The Christmas Quiz

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. At the beginning of last month, anyone watching BBC One whilst having their tea might have seen my cousin Matthew and I win both the coveted Pointless trophy and jackpot, something I still can’t believe even a year after the recording. It’s not every day you sit down with a cup of tea to watch yourself on TV (twice), and it’s even rarer that you get so many people patting you on the back at work for so long afterwards. Not that I’m complaining – it was all good fun and I will always be very proud of how things turned out. But now some people want to know which quiz show I might sign up for next, and I’ve also been approached to write a Christmas quiz for our team. One of my colleagues is keen to collaborate with me, and I am looking forward to the challenge, but the pressure is definitely on. We both want to put on a good show! I think we’re equally intimidated by the sight of a blank page. We’ve already had the same interaction a few times. First, the question: “Have you started yet?” Then the sheepish response: “No, but I will. Soon. Tonight.”

The ball is now rolling, however – very slowly, at least. I don’t want to give too much away, but I’m planning a round inspired by Pointless itself, one I previously used during my Zoom lockdown quizzes in 2020. I’ve no idea if what I’ll rustle up will be any good, but I’m looking forward to getting the quizzing juices flowing once more. It’s just a shame I can’t take part and leave everyone else in the dust…

Mason

Found In The Archives

It’s almost 20 years since this photo – which Mum unearthed while looking for Scrabble yesterday – was taken (25 August 2004, my seventh birthday). A lot has changed in that time. The wheelchair is now electric, I’ve outgrown the Thunderbirds T-shirt I’m wearing and I don’t need the leg splints anymore. But one thing remains the same – fast cars still put a big smile on my face.

I later graduated from museums to racetracks. A natural progression, I guess you could say…

Mason

The Vault

The coffee shop – two or three weeks ago, or thereabouts – scribbling away…

Damn. I’ve used this notebook for the one thing I vowed I never would – talking shop. Jotting notes from meetings. In the past, that might have ruined it forever, tainted it to such an extent that I couldn’t use it again. It sounds silly, I know, but it’s always been too easy to feel like I’ve failed in my mission to use it for one purpose and one purpose only. But this time I’m ignoring that, pressing on and using it as a starting point instead. Anything will lend itself to a stream of consciousness if you give it a chance. Besides, as I may or may not have admitted to before, I owe it to Liz to put this book to good use, so that it doesn’t suffer the same fate as so many of its predecessors. And it’s no more useful than it is here, in the coffee shop, accompanying me as I slurp my way through a hot chocolate with plump marshmallows. It gives me precious respite from the screen time that dominates my week. I’ve saved it for precisely this moment, too. It’s approximately 4.30pm, and on a Saturday the place closes at 5pm. When they kick me out, I’ll emerge from warmth and sanctuary into chilly November air – but I’ll still be warmed by the twinkle of those familiar, inspiring lights. I love seeing them framed by steamed-up windows. It makes this feel like the cosiest place on Earth.

Christmas is coming!

Mason

Ja, La, Za

In my first post of 2023, I want to talk about that weird limbo week between Christmas and New Year. It brought many delights, among them the chance for Mum, Dad and I to spend time with my brother Louis and his boyfriend Ali, who came down from Birmingham for the festivities. Of course, these largely consisted of a great deal of eating and lounging, but we did also set time aside for a few games – including a couple of rounds of Scrabble. Let me tell you, playing Scrabble can be a real experience in our house, particularly if Louis and Ali are involved. While we’re all capable of spending a nice hour or two rubbing along without causing any disagreements, more often than not, we tend to very vocally challenge certain words that appear on the board. The boys are particularly prone to coming up with questionable suggestions.

Take the other night, for example. Once Louis, Ali, Mum and I had started playing, we were quickly faced with the age-old obstacle of a board on which large parts had been blocked off early. Certain Triple Word Score squares were impossible to reach, and elsewhere there was no room to spread out anyway, leaving us with no choice but to pick up what points we could with shorter, less rewarding submissions. This was where the disputes arose, and they continued without end until the final stages – the most notable of these concerned the three words you see at the very top of this post. You might be forgiven for thinking that they’re barely words at all, at least not in English. According to our 2012 Scrabble Dictionary, however, they’re not only clearly defined, but they’re all permitted in the game. ‘Ja’ is, of course, the German for ‘yes’, while ‘la’ is included in its capacity as the sixth note of the musical scale. ‘Za’, meanwhile, was the one that infuriated me most of all, since it merely appears to be an American colloquialism for ‘pizza’. A colloquialism – and an abbreviation too – allowed in Scrabble? Surely not. I think the game is going downhill, and I reckon any normal player would agree with me, but Louis and Ali are not normal players.

