Ricky V the V.I.P. (Very Insubstantial Poster)

In Dresden, basketball really is a special sport.

Never go full derp. Never.

Sometimes, only “Oh, snap” will do.

The newest happy resident of L’hotel Arden.

I am proud to be even somewhat loosely linked to the utterly amazing Azealia Banks.

p.s. my old uni flat was 47 Arden Street, Edinburgh. It’s nickname was l’hotel Arden.

p.p.s. if you STILL Hadn’t noticed Azealia is posing in front of 47 Arden Street. See below. That dude in a cap is probably me or something.

After just under a month in Dresden, I have a place to live! This is the big news. After an age of looking for somewhere and seeing a host of flats that would fall at the final curtain (hidden costs, weird issues, etc.), it is nice to be able to finally be sorted. From the 50-year old lady with 4 children under the age of 10, who was looking for economic and emotional support during a ‘financial crisis’ enduced by her Husband running off with another woman by letting out a room illegally (talk about a depressing flat - bless her, though, I wish her the best), to the countless rooms that classified a ‘bed’ as a mattress on a floor, I’m ridiculously pleased that the hunt is over and I appear to have landed on my feet.

My new flat is in the trendy ‘Neustadt’ - home of parties, bars, culture and parties - living with three German people who speak the national language “German”. I am hoping to pick up some ‘German’ in the time that I live there, so this is a definite positive. As is their brilliant English. Another definite positive is just how damn cheap everything is - my room is a good size (in true efficiency you never describe a room descriptively - it is a quantified metre squared measure - mine is 14m²) and also includes, furniture, internet and all bills for just €188 a month (£165.29  on today’s - 28.10.2011 - exchange rate). Pretty crazy, especially for the centre of town.

However, my room is pretty bare as the furniture is yet to arrive:

Kinda resembles a prison cell, with a gay-pride carpet at the moment. The provided furniture is arriving in the nest few days - *phew*. And you may spot the ladder to the left - that’s for my BUNK BED. Yep, it’s kinda the norm here to have an elevated bed (elevated well above my height so at least 2m high - that’s proper elevation) and every night I play the dice with death that is climbing the stairs and trying not to fall out of the barrier-lacking sides of my bunk bed. It’s pretty novel and a childish thrill now, but ask me how I feel after 4 months and a lot of bruises. Hopefully I can keep landing on my feet…

I will miss my hostel for both it’s inspiring architecture…

rman

and it’s painted shed outside which inexplicably has Roger Federer and Jim’s dad from American Pie on them. Oh and I’ll miss Business Deal.

But apart from that, it is nice to be out of that hostel. I’m tired of sharing rooms with men in pants or men without pants. For now, it’s time to make home sweet home, my home.

In an attempt to learn more German I have thrown myself into as many German social groups as possible. The ideal opportunity came with the sports teams that the University offered. After signing up through the most ridiculously over-the-top system, in which each sport had a time at which the spots ‘opened’ up on a first-come-first-served basis in a series of mini-Glastonbury ticket sale-style maddening page refreshing, I found myself in three sports. Football to try and get back into it properly, Frisbee to meet a notoriously friendly bunch and Latinamerikanische und Standard Tanze.

That’s Latin American and Ballroom Dancing auf Englische. Why ballroom is standard I don’t know - I feel that a raised, drunken arm clutching a bottle of stella, a pout and two firmly bobbing knees is much more of a standard dance, but whatever. Regardless of terminology, I thought dancing would be a fun way to meet some German speakers and to improve an area of my life in which I am really enthusiastic, but not very gifted. I’m not the most coordinated at the best of times, but putting my motor skills to the test through formal dance seems a push. But one that I was really willing to throw myself into.

The first lesson was the standard waltz - a dance that I think a lot of Europeans presume I know because I’m British. I quickly set them straight with far too many bumped knees as I slaughtered a classic dance. I felt sorry for my partner who is trained in ballet, jazz and modern dancing and had to get led by Frankenstein’s monster-comes-dancing.

It was, then, to my suprise when I actually started to be ‘ok’ at waltzing. As we incorporated sweeping circles and some tunes I recognised (Simply Red) into the equation, we were suddenly jamming, baby. And then the dance instructor gave me some words I will hold dear forever: “You are doing beautiful”. To which myself and my partner started giggling like schoolgirls. Pros. The instructor later returned and shed some further light on our style, explaining that despite our height difference (about a foot, or 30cm as they say on the continent) causing some troubles, “we were still beautiful to watch dancing”. Wow.

