From having had virtually nothing to say about uni it seems I have now approached the other extremity. A whole hoard of experiences accumulated and now there are too many to impart in a single lesson. Suffice to say that the hard work prevented me from visiting the union (except for when Liverpool played, of course) and hindered my ability to free gossip from the traps of beer-loosened lips. My occupation was rather unconventional. There were the odd essays, certainly. But the black-holes of time were a radio package and a documentary.
London is not London without its iconic red buses. As of this year, these red buses have become icons for another article altogether: the battle between religion and the unbelievers. This time through advertisements. There probably is no God, There definitely is, There definitely is not, There probably is… It’s an argument with no agreement, yet they all agree in one respect- to stop worrying and enjoy life. This seems like a futile effort given that the British are a worrisome lot, but then again London is not England. It could easily be the second largest city Greece, Bangladesh, India, Colombia, Russia, and any country connected to the Eurostar. Returning to radio, I chose my project to focus on the Atheist bus campaign. This meant having to trudge around Victoria station interviewing born-again Christian bus drivers, fundamental atheists and liberal spokesmen of the Church of England. They could have made my work more simple. How was I going to reduce two hours of conflicting conversations into a coherent 7 minute show? By making it even less understandable…obviously. I enjoyed the hours poured into these precious seconds of experimental radio, but a side of me does pity my teacher who must now grade a concoction of simultaneous natter, sounds and music as objectively as he can.
If you’re planning to get into producing media, you’d better be prepared to sacrifice your sight. You will blind yourself prematurely. Staring at sound-waves for days on end makes you see things differently, quite literally. Ironically, its not the radio material that makes one sound like a broken record, but the documentary. By the end of editing, you should be able to quote everyone and everything and laugh at the jokes no-one finds funny. It’s a sad and endearing thing to see, let alone experience. I did so repeatedly. We began filming back in January and have only just finished. That’s a lot of time, but then again we produced 20 minutes when we were only asked for 10. It was a risky move- for we either doubled the pleasure or tripled the torture (I find that the agony of boredom accelerates at a higher speed than joy). If, however, the latter is the case, we can at least rely on our subject matter to relieve some of the stress. One can fantasize over the fat-full morsels on display. Brick Lane Beigel Bakery was our chosen topic and it delights the eye with donuts, strudels and cheesecakes; though the salt-beef beigel is the star attraction. Incidentally, a friend once told me that cows are sacred, but too tasty to matter. I thoroughly agree, but I would add pork to the category. You see I may lack spiritual faith but I worship food most faithfully. Bagel Bake is a microcosm of multicultural society. It also manages to integrate the many men who went bonkers and stayed in their hallucinogenic trips down Brick Lane.
The project was wonderful to make, despite the fact that with two Mexicans and a Sardinian it was a highly embellished affair. Thankfully we relied on our English counterpart to bring us back down to earth. Now that I don’t sit next to them 7 hours a day, I have begun to miss their presence. But I find solace in the fact that we will all be re-united tomorrow in celebration, at the union of course.