report that on only one of them was anything going on. It is fair to now describe that one street as 'saturated' by various versions of a 'CalumCMechie - CV.doc', however so hopefully something will come of that (I feel it is important to clarify here, given the title of this Blog, that today the goal of Knowledge Entrepreneurship took something of a backseat - I just don't feel that beer dispension at J.D. Wetherspoon's, however necessary and estimable, deserves that moniker - due to pragmatic concerns such as rent payment, hence the little more than cursory reference to the quest for employment).

Another subject that deserves attention, but possibly on a later date when doubtless more ammunition will have been supplied, is the London Overground Service to Hackney Central (the station that best services the dust-ridden warren I currently call home - again more later, perhaps once I have outstayed my very generous welcome). 

On all of this and more expect to hear again soon, until then friends Arrivederci.

p.s - it would help me muchly if you could all (or both, whichever is more realistic) could click on the London English Tutor link to my right here from time to time. Thank you.