Patrick

Cullen

Writing

Portfolio

2015

Travel Writing:

Irkutsk

Irkutsk is known as the 'Paris of Siberia' which is kind of like saying the New York of the Sahara or the Berlin of Kansas. A seemingly incongruous title with little bearing on reality. However, when you arrive from an eleven hour border crossing from Mongolia and somehow shuffle out of the train and through the white, wide archways of the station, for a moment you feel like you could believe the hype.

Irkutsk sits at the edge of Lake Baikal, the largest freshwater lake in the world and now has a population close to half a million people. To its northern edge sits the wastelands of Siberia, and in winter, temperatures here can break negative twenty. Lucky for us, in August, with the sun shining well into the early hours of the evening, it feels like you could almost be in Paris.

The earth shattering difference however, comes in the night-life. Paris is world renowned for pumping nightclubs, sweaty dance floors and sanguine wine bars flanked by beautiful, glamorous men and women, seductively smoking cigarettes and debating the impact of Foucault on modern philosophy. However, Strastosphere Irkutsk's number one nightclub (according to Trip Advisor) greets its patrons with armed guards and metal detectors. Pleased that our overall likelihood of being stabbed was significantly reduced, we charged on through and found a massive open front bar. The room would have been the size of of a soccer pitch, a central four corner bar the main feature, electric blue LED lighting glinted from its corners as pumping house music echoed off the high black walls. Maybe it was the sheer size of the room, or the eight creepy looking dudes milling around the edges but the front bar looked massive and decidedly empty. Plush, black leather, booth seating hugged the walls, split by stainless steel tables. Outside of the door we came through and the dance floor through the archway on the opposite side, there was only one other exit.

As the clock struck eleven, we bought huge cans of surprisingly strong, and outrageously cheap Russian beer and decided to explore our new surroundings. The dance floor was complete with mirrored floors, walls and doors. Smoke machines pumped thick vapour into the air and gratuitous lazer lights shot colour through the haze. One, lonely Russian man grooved with the passion of a thousand by himself on the dance floor. Nick and I decided that perhaps this scene wasn’t for us. Back into the front bar we went and at this point things were looking a little bit dire. We decided to try the last door, and failing that buy a bottle of cheap vodka and head back to the hotel. The plain grey MDF door swung open to reveal a full nine lane disco bowling alley.

A beautiful mid twenties Russian girl, stood behind the desk and seeing us, quickly returned to perusing her blackberry. Disco bowling and a free shisha pipe as well as a few beers for the equivalent of thirty bucks! For close to three hours we were in ten pin heaven. We returned to the dance floor to find it absolutely heaving. We couldn’t believe our eyes. The lonely Russian man from before was now swamped by jaw droppingly stunning girls dancing in large groups all round the edges of the floor. We immediately headed for the largest group, strong beer in our veins and shisha pipe in our hands. After the initial awkwardness we quickly made friends on accent alone. Needless to say the dream was being lived. However our attempts to dance one on one with these girls didn’t quite go to plan. It turns out that in Russia, you don’t dance with each other, or even with your friends. You dance with your reflection in the mirrored walls and any attempt to get between a girl and her mirror is not appreciated.

As the night rolled on, we realised we were little more than backing dancers in the video clips of their minds and headed home with heads held high and sore glutes from three hours of disco bowling. Overall Irkutsk is well worth a visit, believe you me, it's a long way from Paris, but it is far more than it seems.

Short form blog post- Small Business happiness

Starting your own business could make you happier

and healthier, study finds.

Small business maestro's GoDaddy conducted a survey of 507 of their small business customers, who've taken the leap of faith of being their own boss. As has been well documented here at The Collective and plastered over thousands of blogs and magazines as far as the eye can see, being your own boss is no cake walk, but this new study shows that if you put in the effort, the rewards could be fantastic.

� 88% are more optimistic about the future and have high hopes for the future of their business.

� 83% are much happier than when they worked for someone else.

� 53% exercise more than they did at their previous job. � 72% eat healthier than they did at their previous job. � 56% wear whatever they want, including pyjamas as their power suit.

Via GoDaddy at https://garage.godaddy.com/godaddy/news/the-joys-of-owning-a-small-business-infographic/

So if your feeling overworked, unenthusiastic and negative about your workplace, maybe it's time to start thinking about following your dream and starting that online organic fruit shop or clothing line. We also thoroughly endorse the idea of wearing power suit pyjamas as often as possible. if you're currently in short supply you can find some pretty fantastic options here: http://www.laylagrayce.com/c/womens-apparel/pajamas.aspx

The other lasting statistic to come out of the GoDaddy survey was that 83% of people noted the importance of having a personalised website. If there's one thing that can make or break a new business it's website design. It doesn’t need to be flashy or overly complex but good design is always appreciated by users, weather they consciously realise it or not. The final cog in the small business machine is social media, with 58 percent saying its important to use social media in conjunction with their personalised website. Basically, if you have a great idea, know your way round design and marketing and really like the idea of working from the comfort of your bed, starting your own business could make you a much happier person.

Short Fiction- Melancholy and the Infinite Pillage

by Patrick Cullen.

The boats slid silently into the empty port, soft dreary rain dripped down onto the long ship full of Norsemen, while one of the fearsome warriors, Olaf, gazed off the starboard bow and marvelled at the glittering stars above. The footsteps of Thor sparkled in the deep black sky, drifting through pitching grey clouds. It was...beautiful. Olaf grabbed the stick of charcoal hidden in the depths of his long red beard. Even though he was only 23, Olaf possessed the kind of facial hair that men from Oslo to Hedeby would weep themselves to sleep with jealousy for. With the cold charcoal pressed into his fingers, Olaf glanced around the boat. Hardened warriors of many more battles than he, sat in silence, priming themselves for the fight to come. Some sharpened axes on sticks of flint, others said mumbling prayers to the gods above, but most sat in a state of complete focus, waiting for the signal to attack.

Olaf slowly retrieved the small piece of parchment from his boot, careful not to arouse suspicion of his true intention. One inch, two, three, nearly four when, Ragnar in front of him stirred. The mass of moose fur moving, as if to turn in his direction; in a flash Olaf slammed the charcoal back into the folds of his beard, and the parchment back between the soft leather of his boot as Ragnar turned and glared at him. Piecing blue eyes set into a face that had taken far too many punches to the nose, Ragnar was at best obnoxious and at worst completely nauseating.

“If you've so much as thought about putting those fish guts in my helmet again, I'll cut off your cock and send it to your father on a breastplate, you got it?”

Olaf nodded. The fish guts joke was usually pulled on Olaf himself, maybe he was moving up in the world. Ragnar grunted and turned back to face the bow. Olaf reached for his charcoal, but as soon as he laid finger to it, a deep baritone voice yelled from the foremost boat “Attack!” Torches were lit, battle cries started from the eight longboats simultaneously, as they hit the muddy shore of Lindisfarne. The other vikings, grabbed their long axes, hand axes, throwing axes, great axes and war axes and leaped out of the boats. Screams echoed through the little fishing village. The bells of the church began to thunder, a pointless attempt to warn the townsfolk of their incoming doom.

Olaf sighed. Another day