Christmas day is over, church service attended, the presents have been wrapped and unwrapped and the ludicrous amounts of turkey eating have begun.
However, this years Christmas day left me wondering when old traditions were going to be boxed away and new ones were going to start.
Christmas day is far from dull, but routine is beginning to take over.
For as long as I could remember my mums parents have always come to our house on Christmas eve, joining us for turkey surprise the following day, antique board games and a classic array of naff T.V. When my Grandad left us in 2000 it became just the five of us each year and has been that way ever since. At the time my Dads parents were living five hours away from us in North Yorkshire (One of the most beautiful places in England and where a large amount of my childhood memories come from) and…I actually have no idea why we never had a Christmas with them.
We are not a large family, but we are very close. It is because of this tightness (feel free to vomit now!) that tradition is and will always be such a huge part of my life. But is there a point where traditions should change?
It’s a crazy to think about future Christmas days; the houses, the people and the undoubtedly burnt turkeys. Who knows what next years Christmas day will be like or what will happen.
In a perfect world ten years from now, Christmas day will be spent with all the Coussens family, our offspring and not forgetting a serious helping of food and chocolate (fingers crossed the babies are gifted with our genetically high metabolisms or there’s no Malteasers for the twins.)
Either way, it is a case of wait and find out and maybe next year we will make it to midnight mass…that will certainly count towards as a new tradition.
Saturday 26 December 2009
Monday 21 December 2009
A change of tune.
So with 3 days till Christmas Eve it makes perfect sense to write a blog about Christmas; drawing special attentions to cheap dodgy wrapping paper, non- drop Christmas tree needles (Not convinced!) and a worrying amount of mince pies.
Which is precisely why this blog will not be about the looming festivities, but instead about a recent film I watched called ‘Ray.’
Directed by Taylor Hackford, it portrays the life of the amazing musician that was Ray Charles Robinson.
It’s not until you sit down and watch his life unfold, that you begin to realise how naïve and foolish you can be, thinking all blues/ jazz music is the same (Excluding the wonders of the Rat Pack) leaving you with a rhythm in your feet and a drive to dance.
Perhaps it is a taste that you acquire with age, maybe some people are just born with it (As Maybelline keeps implying) or maybe others are just too afraid to listen to something new.
Either way it is definitely worth a look and gives a great insight into the life and workings of an incredible man. He is a music artist I had never before understood and the newest addition to my CD collection.
Not just an English and Journalism student…even though the music review techniques do occasionally come in handy.
P.S (Should probably stop using brackets.)
Which is precisely why this blog will not be about the looming festivities, but instead about a recent film I watched called ‘Ray.’
Directed by Taylor Hackford, it portrays the life of the amazing musician that was Ray Charles Robinson.
It’s not until you sit down and watch his life unfold, that you begin to realise how naïve and foolish you can be, thinking all blues/ jazz music is the same (Excluding the wonders of the Rat Pack) leaving you with a rhythm in your feet and a drive to dance.
Perhaps it is a taste that you acquire with age, maybe some people are just born with it (As Maybelline keeps implying) or maybe others are just too afraid to listen to something new.
Either way it is definitely worth a look and gives a great insight into the life and workings of an incredible man. He is a music artist I had never before understood and the newest addition to my CD collection.
Not just an English and Journalism student…even though the music review techniques do occasionally come in handy.
P.S (Should probably stop using brackets.)
Sunday 13 December 2009
Home to Bedfordshire
After a 4 hour car journey, some apparently ‘terrible’ music and far more luggage than necessary, my car wheels created the familiar crunch over the stones in the drive. I was home.
As nice as Chester is (lacking descriptive word there, so ‘nice’ will do for now) it doesn’t have the comforting smell, that a lived in family house does. Nor does it have the pets or the old pairs of shoes, or the childhood memories that coincide with it.
But I think the best bit is being able to curl up in your own bed. It’s not that you don’t have a bed at uni, it’s just the one at home belongs to you alone. No springs in your back, dodgy stains, 1970’s mattresses or musty smells of heritage. It’s catered to your exact specifications and the one bit of home; you so often find your self craving.
Mine is covered in pillows and cushions (a typical girl) all you have to do is lay down for three seconds and you’ll fall asleep upon a bed of roses. The Princess from the Princess and the pea would never marry the Prince, because she would not get out of this bed.
Either way forgetting about Princes, Princesses and roses, it is time to take the train to Bedfordshire. The alarm is set for half seven and another day’s work at the kennels will follow.
As nice as Chester is (lacking descriptive word there, so ‘nice’ will do for now) it doesn’t have the comforting smell, that a lived in family house does. Nor does it have the pets or the old pairs of shoes, or the childhood memories that coincide with it.
But I think the best bit is being able to curl up in your own bed. It’s not that you don’t have a bed at uni, it’s just the one at home belongs to you alone. No springs in your back, dodgy stains, 1970’s mattresses or musty smells of heritage. It’s catered to your exact specifications and the one bit of home; you so often find your self craving.
Mine is covered in pillows and cushions (a typical girl) all you have to do is lay down for three seconds and you’ll fall asleep upon a bed of roses. The Princess from the Princess and the pea would never marry the Prince, because she would not get out of this bed.
Either way forgetting about Princes, Princesses and roses, it is time to take the train to Bedfordshire. The alarm is set for half seven and another day’s work at the kennels will follow.
Saturday 28 November 2009
A game the whole family can play
Nothings changed, it's still the same.
Hiding in stones like shell less hermits, trapped in their prisons.
Life’s jealousy creating hysteria and turning emotions to stone.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and a fist for a face.
Should time have stopped and given them the rewind button?
Or should they have skipped to fast forward?
Regret is too strong a word, but forgiveness is too decent.
The weaker sex has the strongest will and the mature strategy was taken by the elder.
How to use a garlic crusher on a dream.
One day you’ll be able to see again, but by that time you’ll be the only northerner.
This is the result of a glass of wine and the discovery of forgotten word document called ‘My Book 2.’ See if you can spot the connection between the above and below…
“His situation at home wasn’t good and a lot of things had changed in the past weeks. But he knew she was there for him, yet it wasn’t enough. How could she be there for him when he would no longer talk about it? Suddenly out of no where he had locked himself away and there was nothing she could do. Maybe he would come back to her or maybe he was talking about his feelings to somebody else. Should they have waited, ignored the silence and just believed that their last kiss was not going to be their last? Maybe she should have, but it’s impossible to protect yourself from more damage when your guard is completely down.”
Hiding in stones like shell less hermits, trapped in their prisons.
Life’s jealousy creating hysteria and turning emotions to stone.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth and a fist for a face.
Should time have stopped and given them the rewind button?
Or should they have skipped to fast forward?
Regret is too strong a word, but forgiveness is too decent.
The weaker sex has the strongest will and the mature strategy was taken by the elder.
How to use a garlic crusher on a dream.
One day you’ll be able to see again, but by that time you’ll be the only northerner.
This is the result of a glass of wine and the discovery of forgotten word document called ‘My Book 2.’ See if you can spot the connection between the above and below…
“His situation at home wasn’t good and a lot of things had changed in the past weeks. But he knew she was there for him, yet it wasn’t enough. How could she be there for him when he would no longer talk about it? Suddenly out of no where he had locked himself away and there was nothing she could do. Maybe he would come back to her or maybe he was talking about his feelings to somebody else. Should they have waited, ignored the silence and just believed that their last kiss was not going to be their last? Maybe she should have, but it’s impossible to protect yourself from more damage when your guard is completely down.”
Wednesday 25 November 2009
Modern technology.
Answer phone robots. I’m going to call them that because I don’t know the accurate name for the androids you end up talking to when trying to make a very important call.
Here was the situation: my laptop charger was ticking. I wasn’t sure if my laptops was about to blow up, the house electrics were dodgy or my charger was just a bit ticky happy.
This seems like an appalling start to a blog, but trust me, it’s worth it.
So my laptop was ticking and after recently having to fork out £80 for a new charger due to the same noise, I instantly took it to A and E (PC world tech guys.) What followed was a bizarre sequence of events, pretty much a daily routine for me. One tech guy had a look at it, ummed and arrred (I’m sure that’s the correct spelling there) prodded around with my laptop and scratched his head. A second tech guy then came over and attempted to sort out my mysterious ticking problem. Except this guy decided to chat to my housemate and I about cars and endeavoured to win both our numbers, with what can only be described as some of the worst flirting I have EVER seen. Mo from the Simpsons could have done a better job flirting and he isn’t even real.
Nonetheless this didn’t stop Mr. PC world from trying to swoon us, think my personal favourite was when he tried to test if the charger was working, by shoving the pin on his name badge in to the live end of the charger. He may have laughed, but if he had electrocuted himself and started to frizzle, we would definitely be the last ones laughing. And most likely be on the floor with our spleens ruptured and uncontrollably crying through tears of laughter.
Sadly that didn’t happen.
Anyway, got home slight relieved that my bank balance was safe and I had not successfully destroyed charger number two, popped on the kettle and logged on to the infamous Twitter.
Then, out of the depths of no where it came. Tick. Tick. Tick.
As you can imagine I was very calm about this, so relaxed in fact that this whole thing seemed to hardly phase me at all. That fact that I almost threw my laptop out the window is irrelevant.
Bloody tickticktickticktickticktickticktick.
A few deep breaths later and I was dialling PC world Chester, to speak to one of the tech guys about the problem…or so I thought.
The first hiccup was the number I was dialling was no longer the correct number, but no problem, just redial the new one. And sure enough a few minutes down the line a voice answered, result, I could finally get this ticking sorted. “Please state your postcode” the monotone voice said. Oh no.
So hiccup number two, the voice I had been waiting for was in fact a recording. Now maybe this is just human nature to rebel against automatic telephone dweebs, but have you ever noticed how they say “your call may be recorded.” It is like God has deliberately given us the chance to express our frustration through the telephone line. So naturally I did not take this opportunity to swear and shout at this robot, which ironically was still asking for my postcode in order to find the location of the nearest PC world.
However, it was great fun to see if the machine could find a postcode match for ‘you piece of cr..’ To which the voice amusingly said “is that CR for Crawley?”
In the end it was no use, I could have driven to PC world and back in half the time it took me to argue with the phone. So I gave up. And am currently sitting here typing away to tick, tick, tick.
Where did I put that hammer…!
Here was the situation: my laptop charger was ticking. I wasn’t sure if my laptops was about to blow up, the house electrics were dodgy or my charger was just a bit ticky happy.
This seems like an appalling start to a blog, but trust me, it’s worth it.
