Woke up this morning very early; all this sun and stuff. Andy was in the front room at breakfast time, this being a relibale indicator of a morning exam. I was feeling very, uh flat, and Andy suggested going for a bike ride as a way to clear my head up. It didn't work exactly, but after a brief cycle down and alittle past the quayside, I felt better. When I got back I tried to pack some stuff. Mum and Dad were coming down for a bit, and offered to take some stuff back, so now my shelves lack videos and most of my fiction. Still got Jackson's Dillema and Arthurian Romances if I feel that way inclined though. I threw out a lot of stuff in the process and sorted through three years of English notes; it looked pretty pathetic to be honest, but I think I've done alright despite it. I had an idea I might predict myself a grade based on hard facts, but I gave up after a while. I found both my essays from Evolutions and Revolutions. I think Angelique may have despised me, as she gave both of them by far my worst marks. I aced the exam though, and pulled the module up to almost a first. Go me. Almost a first seems to be what I'm getting. Have I metnioned that already. I'm starting to doubt my capacities though, presumbaly irrationally. I still have no mark for my dissertation, which seemed pretty nebulous at the time and accounts for a quarter of this years marks. Ah well.
Mum and Dad turned up at midday, and we walked up to Pizza Express for lunch. We didn't talk about much except my future, which I happen to consider a rather depressing subject. Mum was really tired from being on call, so she and I came back to the house while Dad pootled about in town. She had a nap while I worked on my CV some more, nearly finishing it. Dad came back for Countdown, so we all watched that, and then they went of for tea at a friend's place. I forget what happened after that - nothing much I think.
Thursday, 12 June 2003
Wednesday, 11 June 2003
I'm switching e-mail addresses, as my old one is going to die, like my webspace. I've e-mailed people the new one, but it's not inconceivable that I'll have missed people out. I can't put it on my blog though, I thought, owing to spammers and the like. Do you remember those thin book catalogues you used to get in infant and primary school? I do. Once upon a time I bought a book about secret codes from one such catalogue. It's still in our house I think. This purchase was to facilitate my entry into MI5, but as I can't see that happening any time soon, I shall put its mysteries into more mundane use.
tsoyanpm@yaehoroj.coy.ulk
This is an easy one. You're meant to pile encryption upon encryption, but I guess that's probably enought to deter those bots that scan websites to rip e-mail addresses. Anyway, the idea is simply that I have put an arbitrary letter after every vowel. Strip them, and you have it. While I'm at it, my MSN is still tsoyanpm@hontmaliyl.coym if anyone wants that.
tsoyanpm@yaehoroj.coy.ulk
This is an easy one. You're meant to pile encryption upon encryption, but I guess that's probably enought to deter those bots that scan websites to rip e-mail addresses. Anyway, the idea is simply that I have put an arbitrary letter after every vowel. Strip them, and you have it. While I'm at it, my MSN is still tsoyanpm@hontmaliyl.coym if anyone wants that.
Right. Well after going up to my room, and writing that miserable entry, I perked up a little. Furthermore, when I cam back down again, James had made a good effort at cleaning up. For him, I mean. He still thinks that regular washing up is the preserve of the weak-minded. Well that's quite enough bitching. Anyway, he scraped some of the wax off the floor with a teaspoon, which is now sharpened. Andy, in his knowledge of these things, said this morning that it'd make a good prison weapon, tunneling tool. He also maintained that the bolsheviks had stolen his frying pan. Then he found it. Apparently the bolsheviks had merely hidden it. However, I digress. I was checking on the ol' Commonwealth, and it seems we of The Eagle Tavern have come to an arrangement whereby decision-making capabilities are directly related to attendance at the real Eagle Tavern. Mary lived at Danes Road in the second year, and lived near the Eagle, but was too scared of its local character to go there with me, so I'd never got round to going in it. I tagged along therefore, with Andy for a pint with his drinking buddies, including Dan. It was a bit busy owing to it being quiz night, so we had to sit in the lounge. The lack of seats made me think that I might end up being a bit periphery, but it wasn't so bad. It was quite upbeat really, considering that most people there were in exam mode. We were only there for an hour because of that. Bryony, who lives in our old flat, requested Andy, like the gentleman he is, to escort her home after Lemmying it, so I walked back home with them. Andy accused Bryony of reading Mills & Boon novels. She wan't too happy with that.