Louis won in the end. There may only have been seven points separating him and Mum in second, but we all know what it was that put him ahead – this farce has reminded us to get an updated Scrabble Dictionary, so we don’t have as many issues in future. It was a lot of fun, though, and while it might seem like a random story for me to tell here, it’s the kind of daft memory you want in black and white for posterity. There are good vibes, and I’m not actually going on an anti-Scrabble rant (hopefully you can tell I’ve written this with tongue planted firmly in cheek). I’m sure you’ll agree it makes for a fitting post to start the new year with – one that I hope will have plenty more good things in store for me. The first post I write next January will reflect on much more than just a board game, I’m sure of that…

Mason

Not The Christmas Market

I thoroughly enjoyed my weekend in Winchester, and on Friday afternoon I finally got the chance to have a look around the Christmas market I’d been excited to see for so long. Unfortunately, so did a lot of other people, meaning it was very busy (even more so on Saturday, when I aborted an attempt to go back because 400,000 people had seemingly decided to drop by at once). I had to be vigilant however I moved, lest I knock over any children or elderly people in haste, but I was still glad to have gotten in for a browse. I couldn’t help but be amused at many selfies and family photos I had to duck out of – I’ll be very surprised if I haven’t been caught in a few, and immortalised in photobomb form!

The stalls there were selling all kinds of weird and wonderful things, from Christmas decorations, bath bombs and fudge to salt and pepper mills shaped like chess pieces. There was plenty of choice in terms of things to eat and drink, too. One of the first things you notice is how much you can smell, be it gluhwein, roasted chestnuts, hot dogs, fish and chips, or any of the other sweet and savoury delights on offer. You’re also struck by the joy that all of this stimulation is bringing people – there’s so much to see, listen to, feel, and all in the shadow of the majestic cathedral that looms over you as you take it in. Being able to witness it means it’s an even bigger shame that I couldn’t get a clear photo of anything, that I couldn’t capture any of these wonders to share them with you, although I should really have anticipated how popular they’d be.

I therefore came away empty-handed, but I was still determined to have something on Third Time Enabled for posterity, and what better alternative is there than the tree in the high street? It’s always impressive, but I personally feel this one is the biggest and best one yet, and I hope you agree. It might not be a photo from the Christmas market, but I feel it very much captures the magic of the season, the occasion, and my little holiday.

Mason

Not A Skunk, Not A Punk, But A Monk

Tomorrow morning, I’ll be setting sail for Winchester once again, this time primarily to sample the delights of its annual Christmas Market. I somehow completely neglected it during university, so I look forward to rectifying that, but I’m also excited by the prospect of any other new discoveries I might make. On my last trip there – during a mid-August heatwave – there were several, and if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you might remember decorative hares dotted through the city for charity. There was also the refurbishment of my favourite coffee shop, a new ice-cream parlour (which I couldn’t take advantage of thanks to a pesky front step), and – most bafflingly of all – a monk standing at the bottom of the high street. Yes, you read that last bit correctly.

I had the good fortune to chat to him for a little while, not that I’d originally intended to. As I’m sure many of us are, I’ve always been quite wary of anyone who hangs around in the middle of town trying to sell something. Winchester seems to be a hotspot for that sort of thing, so over the years I’ve become adept at spotting people in my peripheral vision and weaving around them in such a way that doesn’t make it obvious I’m avoiding them. Unfortunately, that skill had deserted me on this particular summer’s day, and in any case, the street was so busy that I couldn’t have given this gentleman the slip without mowing down a number of other pedestrians in the process. I was funnelled directly into his path, albeit so suddenly that I hadn’t even seen him coming until it was too late.

I can’t remember his name, but he was around my age. He asked me how I was, who I was, and where I’d come from, and even though I was naturally perplexed by what he was doing there, we struck up a conversation. From the outset, he was keen to stress that he was “not a skunk, and not a punk, but a monk” (that’s a blog post title if ever I’ve heard one, I thought). He also told me how much he liked my “vibes” and how laid back I was, and he asked me for my secret. How could I be so chilled and calm? If the truth be told, in that moment at least, there was no secret – I’d stopped questioning the situation and was going with the flow, since it was pretty clear he didn’t mean me any harm.

However, it was also pretty clear that he indeed hoped to persuade me to part with my cash, and before long he’d handed me some kind of spiritual self-help book, whilst looking at me with those pleading puppy dog eyes. As brilliant as I’m sure the book was, I had no interest in paying for it, so I mumbled something about already having spent too much that day (which wasn’t entirely untrue – it was so hot that I’d just been forced to fork out £12 for a cap in Marks and Spencer). I thought that would be that and we’d both carry on with our business, but if this whole exchange hadn’t already been bizarre enough, what happened next really took the biscuit. He told me that I needn’t worry because he also accepted Visa and MasterCard, and with that, he produced an electronic card reader from his robes.