So my laptop was ticking and after recently having to fork out £80 for a new charger due to the same noise, I instantly took it to A and E (PC world tech guys.) What followed was a bizarre sequence of events, pretty much a daily routine for me. One tech guy had a look at it, ummed and arrred (I’m sure that’s the correct spelling there) prodded around with my laptop and scratched his head. A second tech guy then came over and attempted to sort out my mysterious ticking problem. Except this guy decided to chat to my housemate and I about cars and endeavoured to win both our numbers, with what can only be described as some of the worst flirting I have EVER seen. Mo from the Simpsons could have done a better job flirting and he isn’t even real.
Nonetheless this didn’t stop Mr. PC world from trying to swoon us, think my personal favourite was when he tried to test if the charger was working, by shoving the pin on his name badge in to the live end of the charger. He may have laughed, but if he had electrocuted himself and started to frizzle, we would definitely be the last ones laughing. And most likely be on the floor with our spleens ruptured and uncontrollably crying through tears of laughter.
Sadly that didn’t happen.
Anyway, got home slight relieved that my bank balance was safe and I had not successfully destroyed charger number two, popped on the kettle and logged on to the infamous Twitter.
Then, out of the depths of no where it came. Tick. Tick. Tick.
As you can imagine I was very calm about this, so relaxed in fact that this whole thing seemed to hardly phase me at all. That fact that I almost threw my laptop out the window is irrelevant.
Bloody tickticktickticktickticktickticktick.
A few deep breaths later and I was dialling PC world Chester, to speak to one of the tech guys about the problem…or so I thought.
The first hiccup was the number I was dialling was no longer the correct number, but no problem, just redial the new one. And sure enough a few minutes down the line a voice answered, result, I could finally get this ticking sorted. “Please state your postcode” the monotone voice said. Oh no.
So hiccup number two, the voice I had been waiting for was in fact a recording. Now maybe this is just human nature to rebel against automatic telephone dweebs, but have you ever noticed how they say “your call may be recorded.” It is like God has deliberately given us the chance to express our frustration through the telephone line. So naturally I did not take this opportunity to swear and shout at this robot, which ironically was still asking for my postcode in order to find the location of the nearest PC world.
However, it was great fun to see if the machine could find a postcode match for ‘you piece of cr..’ To which the voice amusingly said “is that CR for Crawley?”
In the end it was no use, I could have driven to PC world and back in half the time it took me to argue with the phone. So I gave up. And am currently sitting here typing away to tick, tick, tick.
Where did I put that hammer…!
Tuesday 24 November 2009
Food for thought.
It takes a certain type of genius to successfully burn 6 Yorkshire puddings that take 5 minutes to cook in the oven. I use the word burn loosely. A much better description would be incinerated, scorched, reduce to ashes or just pain destroyed.
In short, the beautiful pork dinner I was cooking for my housemates decreased in awe once the fire alarm went off. But bless Becky and Claire, they will never admit my cooking is terrible and you have to admire them for that!
I know women are meant to be goddesses in the kitchen, pouring out three beautiful meals a day, making sure the kids get their five a day and the husband gets his two portions of steak. But is it possible for women not to be able to cook?
It’s a very sad truth; but it seems uni has taken its toll on my cooking skills. Admittedly I can now drink Cider, however can not cook to save my life!
Take today for example, the second somebody stepped into the kitchen the magic (or lack of) all went. Hence the burnt Yorkshires. Give me a Westlife cd, an empty kitchen and the right utensils and miracles will happen. Maybe…?
Granted it may be making Mrs Beeton turn in her grave, but sometimes you just have to accept it, cooking is not for everyone.
And what’s wrong with fish fingers and peas for dinner? Whack in a bit of ketchup and your sorted.
Just have to hope the poor man I ended up marrying has a sense of humour; Christmas dinners may be replaced with microwavable meals and frozen veg.
Thank goodness there is still time to learn or should it be time to re-learn…
In short, the beautiful pork dinner I was cooking for my housemates decreased in awe once the fire alarm went off. But bless Becky and Claire, they will never admit my cooking is terrible and you have to admire them for that!
I know women are meant to be goddesses in the kitchen, pouring out three beautiful meals a day, making sure the kids get their five a day and the husband gets his two portions of steak. But is it possible for women not to be able to cook?
It’s a very sad truth; but it seems uni has taken its toll on my cooking skills. Admittedly I can now drink Cider, however can not cook to save my life!
Take today for example, the second somebody stepped into the kitchen the magic (or lack of) all went. Hence the burnt Yorkshires. Give me a Westlife cd, an empty kitchen and the right utensils and miracles will happen. Maybe…?
Granted it may be making Mrs Beeton turn in her grave, but sometimes you just have to accept it, cooking is not for everyone.
And what’s wrong with fish fingers and peas for dinner? Whack in a bit of ketchup and your sorted.
Just have to hope the poor man I ended up marrying has a sense of humour; Christmas dinners may be replaced with microwavable meals and frozen veg.
Thank goodness there is still time to learn or should it be time to re-learn…
Thursday 19 November 2009
Anyone for the library?
As I sit in the library for the fifth day in a week I suddenly realise I’vebecome a geek. It has only taken three years but I worryingly feel likea student; lugging books around, having an overflowing pencil case (complete with a glue stick??) and sticky notes as far as the eye cansee. At least my text books look pretty, even if the neon page markersdo make my books resembles an infant school flip book.Believe me, I wish I was learning the alphabet again instead of literarycanon’s found in Jane Austen’.I have been doing Austen so much recently that last Saturday I decidedto take a day off. And what a day it was! There has been a very odd smell coming from my wardrobe for a while now,I hadn’t forgotten about it, I just hadn’t found the time to fully ventureinto Narnia and drag Mr. Tumnes out by his hind legs. So on Saturday Iemptied it out and found the source of the problem. Mould. Yes, in short I spent Saturday scrubbing the insides of my wardrobe,de-moulding it and attempting to once again make it smell of freshdaisies. And after the initial fear that my extensive shoe collecting wasslowly turning black and soggy, I whipped out the bleach and becamesuper mould woman.I reluctantly hung up my cape on Sunday and trundled back to thelibrary.Who said being a student wasn’t fun?
Tuesday 3 November 2009
A woman's oath.
Picture this...
A small white wedding in an ancient church, secluded candle lit dinners with breath taking backdrops, unexpected bouquets of yellow roses, hand written valentines cards, kisses instead of alarm clocks, borrowed hoodies for when their not there, random ‘love’ notes everywhere, black and white photographs capturing the moments, country walks through beautiful villages, endless goofy smiles, constant human security, nerve racking first family visits, cuddling in bed all day, human hot water bottles, crazy conversations about nothing, hours of phone cord twiddling and not forgetting the ‘I miss you’s.’
And then repeat “I hate being a romantic.”
A small white wedding in an ancient church, secluded candle lit dinners with breath taking backdrops, unexpected bouquets of yellow roses, hand written valentines cards, kisses instead of alarm clocks, borrowed hoodies for when their not there, random ‘love’ notes everywhere, black and white photographs capturing the moments, country walks through beautiful villages, endless goofy smiles, constant human security, nerve racking first family visits, cuddling in bed all day, human hot water bottles, crazy conversations about nothing, hours of phone cord twiddling and not forgetting the ‘I miss you’s.’
And then repeat “I hate being a romantic.”
The age of man.
I often wonder if my brain can function on any other subject than just men. Men men men. My brain works with one subject and clearly likes the power of three.
To be honest it will be a surprise if I manage to get a degree at all. It seems as though my dissertation should be on the knowledge of male students and my course work (100% practical) should be on the best types of men to go for.
The weird thing is my brain has always functioned in this way; men first, life second. Even at the tender age of 11 (Year 7) my focuses were on the lower sixth form boys; rather than getting an academic education of any sort.
God forbid I have any daughters.
But now in a crazy turn of events I have been wondering how young is too young?
Being newly 21 makes this an even bigger challenge and stresses the age gap between fresher and third year. Would getting with a fresher make me a paedophile?
Aside from the obvious fact that you would hope a fresher to be over the age of 16, it still seems wrong.
So what are the options?
A simple flirt is harmless, an accidental kiss can be blamed on drink, but it just doesn’t seem right. No matter how cute they are.
Am I already in a situation of look but don’t touch (cliché or what!) or is it a matter of see how far you can push the boat out?
Either way, don’t think I can play the young vulnerable, insecure card here. Bugger.
To be honest it will be a surprise if I manage to get a degree at all. It seems as though my dissertation should be on the knowledge of male students and my course work (100% practical) should be on the best types of men to go for.
The weird thing is my brain has always functioned in this way; men first, life second. Even at the tender age of 11 (Year 7) my focuses were on the lower sixth form boys; rather than getting an academic education of any sort.
God forbid I have any daughters.
But now in a crazy turn of events I have been wondering how young is too young?
Being newly 21 makes this an even bigger challenge and stresses the age gap between fresher and third year. Would getting with a fresher make me a paedophile?
Aside from the obvious fact that you would hope a fresher to be over the age of 16, it still seems wrong.
So what are the options?
A simple flirt is harmless, an accidental kiss can be blamed on drink, but it just doesn’t seem right. No matter how cute they are.
Am I already in a situation of look but don’t touch (cliché or what!) or is it a matter of see how far you can push the boat out?
Either way, don’t think I can play the young vulnerable, insecure card here. Bugger.
Sentimental kisses.
Have you ever noticed how it’s the weirdest things that mean so much to us?
I recently read an article about women and how the amount of kisses at the end of a text (or lack of) can instantly decipher between liking a guy and not. It’s crazy how women measure a relationship on the repetition of the letter ‘X’.
However the amount of kisses on a text was not the highlight of today; nor was the spontaneous trip to Wales to visit a castle or the amazing chocolate cake we ate.
For my 21st two of my closest friends from home brought me a gorgeous Links of London bracelet, I loved it and practically slept in it until it fell of my wrist about a month ago. After searing high and low for it I sadly accepted I had lost it.
That was until it was found under the seat of my car today! You never realise how much you miss things till you have them back. It is now glued to my wrist.
Its odd, but this simple piece of jewellery seems to have given me my life back. It’s that little bit of home around my arm, always there and a mountain of metal memories.
I recently read an article about women and how the amount of kisses at the end of a text (or lack of) can instantly decipher between liking a guy and not. It’s crazy how women measure a relationship on the repetition of the letter ‘X’.
However the amount of kisses on a text was not the highlight of today; nor was the spontaneous trip to Wales to visit a castle or the amazing chocolate cake we ate.
For my 21st two of my closest friends from home brought me a gorgeous Links of London bracelet, I loved it and practically slept in it until it fell of my wrist about a month ago. After searing high and low for it I sadly accepted I had lost it.