That’s right, I am a beauty to watch dancing. I never thought that these words would be directed at me. Roll on the cha cha cha next week!

Dresden is a brillaint city, brimming with a variety of cultural outputs, but it isn’t a city that gets many bands touring. So when, I was flicking through lists of obscure bands and I cam across the name ‘Metronomy (UK)’ I got pretty excited. After checking that this was, indeed, THE Metronomy I so know and so love, it was straight to every record and ticket vendor for awkwardly bad German requests for tickets.

Now, with my place secured in the intimate, German crowd, I’ve started getting properly excited. With the release of Metronomy’s third album, the Mercury-nominated English Riveria, earlier in the year, Metronomy have been the soundtrack to significant parts of my 2011. With the album taking a more easy-listening, poppy and less ‘abrasive’ sound it was perfect ‘revision’ music (along with Vanessa Carlton’s ‘A Thousand Miles’) and, so, takes me back to my last months in Edinburgh.

Also, as the second act I saw at Glastonbury and one of my highlights of the whole festival, Metronomy and The English Riveria takes me to post-exam, pre-graduation celebratory times. And they are some pretty brilliant times to reminisce over. Add in the seagulls on the opening track and other odes to great British holidays and Metronomy have become a link to Britain. Come the 2nd December in ‘Beatpol’ when Metronomy hit the stage, I think it’s going to be a beutifual mix of sentimentality and dance-a-mental-ality. And I cannot wait.

In my excitement I’ve been introduced to two of their BRILLIANT videos. First their video to The Bay is so well shot and does a fantastic job of making Torquay a cool and sexy resort:

And for some ‘classic’ Metronomy, the video to A Thing For Me is such a fantastic idea, presented with some genuines humour and creativity.

Enjoy!

If you are reading this and you know me, you are probably aware that I speak quite bad English. I swear a lot, I miss letters out from words, I make words up that sound like they should be words (I still maintain that ‘swope’ should be the past participle of swipe), I mumble and, generally, just talk a bit crap.

Well imagine my suprise when multiple sources out here have told me that I talk ‘like Prince Charles’ and ‘not the English accent that a lot of people who come hear speak’. The primary question that this begs is “Who are the cretins that these guys have been meeting?”. Apart from that, though, I ruddy love it and it’s a reet good ego-boost and simply the easiest way to make friends ever!

People just love a Brit out here and, more specifically, love my link with Scotland. To mention that I am from England gets a great response, to mention I lived in London for two months set’s the eyes ablaze and four years in Edinburgh pretty much finishes them off right there and then. They just love it. The picture they have of Scotland is so beautiful everyone has either visited it and deems it “very pretty” or it is on their ‘must visit list’.

The other night I was at a uni party (held in a lecture theatre - really cool to bust some shapes in a learning environment) and met somebody in the toilets (not like that) and he started chatting to me (really, it wasn’t like that) and then he bought me a drink (No, I swear it wasn’t. At least I think…), just to chat about ‘Schottland’ and get my opinion on the differences between single and double Scottish malts. Obviously I had no idea and just used words that he couldn’t understand to answer his question (yep, I’m a dickhead), but he was just so keen to talk to a Brit.

So if you are ever feeling insecure and unloved I would recommend a trip to Dresden, where it won’t just be me loving you, the whole population will be loving you. Unless you are from Slough - that still has a bad reputation out here, which thrills me.

In the hostel in which I am staying, there are also a few hotel rooms that are meant to be swankier. Well I imagine they are meant to be swankier than the 8-man dorms without sheets or towels that are full of people drinking beer in silence (I was in one for 1 night and had to move to a four-man dorm full of people drinking beer, but conversing). To return to topic, I came across an advert in the ho(s)tel for one of the ‘swankier’ hotel rooms and it is one of the most brilliant things I have ever seen.

It is so brilliant that I feel it could be steeped in irony - but, with not a single hint of irony elsewhere in the building, I can only agree upon one thing: this advert is simply amazing.

Better go and do some corporate agreement and business deal! 

After six days in Dresden I feel I can accurately comment on some aspects of life out here - maybe not the intricacies, but the general feel of the city is familiar to me now. The over-arching feeling of the city (and maybe the nation, if stereotypes are taken to be true) is that it is one helluva efficient city. From trains that will always, always, always leave bang on time, to what seems a constantly flowing tram network, Dresden just works.