When we got home, Andy felt like a random walk. He sat outside, enjoying the crisp, pure night air, while I attempted to draw Paul and James out of the house. Paul came, and instead of the random wandering proposed, we finally got the recycling done. It went amusingly badly. We broke a fair amount of glass on the pavement on the way, but we got it done anyway. Naturally, next on the agenda was going on the swings in the park. Andy thought it wasn't safe for me to jump off the swings. I, who have jumped off many a swing in my days upon God's green earth and have never been in hospital except to visit, jumped off the swings. Paul and Andy were more impressed than was necessary. Either that, or they were taking the piss, but I don't think so. We suddenly decided to run over to the wall and race over it. Andy's long legs apparently avail him naught. I effortlessly overtook him and swept over. Paul also, who missed initial burst, and doesn't exactly have the same height advantage as Andy, easily got over. We both looked back to see Andy, long legs flailing with manifest futility, practically static at the top of the wall. After smirking a bit at that, we wandered home.
When we got home, Andy felt like a random walk. He sat outside, enjoying the crisp, pure night air, while I attempted to draw Paul and James out of the house. Paul came, and instead of the random wandering proposed, we finally got the recycling done. It went amusingly badly. We broke a fair amount of glass on the pavement on the way, but we got it done anyway. Naturally, next on the agenda was going on the swings in the park. Andy thought it wasn't safe for me to jump off the swings. I, who have jumped off many a swing in my days upon God's green earth and have never been in hospital except to visit, jumped off the swings. Paul and Andy were more impressed than was necessary. Either that, or they were taking the piss, but I don't think so. We suddenly decided to run over to the wall and race over it. Andy's long legs apparently avail him naught. I effortlessly overtook him and swept over. Paul also, who missed initial burst, and doesn't exactly have the same height advantage as Andy, easily got over. We both looked back to see Andy, long legs flailing with manifest futility, practically static at the top of the wall. After smirking a bit at that, we wandered home.
Tuesday, 10 June 2003
A depressing day. A largely wasted day. I realised quite quickly after that first post that there wasn't much point in me going into town without a CV. However, I didn't have a copy with me. Fortunately, my wonderful brother Nick was in back at Dobson HQ, and MSNd me the original word file from Dad's computer. So I started on that. My attention span apparently didn't like the idea of me completing this task in one sitting, so I went downstairs and had some tea and sandwiches and stuff. Today, Andy was revising. This meant that he spent some of the day being audibly bewildered by physics, and some in short-term pursuits, such as trying to persuade Mino that his taste in music is excellent. This he did by playing CDs in the front room and saying "Now this - this Mino is just the best song that they ever did. Isn't this great?" Mino and I were both fairly frank regarding our music appreciation. That is to say that we didn't admit that whatever was playing at the time was the best thing in the world, and consistently thwarted his notion that we might. I forget what exactly Andy did other than that, but he was in the kind of mood, as James and I pointed out to him at lunchtime, that little boys sometimes get in and which precedes their mothers telling them to go outside and play. We even offered him the princely sum of £2 to try and get him to occupy himself for an hour outside the house. This would have been a calming activity, we felt, this freeing his mind up to revise properly, as he didn't want to. There were less noble motivations too, as I'm sure you may imagine.
But to my discredit, I did far less CV than Andy did revision. Furthermore, by the end of the day, the kitchen through various activities has become a squalid, depressing place. Our kitchen is usually a tip, but today was a bit much. The sheer superfluity of the mess is what gets me. I am far happier knowing that washing up is a byproduct of ingestion. Andy's revision notes, strewn about the front room liberally, are arranged in the way that he apparently works best, and that's okay, though he does receive a fair few digs for it. Today however, was what might be termed an arts and crafts day. James, Andy and Paul, in their various ways, scattered plaster of paris (making a cast of James' hand, the aforementioned plaster nob design - it did come off), wax (used in the casting process and to make a candle, which was placed and burnt directly on the kitchen table) ashes (various) and tea (poured onto the candle so that the wax turned urine yellow. this then dripped unchecked onto the floor, resembling fake vomit) all round the place. The kitchen is now a very unpleasant place. Oddly, James chose today of all days to take Mino to task (though it was all pretty light-hearted really) for leaving vegetables and coffee in the sink. Oh, and the wax, having dripped onto the cooker, was burnt off, leaving to kitchen full of wax smoke. I wish I'd have gone out as I said I would, rather than staying in to witness the offhand and gratuitous piling up of unusual dirt. Needless to say, the recycling from the party still has to be done. A depressing day. A largely wasted day.