I stifled a laugh, which remained bottled up until I’d declined the purchase and left the monk’s company, at which point I was in hysterics at how surreal – and utterly brilliant – the conversation had been. I’d been a little bit annoyed when I first got stuck with him, but in hindsight I’m glad that I did, because those are the moments and the stories I live for. I’m a writer, I mine material wherever I can, and that afternoon I struck gold without ever expecting to. Until I started writing this post I’d kept it to myself, because I wanted to make sure I did it justice, and now that it’s finally out there I’m really hoping I experience something just as noteworthy this weekend. I’ll definitely be looking and listening, but I’d say I’m unlikely to find another monk near the shops. After all, at this time of year he might freeze to death without a big coat!

Mason

Operation Book Club, Part 4

As I’m sure I’ve said before, it’s nice to peel your eyes away from a screen and take in some proper paper pages every now and again. The book club I have going with Lara and Nora was meant to facilitate that a bit more often, of course, but that seems to have stalled somewhat for the time being. We were meant to finally discuss A Natural History of Dragons earlier in the week, and confirm Nineteen Eighty Four as next on our list, but thanks to me that plan fell flat on its face (although it should be easier to schedule now that I’ve finished work for Christmas).

Lara’s generosity, however, means that we might have something else to talk about in the meantime. She’d been buying all of my books for the club anyway up to this point, but outside of that she also decided to buy one for each person in our friendship group, after making sure we hadn’t read it before. Ben was thrilled with The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which I also enjoyed earlier in the year, while I received The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole, the second in Sue Townsend’s series of books about a teenage diarist navigating the numerous challenges of adolescence. I’d read the first of those in Winchester too, and was pleasantly surprised to find that while it appeared to be aimed at readers of a similar age to its protagonist, it also contained a lot of humour that adults would appreciate – and that would go right over kids’ heads.

I reckon everyone else in our group might enjoy it. I don’t know if they’ll all read their respective books from Lara, but I hope they do. Not only will it allow them each to discover something new, but it might mean we can collectively review a number of different titles together – and aside from Ben, I don’t know what anyone else got, so it’d be interesting to find out. What’s more, by the time we finish them all, maybe Lara, Nora and I will at last be able to progress to George Orwell…

Mason

The Last Present

Last week, I had a small operation. It was the first time I’d had any kind of surgery since 2010, and it meant that I’d have to take it easy for a little while afterwards to allow the resulting wound to settle and heal. I could have chosen to fill my recuperation period with nothing but mindless screen time (and don’t get me wrong, there’s still been plenty of it), but instead, a sudden bolt of inspiration hit me out of the blue when I decided to finally use the last present left over from Christmas. I daresay that Mum was more than a little relieved when I told her about this.

I’m sure we’ve all had similar gifts to this one, in the sense that it was inadvertently forgotten. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate it – far from it, in fact. Actually, it’s one of the most useful things I’ve been given in some time. It’s just that Iife, and more specifically a Creative Writing degree, got in the way for a little while, and the present in question – a little piece of paper kept safe in a plastic folder – was pushed aside. It was just awaiting the right time to shine, although I didn’t really foresee that being nine months down the line! (See what I did there? I’m a poet, and I don’t know it.)

What was on the piece of paper I refer to, I hear you ask? Well, it wasn’t so much the sheet itself that was important, more the information upon it – namely a gift code for an online BBC Maestro course in screenwriting from the Line of Duty creator Jed Mercurio. This consists of a series of video tutorials, which will guide me from the very first seeds of an idea all the way through to a completed script for a TV drama. At the time of writing, I’ve only watched the first two videos, but I’m intrigued to find out what – if anything – I can develop through the rest. Of course, there’s a certain amount of the process that I’m already familiar with, but as these lessons are presented from Mercurio’s personal perspective, it’s likely that they’ll each come with unique insights and advice that I’ve never heard before. It’s always useful for me to remind myself never to dismiss the opinions or feedback of others, because – as I’ve probably told you before – you never quite know how it might improve your work. I’m looking forward to making my way through the remaining videos and, hopefully, flexing my screenwriting muscles once again. I probably should have gotten round to it sooner, but better late than never, I suppose. I just ought to make sure that I don’t leave any of this year’s Christmas presents lying around for too long!

Mason

A Writerly Dilemma

After the year we’ve all had, it might come as no surprise to you that I had been struggling to feel as festive as normal. The Christmas lights and decorations have definitely improved that, though, and Mum and Dad have excelled themselves with our tree once again. Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself sitting on the sofa and basking in its glow as I try to write something, be it for coursework or pleasure. I should probably place a certain amount of emphasis on ‘try’, because of late, not much new material has surfaced at all.

