Tag Archives: Money

Out of the Office

08/16/2011 By in Musings Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

With an estimated two billion English speakers in the world, I have been flirting with the idea of taking on more freelance assignments. Anxious to improve upon my curriculum vitae and hungry for additional funds, I have sought to use my creative writing skills for the betterment of mankind. Freelancing is a precarious way to learn a living. With a spasmodic income, no job security and endlessly chasing new assignments, it certainly does seem like hard work. And while I would much rather be writing blogs about sex, riots and Cesc Fabregas in my spare time, I have to confess it doesn’t pay the bills. So like many others with a love affair with the English alphabet, I re-shape atrociously written text and provide elegant prose for companies and individuals who are incapable of writing it themselves.

Many successful writers claim that freelancing is like discovering a new planet. Whether its girls selling knickers on eBay, setting up a recycled teapot business or writing up toilet gags for an industrial cleaning website. Freelancing has the power to shatter the traditional principles of time and labour. No more early mornings, boring meetings or the gnawing acceptance that you are chained to a particular space for months upon end. With the power of modern technology you can now eat sardines in San Sebastian for lunch, before in theory, returning to your laptop to finish off your latest assignment. Such a routine sounds very fanciful and in reality the majority of freelancing takes place in bedrooms and kitchen tables. Cabin fever is never going to be to far away from a freelancer’s mind.

Even poets, journalists and writers require an internal discipline to get things done. There is a misconception that creative types can spend their days watching clouds form into continents awaiting their latest epiphany. Deadlines are an inescapable fact of life whatever your occupation might be. As long as there is a market for what you do and you’re prepared to work hard then freelancing certainly does provide new opportunities.

Previously I’ve found myself writing about the benefits of industrial cleaning, leather handbags and fairytale medieval towns. There are millions of global English speakers transferring their businesses and services online and luckily for me not too many of them can write particularly well. Sadly the financial rewards are not spectacular and you have to be extremely bold to freelance on a full-time basis.

As while nobody likes being told what to do, there are still outstanding benefits of working for the man. Usually these involve paid holidays and luxury of going to Tuscany for two weeks and drinking copious amounts of red wine. Indeed you also have weekends, public holidays and sick days where you don’t have to look at an email, spreadsheet or anything remotely affiliated with Microsoft Office. Freelancing is a young baby that requires constant attention. Those working in the offshore economy don’t really have the luxury of ignoring their inbox for two weeks because business will just go elsewhere. Likewise the pub landlord can’t close the pub in August and expect a queue of thirsty customers when he comes back from holiday.

Even when I am excessively pragmatic about earning a living, I still privately maintain a delusion that somebody one day will offer currency for my written thoughts. Previously I’ve tried to bury my creative desires but extinguishing yourself is not a good ideal really. Even with each passing year the hunger doesn’t go away. It still doesn’t pay the bills though and, wanting to be useful, I take comfort in being a monoglot scribe and having the potential to be my own boss.

A View from a Bridge

05/10/2011 By in Travel Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Dream Collapsing

On flying over Northern Spain on route to Oporto, I remarked to a Portuguese nurse sitting next to me about how wonderfully green the landscape appeared from above. With evergreen forests and misty pockets of silver trailing in my wake, the descent upon Portugal’s second city had already begun to take shape. Any assumption that Portugal is a geographical extension of Spain is woefully misleading on a number of levels. Unlike the Iberian aridity of the south, the Douro region is predominately Celtic and Germanic in stock. Situated in the corn, cabbage and port region of Portugal, the northern green fields could easily pass of as Ireland to an unknowing visitor. For there are more flowers and bushes in Portugal and there are more trees, including the sprawling eucalyptus, which are noticeably absent on the neighbouring Castilian plateau.

Somewhat fittingly Portugal has now followed the Irish Republic to become the third member of the eurozone to be bailed out by the EU and IMF. Economically weak in an uncertain world, the Portuguese frontiers have remained virtually unchanged since 1139. They removed their last dictator, António de Oliveira Salazar, in 1970 and had a democratic revolution in 1974 and like the Portuguese nurse on the plane; they are one of the most congenial of Europeans.

