My Cosy Hovel

Interview Technique

2011-07-03T16:57:00.003+01:00

At Glasgow Uni, after you've done ten physics exams in May there's a chance you'll get an interview in early June. It's an opportunity for people sitting on grade boundaries to convince the exam board that they deserve the better of the two grades. Although that's clearly a good thing nobody wants one, because they're terrifying.

We all received an email asking us to be present in the common room at 12pm on June 9th and that any interviews would be conducted at around 2pm. Usually only one or two people are interviewed, but that meant everyone would have to sit in the common room, fearing the worst, for two hours.

We all showed up. At 12:30 our class head entered and said, "You'll be glad to know that no one has to do an interview this year." A cross between a cheer and a sigh of relief went up, and he mentioned that the class photos were now available and we could collect them, free of charge, if we wanted them.

How nice. People most hung around in the common room, chatting and speculating about the results, myself included.

The class head came over to me and asked, "Rebecca, could I have a quick word?"

I think I may have actually flinched. As I followed him across the the far side of the room I thought "OhmyGod. OhmyGod. I have failed so monumentally that they would like me to leave the university, the city and ideally the world. They want to pretend I never happened. I'm not even going to get a diploma! They'll take away my right to a designated degree! OhmyGod."

At the other side of the room he looked up, smiled and indicated one of the class photos.

"Could you help me work out everyone's names?"

...

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

Bastard.

Branded Sportswear

2011-04-25T14:10:00.004+01:00

I just got an email from Amazon, who apparently think I should be spending more money. I guess they'd know. Here's a few of the things they think I should be buying:

My first thoughts are "meh, not really my thing..." Then I look closer and I notice something. Let me show you.

Yeah, that says "Branded Sportswear." Yeah, it's a mini-dress. Now, well done to Amazon for working out that I'm a lady*, and giving me a picture of a dress Really though, I just don't think I can run in that. Maybe I could ice-skate?

It's sure as hell a lot glitzier than anything I've ever played tennis in...

*Or maybe not, what with the advert for "men's shavers clippers and more." :-/

Regular Fun

2011-03-25T15:03:00.003Z

The ladies' toilets in Tennants Bar on Byres Road in Glasgow.

Monday Night. Approximately 9pm.

I enter, have a piddle and wash my hands. As I dry them my eyes land on the Machine. It's the same kind of machine you find in ladies' toilets, in pubs, up and down the country (presumably similar ones exist in the gents).

This one has two options. They are labelled "Fun" and "Regular."

Beneath the label "Fun" is another label advertising Durex Pleasure Max.

Beneath "Regular? "...Tampax Regular.

No. Really.

I shall try to get photographic evidence, but exams mean it may be a while before I enter a pub again.

Link

2011-03-11T15:49:00.005Z

Hello.

I have updated my "Friends" section with some new links. This is intended to entertain anyone who still feels the need to procrastinate after having read whatever it is I'm going on about this time.

Anyway, I now have links to,

Gav's vimeo account. Gav is my flat mate and makes some rather entertaining films. You should go watch them.
Freya's sketch blog. Freya is an animation student at Dundee, this blog is for her sketches, most of which are really rather funny.
Brian's blog. Thought-provoking stuff from a physics phd student.

Hopefully these will provide a pleasant distraction. Enjoy.

Acronyms

2011-03-10T13:59:00.001Z

Scientists like to use acronyms as often as they can. It makes them sound like they know even more than they actually do (an impressive feat, no doubt). After all, if there's so little space left in your brain that you need to use only the first letters of words then either your brain is very full or very small. Or both.

Of course, I'm being a little unkind. It is often just easier and faster to remember things as acronyms, but their use can lead to confusion.

For example, I sent an email to one of my lecturers a few weeks ago. I was asking about Summer work and attached a copy of my CV. He replied promptly, letting me know what was available and suggesting that I meet with a couple of people to get more details. He added a postscript.

"P.S: Didn't know you belonged to the secret fellowship of LiaL ..."

LiaL? What on Earth is LiaL? I had no idea, so I was both confused and worried. Had I accidentally lied to him? I read back over my email, LiaL didn't feature. No words that could make up LiaL featured.

I turned to google. Google was not useful, Lial is a name of a person and the name of a place. It is also used by Legal Informatics at Liverpool, but I definitely hadn't claimed to be involved in that. Also, Lithium Aluminium alloys exist, which wasn't useful either.

Maybe it was code for something weird? Loosely Arranged Indented Lines? Long armed integrated Labradors? Lial? Come on!

I read back over my CV, maybe it was something I'd forgotten about. Right at the bottom I found it, Lab in a Lorry. The volunteer scheme for demonstrating science experiments to school kids. Obviously. Not that it's a "secret fellowship," of course.

Couldn't he have just said so?

Embarrassing...