Or at least it works for all that are part of Dresden’s ‘system’. To the locals and even my coursemates from all over the world who had months to arrange their visits to allow an efficient and pain-free arrival, the system is an absolute keeper. But to me, arriving at short notice and without time to plan the details of my visit, the system has been a cruel one.

If you love technical details, read this bit. If not, ignore this beast of a chapter. So, once I arrived in Dresden I needed a place to stay - student accomodation isn’t organised by the university itself and is run by a private company Studentenwerk. So, after booking into a hostel, my primary goal was to get into student halls. This was not to be, as the halls were fully booked. So I asked about the ‘guesthouse’ that they have for international visitors (i.e. folk like me). This was also fully booked so it was back to the hostel, to look either for a private flat or to return to Studenwerk to see if any students didn’t turn up for term. To apply to fill in one of these rooms, you need to be a student, so I went to enrol with the University - before I could do this, though, I had to pay an induction fee. This could not be paid in cash and had to be transferred via the internet, and proof of the transfer (a screenshot) provided. Upon presenting the university with the proof, I had to present the original copies of my degree certificates along with valid travel insurance. This allowed me to enrol, which allowed me to receive a university card (which provides free travel throughout the city - brilliant efficiency) and to apply for a library card. However, you cannot get a Library Card until you register in the city (every German or international visitor to any city in Germnay for over a week needs to register at the city’s registration office or face risk of being forced to leave the city), so I went to register. But you cannot register without a permanent living address. Which I don’t have, which meant I was living in the city under the government’s radar! And without registration in the city and a permanent address, you cannot set-up a bank account, which I need to receive my scholarship fees.

Sooooooooo, essentially, my inability to get a flat was really stopping me to live my life in anyway. I managed to enrol with the university fine and after a lot of explanation and persuasion, I WAS able to register into the city with a temporary hostel address, under the agreement that I would have to re-register the 1st day I get a flat. All good, but I am still without accomodation, bank account and, subsequently, scholarship.

The issue here, is that the Dresden system for students is so well integrated into the very fabric of city life to maximise efficiency that when you try and act spontaneously (as I was forced to when drafted in as a last-minute replacement), it is an absolute nightmare. Efficiency only works if everyone knows how to act efficiently as part of the system and, unfortunately for me, this was not the case here.

But once I can find a flat (got some viewings in private flats next week) I can get a bank account and properly register and, hopefully, the never ending Mobius strip of bureaucro-crap I have faced can end.

Apart from the hoops, though they have taken such good care of us: when arriving as an international student at Technische Universitat Dresden, you receive an arty ‘Dresden’ bag. Despite acting as the ultiamte signifier of being foreign, it contains a decorated chopping-board, lunch-box and seat cushion-thing:

Which is nice and could even induce one to skip. Cooler still though, is that when you register with the city itself, they also give you a goody bag in Dresden’s city colour of yellow:

It contains maps, books, city pens and stationery and all sorts of cool stuff. When you think this is the equivalent of the notoriously surly British immigration control, one has to doth ones cap to Dresden!

Sorry if it all seemed a bit whiny before and, if it did, it doesn’t convey my emotions. I’m loving everything out here, I just though it would be worth updating you on the ‘administrative’-side of my life!

Ok, back to the German equivalent of gum-tree!

Yesterday was my first full day in Dresden and I have a dirty secret already from it: on my first day I ate a McDonalds for breakfast and a Subway for dinner.

Please, let me explain. Monday was a bank holiday in Germany in remembrance of the reunification of the country in the late 80s. And when Germany does a bank holiday, it does it properly - literally nowhere was open. So when I had to buy a quick snack for breakfast, there were no supermarkets, no bakeries, no currywurst stalls. The only food dispenser open was McDonalds. And when trying to find somewhere in the evening, there was only McDonalds and Subway, so I broadened my horizons with a 15cm sandwich had my way.

I felt pretty horrendously Western when, having arrived in such a culturally rich and diverse nation, I decided to not only feed the corporate fatcats, but eat the most western of foods. 

Here is a point of interest though: in Germany they don’t call the bread ‘Italain Herbs and Cheese’, they call it Kase and Oregano. Translated as cheese and oregano, which I think we can all agree, is considerable further insight for us all into the specifics of Subway’s ‘italain herbs’.