Youth in Revolt

According to my erudite source on the plane, the country’s student population celebrate Queima das Fitas (Burning of the Ribbons) in the first week of May. On arriving in a university town on the verge of a drunken apogee, I checked in at the Porto Spot Hostel, and booked myself a sleepless night inside a white walled dorm. Despite my room having the capacity to host three weary bodies, I fortunately only had to share with a pepper bald German man.

Travelling is a privilege and after exploring the continent in my early twenties, I still have fond memories of budgeting every penny and dining in car parks eating ripped bread and cheese. Despite growing up and finding myself desperate to progress beyond shared accommodation, I all too frequently discover the invisible hand of economics has a far greater influence over my upwardly mobile pretentions.

Fortunately the money you might save on accommodation can be invested elsewhere and on departing the boutique hostel, I began to explore the melancholy splendour of Porto. Most normal cities would consider being labelled ‘workmanlike’ an insult and the commercial district does stir with ordinariness. Deeply atmospheric and exceedingly ramshackle in places, many of the city’s buildings are in a dilapidated state of repair. Most of their finest religious buildings are adorned with blue mosaic tiles, which are the ubiquitous emblems of Portugal, and provide the country with a truly beautiful motif.

Close to the Praça dos Leões lies one of the most outlandish and beautiful bookshops in Europe. Opened in 1906, Livraria Lello is an intricate wooden cathedral with a stunning fairy tale staircase inspired by the Parisian galleries of Lafayette. There are not too many bookshops in the world with a neo-Gothic staircase and a stained glass skylight. With a luscious red carpet leading its readers towards a literary heaven, English speakers may not be able to buy a book in a familiar language but the art nouveau exterior is worth the hike up Rua das Carmelitas on its own.

On arriving at the 18th century quayside, the iconic double-decker bridge, Ponte Dom Luis I, provides a truly magnificent spectacle across the River Douro. This marine blue bridge is one of the wonders of Portugal. Hosting a progressive and modern tram network and providing stunning views of the Cais de Ribeira quayside and Vila Nova de Gaia. Squawking seagulls can be seen following wooden boats full of white-shirted visitors from Germany and the Home Counties. And old ladies and housewives can be seen hanging their washing out to dry.

Porto’s charms lie in its unspoken cracks and idyllic forgetfulness, something no tourist board could ever successfully advertise. More discerning visitors to Porto like to enjoy samples of Portugal’s famous port lodges such as Sandemans or Grahams in the independent municipality of ‘Gaia’. Famous brands advertise their lodges using large Hollywood signs in a bold attempt to seduce tourists over from the Cais de Ribeira to the rickety winding lanes of time forgotten.

Bom Apetite

Vila Nova de Gaia is a romantic throwback to the 1930s and grapes have flown down the river for over three centuries. This historic process helps provide wine lovers across the globe with ruby, tawny and white tipples, which are traditionally enjoyed at the end of a beautiful meal. Fittingly back at the river front, I enjoyed my first evening dish with a regional Porto delicacy – the infamous Francesinhe. Scotland would never have been able to live it down if they had served up this culinary invention. Drenched in saturated fat and quite literally a heart attack on a plate, Francesinhe means “little French girl” in Portuguese. Inspired by the story of a returning emigrant, the sandwich’s composition involves multiple layers of bread, cured ham, sausages and steak, which is outrageously soaked in melted cheese and tomato beer sauce.

Sitting on one of the hundreds of outdoor café tables looking across the river, I instantly regretted not eating one of their freshly caught sardines. The local ‘delicacy’ is so violently nefarious, I personally believe the Francesinhe should made be illegal under European Law. Alas not all southern Mediterranean cuisines are healthy but Porto remains a city with a poetic sensibility. From the lush vegetation of its surrounding countryside to the urban charms of the city centre, rarely if ever will visitors be offered such a rich casket of wonders.

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Runaway Train

04/28/2011 By in Travel Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.  ~ Mark Twain

As the country basks in Spanish sunshine over the Easter holidays, the temptation to jump on a train and feast your eyes on an unfamiliar town is enormously tempting. Robert Louis Stevenson once said the best way to see a country was by train. With millions of workers receiving four bank holidays in eleven days courtesy of the Royal Wedding, time is now available to pursue those novelty travel plans. Unlike the previous months of being cooped up inside a sterile office, watching the deathly drag of grey clouds pass by the window. There is now time to fully unwind, relax and celebrate the virgin birth of spring. Although the irony of an extended holiday is that time usually accelerates as fast as the trains that take can you to far flung locations.