That was until it was found under the seat of my car today! You never realise how much you miss things till you have them back. It is now glued to my wrist.
Its odd, but this simple piece of jewellery seems to have given me my life back. It’s that little bit of home around my arm, always there and a mountain of metal memories.
Thursday 29 October 2009
Brrr it's a little cold.
Okay, so is there anything worse than having a cold?
You go through tissues at an un-countable rate, you have to resort to breathing like a chocking seal and your body takes the form a seriously dry pot plant; bringing a whole new meaning to the words limp and lifeless.
Sadly having a cold is a common occurrence when inside uni walls. And if you’re not already suffering from a cold, you are guaranteed to be contaminated with a similar hidden virus, ready to strike at any given moment.
If having a cold is not sufficient enough, have you ever tired sleeping whilst you have one?
The term ‘fly catching’ when referring to someone sleeping is pretty common. The term ‘suffocation via flem rattling, with a hint of dry gagging’ when referring to someone sleeping with a cold, is not.
For this reason it clearly pays to be single when you’re inflicted with the cold virus. Unless of course you can sleep through elephant influenced snoring or find the sound of a sleeping cold victim strangely sexy. In which case be my guest and snuggle up to those horse trumpeting machines, but accept you are a freak of nature.
So maybe god has dealt me a kind card in his bid to keep me a singleton. At least Mike never had to put up with my snoring.
You go through tissues at an un-countable rate, you have to resort to breathing like a chocking seal and your body takes the form a seriously dry pot plant; bringing a whole new meaning to the words limp and lifeless.
Sadly having a cold is a common occurrence when inside uni walls. And if you’re not already suffering from a cold, you are guaranteed to be contaminated with a similar hidden virus, ready to strike at any given moment.
If having a cold is not sufficient enough, have you ever tired sleeping whilst you have one?
The term ‘fly catching’ when referring to someone sleeping is pretty common. The term ‘suffocation via flem rattling, with a hint of dry gagging’ when referring to someone sleeping with a cold, is not.
For this reason it clearly pays to be single when you’re inflicted with the cold virus. Unless of course you can sleep through elephant influenced snoring or find the sound of a sleeping cold victim strangely sexy. In which case be my guest and snuggle up to those horse trumpeting machines, but accept you are a freak of nature.
So maybe god has dealt me a kind card in his bid to keep me a singleton. At least Mike never had to put up with my snoring.
Monday 26 October 2009
The circle of men.
Nothing beats pre date nerves.
So date one: used a knife and fork to eat a Panini.
Dater him two: tipped a glass of wine over him.
As you can see, great so far; thank god the guys has a sense of humour or things could have been much worse!
Either way he seems lovely and so far so good.
However the dating life of a student is very different from dating in ‘the real world’. Date one means you can spend the night together cuddled up and kissing, something you could never do outside uni.
The only downside is the whole concept of dating rapidly vanishes. No longer are you only out for food, cinema trips etc your also cuddled up on the sofa watching films and accepting what is bound to follow.
Don’t get me wrong, enjoying every second, but you have to keep your guard up. If you take it with a pinch of salt nothing will happen and if you get too involved it will never develop.
Great start! Very positive attitude to the whole thing, but is it best to protect yourself or should you just let go?
…4 days later and he called things quits. A tad unexpected (and gutting) but guess that’s just men for you?
He got on far too well with my house mates anyway.
So date one: used a knife and fork to eat a Panini.
Dater him two: tipped a glass of wine over him.
As you can see, great so far; thank god the guys has a sense of humour or things could have been much worse!
Either way he seems lovely and so far so good.
However the dating life of a student is very different from dating in ‘the real world’. Date one means you can spend the night together cuddled up and kissing, something you could never do outside uni.
The only downside is the whole concept of dating rapidly vanishes. No longer are you only out for food, cinema trips etc your also cuddled up on the sofa watching films and accepting what is bound to follow.
Don’t get me wrong, enjoying every second, but you have to keep your guard up. If you take it with a pinch of salt nothing will happen and if you get too involved it will never develop.
Great start! Very positive attitude to the whole thing, but is it best to protect yourself or should you just let go?
…4 days later and he called things quits. A tad unexpected (and gutting) but guess that’s just men for you?
He got on far too well with my house mates anyway.
Sunday 11 October 2009
A bit of doodling: Little boys.
I wouldn’t change a lot in my life, but if I could, I would change the dark nights to dawn.
I would count the hours, the smiles, the endless laughter.
I would take back the tears and never stop the kisses.
The arguments and fights would vanish.
We could go back to our childhood, where love notes and love hearts were ample affections.
We could hold hands: a symbol no diamond ring could replace.
We could share a smile and then hide our embarrassment.
Secret whisperings and girly smiles would always have the boys confused.
And back to the times where we never really liked you anyway.
P.S You smell.
I would count the hours, the smiles, the endless laughter.
I would take back the tears and never stop the kisses.
The arguments and fights would vanish.
We could go back to our childhood, where love notes and love hearts were ample affections.
We could hold hands: a symbol no diamond ring could replace.
We could share a smile and then hide our embarrassment.
Secret whisperings and girly smiles would always have the boys confused.
And back to the times where we never really liked you anyway.
P.S You smell.
Monday 5 October 2009
Astrology and the perfect man.
There are only two things I know about astrology. One my star sign is a Libra and two I own a book called ‘How to spot a Bastard by his star sign.’
It is a great book, pure comic genius written by two very frustrated women; but a brilliant read none the less.
According to the book the Taurus Bastard keeps your innumerable betrayals on his mental scoreboard (must remember that one!), the Capricorn Bastard takes everything seriously, the Aquarius Bastard is the most reasonable bastard you’ll ever encounter; he’ll even agree he’s a bastard and the Aries Bastard will use gorilla tactics to win you over. Sounds great so far…
Although the book reels off which men I should be compatible with, it still leaves me giggling at the authors and shaking my head at the nonsense written on the pages.
But how fair is it to call it all nonsense?
Apparently I’m compatible with Capricorns, Libras and Aquarius men and will admit I’ve had some great times with them; but does it mean my future husband will fall into one of the above categories?
Granted, some people you do just click with, whether that has anything to do with star signs is a separate matter. Yes, it would be lovely to believe it, but it’s not wise to ignore people (Bastards in the case of the book) solely because of ‘personality clashes.’ You need opposing personalities to make things work, to keep you on your toes and leave you wanting more.
The only fact that keeps me wondering, is that every time I meet a non compatible male star sign (so that’s every 8/11 men) things always go wrong, and every time I meet a compatible male things tend to run a bit smoother.
It’s a funny old world; one which I don’t think is helped by astrology. But it will never stop us from reading about it or having a sneaky peak at the star sign of our future spooning partners.
For a male version take a peek at www.joeyrilesontour.blogspot.com.
It is a great book, pure comic genius written by two very frustrated women; but a brilliant read none the less.
According to the book the Taurus Bastard keeps your innumerable betrayals on his mental scoreboard (must remember that one!), the Capricorn Bastard takes everything seriously, the Aquarius Bastard is the most reasonable bastard you’ll ever encounter; he’ll even agree he’s a bastard and the Aries Bastard will use gorilla tactics to win you over. Sounds great so far…
Although the book reels off which men I should be compatible with, it still leaves me giggling at the authors and shaking my head at the nonsense written on the pages.
But how fair is it to call it all nonsense?
Apparently I’m compatible with Capricorns, Libras and Aquarius men and will admit I’ve had some great times with them; but does it mean my future husband will fall into one of the above categories?
Granted, some people you do just click with, whether that has anything to do with star signs is a separate matter. Yes, it would be lovely to believe it, but it’s not wise to ignore people (Bastards in the case of the book) solely because of ‘personality clashes.’ You need opposing personalities to make things work, to keep you on your toes and leave you wanting more.
The only fact that keeps me wondering, is that every time I meet a non compatible male star sign (so that’s every 8/11 men) things always go wrong, and every time I meet a compatible male things tend to run a bit smoother.
It’s a funny old world; one which I don’t think is helped by astrology. But it will never stop us from reading about it or having a sneaky peak at the star sign of our future spooning partners.
For a male version take a peek at www.joeyrilesontour.blogspot.com.
Sunday 4 October 2009
(I like to use brackets.)
So the first two weeks here have been crazy and as expected have been rammed with ridiculous fancy dress themes, bottles of Tesco basic alcohol (one again may I remind you how classy us West Lorne St women are) and sleep deprivation. But thankfully the ever increasing number of facebook photos have captured our days beautifully; not a sweaty forehead or cross eyed look among us. HA!
On a positive note doubt I will ever wear bright orange again; twice in two weeks is more than enough.
Putting the orange fetishes to one side, the next big event is my 21ST!!
With only three days to go the countdown is well under way. Have brought the dress, the bag, the shoes and all I need to do now is hope the evening doesn’t end with too much champagne and tears. Tears belonging to me.
I’m not one for pouring my heart out, but there is one little thing niggling at the back of my mind. Back in January I met this guy, who as fate would have it was one day older than me. As things developed we started making plans and a 48 hour 21st birthday was just one of the things on an increasing list. Needless to say by Easter things had hit rock bottom.
But being the stupidly romantic person that I am (Who wouldn’t want heart shaped toast for breakfast?) the ‘What if?’ question is spinning round my head. It’s uncontrollably taunting me and slowly driving me potty.
I’m no relationship coach and will be the first to admit my track record is not brilliant, but if there is no closure your mind will always wonder. (Or you may start randomly rambling and trying to sound like you know what you’re talking about. Voilá)
Either way, it’s a silly little thing that will instantly disappear when a gorgeous man wishes me happy birthday and gracefully sweeps me off my feet. (In a more romantic and less of an attempted to help me stand up kind of way.)
So there you have it, the final days as a 20 year old. Looking forward to maturity, responsibility, champagne and more degrading photos. And you know what, I can’t wait
On a positive note doubt I will ever wear bright orange again; twice in two weeks is more than enough.
Putting the orange fetishes to one side, the next big event is my 21ST!!
With only three days to go the countdown is well under way. Have brought the dress, the bag, the shoes and all I need to do now is hope the evening doesn’t end with too much champagne and tears. Tears belonging to me.
I’m not one for pouring my heart out, but there is one little thing niggling at the back of my mind. Back in January I met this guy, who as fate would have it was one day older than me. As things developed we started making plans and a 48 hour 21st birthday was just one of the things on an increasing list. Needless to say by Easter things had hit rock bottom.