2011-03-09T16:28:00.003Z

I got an email from the IOP about how they were transferring the Physics Society some money. I thought to myself, "cool, but why?" and forwarded the email to my friend, Martin, the Astronomy Society president, to see if he had any idea what it was going on.

Here's the email I sent,

"Hey,

This looks good, but I've no idea what it's about. I guess the smart person would check the PhySoc account in three days or so. I'm forwarding it to you first because you're competent. Any idea what it's for?

-Becky x"

Unfortunately I did in fact not send that to my friend Martin, but to one of the astronomy lecturers who is also called Martin.

Embarrassing! So yeah, I totally signed off with a kiss. Our physics and astronomy department isn't especially formal, but that was definitely over-familiar for an undergrad. Thank goodness I don't study astronomy and never run into the guy. Although actually he didn't seem to care, and just said he'd look into it.

Worried

2011-03-06T17:39:00.005Z

I lead a happy life. I daydream constantly, I bake exciting cakes, I dance in my kitchen, I take regular naps, I drink wine. Sometimes I even find money that I thought I had spent in my pockets.

It's not that I don't worry about things, just that my worries are usually minor. I worry that I won't be able to decide what to wear. I worry that I'll run out of money before I kill my liver - or that I'll kill my liver before I manage to bankrupt myself (there's some hefty bets on whether my liver or my bank balance will fail first, and all of them are rigged).

Over the past few days though, I have had some real concerns to contend with. Firstly, the exam period starts in six weeks. Sorry, I'll say that again. The exam period starts in six weeks. That is not a very long time for a person who expects to have to sit 10 exams, especially when she doesn't feel like she knows enough to sit even one exam yet.

Secondly, I have a cold. My face has been leaking almost constantly for the past 72 hours. I am a disgusting mess. I am also slightly surprised that I haven't simply shrivelled up through dehydration. Fortunately I have avoided looking like a sultana so far, but being bundled up in blankets and clutching (adorable, floral, Kath Kidston) tissues isn't a great look either.

The run-up to exams means that posting here will become less frequent. I probably do have the time to write the odd thing, but when you're stuck indoors studying atomic systems all day very few entertaining things occur. As always, I won't write if I have nothing to write about.

In the meantime, I demand your pity. Send it to the usual address.

My Landlord, The Moron

2011-03-03T21:12:00.003Z

We have just been given our new lease. It's boring, because it's a legal document. However, along with the lease we have been provided with some fire safety information. This I feel I should share. It's important that people know - I wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone burning to death. So, here's a few of the choice "Risks of Fire" that my landlord thought we ought to know about.

This is all completely genuine. I am not making any of it up, just copying directly from the document.

Smoking: If possible, do not smoke inside especially if you are drunk or on drugs. Do not smoke in bed and make sure your cigarette is properly extinguished before you go to sleep.

Candles: Keep candles away from flammable surfaces such as curtains, TV sets or bath tubs and NEVER leave them unattended. Always extinguish them properly before going to sleep.

Doors: Keep ALL doors closed at all times.

Wow, I never knew doors could be so dangerous. I'd best make sure never to open them, in case they burst into flames. I suppose that means I'll just have to stay in my room forever now.

Dignity at all Times

2011-03-02T15:36:00.005Z

I got a haircut yesterday afternoon. My hairdresser is not punctual, but I like my cut, so I forgive him. However, while I was waiting I was given two cups of tea, and before I left the flat I'd had a pint of water. By the time my cut was done Nature was calling and, being a woman, she can get bitchy when you don't answer her calls.

As I got back to my flat, the situation was getting rather severe. I bounded up the stairs, my hair bouncing cheerfully. I spoke to myself (at reasonable volume) as I ascended two steps at a time, "needawee needawee needawee needawee."

I got to the final flight of stairs and glanced upwards. One of the boys from upstairs was coming down, naturally he had heard my little chant. He met my eye and smirked. I returned his gaze, grinned and winked. I continued on my way,

"needawee needawee needawee."

Before I slammed my door behind me, I heard him laughing. Glad to have made your day Boy From Upstairs. You have my permission to give me a knowing smile the next time we say "hello." I shall return it.

Booty Call

2011-02-25T14:22:00.006Z

My walk home from uni takes me past an old BT phone box. Y'know, the kind of thing you used before you had a mobile phone? Hah, remember coins? The future rules.

Anyway, today as I walked home I noticed something odd about the phone box. It had been given a caption. In real life. A band of text had appeared across the centre. It read,

"Who will you end up spending the night with?"

Oh BT, you saucy minx, you! I'll bet you want me to step inside and make a booty call right now, don't you? With everyone watching me through that dirty glass? You pervert!

Well, I have news for you, your cheap tricks won't draw me in, not this time! I don't even have any change on me, or I would have given it to the real tramp up the road. So there!