Wow, this is just like Pulp Fiction…

Hallo!

It has been just over 24 hours since I landed in Dresden and, so far, it’s been pretty unreal. It was all kicked off with both the UK and Germany giving their absolute best to possess my heart: both presented me with an absolute stunner of a day that allowed me to peruse houses as far as the horizon from my plane seat and whilst ‘Germany’ gave me free beers on my flight (god bless Lufthansa), GB gave me free Pimm’s in the termninal. A top performance by both that made my day of travel a very pleasant one and put me in a state of both sentimentality and excitement (typical Richard).

Once I landed, I arrived at my hostel and, within 10 minutes of logging onto the internet to clock in a ‘arrived safely, stop stressing’ with the ‘ol rentals, I was being invited to a party by my coursemates. This party turned out to be as hipster as it comes and was some crazy, random fun in the communal garden of a bunch of flats in the cool ‘Neustadt’ area of Dresden. With a massive table-tennis tournament serviced by a drinks bar, a dance floor (compromising of a vintage rug spread over the grass) manned by a DJ playing exclusively 50s and 60s vinyl and more baggy trousers than a Madness convention, it was pretty damn ‘cool’ and a hell-load of fun. The highlight had to be the sofa that was placed on the roof of a shed (decorated with fairylights, obviously) that had been built around a flourishing apple tree. It was pretty satisfying and, also, pretty power-trippy to lord it up on there.

Two of my coursmates power tripping away on the sofa throne

The next day it was a daytrip with some of the coursemates to the Bastiel – a famous landmark, just out from Dresden.  Situated just out from one of the quaintest German towns I could have imagined…

… the Bastiel is a bridge built to connect a series of huge, protruding rocky masses that sit roughly 300m in the air. Massive. After a pretty steep climb on a blisteringly hot day (my Ambre Soleil 50 for Kids kept me burn-free perfectly, though, before you ask) we were rewarded with a host of amazing sights. From the ‘typical German man’ singing glorious folk songs in the forest to breathtaking views of the valley from our rocky platform, it was a feast for the sense upon which we gorged. The bridge itself, though, was a master of engineering and a true thrill to not only see but walk across. With the course I am on dominated by engineers, I’m pretty sure a lot of them were crying inside just at the sight, inbetween making mental technical drawings.

Also, if you have seen Avatar Also, you KNOW Avatar? Well, talk about an inspiration for the legendary floating mountains of Pandora, galaxy renowned for their beauty.

Auf Wiedersehn

Since I last blogged a lot has happened. Firstly, I was lucky enough to move down to London to work for BBC Radio 2 for just under a month. I had a brilliant time working in a fantastic office full of brilliant, bright individuals who made radio that I appreciated even more after seeing the processes behind it. As consistently quality radio content goes, Radio 2 is an example that is one of the best in the industry.

I was due to stay with Radio 2 for three months but, after, three weeks I received an email informing me that I had been accepted onto a masters course that I had previously applied for and previously been rejected from. However, an individual dropped out at the last minute and, as the reserve candidate, I was offered a place and had an afternoon to make a decision. With the course already underway, time was of the essence.

It seems a tricky situation, but when all the details are provided it was a simple decision, with the masters emerging victorious. This being said, upon being informed of my place I ran to a toilet cubicle, locked myself in and rang my mum and my friend for advice - it literally felt like a teen pregnancy moment.

The reason the masters ruled supreme was, quite simply, because it is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Set across four different nations (Dresden, Germany; Delft, Netherlands; Barcelona, Spain and Ljubljana, Slovenia) over two years and with a full scholarship it was an unrivalled opportunity to gain vast academic experience whilst tasting a variety of cultures and, hopefully, having a lot of fun.

The course is on Flood Risk Management, and includes four of the leading hydrological institutes in Europe and the opportunity to study at somewhere like the UNESCO-IHE in Delft is simply amazing. (Any hydrologists out there, you know what I’m talking about…). With an opportuntiy to study a topic I deem both interesting and globally important at these institutes (on a scholarship, the lucky beggar that I appear to be) there was nothing that would stop me. Not even the most listened to radio station in the UK. (Radio 2, not Fresh Air)

So, this blog post is a way of breaking some significant news to you: I am leaving the UK on Sunday for two years, to study Flood Risk Management across Europe. Standard.