But to my discredit, I did far less CV than Andy did revision. Furthermore, by the end of the day, the kitchen through various activities has become a squalid, depressing place. Our kitchen is usually a tip, but today was a bit much. The sheer superfluity of the mess is what gets me. I am far happier knowing that washing up is a byproduct of ingestion. Andy's revision notes, strewn about the front room liberally, are arranged in the way that he apparently works best, and that's okay, though he does receive a fair few digs for it. Today however, was what might be termed an arts and crafts day. James, Andy and Paul, in their various ways, scattered plaster of paris (making a cast of James' hand, the aforementioned plaster nob design - it did come off), wax (used in the casting process and to make a candle, which was placed and burnt directly on the kitchen table) ashes (various) and tea (poured onto the candle so that the wax turned urine yellow. this then dripped unchecked onto the floor, resembling fake vomit) all round the place. The kitchen is now a very unpleasant place. Oddly, James chose today of all days to take Mino to task (though it was all pretty light-hearted really) for leaving vegetables and coffee in the sink. Oh, and the wax, having dripped onto the cooker, was burnt off, leaving to kitchen full of wax smoke. I wish I'd have gone out as I said I would, rather than staying in to witness the offhand and gratuitous piling up of unusual dirt. Needless to say, the recycling from the party still has to be done. A depressing day. A largely wasted day.
Well this morning I'm going to look for temping work. I haven't got much of a hope, there being only three and a bit weeks left for me to be in employ, but there isn't really much else to do that I can think of. I could always try to enjoy my last three and a bit weeks of uni, but I know I'll just get restless and stressed if I don't try and do anything beneficial to my short-term future. Claire, who lives on the same block as us with some other Christian girls I know, said that there were occasional vacancies for university catering work. I wonder if I can get in on that before term ends...
Monday, 9 June 2003
Well, I guess blogger must be working again now.
So - today. I woke up at 0530. I had determined to sort out many things today - at 0530 I was far too asleep to do anything constructive, yet very much awake enough to stress about all that had to be done. I put on Morimur, a kind of perfomative essay on Bach at probably too loud a volume, and waited 'til dread 8 hath come. Did some realtive phoning to try and sort out a way to get all my stuff back home. Must also remember to go and see a film or something with Neil.
I went to campus first, to the careers centre, which was as helpful as it ever is. Apparently, my temperament is fundamentally ill-suited to the kind of work which graduates are meant to do. Then I picked up some stuff about Natwest graduate accounts, which I should probably read. I also worked out that I was overdrawn on my student account, which is fine, as opposed to my current account, which has no agreed OD facility. This would then have been a most perturbing development, but it's coooooooooool.
Wandered to town. On my way to get my hair cut, a Krishna monk, looking for "cool people like yourself" said that he thought my hair was "cool". Pah. He wanted to give me a book (donation of about £4-5) but I said I needed the money for a haircut. Then he said £1. If I'd really wanted the book, I would have felt guilty about taknig it at that price. This relates to my idea, as proposed to the assembled in th'Artful, that pubs could have decent books as ornamentation, provided that they were largely treatises on morality and the like. Then the kind of person who wanted to read them would be the kind of person who didn't want to steal them. I didn't want the book, so I just got a slip about a forthcoming Krishna celebration. And a haircut. Not from the monk. I think it rather a good idea to have a bike next year (can't afford a car) , so I went to Halford's to investigate prices. "Do you sell second-hand bikes here?" says I. "I do." says he. Now I have an appointment to view a £60 bike this evening at this guy's house. I also bought some CDs from MVC. More Bach. Owing to Mr. Bach's prolific nature, it is not a simple thing to try and purchase a representative work. I bought a recording of The Brandenburg Concertos and St. John (sic) Passion. Shouldn't it be "John's"?
When I got back to get some dinner, Gavin was visibly taken aback at my hair, as was Paul. James has not mentioned it. This might be because it is a slightly irritating thing for someone who has had a drastic hair reconfiguration worked upon them when those about them says things like "It looks much better now." This suggests the paucity of respect they've had for your chosen hairstyle over the years. Most likely though, it is because he can't work up the enthusiasm to say "It's all right, I suppose."