Anyone familiar with the British transport system knows that buying a train ticket for a destination more than twenty miles away is ludicrously expensive. Spontaneous day trips are virtually impossible when tickets for a two hour journey can cost over a hundred pounds. With an unregulated privatised transport system, the only affordable way to travel is to book six weeks in advance and naturally it is not always possible to know what you will be doing in the forthcoming weeks and months ahead.

Walking along Kings Cross or Euston’s northbound platforms and seeing the trappings of wealth inside the first class carriages is incredibly seductive. No one should under-estimate the silent power of aspiration and it is extremely hard to resist the calling of privilege. However, on grounds of fairness and equality, first class travel has no place in the 21st century. Millions of ordinary travellers lose out and end up paying ridiculous prices to cram into cheap seats or stand for hours in rattling cattle cans. Worse still the majority of the first class carriages lie empty and remain reserved for businessmen and ladies of leisure.

First class travel is completely elitist, immoral and the vast majority of people lose out to benefit a privileged few. It should be scrapped! There is absolutely no justification for first class travel at all. Then again most people have to accept the horrible contradiction of secretly wanting to travel in luxury and being a lip-service Marxist with two sticks and a balloon to spend.

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Broadway Market

02/20/2011 By in Arts & Culture Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

Street markets are always colourful and inviting to outsiders. Whether it’s old ladies buying fruit and vegetables, teenagers pouring through vintage stalls or polo shirted lads wolfing down burgers. Everyone loves buying their food and clothes in the great outdoors. Markets reflect their customers and things get a little E2 on a Saturday as Yindies from all over London march along the Regent’s Canal towards Broadway Market.

Amongst the motorbikes, geese and submerged corpses in the canal is an Olympic fuelled gentrification process. With the unseen demolition of old landmarks raising memories like rubble. They are reflective of an era increasingly comfortable building unaffordable luxury homes. Erased from history these ruins will swiftly become aspirational flats with bicycle decorated balconies and parking spaces. No doubt they will become the ideal homes for middle-class refugees on their weekly pilgrimage to Broadway Market.

After being neglected for decades, the market was revived in 2004 and now has over 80 stalls running from the Regent’s Canal down to London Fields. People arriving from the towpath will immediately feel the iconic presence of F.Cooke’s Pie and Mash shop. The old mash store has been trading in the same premises since 1900 and serves traditional pie, mash, liquor and jellied eels to a new generation of Londoners. Back then a ‘jellied eel’ from Frank Cooke would be a good deal to most but the old Cockney dialect has since migrated eastwards to Essex.

A new demographic has taken hold and the social paradox is that while Broadway Market is a vintage mecca for East London fashionistas. They rarely mix or come into contact with the local working class community in the nearby housing schemes. Occasionally this spills into violence and last year’s ‘Bloods and Crisps‘ gang fight led to a 27-year-old hipster being shot in the back. While there are spaces that ache in the uninhabited air, London Fields continues to blossom as traders descends on Broadway Market to sell everything from sunflowers, oysters and spicy Ghanian dishes.

As food goes there is nowhere better in East London to satisfy your ailing taste buds. From petit sugary goodness by Violet Cakes to Vietnamese Bánh mì sandwiches, Broadway Market is awash with food stalls selling German sausages, wild beef and tangerine pots of hummus. If you do tire of eating from all corners of the world then vintage wares are not too far away. Extremely stylish women in their late twenties are regularly seen flocking past carrying recycled bags full of beautiful dresses, hats and last week’s copy of The Observer.

Attractive young women buying vintage French knickers is always going be a popular activity on Broadway Market. However they are often ridiculously expensive and prices for knitted adornments are reflective of people who can afford to pay £145 a week for a room in Dalston. Unaffordable luxuries are nothing new in the capital and the London Fields hipster community are no different than their friends in Spitalfields, Brick Lane or Portobello Market.