But being the stupidly romantic person that I am (Who wouldn’t want heart shaped toast for breakfast?) the ‘What if?’ question is spinning round my head. It’s uncontrollably taunting me and slowly driving me potty.
I’m no relationship coach and will be the first to admit my track record is not brilliant, but if there is no closure your mind will always wonder. (Or you may start randomly rambling and trying to sound like you know what you’re talking about. Voilá)
Either way, it’s a silly little thing that will instantly disappear when a gorgeous man wishes me happy birthday and gracefully sweeps me off my feet. (In a more romantic and less of an attempted to help me stand up kind of way.)
So there you have it, the final days as a 20 year old. Looking forward to maturity, responsibility, champagne and more degrading photos. And you know what, I can’t wait
Wednesday 23 September 2009
Back in the shire.
As Frodo once said “I love the shire, with its rivers, its trees and its students.” Okay chances are the word ‘students’ would have replaced with ‘mushrooms’ and we all know the bond between hobbit and shrooms.
However being able to compare being back to Uni to Frodo and the members of middle earth, would non the less be revealing some uber form of geekiness. So instead I will keep it simple.
Its great being back. Chester is gorgeous, our house is perfect and we have already spent day one in Pj’s and have officially drunken our weight in alcohol. (The sophisticated drinkers that we are; pass me the Lambrini.)
We are less than a week in and already it feels (and looks) like we have been here for years. If only that were the case…
However being able to compare being back to Uni to Frodo and the members of middle earth, would non the less be revealing some uber form of geekiness. So instead I will keep it simple.
Its great being back. Chester is gorgeous, our house is perfect and we have already spent day one in Pj’s and have officially drunken our weight in alcohol. (The sophisticated drinkers that we are; pass me the Lambrini.)
We are less than a week in and already it feels (and looks) like we have been here for years. If only that were the case…
Monday 14 September 2009
Good bye Josh.
There is a time in every ones life when something so crazy happens that you’re not too sure whether to be happy or fear for your life. In this instance I’m going with fear for your life and the lives or every other motor driver on the road.
My brother is starting to drive.
Not only has the nutter been granted his provisional piece of green card, he has also stolen my car. I came home to discover my wheels had been branded with L plates.
These plates are not subtle pieces of sticky paper that they once were. Oh no. These are ‘Magnetic banners’ a warning sign to the sane that there is an inexperienced, racer wanna be (driving a purple car may I add!) lose on the streets of Guildford. Long gone are the days of arguing over the front seat; now its fist fights over the keys.
Josh (my car’s acquired name) and myself have had some wonderful moments. There was that time we bundled about 8 people into it and proceeded to drive past an army of police men, or the time we got caught ‘miss behaving’ with an old friend, or the time it got covered in marsh mellows or was it gay porn?
Either way it was a good little runner, bless his little rubber tyres.
My brother is starting to drive.
Not only has the nutter been granted his provisional piece of green card, he has also stolen my car. I came home to discover my wheels had been branded with L plates.
These plates are not subtle pieces of sticky paper that they once were. Oh no. These are ‘Magnetic banners’ a warning sign to the sane that there is an inexperienced, racer wanna be (driving a purple car may I add!) lose on the streets of Guildford. Long gone are the days of arguing over the front seat; now its fist fights over the keys.
Josh (my car’s acquired name) and myself have had some wonderful moments. There was that time we bundled about 8 people into it and proceeded to drive past an army of police men, or the time we got caught ‘miss behaving’ with an old friend, or the time it got covered in marsh mellows or was it gay porn?
Either way it was a good little runner, bless his little rubber tyres.
Surrey seems to be the hardest word.
It seems that at long last summer is reaching the end and another academic year is about to begin. With less than a week to go the excitement is beginning to build. So to is the stress.
The stress is mainly resulting from the fear that very soon I will have to dive in to the loft and dig out various bits of crockery, folders and abstract dressing up gear. I use the word fear only because the current state of the loft is ridiculous and there is a strong chance I may die, or lose a limb under year’s worth of cuddly toys, books and boxes. All of which have very little meaning to me personally, I just havn’t the heart to throw anything away. You never know when a singing Care Bear may come in useful?
So once the loft has been conquered and the various items dusted, cleaned and tried on (purely to see if the fitness regime over summer has paid off) the packing will begin.
This is a very tricky process. One does not want to pack everything and move it into the hall too quickly, or the parents will feel unloved and wonder why you ever came home in the first place. But at the same time the longer you leave it, the more likely you are to forget the essentials. Good luck trying to cook without any pans. Or food.
I think the most logical way to pack is to do it gradually. Yes my friends, once again it is list writing time! If it’s on the list you won’t forget it. In fact if it’s on the list chances are you don’t really need to take the item at all, but you never know…
So am suggesting everyday you add to you increasing pile of ‘Stuff to take’. That way subtly telling everyone you’re (notice the apostrophe there) leaving presently and you have a heart.
Unless you are leaving on bad terms; in which case pack the car weeks before, empty the entire house of food and pin up a huge day by day count down on your bedroom door.
The count down begins: 121 hrs and 20 mins….
The stress is mainly resulting from the fear that very soon I will have to dive in to the loft and dig out various bits of crockery, folders and abstract dressing up gear. I use the word fear only because the current state of the loft is ridiculous and there is a strong chance I may die, or lose a limb under year’s worth of cuddly toys, books and boxes. All of which have very little meaning to me personally, I just havn’t the heart to throw anything away. You never know when a singing Care Bear may come in useful?
So once the loft has been conquered and the various items dusted, cleaned and tried on (purely to see if the fitness regime over summer has paid off) the packing will begin.
This is a very tricky process. One does not want to pack everything and move it into the hall too quickly, or the parents will feel unloved and wonder why you ever came home in the first place. But at the same time the longer you leave it, the more likely you are to forget the essentials. Good luck trying to cook without any pans. Or food.
I think the most logical way to pack is to do it gradually. Yes my friends, once again it is list writing time! If it’s on the list you won’t forget it. In fact if it’s on the list chances are you don’t really need to take the item at all, but you never know…
So am suggesting everyday you add to you increasing pile of ‘Stuff to take’. That way subtly telling everyone you’re (notice the apostrophe there) leaving presently and you have a heart.
Unless you are leaving on bad terms; in which case pack the car weeks before, empty the entire house of food and pin up a huge day by day count down on your bedroom door.
The count down begins: 121 hrs and 20 mins….
Sunday 6 September 2009
Literature doodling
Sitting in on a Sunday night apparently makes you creative. Or so my brain thought earlier. This is just a bit of doodling...
I would like to write you a love story. To capture your imagination and make you believe there is such a thing as true love. The kind of butterfly churning, fuchsia glasses, head over heels, crazy kind.
It could begin with the elegant meeting of two strangers or the realisation between ancient friends. Either way, the story would follow the same plot; passion, heartbreak and determination and all over in the blink of an eye.
But things are not always lost; sometimes they are just put aside for a while, scribbled down in a notebook or recited to grandchildren.
I have no grandparents, so I didn’t hear this story through them. Nothing was ever narrated to me, therefore nothing was put aside. But there was a notebook, found in a pile of old books we had collected whilst sorting through my Grandmother’s possessions.
I always loved going through her stuff, it always brought back such beautiful memories. She was a wonderful woman and the best Grandma a little girl could have ever asked for.
The closed book intrigued me; what secrets lived within those pages? As with any new book the excitement and mystery lead my fingers to examine it in more detail.
The book was made from small pieces of lined paper, bounded together with two pieces of faded ribbon. Its hand crafted appearance added to the increasing curiosity taking over my brain. It smelt of times gone by and underneath a smattering of dust hid the words ‘My diary’.
Right then, in that moment I knew what I was holding was gold. My Grandma had opened her world to me, like never before. The newspaper thin pages smiled up at me, inviting me to read them. Turning the first page I glanced down, letting my eyes scan the rolling writing, which was flowing horizontally along the paper.
‘September 3rd 1950
Who ever would have thought it! Jack Dearing and me. He is everything a man should be, smart, funny and has the most amazing smile ever. Last night was perfect, we went to the movies. Mother wasn’t happy about me coming back so late (10pm) but I think she could tell by my constant smile, that very little would have altered my happy mood. So thankfully she didn’t have words till this morning. I don’t think 10pm is that late. He said he would call me today and he did! We talked for ages, about everything. He’s so interesting. Every time he spoke my tummy cart wheeled. Look at me now, I’m smiling like a Cheshire cat. I have never felt like this before, it’s a lovely feeling. Every time I think of him (which is an awful lot- I can’t help it) I go all silly. It’s hard to explain it.
P.s Seeing Jack tomorrow. Night night xxx.’
Closing the diary I began to share my Grandma’s happiness. Maybe I had found my love story…
I would like to write you a love story. To capture your imagination and make you believe there is such a thing as true love. The kind of butterfly churning, fuchsia glasses, head over heels, crazy kind.
It could begin with the elegant meeting of two strangers or the realisation between ancient friends. Either way, the story would follow the same plot; passion, heartbreak and determination and all over in the blink of an eye.
But things are not always lost; sometimes they are just put aside for a while, scribbled down in a notebook or recited to grandchildren.
I have no grandparents, so I didn’t hear this story through them. Nothing was ever narrated to me, therefore nothing was put aside. But there was a notebook, found in a pile of old books we had collected whilst sorting through my Grandmother’s possessions.
I always loved going through her stuff, it always brought back such beautiful memories. She was a wonderful woman and the best Grandma a little girl could have ever asked for.
The closed book intrigued me; what secrets lived within those pages? As with any new book the excitement and mystery lead my fingers to examine it in more detail.
The book was made from small pieces of lined paper, bounded together with two pieces of faded ribbon. Its hand crafted appearance added to the increasing curiosity taking over my brain. It smelt of times gone by and underneath a smattering of dust hid the words ‘My diary’.
Right then, in that moment I knew what I was holding was gold. My Grandma had opened her world to me, like never before. The newspaper thin pages smiled up at me, inviting me to read them. Turning the first page I glanced down, letting my eyes scan the rolling writing, which was flowing horizontally along the paper.
‘September 3rd 1950
Who ever would have thought it! Jack Dearing and me. He is everything a man should be, smart, funny and has the most amazing smile ever. Last night was perfect, we went to the movies. Mother wasn’t happy about me coming back so late (10pm) but I think she could tell by my constant smile, that very little would have altered my happy mood. So thankfully she didn’t have words till this morning. I don’t think 10pm is that late. He said he would call me today and he did! We talked for ages, about everything. He’s so interesting. Every time he spoke my tummy cart wheeled. Look at me now, I’m smiling like a Cheshire cat. I have never felt like this before, it’s a lovely feeling. Every time I think of him (which is an awful lot- I can’t help it) I go all silly. It’s hard to explain it.