I’ve concluded that this is because of a constant battle, a dilemma of sorts, that goes on in my head. Every so often, I feel pressure to decide exactly what kind of writer I want to be, even though I’ve always maintained that I want to be as versatile as possible. As you’ll notice if you’ve seen the homepage of this blog, Third Time Enabled was created when I had time to kill after a Formula One qualifying session. Motorsport has always been a central part of my life, and so to some people the prospect of me going on to write about it seems only natural. It appears to be a logical step to me too, being the thing I arguably know most about.

The problem is, though, that only 50% of my brain thinks that. The other 50% worries about how well I could write about it – and beyond that, whether I actually want to at all. I’ve dabbled in motorsport reporting before, and because you’re talking about a fast-moving industry, where there’s a new story every minute, you largely have to stick to the facts, and you have to do so in a concise and easily digestible manner. Everything is black or white. I know you could say the same about any other form of journalism, but accepting that there seemingly won’t be much opportunity to spread my wings and show what I can do creatively takes a bit of getting used to.

The opinion piece, a much more subjective kind of writing, is more conducive to an inventive turn of phrase since it relies heavily on the author’s own view, but this is where another point of self-doubt arises. What if I publish something I have faith in and it transpires I have no idea what I’m talking about at all? Not doing a subject I love so much justice would be a great worry to me, as would pigeonholing myself specifically as a motorsport journalist. In addition to that, sometimes I think that I’m more comfortable just being a fan – kicking back and relaxing while I watch the Grand Prix on a Sunday afternoon. Turning it into my job could, in my opinion, be somewhat risky, and growing to even slightly resent racing doesn’t bear thinking about.

I have done my best to strike up a balance between writing about motorsport and everything else the world has to offer. This blog has a sister site, MOH Racing, founded in February last year – but as I type this now, only nine posts have been published on it. There must be some way I can overcome these lingering self-confidence issues, give equal attention to both of these blogs and any other projects, and maintain the versatility I’ve always wanted. Only time will tell – perhaps it can be a secondary New Year’s resolution for 2021.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Mason

Endless Miles

I’m writing this sat alone in the Learning Cafe, having just finished tinkering with one of my essays, due on Friday. There is almost total silence, save for the background hum of a generator an annoying high-pitched whine I can’t quite trace the source of. Despite my solitude, I am happy, since I have a Christmas meal at Lara’s flat with all of the gang to look forward to tomorrow, and I’ve just listened to the new Coldplay album, Everyday Life, which is simply brilliant. Once I’d taken my headphones off at the end, I started thinking about my own adapted set of Coldplay lyrics, which I’m working on for Composing Song Lyrics. I had to take them into class earlier this week so they could be critiqued by everyone, which is always a nerve-wracking experience. Even though I know it’s highly unlikely, I always expect everything I write to be completely torn to shreds, so you can imagine my relief when the lyrics came back with only a few notes for improvement at this stage.

My version of ‘In My Place’, entitled ‘Endless Miles’, is an intentionally cliched love song. Since I greatly admire the original, I was worried about accidentally making a mockery of it with my own words, but I knew I wanted to include it in my portfolio – and that any other lyrics I wrote for it would probably be no better. We are, of course, discouraged from including cliches unintentionally, but as long as you can justify your use of them, anything goes. Cliches can help to make a song more relatable or accessible to a listener, and as you might expect, they can be beneficial when you want to parody something. I wasn’t trying to do that, but I still found some of my lyrical choices laughably cringeworthy! I include ‘Endless Miles’ here for what I hope will be your enjoyment – although I haven’t made any of the changes that have been suggested just yet. Listen to the original track as you read these lyrics, and decide for yourself how well they fit:

(Verse 1)

Endless miles, endless miles

I’ve driven looking for you

Following your trail

But in the end, in the end

I rounded the final bend

And I saw no more

(Chorus 1)

There, the last call to let you go

There, no footprints left in the snow

There, the curtain to end the show

I go

(Verse 2)

Coming home, coming home

No-one and nowhere to roam

No-one on the phone

Is this love? Is this love?

You’re dropping me down from above

Down into the rain

(Chorus 2)

Here, the next chapter of my life

Here, when will I be free of strife?

Here, you cut me just like a knife

A knife

Darling

Why? Why? Why?

Why did you have to go?

No, no

Why don’t you say you’ll stay?

Now, now

Come on and talk to me

Please, please

I’m here at home

(Verse 3)

Endless miles, endless miles

I’ve driven looking for you

Now we’ve reached the end

The end.

Mason