On buying products everyone appears to want but none of us actually need. Yindies are reflective of the materialistic values inherent in our society. Meanwhile the day passes and unseen labour begin to dissemble their iron poles, plastic covers and crates in anticipation of another pay day. On leaving behind a trail of exhaust fumes, debris and stray hipsters for another week, there is perhaps, just something about human nature that turns everything into a routine.

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Arrested Development

02/06/2011 By in Politics Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

WestEndWalk

After the Guardian revealed Lord Wei of Shoreditch is unable to fulfil his Big Society duties because working for free is incompatible with ‘having a life’. Lord Wei not only exposed the sham of a government expecting people to work for nothing in an era of massive spending cuts. Moreover it shone a torch on the murky world of corporate exploitation in the modern workplace. Earlier this week Richard Bilton’s excellent BBC documentary showed how class continues to restrict access to professions and well-paid careers to all but an exclusive pool of well-connected individuals.

Anyone looking for work in the publishing, fashion or media industry will already be familiar with internships. The vast majority of media jobs in Britain are based in London and anyone lucky enough to receive an offer can be expected to work for 3 months unpaid and still have no guarantee of employment. With 1 in 10 graduates now out of work, I can recall my struggle to make a break through after graduating from the University of Glasgow in 2004.

After the privilege of studying at a world-class 15th Century institution, the harsh reality of finding stimulating employment became all too apparent when I temped for the financial services industry. While I wanted to use my creative writing skills for a living, I sorely lacked confidence and with no connections, I found myself trapped in a vicious circle of dead end temping jobs to pay the rent. Glasgow is the call-centre capital of Europe and after graduating, I would turn up every day for £6.04 an hour wearing a Britney Spears headset on behalf of the Scottish Co-Operative Group.

With my dignity in tatters, I quickly realised that in order to improve myself, I had to go down the Scottish voluntary route. By doing so I religiously scoured the internet and worked for free on behalf of tourist boards, local restaurant guides and a global university website. Eventually I quit my administrative day job to focus entirely on voluntary writing positions I had initially agreed to fulfil in my spare time.

On not wanting to let my future references down, I eventually gave them my full working week for nearly 5 months and used credit cards to pay the rent. Clearly unsustainable I fortunately managed to get a salaried media job in London as a result of my volunteering and agreed to move down south.

While I have clearly benefited from volunteering and believe it is often a necessary passage for young people to get ahead. Anyone doing a voluntary internship in London will have astronomical overheads compared to what I had to pay in Glasgow where the cost of living is far cheaper.

If young graduates want a media job in London then they will be expected to serve not one but several unpaid internships before getting a salaried position. Expecting people to work for nothing inevitably favours upper-middle class children from the South East, who have financial support or live within commuting distance of their parent’s home. This new aristocracy of coming from a home owning family is increasingly divisive and helps to form an unfair and disproportionate workplace in some of the most desirable sectors.

Once you’re inside the door then depending on your employer it is increasingly down to the dark arts of networking and internal friendships to progress. While it would be desirable to think you can progress through ability and hard work alone, I often find social intelligence and the ability to ‘work a room’ is all too prominent in making that elusive connection to get ahead. From a personal perspective I have always found the charm offensive very difficult because I don’t have a silver tongue to seduce random strangers at launch parties, meetings or screening invites. We are all made differently and the path ahead is not always going to be a fair or equal one.

When Labour leader Ed Miliband spoke of the British promise being under threat by cuts to public spending. He tapped into a deeper trend of how the current generation cannot expect to exceed the wealth and standard of living of their parents. There is nothing clever about making the best jobs only for the rich and by narrowing the best opportunities to rich home owning families it only serves to create an increasingly divided and unequal society.

Clearly there are social, moral and long-term economic benefits from having a well educated workforce and to frighten off potential students from poorer or lower-middle class backgrounds is foolhardy in the extreme. It makes me extremely angry that higher education is perceived solely as a means for people to make money.

Surely in the current economic climate our future values have to change. We should be looking to create a fairer, balanced and more equal society instead of this myopic chase of prosperity. Even by writing inside a rented box in the sky for nothing, I am still enormously proud of my university education and feel it should be open and accessible to anyone. Something even Lord Wei would agree about as he reduces his voluntary hours in order to pay the bills.

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