P.s Seeing Jack tomorrow. Night night xxx.’
Closing the diary I began to share my Grandma’s happiness. Maybe I had found my love story…
Saturday 5 September 2009
Forgotten Hobby.
Thinking back to September 2008 and the start of Chester Uni. Never to this day did I ever imagine I would ever stop dancing.
Its one of those things your parents start you doing when your about 3 and over the years you learn to love it and before you know it, your older, wiser and with a pretty good talent under your belt. Or amazing balance.
Not sure whether its one of those things that grows out of you or just sort of disappears into no where. But it wasn’t until recently that it suddenly kicked in that I havn’t danced in a pair of ballet shoes for almost two years now.
Guess it’s kind of corny, but every time there is a pair on my feet something takes over. Believe me; if I could wear them it the final exams next year, I would probably pirouette out the room with a First. Suppose it’s similar to the blanket that a young toddler trails around after itself, its little bit of security made of cotton.
Everyone has something they love doing, something that just makes everything else seem ok, something that even when your fuming and angered out of your mind, you know will instantly calm you down and maker everything bearable. For me it’s putting on a pair of ballet shoes, for my mum its being in the garden, for my dad its sitting in his car and for my brother its having a full blown teenage huff, complete with door slamming and putting the TV on full volume. Everyone has something, whether they admit it or not.
It’s just a bit daunting how quickly we can forget these things. Have officially lost track of the amount of times I keep saying I’ll start a collection of famous (and meaningful) sayings, or the amount of times ive gone into Jessops and forgotten to get some photos of my closest friends printed.
It’s worrying how much we forget the simple things that make us happy and the things that make us who we are. The years of Tutu’s, tiara’s and ballet ribbons, seem to have been replaced with book shelves of feminist novels, Tesco receipts and pockets full of loose change.
Its one of those things your parents start you doing when your about 3 and over the years you learn to love it and before you know it, your older, wiser and with a pretty good talent under your belt. Or amazing balance.
Not sure whether its one of those things that grows out of you or just sort of disappears into no where. But it wasn’t until recently that it suddenly kicked in that I havn’t danced in a pair of ballet shoes for almost two years now.
Guess it’s kind of corny, but every time there is a pair on my feet something takes over. Believe me; if I could wear them it the final exams next year, I would probably pirouette out the room with a First. Suppose it’s similar to the blanket that a young toddler trails around after itself, its little bit of security made of cotton.
Everyone has something they love doing, something that just makes everything else seem ok, something that even when your fuming and angered out of your mind, you know will instantly calm you down and maker everything bearable. For me it’s putting on a pair of ballet shoes, for my mum its being in the garden, for my dad its sitting in his car and for my brother its having a full blown teenage huff, complete with door slamming and putting the TV on full volume. Everyone has something, whether they admit it or not.
It’s just a bit daunting how quickly we can forget these things. Have officially lost track of the amount of times I keep saying I’ll start a collection of famous (and meaningful) sayings, or the amount of times ive gone into Jessops and forgotten to get some photos of my closest friends printed.
It’s worrying how much we forget the simple things that make us happy and the things that make us who we are. The years of Tutu’s, tiara’s and ballet ribbons, seem to have been replaced with book shelves of feminist novels, Tesco receipts and pockets full of loose change.
The writer
It’s a beautiful thing being able to write. You can write anything; the first thing that comes into your mind, your hopes, your dreams or even the weekly shopping list. Where would we be without writing?
It’s weird how much easier it is to write than to talk. There may be a slight advantage being most of what you write is only read by yourself, or the beauty that is the ‘delete’ button, allowing you to re phrase everything.
Think back to all those love sick 18th/ 19th century men, who constantly swore by letter writing. It’s such a beautiful art and is sadly something that is very rarely done these days. We have all got lazy, turning to texts to supply conversations and information.
Right now for example I could write about anything in the world and to be honest, that’s a slightly scary thought. Personally I’m one of these people who likes to be told what do, I love plans and am god of ‘writing lists’.
I could write about the ridiculous amount of pizza the girls and I brought last night, how I decided not to go with drunken texting on Thursday (due to previous banana incident!) and decided to actually talk to the guy; only resulting in a very humiliating text the following morning apologising for the marriage proposal, the constant Harry Potter commentary and terrible rendition of Alice Coopers ‘poison’.
Either way, there is a lot one can write about and it is never a good thing if your indecisive. So there you have it writing about writing. How to kill time and brainstorm what to what for the next blog…
It’s weird how much easier it is to write than to talk. There may be a slight advantage being most of what you write is only read by yourself, or the beauty that is the ‘delete’ button, allowing you to re phrase everything.
Think back to all those love sick 18th/ 19th century men, who constantly swore by letter writing. It’s such a beautiful art and is sadly something that is very rarely done these days. We have all got lazy, turning to texts to supply conversations and information.
Right now for example I could write about anything in the world and to be honest, that’s a slightly scary thought. Personally I’m one of these people who likes to be told what do, I love plans and am god of ‘writing lists’.
I could write about the ridiculous amount of pizza the girls and I brought last night, how I decided not to go with drunken texting on Thursday (due to previous banana incident!) and decided to actually talk to the guy; only resulting in a very humiliating text the following morning apologising for the marriage proposal, the constant Harry Potter commentary and terrible rendition of Alice Coopers ‘poison’.
Either way, there is a lot one can write about and it is never a good thing if your indecisive. So there you have it writing about writing. How to kill time and brainstorm what to what for the next blog…
Wednesday 19 August 2009
Growing up.
Drinking and texting. Two things that should NEVER be done together. Never, for no reason and under no circumstance. Not only will you regret it the following morning, but will also be used as ammunition in years to come. Sadly last night I became a victim to this awful endeavour. In doing so I proceeded to tell a close friend I felt I was in a banana boat, that I loved bananas and I didn’t understand why banana boats were not actually made from bananas!
Yes, in short I had lost it (or was having a serious Potassium withdrawal.) Reading my sent box this morning was humiliating. Think the best bit was discovering not only did I try to justify eating a banana boat; I was also discussing future prospects of an entire edible theme park. Maybe it’s best to stay off the wine for a bit?!
This now brings me to an even scarier topic, than your sent box on a night out. Student nights.
Remember when your 17, your sneaking into clubs and bars, your overly confident because everyone else is twice your age and you talked your way in without ID. Well the tables have now turned and in a horrific way.
On Monday night my friend Sam and I hit Guildford. The plan was go to a few bars and then head to Harpers, the main student hot spot on a Monday night. The only difference being this time we went for a meal first and were ordering glasses of wine, as opposed to VK’s and various other ‘Kiddie drinks’. It wasn’t until on the dance floor, half a glass of Pino in my hand (I had sophisticatedly managed to pour the other half over the floor, whilst doing some kind of jiggly-hop to Bryan Adams, Summer of 69) that I suddenly felt out of place.
It was Sam who made the first comments “Have you seen what those girls are wearing? Aren’t they cold? Do they look young to you?” and she was right. Suddenly glancing round the room, we were the oldest girls and by a long shot.
What happened to student nights? We may be going into our third year of Uni, but we’re still students. Scantily clad girls should be at home, drinking Panda Pops or sitting on BEBO. Not parading round Town, assets flying in all directions and making us feel old.
So maybe Mr. big green bug has bitten me, but it seems Student nights out are slowly becoming a thing of the past. We may soon have to face the music and admit we’re growing up.
Yes, in short I had lost it (or was having a serious Potassium withdrawal.) Reading my sent box this morning was humiliating. Think the best bit was discovering not only did I try to justify eating a banana boat; I was also discussing future prospects of an entire edible theme park. Maybe it’s best to stay off the wine for a bit?!
This now brings me to an even scarier topic, than your sent box on a night out. Student nights.
Remember when your 17, your sneaking into clubs and bars, your overly confident because everyone else is twice your age and you talked your way in without ID. Well the tables have now turned and in a horrific way.
On Monday night my friend Sam and I hit Guildford. The plan was go to a few bars and then head to Harpers, the main student hot spot on a Monday night. The only difference being this time we went for a meal first and were ordering glasses of wine, as opposed to VK’s and various other ‘Kiddie drinks’. It wasn’t until on the dance floor, half a glass of Pino in my hand (I had sophisticatedly managed to pour the other half over the floor, whilst doing some kind of jiggly-hop to Bryan Adams, Summer of 69) that I suddenly felt out of place.
It was Sam who made the first comments “Have you seen what those girls are wearing? Aren’t they cold? Do they look young to you?” and she was right. Suddenly glancing round the room, we were the oldest girls and by a long shot.
What happened to student nights? We may be going into our third year of Uni, but we’re still students. Scantily clad girls should be at home, drinking Panda Pops or sitting on BEBO. Not parading round Town, assets flying in all directions and making us feel old.
So maybe Mr. big green bug has bitten me, but it seems Student nights out are slowly becoming a thing of the past. We may soon have to face the music and admit we’re growing up.
Sunday 2 August 2009
The art of the bum.
Bummed. This seems to be a word that constantly rolls out of ones mouth more than often (mainly my own.) It’s a great word and immediately gets those onomatopoeia fanatics gyrating, with about as much excitement as the common everyday person has when finding a coin down the back of sofa and then realising it’s only a penny. Fantastic.
However it perfectly describes the feeling you get when your feeling too lazy to actually be lazy and gradually you begin to wonder whether or not you are just having a mature strop. The only difference between being bummed and having a temper tantrum is that you are constantly thinking “why cant I be bothered to do anything?” Perhaps this is a way to separate the intelligent people in society; people who just strop/ moan do it because they can, where as people who are just bummed are far more inquisitive and aware of what they are feeling. And yes do realise I have just classed myself as an inteligant person.
None the less it is a word that should definitely be making its way in to the OED shortly. It is a word that allows the user to blatantly express and unknown feeling, whilst refusing to do anything and feeling immensely sorry for themselves.
How to use “Bummed” in a sentence…
Person 1: Are you ok?
Person 2: Feeling a little bit bummed.
Person 1: How come?
Person 2: Hummm not sure to be honest. (Notice the “hummmm” representing a thought process)
Famous celebrities who have suffered the “Bummed” syndrome…
Lindsay Lohan
Eeyore
Elton John
Am I bored? Sadly it’s worse… I have a severe case of bumminess.