So - today. I woke up at 0530. I had determined to sort out many things today - at 0530 I was far too asleep to do anything constructive, yet very much awake enough to stress about all that had to be done. I put on Morimur, a kind of perfomative essay on Bach at probably too loud a volume, and waited 'til dread 8 hath come. Did some realtive phoning to try and sort out a way to get all my stuff back home. Must also remember to go and see a film or something with Neil.
I went to campus first, to the careers centre, which was as helpful as it ever is. Apparently, my temperament is fundamentally ill-suited to the kind of work which graduates are meant to do. Then I picked up some stuff about Natwest graduate accounts, which I should probably read. I also worked out that I was overdrawn on my student account, which is fine, as opposed to my current account, which has no agreed OD facility. This would then have been a most perturbing development, but it's coooooooooool.
Wandered to town. On my way to get my hair cut, a Krishna monk, looking for "cool people like yourself" said that he thought my hair was "cool". Pah. He wanted to give me a book (donation of about £4-5) but I said I needed the money for a haircut. Then he said £1. If I'd really wanted the book, I would have felt guilty about taknig it at that price. This relates to my idea, as proposed to the assembled in th'Artful, that pubs could have decent books as ornamentation, provided that they were largely treatises on morality and the like. Then the kind of person who wanted to read them would be the kind of person who didn't want to steal them. I didn't want the book, so I just got a slip about a forthcoming Krishna celebration. And a haircut. Not from the monk. I think it rather a good idea to have a bike next year (can't afford a car) , so I went to Halford's to investigate prices. "Do you sell second-hand bikes here?" says I. "I do." says he. Now I have an appointment to view a £60 bike this evening at this guy's house. I also bought some CDs from MVC. More Bach. Owing to Mr. Bach's prolific nature, it is not a simple thing to try and purchase a representative work. I bought a recording of The Brandenburg Concertos and St. John (sic) Passion. Shouldn't it be "John's"?
When I got back to get some dinner, Gavin was visibly taken aback at my hair, as was Paul. James has not mentioned it. This might be because it is a slightly irritating thing for someone who has had a drastic hair reconfiguration worked upon them when those about them says things like "It looks much better now." This suggests the paucity of respect they've had for your chosen hairstyle over the years. Most likely though, it is because he can't work up the enthusiasm to say "It's all right, I suppose."
Sunday, 8 June 2003
Tonight, Joe had suggested that we make a pub expedition, so myself, James, Andy and Joe traipsed down to the Artful to imbibe moderately priced sources of alcohol. John joined us later having had an exam that morning. This we discussed among other things, in the Artful's less than usually pleasant (Saturday crowd) surroundings. Well, we were all having a good time. So good a time in fact, that when Andy suggested going to the Lemmy I didn't laugh in his face. He was as taken aback by this as I was. Must have been in a funny mood. Anyway, I think Joe was up for it from the off, which leaves James and John. Hmm. James said he'd go if John did. I expect he thought that was the end of the matter, as there was not a hope in hell that John was going to come. The very idea! So, as John rightly pointed out, we bullied him into going along with us. I discovered that I was overdrawn at the cashpoint, but thought I should ignore it for the time being, and it vanished from my mind.
People always say that when you go to the Lemmy, you are amazed at how many people you meet there. When you say that you've never ran into anyone you want to run into there, they backtrack and say that you make friends with all the regulars. At this point I tend to snort contemptuously. "My arse.", I think, whilst cryptically whatever facial growth I have at the time of going to press. Must be an attitude thing; as I didn't really care if I met anyone there (I had with me a goodly crew) I met tonnes of unexpected people. Well, tonnes for a stay-at-home like meself anyway. I ran into Nina's housemate and vehement non-Belgian, Wouter, Mary, and Elain. This latter, who is friends with some of Mary's friends, said that it was odd she had run into me, because she had thought about me early in the day. "How delightful.", I thought. She had been recalling, however, the occasion upon which I went to the Imperial and spewed volcanically over a new suit that I had bought. This is the only occasion upon which I have not recalled a large portion of a night due to to being thus profaned. Honurs binds me to point out that this usage of "profane" is Andy's. I also saw one of our next door neighbours, who I always say "Hi." to in passing because on the first day I went next door to try and introduce myself. I also ran into John, a theology student I believe, from my corridor in the first year and some of his friends. I had not seen John since the first year except withinn the past four days, when I have ran into him thrice. Odd.