I kick off the program in Dresden. My timetable for the two years is below, so be ready to hear about my exploits along this timeline.

If you are interested about the course in more detail it has a website. Yes, the course has it’s own website. Ridiculous. http://www.floodriskmaster.org/

Stay tuned for watery-adventures. 

Leicester’s shot at the summer festival pie, Summer Sundae, had its two pence worth on the 12^th-14^th August for its 11^th birthday. First impressions of the festival is that its on brilliant site - nestled just out of the Leicester city centre, the complex includes Leicester’s steeped-in-history De Montfort Hall - the home of Leicestershire theatre for years. With access to the stage in the hall, itself, and a number of other stages a stone’s throw away in the surrounding botanical gardens, it is certainly an attractive locale.

Perhaps it is this location that is part of the festival’s appeal as a family-favourite. The most popular demographic was most definitely families and with loads to keep kids occupied, it really was a great place for parents with kids in tow. As a single, twenty-two year old, there were times when walking through these areas, I felt a bit confused and, probably looked even more so confused. However, the music on offer was, mostly, not aimed at the youth market (minus the inclusion of Sunday’s headliners McFly) and this is where I hoped to feel less out of place.

With an atmospheric indoor stage, covered tents and the open air main stage, Summer Sundae had the opportunity to present a range of performances that you would struggle to find elsewhere. This was summed up most impressively by King Creosote and John Hopkins’ performance indoors, in the hall. With grand piano, soaring vocals and soft guitar, the majesty of their work would feel lost outdoors but, insider De Montfort Hall, you could hear a pin drop and the atmosphere created was like nothing I have ever felt at a festival, with the audience responding with one of the warmest applause of the weekend. It was beyond doubt that King Creosote and John Hopkins killed it and, part of this was due to the unique venue at Summer Sundae’s disposal.

Conversely, when the Maccabees and Example were taking to the main stage they had the vast crowds in the palm of their hand, enjoying the welcome opportunities that come with festivals to enjoy music out in the elements.

The line-up, however, was a confusing one. At some points the stages were the home to ‘alternative’ music sat awkwardly next to past-it-pop acts. Never was this more pronounced when Bellowhead, the 11-piece art-folk band, were followed by Reef, that band who that one song in 1996 and haven’t released an album since 2000. I mean, come on. What is the crowd meant to do when the line-up is so juxtaposed?

With other brilliant performances from Admiral Fallow, Warpaint and Elliott Morris, the festival, to me, seemed to be doing a better job at serving the alternative fans, of which there were many. As a city that doesn’t see much off the beaten track, the ‘alternative’ population of Leicester were out in hat-wearing-force and this is where the festival succeeded the most. The Maccabees headlining, not Newton Faulkner. Everything Everything, not Showaddywaddy.

 Overall, Summer Sundae is a festival that is brilliant for the festival family-goers and that I think would be the perfect first festival for a 14-year old experimenting with daytime drinking and wearing hats, but for the young-adult audience such as myself, Summer Sundae will live and die by its line-up. And, for me, this year, the festival just fell short. Next year, with the addition of a few more credible, rising, non-sweary artists, the festival can continue the growing name it is gathering to both young music fans and families.

3/5 Stars

As a Leicester City fan perusing BBC Sport, I have naturally been following Leicester’s pursuit of left-back Michael Ball. Throughout the story that has ran through the summer my overarching impression was: that is a terrible photograph.

Today, Ball was announced as a Leicester player and my sporting opinion has remained unchanged:

If you were Michael Ball you would feel a little hard done by - the largest news website in the UK insisting on using a true stinker of a photo. 

Well, at least every story has brought a smile to my face.

And at least it has got the old MS Paint going again.

Here is Ballenstein, his frequent halloween costume:

And here is Michael Ball with a bag on his head. Obviously.

Bless the poor lad and his well-paid sporting career.

I have recently returned from my time at university in Edinburgh, one of the world’s great cities - a bustling European capital full of character, tales and culture at every turn down it’s meandering streets - to Rutland.

Like all quality journalism, it takes 124hours and 15minutes to report a story that consists of two sentences and 31 words. 31 words frothing with news, overfilling out of the chalice of journalism, though.

Obviously, to ensure the gravitas of this tragedy, ‘EMERGENCY’ has to be spelt in capitals.

Rutland I love you, but your bringing me down…