However it perfectly describes the feeling you get when your feeling too lazy to actually be lazy and gradually you begin to wonder whether or not you are just having a mature strop. The only difference between being bummed and having a temper tantrum is that you are constantly thinking “why cant I be bothered to do anything?” Perhaps this is a way to separate the intelligent people in society; people who just strop/ moan do it because they can, where as people who are just bummed are far more inquisitive and aware of what they are feeling. And yes do realise I have just classed myself as an inteligant person.
None the less it is a word that should definitely be making its way in to the OED shortly. It is a word that allows the user to blatantly express and unknown feeling, whilst refusing to do anything and feeling immensely sorry for themselves.
How to use “Bummed” in a sentence…
Person 1: Are you ok?
Person 2: Feeling a little bit bummed.
Person 1: How come?
Person 2: Hummm not sure to be honest. (Notice the “hummmm” representing a thought process)
Famous celebrities who have suffered the “Bummed” syndrome…
Lindsay Lohan
Eeyore
Elton John
Am I bored? Sadly it’s worse… I have a severe case of bumminess.
Wednesday 22 July 2009
What ever happened to toast?
Have you ever thought that cereals maybe a little over rated?
Nestle and Kellogg’s are one thing (i'm sure golden nuggets do wonders for your digestive system) but what about these healthier options.
Take today for example…happily munching away on a bowl of Jordans Crunchy Oats (for the slightly more mature of the cereal lovers) then it suddenly dawned on me. Bloody hell I’m eating bird food!
Granted it tastes good, but it’s definitely something one should not attempt to eat if in a hurry. None the less its constancy of British oats (for the more patriotic citizens of society) raisons, almonds and honey, should have my taste buds self combusting with excitement. Or not.
Yes, in short I have turned into a flamboyant, seed loving, individual, with the highlight being the occasional sweet flavoured raison in a bowl full of crap.
Nestle and Kellogg’s are one thing (i'm sure golden nuggets do wonders for your digestive system) but what about these healthier options.
Take today for example…happily munching away on a bowl of Jordans Crunchy Oats (for the slightly more mature of the cereal lovers) then it suddenly dawned on me. Bloody hell I’m eating bird food!
Granted it tastes good, but it’s definitely something one should not attempt to eat if in a hurry. None the less its constancy of British oats (for the more patriotic citizens of society) raisons, almonds and honey, should have my taste buds self combusting with excitement. Or not.
Yes, in short I have turned into a flamboyant, seed loving, individual, with the highlight being the occasional sweet flavoured raison in a bowl full of crap.
Monday 20 July 2009
Similarities between choosing a car and a man.
Shopping for a new car. Surely this should be one of the easiest jobs in the world; you walk in to a showroom, are greeted by a musty smelling middle aged man, sprouting a rather unconvincing attempt to bring back the moustache, see a car you like and voilá your purchase is made. Sadly this is never the case.
Trying to find this perfect car is much like receiving a present from your Nan at Christmas. You’re stupidly excited because its Christmas, endless food, whisky/ Bailey drinking and sleep (Could it be any more perfect?) but at the same time what lies beneath that layer of 1960’s wrapping paper could potentially ruin your day. “Thanks Nan another pack of biscuits and a book on British birds. You shouldn’t have.”
So you gradually tick of the lists of garages and mope off to the next one. Even more determined to find the car you want. “I don’t care if it looked gorgeous on the outside, did you see those seats?” You become so precise about what you’re looking for that nothing will do. You know what you want and no matter how many how many dealers you go to (all were of course trying to rip you off and you know that car isn’t worth that much, in fact by the end of the day your contemplating running your own garage) you still keep looking.
The right car is out there, cursing along country lanes and screaming out for you, its sole mate, its one and only. But don’t fear….auto trader is here. And what better way to spend your afternoons than find a car that’s perfect, ring up and demand you MUST have it, you’ve spent weeks looking for one just like it, could it get any better than this?
Me: “Hi was looking at your advert online, I was wondering if you still had the…”
Salesman: “Nah sorry love, sold it 2 weeks ago.”
…typical.
Trying to find this perfect car is much like receiving a present from your Nan at Christmas. You’re stupidly excited because its Christmas, endless food, whisky/ Bailey drinking and sleep (Could it be any more perfect?) but at the same time what lies beneath that layer of 1960’s wrapping paper could potentially ruin your day. “Thanks Nan another pack of biscuits and a book on British birds. You shouldn’t have.”
So you gradually tick of the lists of garages and mope off to the next one. Even more determined to find the car you want. “I don’t care if it looked gorgeous on the outside, did you see those seats?” You become so precise about what you’re looking for that nothing will do. You know what you want and no matter how many how many dealers you go to (all were of course trying to rip you off and you know that car isn’t worth that much, in fact by the end of the day your contemplating running your own garage) you still keep looking.
The right car is out there, cursing along country lanes and screaming out for you, its sole mate, its one and only. But don’t fear….auto trader is here. And what better way to spend your afternoons than find a car that’s perfect, ring up and demand you MUST have it, you’ve spent weeks looking for one just like it, could it get any better than this?
Me: “Hi was looking at your advert online, I was wondering if you still had the…”
Salesman: “Nah sorry love, sold it 2 weeks ago.”
…typical.
Friday 17 July 2009
Writers block.
Wow havn’t written here for ages, maybe it means I finally got a life…if only! After 3 weeks of generally bumness (yes that is a word) work finally got in touch and wanted me in this week. That should be a good thing, money, exercise and routine. Sadly its very little money and the exercise doesn’t nearly cancel out the amount of biscuits we go through at break time. So far so good. I’m working at my local kennels, something I never imagined I would do; its not that I hate animals, just never been a major animal loving girl. But joking apart its great, certainly beats being cooped up in a shop all day and most of the works outside wearing wellies (took some getting used to) so come rain or shine it’s a bit of harmless fun. Especially when your being humped by a Lionberger (which is a very VERY big dog!). But on the positive side can tick it off the list of things to do before you die. (Please note the joke.)
As it’s a 8:30-5pm day, five days a week, days off are valuable things. Which is why I’m driving to Gloucster after work tomorrow, so I can spend the next day bent double and hanging the way any true student should. Its one of uni girls 21st and we all have to go as something beginning with the letter ‘C’. Resisting the huge urge to go as a giant human penis, I opted for going as Cupid. Slightly safer and can keep a bit more dignity that way. Well she says…
So with dignity intact the night was a success; once again more photos and more traffic cone stealing. It’s great seeing the uni girls and to be honest we are only 2 and half hours away from each other so there’s no excuses.
All I need to do now is get ready to hit the waters with my family. Yes, chaos is about to happen! As of next Friday 15 of us take to the Broads, two boats, several pirate flags (someone thought it would be fun to have themes through out the week!) and a long list of riverside pubs. Thankfully we can all swim…but that doesn’t mean people won’t be getting thrown over board. Who said family bonding wasn’t fun???
As it’s a 8:30-5pm day, five days a week, days off are valuable things. Which is why I’m driving to Gloucster after work tomorrow, so I can spend the next day bent double and hanging the way any true student should. Its one of uni girls 21st and we all have to go as something beginning with the letter ‘C’. Resisting the huge urge to go as a giant human penis, I opted for going as Cupid. Slightly safer and can keep a bit more dignity that way. Well she says…
So with dignity intact the night was a success; once again more photos and more traffic cone stealing. It’s great seeing the uni girls and to be honest we are only 2 and half hours away from each other so there’s no excuses.
All I need to do now is get ready to hit the waters with my family. Yes, chaos is about to happen! As of next Friday 15 of us take to the Broads, two boats, several pirate flags (someone thought it would be fun to have themes through out the week!) and a long list of riverside pubs. Thankfully we can all swim…but that doesn’t mean people won’t be getting thrown over board. Who said family bonding wasn’t fun???
Saturday 27 June 2009
The Guildford Girls.
Being back home is like being in a new world, but with people you recognise. Your freedom and lifestyle completely changes and you suddenly become the 17 yr old you once were. The only major difference is that all those summer flings us girls were having back then, have now turned into 3/4 year relationships. A night out with all of us is like checking into honeymooners heaven and the conversations flow along the lines of “Bob and me just got back from a fabulous trip around Europe” and “I’m not drinking tonight because Fred drove home last week and its now my turn.” In short we have all aged about 30 years and will be discussing our children’s private education before we know it. But oddly enough give it 3 months, ill be back in Chester and it will be “wow, that guy was amazing last night” or “Yea, id do him too”. We’ll be swapping manly stories, tips and in-depth details of why we never called him back; a far stretch from the current situation of engagement wishes and baby names. (And yes we have all promised not to steal each others names, Joshua Langham is mine and mine only!)Baby names apart it’s been great being back with the home girlies, minus me being the only single one left, not a lot has changed between us.
It was two of the guys joint 20ths on Thursday night, so we all hit town, drank far too many JD and cokes (which btw are disgusting and a sure sign your long gone when you start ordering/ drinking them!) and took way too many photos. Not sure what the worst bit was, getting into bed whilst the room was spinning or waking up the next day with it STILL spinning. Either way great fun and reasonably decent photos too. Last night we attempted a bbq at mine, which was in one word a ‘disaster’. Was all going fine till the guys showed up, think they were expecting a full blown house party and what they got was four girls chilled out on rugs and cushions on the patio. Tonight we are heading down to our local village pub for a chilled out night of live music. Well that’s the intention, don’t think any of us can have/ look at any more alcohol at the moment. But that’s probably a good thing.
We are still trying to arrange a girly holiday; all we have so far it is must be to somewhere hot and preferably not to expensive. So we are basically doomed before we have even stepped out the front door, let alone the country. Still we have been talking about going away for years now and should probably do it before rings start appearing on fingers or sprogs start flying out. Guess that’s one of the beauties of uni, I havn’t got to worry about any of the above just yet. Which I guess is a good thing?
It was two of the guys joint 20ths on Thursday night, so we all hit town, drank far too many JD and cokes (which btw are disgusting and a sure sign your long gone when you start ordering/ drinking them!) and took way too many photos. Not sure what the worst bit was, getting into bed whilst the room was spinning or waking up the next day with it STILL spinning. Either way great fun and reasonably decent photos too. Last night we attempted a bbq at mine, which was in one word a ‘disaster’. Was all going fine till the guys showed up, think they were expecting a full blown house party and what they got was four girls chilled out on rugs and cushions on the patio. Tonight we are heading down to our local village pub for a chilled out night of live music. Well that’s the intention, don’t think any of us can have/ look at any more alcohol at the moment. But that’s probably a good thing.
We are still trying to arrange a girly holiday; all we have so far it is must be to somewhere hot and preferably not to expensive. So we are basically doomed before we have even stepped out the front door, let alone the country. Still we have been talking about going away for years now and should probably do it before rings start appearing on fingers or sprogs start flying out. Guess that’s one of the beauties of uni, I havn’t got to worry about any of the above just yet. Which I guess is a good thing?