When we got bored of dancing to certain club standards (Dee-lite, Groove is in the heart being a notable highlight) and James' and John's studied disruption of our vibe via their dancing (again c.f. John), which was the very antithesis of cool, certain members of our party felt the urge of nostalgia. Therefore we went to the Italian Job (Un Momento's) for megaburgers. Some random guys gave us an unwanted pizza. It had meat on, but it was still pretty cool. James keeps on taking the piss out of me for being a vegetarian. Anyway, then we went to Lopes for further retro action. I tried to play table tennis with John, but I was more merry than is conducive to tabel tennis, so my place was taken by Andy, while I hid in an alcove behind a curtain. Well, I wasn't really hiding; I was just being mildly quirky. However, I was bewildered to find certain among us querying my whereabouts. I thought it was pretty obvious really. Lopes is a small sort of a hall, so everybody living there can pick out strangers pretty easily. We, walking in through the open door, therefore amused/perturbed the residents who were hanging by the doorway. We strolled out to a pointed "Good night" from one such.
When we got back we went up to John and Joe's flat, for I had desired to investigate Joe's rap depository. Mother Hubbard tha Police and all that. Um, yeah, and then we slept, little knowing that would feel unexpectedly worse for wear the next day.
* * *
I did very little the following day. I did manage to make it to Mass though, and partook of the cheap, invigorating properties of Red Bull, available at Noah's Ark.
People always say that when you go to the Lemmy, you are amazed at how many people you meet there. When you say that you've never ran into anyone you want to run into there, they backtrack and say that you make friends with all the regulars. At this point I tend to snort contemptuously. "My arse.", I think, whilst cryptically whatever facial growth I have at the time of going to press. Must be an attitude thing; as I didn't really care if I met anyone there (I had with me a goodly crew) I met tonnes of unexpected people. Well, tonnes for a stay-at-home like meself anyway. I ran into Nina's housemate and vehement non-Belgian, Wouter, Mary, and Elain. This latter, who is friends with some of Mary's friends, said that it was odd she had run into me, because she had thought about me early in the day. "How delightful.", I thought. She had been recalling, however, the occasion upon which I went to the Imperial and spewed volcanically over a new suit that I had bought. This is the only occasion upon which I have not recalled a large portion of a night due to to being thus profaned. Honurs binds me to point out that this usage of "profane" is Andy's. I also saw one of our next door neighbours, who I always say "Hi." to in passing because on the first day I went next door to try and introduce myself. I also ran into John, a theology student I believe, from my corridor in the first year and some of his friends. I had not seen John since the first year except withinn the past four days, when I have ran into him thrice. Odd.
When we got bored of dancing to certain club standards (Dee-lite, Groove is in the heart being a notable highlight) and James' and John's studied disruption of our vibe via their dancing (again c.f. John), which was the very antithesis of cool, certain members of our party felt the urge of nostalgia. Therefore we went to the Italian Job (Un Momento's) for megaburgers. Some random guys gave us an unwanted pizza. It had meat on, but it was still pretty cool. James keeps on taking the piss out of me for being a vegetarian. Anyway, then we went to Lopes for further retro action. I tried to play table tennis with John, but I was more merry than is conducive to tabel tennis, so my place was taken by Andy, while I hid in an alcove behind a curtain. Well, I wasn't really hiding; I was just being mildly quirky. However, I was bewildered to find certain among us querying my whereabouts. I thought it was pretty obvious really. Lopes is a small sort of a hall, so everybody living there can pick out strangers pretty easily. We, walking in through the open door, therefore amused/perturbed the residents who were hanging by the doorway. We strolled out to a pointed "Good night" from one such.
When we got back we went up to John and Joe's flat, for I had desired to investigate Joe's rap depository. Mother Hubbard tha Police and all that. Um, yeah, and then we slept, little knowing that would feel unexpectedly worse for wear the next day.
* * *
I did very little the following day. I did manage to make it to Mass though, and partook of the cheap, invigorating properties of Red Bull, available at Noah's Ark.
Saturday, 7 June 2003
Well I caved in and started my own nation. I wonder how easy .xml is, cos then this might be more useful. All depends on one's definition of useful really.
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