I'm going to have to get a photo of this next time I walk that way. The phone box, not the tramp. Obviously.

[Edit, 14:59, 29/02/11: Just got a photo, will post later.]

[Edit, 13:46, 01/03/11: Here it is!]

Rise and Shine

2011-02-22T14:47:00.002Z

Lately I've been having trouble sleeping. It's not so bad, it just takes me longer to fall unconscious than I'd normally like. The problem is then getting up on time in the morning.

As a student, getting up early in the morning is especially tough. No one depends on me to be awake in the morning. I don't have a job. Nothing terrible will happen if I miss a lecture - especially since all of the notes are put online now.

One of two ideas tend to come into my head:

1. I'm paying for this. I'm paying about £2,000 a year to skip lectures. I have about 23 weeks of lectures, each of which actually contain about 8 hours of lectures. That's only 184 lectures. Each lecture costs me £10 - whether I show up or not. £10 is a lot of money for someone with no money... I'd better go!

Or,

2. This is the only point in my life when not getting up won't have seriously negative consequences. At least, until I retire... I'd better make the most of this!

Of course, any day that I get up late I end up feeling guilty about. So, in an attempt to combat the temptation to sleep in, I moved my alarm clock to the other side of the room last night. That meant I'd have to get out of bed to switch it off.

I was worried that I'd be tempted to get back into bed after doing so, so I stuck a post-it note on top the alarm clock. It said,

"Wait! Don't go back to sleep! Think of all the stuff you could do! Notes? Breakfast? Something?!"

I'm sure the note would have worked brilliantly. Unfortunately I decided against actually getting out of bed to turn off the alarm clock, because I had set it to play Radio 4 in order to wake me up. Instead I dozed and listened to the news.

I eventually got up half an hour later, when a programme too boring to bare came on.

Connoisseur

2011-02-20T18:15:00.005Z

I think I mentioned that when I was in London last weekend our hotel bar was a specialist rum bar. Apparently this was God's way of rewarding me by waiting for a month after my actual birthday to celebrate my birthday with my best friends. Without much persuasion, I convinced my best friends that we should get at least on drink there.

I love my friends, but they can be unadventurous with alcohol at times. Jenny got a pint of Pilsner, Hannah got an orange and cranberry juice. Both of them got a raised eyebrow, and I went to stare at the bottles behind the bar for a while. I discovered that the hotel does not bother to train its staff.

Sofia the bar girl noticed me, and came over.

Sofia: Hi, what can I get you?
Becky: This bar specialises in rum, right?
Sofia: That's right.
Becky: Well, perhaps you could recommend something? I'd like a good rum for drinking over ice, I know I really like Havana Barrelproof and all Appleton Estate rums that I've tried, any ideas?
Sofia: Um... Do you like Bacardi?
Becky: I, uh-
Sofia: Or Morgan's Spiced? A lot of people like that!
Becky: You know, I think I'll just get the barrelproof.
Sofia: Ok... lets see now, where's it gone...?
Becky: It's the one with the blue label, just under the bottle of Gordon's.
Sofia: Oh! Great!

She poured me an admittedly generous double measure, because there wasn't much left in the bottle. She then studied the till.

Sofia: Ok... let's see now, where's it gone...?
Becky, reaching around the bar and tapping the correct button on the register: Here it is.
Sofia: Oh, thanks! I've not been working here very long, haven't quite got the hang of this yet.
Becky: I would never have guessed.

Nice girl. Gormless, but nice. I even tipped her, but then I did get about three shots for the price of two.

I sat down with my drink, and enjoyed the sensation of all the troubles I don't even have melting away. The others declined my offer that they try a sip. All was well with the world.

Yorkshire Lass

2011-02-17T14:24:00.003Z

There are some things I miss about living in Yorkshire. I miss the pretty countryside. I miss the home I grew up in. I miss the funny way people talk (although people talk pure mental here too, pal). I don't miss the difficulties involved in getting places.

I don't like having to wait for a bus in order to go shopping. This may surprise you, but in truth I am not a very patient person. I don't even like having to wait for the morning before I go shopping, and have often given in and ordered shoes online instead. Then I have to do something very distracting while I wait for them to arrive. More shopping usually does the job.

Cities suit me better. Glasgow may not have much of a subway system, but at least I never have to wait for more than eight minutes for a train. There's even a few clothes shops on the street I live on, allowing me to walk instead of waiting. This is very positive for an impatient person.

In Leeds I need to wait for a bus. It only arrives every half hour, and sometimes it just doesn't bother. On Sundays it's hourly and I'm pretty sure there's never one at 11 o'clock. At least I've never caught it even if there is one. It then takes half an hour to get me to city centre or worse, to Wetherby. From there I can get another half-hourly bus to Harrogate or a two-hourly bus to York.