Tuesday 23 June 2009
Sun tanning and bad planning.
So today I was quite happily lapping up the rays in the back garden in bikini bottoms and little else. Had been there for about half an hour, minding my own business and occasionally picking up the copy of Nortons Anthology for some “light revision”. Then out of no where a topless guy appeared on our roof; bearing in mind it is not exactly a little roof and its not often there are people just strolling along it! Thankfully this isn’t a tradition in Send (my home town) or else sunbathing or any activity involving minimal clothing would most likely be banned. (Unless your into that kinda thing, in which case go for it.) Still, after a moment of confusion I attempted to run inside, taking as much dignity as I had left and attempting not to trip over any flower pots or other extraneous items scattered across our patio. Sadly forgot to bring the anthology in…the lengths us students go to revise. Anyway after id got over the whole; topless man on the roof thing, my Dad casually explained that there was a guy coming to fix the roof tiles this morning. As you can see our father/ daughter communication is brilliant. Thanks Dad.
But don’t worry, that wasn’t the highlight of the past few days. Not by a long shot. The first of the Uni girls hit 21 a few months back, so on Saturday we headed to Oxford for her party. Now what’s the one thing you don’t do when you at a friends family party, where you know very little people other than the host…yup you’ve guess it; you don’t get plastered! So by the time 10pm rolled around, we were all drinking our own concoctions of a dirty pint, whilst singing (shouting) various renditions of 80s classics and attempting to walk in giant sumo outfits (If you’ve never tried inflatable sumo wresting, you’ve never lived!) We then decided to put a halt on the drinking, for all of 5 minutes when we had to rescue housemate no. 3 who was spooning the upstairs toilet. And who said women can’t hold their drink?! Anyway had an amazing night and how I managed to drive home the next day without getting pulled over will always remain a mystery.
Another highlight was taking my 89yr old Nan shopping for some trainers. Will never quite understand where she got the idea for purchasing the bright white Adidas pair that she finally chose, but bless her. With those shoes and her 32” HD flat-screen she must be one of the coolest Nans around.
So constructive few days (as always). The newest item to the agenda is the planning of my 21st birthday. Now wonder how much male strippers cost…
But don’t worry, that wasn’t the highlight of the past few days. Not by a long shot. The first of the Uni girls hit 21 a few months back, so on Saturday we headed to Oxford for her party. Now what’s the one thing you don’t do when you at a friends family party, where you know very little people other than the host…yup you’ve guess it; you don’t get plastered! So by the time 10pm rolled around, we were all drinking our own concoctions of a dirty pint, whilst singing (shouting) various renditions of 80s classics and attempting to walk in giant sumo outfits (If you’ve never tried inflatable sumo wresting, you’ve never lived!) We then decided to put a halt on the drinking, for all of 5 minutes when we had to rescue housemate no. 3 who was spooning the upstairs toilet. And who said women can’t hold their drink?! Anyway had an amazing night and how I managed to drive home the next day without getting pulled over will always remain a mystery.
Another highlight was taking my 89yr old Nan shopping for some trainers. Will never quite understand where she got the idea for purchasing the bright white Adidas pair that she finally chose, but bless her. With those shoes and her 32” HD flat-screen she must be one of the coolest Nans around.
So constructive few days (as always). The newest item to the agenda is the planning of my 21st birthday. Now wonder how much male strippers cost…
Wednesday 17 June 2009
Uni's out for the summer
It took 2 hours to pack everything up and load the car and then over 9 hours to unpack, throw out, bin and generally sort out. Where’s the maths in that? And if the unpacking wasn’t a nightmare, I now have a washing basket that is gradually taking over my room. I’m half expecting to wake up one morning and find I’m lying in a sea of duvet covers, tops and socks. And if their not taking over then chances are, they will walk out on me because I’m currently on washing strike. Will probably regret that decision when I wake up and discover there are no clean clothes to wear, and guarantee it will happen on a day when I have an extremely hot date (one can dream!) either way nakedness will not be appreciated.
However in-between all the smelly clothes and endless cupboards of edible food, it’s a great feeling being back on home turf. It’s crazy how quickly you adjust to your old routine. So sleeping, eating, numerous hours on Auto Trader.com and a bit of revision and you have my week so far. Extremely productive. The only thing that is stopping me from blissful freedom is the whopping great blister I have on my thumb. It came as a result of literally SCRUBBING our oven at uni and sadly my thumb took the consequences (our oven did look amazing though!) Eeek sounding like a thoroughbred housewife there, not good. Right, Mr. Keats awaits…
However in-between all the smelly clothes and endless cupboards of edible food, it’s a great feeling being back on home turf. It’s crazy how quickly you adjust to your old routine. So sleeping, eating, numerous hours on Auto Trader.com and a bit of revision and you have my week so far. Extremely productive. The only thing that is stopping me from blissful freedom is the whopping great blister I have on my thumb. It came as a result of literally SCRUBBING our oven at uni and sadly my thumb took the consequences (our oven did look amazing though!) Eeek sounding like a thoroughbred housewife there, not good. Right, Mr. Keats awaits…
Monday 8 June 2009
Five days left (and counting)
So with only five days left before I head home, everything is suddenly starting to sink in. Second year is almost over and three months of full time employment is getting closer. The money will be very welcomed though.
Mum came up over the weekend and took most of my stuff home, as there is no chance my little fiesta would have been able to transport a years worth of belongings and myself home in one piece. My room now consists of four (mouldy and crumbly) walls, CD player, empty wardrobe, printer, bed and my amazing plant which has now survived two years of university living. Could barely keep our sea monkeys alive let alone a plant!
Had a good run with the English portfolio today and have almost completed it now. Thursday’s deadline isn’t actually looking too bad…for once. But hey, might not being saying that in three days time.
Mum came up over the weekend and took most of my stuff home, as there is no chance my little fiesta would have been able to transport a years worth of belongings and myself home in one piece. My room now consists of four (mouldy and crumbly) walls, CD player, empty wardrobe, printer, bed and my amazing plant which has now survived two years of university living. Could barely keep our sea monkeys alive let alone a plant!
Had a good run with the English portfolio today and have almost completed it now. Thursday’s deadline isn’t actually looking too bad…for once. But hey, might not being saying that in three days time.
Thursday 4 June 2009
Student Support and Guidance anyone?
So just when you think your week couldn’t get any worse something always shows up. And believe me today was the icing on the cake. There I was about to head out the door to my seminar and a letter appeared on the mat addressed to me from uni. I have been expecting a letter through with information about my exam in August, so I assumed it was that. How wrong I was. What I read partly stunned me and partly killed me. Needless to say a few seconds later I was uncontrollably shaking, hysterically crying and just wanting to run. The letter was a ‘Referral for a Psychological Diagnostic Assessment’. Heart in mouth.
Ask a stupid question but on what grounds does someone account for a ‘Psychological Diagnostic Assessment’? Am I psychotic?? No, I bloody am not! (Sorry shouldn’t swear, very un-ladylike). What I would love to know is how a conversation with one woman about some pointers in journalism techniques (who didn’t even take or teach journalism) turned into a letter suggesting I am clinically insane? It really baffles me.
However, the letter it self did make me chuckle. First off they spelt my name incorrectly (great start coming from the head of Disability. Clearly Mr. Mark Parry’s spelling is not a problem.) Secondly, they clearly couldn’t type on headed paper and thirdly and my personal favourite it said (in big capital letters across the top of the letter)‘re: referral for AN psychological diagnostic assessment’. I’m sorry but surely that is a fundamental error?! But maybe they thought I would not pick that up being an English student and of course being psychotic.
Ask a stupid question but on what grounds does someone account for a ‘Psychological Diagnostic Assessment’? Am I psychotic?? No, I bloody am not! (Sorry shouldn’t swear, very un-ladylike). What I would love to know is how a conversation with one woman about some pointers in journalism techniques (who didn’t even take or teach journalism) turned into a letter suggesting I am clinically insane? It really baffles me.
However, the letter it self did make me chuckle. First off they spelt my name incorrectly (great start coming from the head of Disability. Clearly Mr. Mark Parry’s spelling is not a problem.) Secondly, they clearly couldn’t type on headed paper and thirdly and my personal favourite it said (in big capital letters across the top of the letter)‘re: referral for AN psychological diagnostic assessment’. I’m sorry but surely that is a fundamental error?! But maybe they thought I would not pick that up being an English student and of course being psychotic.
Wednesday 3 June 2009
Cleaning by numbers.
Several hours cleaning and sorting things out, whack in a two hour lecture on Travel Writing and you have my day. Last lecture of the year, luckily it wasn’t too bad. Last seminar tomorrow and then back home next Saturday. Where has this year gone? The scariest thing is this year is worth 35% of my degree and when you think that the highest mark I’ve got this year is 58% you begin to worry. Thankfully there is still one exam to do, so can make some marks there. Shame I have to head back to uni in the summer though, damn you Glandular Fever.
That was the highlight of my Easter…spent most of it working and fitting revision around it (dangerous I know) and then about 2 days before my exam was due doctors told me I had Glandular Fever, needed a 30 day recovery, which meant couldn’t go back to uni, had to defer my exam, no kissing for two months (needless to say that didn’t happen, I know tut tut) and then there was still chance I could get really easily tried for 6 months after that, so had to take it easy. Would have preferred Swine Flu, ok, maybe not actually, but you get the point. Anyway need to get revising again soon, fun fun fun. But that can wait for a bit. Going to see if I can get a few hours sleep in before the Brannigans rabble make their way past our house and back home…wish me luck!
(Brannigans is our local wednesday night spot. Cheap, tacky and brilliant)
That was the highlight of my Easter…spent most of it working and fitting revision around it (dangerous I know) and then about 2 days before my exam was due doctors told me I had Glandular Fever, needed a 30 day recovery, which meant couldn’t go back to uni, had to defer my exam, no kissing for two months (needless to say that didn’t happen, I know tut tut) and then there was still chance I could get really easily tried for 6 months after that, so had to take it easy. Would have preferred Swine Flu, ok, maybe not actually, but you get the point. Anyway need to get revising again soon, fun fun fun. But that can wait for a bit. Going to see if I can get a few hours sleep in before the Brannigans rabble make their way past our house and back home…wish me luck!
(Brannigans is our local wednesday night spot. Cheap, tacky and brilliant)
Tuesday 2 June 2009
The dangers of thinking.
Sometimes the world just seems to close up, sometimes gobbling you along with it and other times leaving you to fend for yourself.
It’s hard to know how personal to write things, I honestly never know. Certain things can be shared but at the same time it’s important not to share everything.
As well as this blog, I also write a diary. It’s a typical 20 year old girls life, full of ‘why does he hate me?’ and ‘she is such a bitch…’ Yet even when I’m writing in that I unconsciously don’t put everything down.
Guess it’s this over load of thoughts that fuel my love for writing, but believe me I can write some serious crap. Like now for instance... exactly which bit refers to ‘the beautiful life of a student’ I don’t know? Maybe it’s all about growing up and discovering the type of person you are? Wow that sounds a bit mature; quick pass me a glass, must get drunk and steal a road sign!
It’s hard to know how personal to write things, I honestly never know. Certain things can be shared but at the same time it’s important not to share everything.
As well as this blog, I also write a diary. It’s a typical 20 year old girls life, full of ‘why does he hate me?’ and ‘she is such a bitch…’ Yet even when I’m writing in that I unconsciously don’t put everything down.
Guess it’s this over load of thoughts that fuel my love for writing, but believe me I can write some serious crap. Like now for instance... exactly which bit refers to ‘the beautiful life of a student’ I don’t know? Maybe it’s all about growing up and discovering the type of person you are? Wow that sounds a bit mature; quick pass me a glass, must get drunk and steal a road sign!
Monday 1 June 2009
Sun kissed and hungry.
The sun hits Chester and all the clothes come off. There are burnt bodies everywhere around campus at the moment and those that aren’t burnt, are drinking on the field. Chester and its high academic achievers never seize to let us down.
However, all the sun does mean that you feel less inclined to eat, which is good, especially when your cupboards consist of pasta, Shreddies and a jar of marmite. But it’s not all bad.
As we only have 2 weeks left, we have started to drink the house dry, meaning some more quality bonding time with the girls, as well as some helpful throwing out of bottles. (Most of which the contents still remains a mystery.) So at least we are not dehydrated as well as hungry. All of a sudden summer seems to be getting nearer and the scary issue of our final year is slowly getting talked about. Dissertations here we come…
However, all the sun does mean that you feel less inclined to eat, which is good, especially when your cupboards consist of pasta, Shreddies and a jar of marmite. But it’s not all bad.
As we only have 2 weeks left, we have started to drink the house dry, meaning some more quality bonding time with the girls, as well as some helpful throwing out of bottles. (Most of which the contents still remains a mystery.) So at least we are not dehydrated as well as hungry. All of a sudden summer seems to be getting nearer and the scary issue of our final year is slowly getting talked about. Dissertations here we come…
Saturday 30 May 2009
A fridge full of vodka jelly.
So we are no baby less. It was all great fun, not to sure of the 7am wake ups and the occasional tantrums but guess its all part of the bargain?! She was adorable though and by the time she was saying ‘Amie’ I was smitten. Hopefully all this broodiness is just motherly instincts playing up, as opposed to natures way of telling me something; otherwise I would be a very rich woman and would be walking, talking, evidence representing the Christian faith.
The weather up here is gorgeous, legs and chests out everywhere! And hey, who doesn’t need an excuse to drink in the sun? It’s what us British do best.
Apart from the rug rat and the weather things are pretty normal up here. Got a grand total of two weeks left; which means one has to start pumping out some poems/ stories/ articles/ adverts etc for this wonderful thing called the work based learning portfolio. And what better inspiration is there is this world than men?!
Here we go… decided not to mention them because A. there is far more to life than them and B. it’s not the most interesting thing to write/ read about. But sometimes it’s important to rant, scream or tailgate them in your car. Sadly was not allowed to release full road rage on him (slow driver in front and didn’t get the hint) but sure it’s just for the best. It’s crazy how you do everything in your power to get someone out of your life, but a mere glance from them has you withering in your shoes and wondering where it all went wrong. Or in my case wanting to get right up his bumper and prove to him what a mistake he made. As you can tell I clearly took the higher ground when it came to this guy. But hey, it’s all a learning curve and makes us stronger in the long run. Plus it’s important to experience the idiots so we can appreciate the nice ones.
Anyway after a very crazy BBQ and what can only be described as the biggest jug of Pimms ever (we definitely got our 5 a day fruit wise!) and a little bit of excitement involing jelly and vodka, it’s finally time for bed. Hopefully get back to the usual sleep routine and will attack the work tomorrow. Night night.
The weather up here is gorgeous, legs and chests out everywhere! And hey, who doesn’t need an excuse to drink in the sun? It’s what us British do best.
Apart from the rug rat and the weather things are pretty normal up here. Got a grand total of two weeks left; which means one has to start pumping out some poems/ stories/ articles/ adverts etc for this wonderful thing called the work based learning portfolio. And what better inspiration is there is this world than men?!
Here we go… decided not to mention them because A. there is far more to life than them and B. it’s not the most interesting thing to write/ read about. But sometimes it’s important to rant, scream or tailgate them in your car. Sadly was not allowed to release full road rage on him (slow driver in front and didn’t get the hint) but sure it’s just for the best. It’s crazy how you do everything in your power to get someone out of your life, but a mere glance from them has you withering in your shoes and wondering where it all went wrong. Or in my case wanting to get right up his bumper and prove to him what a mistake he made. As you can tell I clearly took the higher ground when it came to this guy. But hey, it’s all a learning curve and makes us stronger in the long run. Plus it’s important to experience the idiots so we can appreciate the nice ones.
Anyway after a very crazy BBQ and what can only be described as the biggest jug of Pimms ever (we definitely got our 5 a day fruit wise!) and a little bit of excitement involing jelly and vodka, it’s finally time for bed. Hopefully get back to the usual sleep routine and will attack the work tomorrow. Night night.
Wednesday 27 May 2009
Swapping student life for parenting.
So if university is all about broadening your horizons, then we are certainly about to do that. As of tomorrow we will have an 18 month old child in our house. Yes, we’re mad but it’s so exciting it’s unreal. She is my house mate Claire’s god- daughter and we have heard she is a very cute, crazy little thing. However her coming to Chester meant we needed a HUGE clear out of the house; getting rid of empty bottles, numerous pieces of junk and generally making our house child proof. Not an easy challenge. Either way guaranteed chance I will be the broodiest woman ever by Sunday. Sadly this excitement only really includes Claire and myself, the other two girls are politely pooing themselves with the mere thought of it all. Fingers crossed we wont be chasing a moody toddler around, drawing on the walls and eat various pieces of out of date potpourri. Guess at the end of the day it’s all a learning experience…what’s the worse that can happen?
Tuesday 26 May 2009
Naming of the epic novel.
So after a year of angonising brain power one finally has a name for the book "He was a sex crazed snuffleufocus" or "The sex crazed snuffleufocus" or "Something that doesnt involve a snuffleufocus, incase people dont know what a snuffleufocus is". Either way a very productive day so far! So there you have it, it is named. Shame the book itself isnt finished. Infact five and a bit A4 pages barely makes a chapter. What i do know is sitting infront of the laptop all day makes your back ache like no mans business, am a little worried of standing up, in case i cant! But on a good note todays work has got the creative cells in my brain going, so finally the work based learning portfolio is well under way. Never imagined i would be writing poems about 'Who ate my Minstrels?' and 'Badly behaving Grannies' for my degree but there you go.
Monday 25 May 2009
Bank holiday: Day of rest.
Alarm went off at 8am, moved the car, went back to sleep, woke up again at 12pm, watched Pride and prejudice and then went for a meal. Where did the day go? One minute i was in bed and the next...i was back in bed again. I know students sleep but today was crazy, it just flew by. You have to note when i say sleep i dont actually mean sleep. The worst bit about this year with out a doubt, has been my bed! The saying 'sleeping on nails' is pretty close to my current bed. Even with a sleeping bag under the sheet you can still feel every spring. Dread to think what the previous guy was like who had this room last year. Needless to say sleeping is not a nice experience. And if the bed wasnt bad enough, its next to a wall that could quite literally collapse at any moment. Ive already put a stiletto heel through it, but thats another story. So disadvantage number one of being a student...its not that we sleep a lot, its that we have to sleep when ever we can get the chance to.
Sunday 24 May 2009
Released on Shrewsbury
We got back safe and sound from what can only be described as the longest over night trip ever. Thankfully the arguments over the choice of music in the car were pretty non existent; I drove therefore had no say in the matter. Shrewsbury is a beautiful place, id always thought Chester was pretty but Shrewsbury is something else. Could quite happily set up home and have a family there. However, that was not the purpose of our visit. After several home made Margareta’s we were well on our way; exactly where we were on our way to still remained a mystery. Either way it was a brilliant night. I met a dalek, got hit on by an 18 year old, spent a fortune and officially got thrown out of an over 25’s club for ordering (and being refused) a glass of water. But a few glasses (of wine) later our lack of elder males was no longer an issue. We were four girls on the loose and our aim was to have fun. By 4am we were all asleep, or passed out which ever way you want to look at it?! This morning was just as good, woke up to English sunshine and no hangover. Result! After a quick pub lunch and a toddle round Shrewsbury, with quotes such as “I don’t remember this bar from last night” we hit the road. The journey back was easy, with a Tom-tom, an A-Z map of England and three girls in the car we were never going to get lost. And sadly the highlight was being mooned by a car full of guys; hairy bums are never a nice sight at the best of times. But hey made us all giggle. So all in all great night/day out and would happily do it again. Right…now back to the Uni work.
Saturday 23 May 2009
Day 2 of blog heaven.
Woke up to another miserable day and no hot water. The wonders of student life, at least we will all smell together. We (the housemates and i) are about to embark on a journey to Shrewsbury for the night. Sadly this is very exciting as stepping out of Chester these days is a rarity. So getting ready for an hours drive full of cheesy pop tunes, giggly girls and far more lunggage (shoes) than we will ever need. Anyway that will give you a rough idea of the level of excitement in our house. at the moment. Its like christmas, expect one of us will probably end up getting with Santa tonight. So the argument over who gets front seat begins and the three nutters take to the road...
Friday 22 May 2009
Well think the first hurdle was deciding what background to have and lets face it at 12am it's not really the most important thing to be deciding! Can see this becoming a problem, as in a good problem don't get me wrong. More of a distraction than a problem actually. Errgg should probably shut my mouth now. Maybe its lack of sleep kicking in who knows? What i do know is this time 24 hours ago i was sitting in a bath, practically fully clothed, with a bath hat on and explaning to my friend how we should become shaving buddies. Yes, there was alcohol involved and yes there was an awful lot of it. However, if being a student has taught me one thing, it's that no matter how much you drink it's still possible to wake up with a clear head. One of life's mysteries?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