It's freakin' 2011! I know the North of England is supposed to be a bit backward, but it's not supposed to be worse than Scotland! Where the hell is my teleporter?

Always Tick the Box

2011-02-16T11:32:00.003Z

At some point in my life I have failed to tick a box that says "If you do not wish to be contacted by third parties for marketing purposes please tick this box." That or I have accidentally ticked a box that says the opposite. These marketing types are sneaky like that.

As a result I received a letter this morning that had "Official Confirmation of Award" stamped on the front. Unfortunately the letter inside said that I could have between £15 and £1,500 if I opened a credit account with Littlewoods. I have never shopped at Littlewoods in my life - nor have I opened a credit account. It's unlikely that I'll do so for a measly £15.

I used to get plagued by emails, catalogues and texts from Dwell, who sell furniture and the like. You read that correctly by the way, they sent me text messages. To my mobile phone. The bastards have no mercy. Everyone gets that tiny buzz of joy when they get a text, but for some time mine were occasionally "20% off at Dwell this weekend only." They arrived about once a week.

I emailed them a few times telling them to leave me alone, and after a while they did. I still get catalogues selling old people stuff and expensive gifts of the pseudo-ethnic variety. Just in case I want my home to look like I'm in my 70's but I spent my younger days travelling to the People's Republic of Ethnicograd. I don't, since you ask.

One day, I'll be patient enough to contact them all. I'll tell them that I'm both penniless and very boring, and that I therefore can't buy any of their expensive and exciting stuff. Until then, I'll keep dropping their letters directly into the recycling.

The moral: Always read the text next to any tiny hidden box on any form you fill in. Think carefully about ticking it, or you may be plagued by minor inconveniences until you can be bothered to do something about it.

Night Frights

2011-02-14T13:17:00.003Z

This weekend I was in London with Jenny and Hannah. We saw Grease (actually pretty good), I drank Havana barrelproof in the hotel bar, we ordered and ate too much breakfast, we shopped at a vintage market, etc, etc.

The three of us shared a hotel room. At the end of the night we all went to sleep. A couple of hours later, Jenny awoke. It seems my pillows were arranged such that it looked like I was sitting straight up in bed, staring. Terrified, she woke Hannah.

"Hannah, look, there's something wrong with Becky."

"Wha? Mhhhrr."

"She's just sitting staring at us!"

"Huh?"

Jenny then nudged me.

"Becky?"

"Mmm? What?"

"Oh... Never mind."

"What's up?"

"Go back to sleep."

I don't need telling twice, so I went back to sleep, willing to have the situation explained in the morning. Jenny also went back to sleep - knowing when she nudged me that I was not my pillows. Pillows are just not scary.

Hannah, on the other hand, was just coming around, and was certain she had heard Jenny say,

"There's someone in the room staring at us."

The poor chick didn't get back to sleep for hours.

Bad Planning

2011-02-12T08:41:00.003Z

"I think we should keep drinking." I said to Gav as we finished the fourth bottle of wine and the second episode of Battlestar Galatica (damn right I know how to party). To be fair, we'd had a meal and a couple of friends to help us through the first three, but to my count that means we finished 1.25 bottles each.

It also meant that 30% of the wine bottles currently above the cupboards in our kitchen were consumed last night. A statistic that would have meant certain death at many points in the year, but fortunately the cupboards have recently been cleared (because they were full). A statistic that incidentally, I got wrong when I tried to calculated it last night (because I was full of wine).

At 4:30 this morning when I woke, sweating and shaky and very thirsty, I identified that saying "I think we should keep drinking" was probably a mistake. At the time though, Gav heartily agreed. So we powered through a bottle of Baileys, which Archie returned to help with. I drank a few rounds of Amaretto, Gav got to work on the black cherry liqueur. All in all it was a pretty decent effort, and a most entertaining evening.

Waking at 4:30, though, was less fun. I stumbled to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water, and discovered we'd left the lights on. I returned to bed, trying not to think about the fact that I had to get up in two and a half hours to catch a train to take me to London. Failing.

I've no idea what time we gave in and called it a night. What I do know is that I'm miraculously fine* this morning, and that when I was making my bed at 8:00, I discovered that my hot water bottle was still warm.

I'd write more, but I have a train to catch. I'm slightly concerned that I'll arrive at the station to find that I've missed a whole day. Maybe even a week.

*I say "fine," I'm definitely not safe to drive, but at least part of that is due to not actually having a license.

Opinionated

2011-02-11T16:08:00.002Z

I was having a chat about the nature of talent versus skill with Martin a couple of days ago. Less a chat, more a debate. Ok, maybe it became bickering at one point, but it was an entertaining bicker.

Until he had the gall to say,

"You're entitled to-"

I cut him off,

"Oh am I? How sweet of you!"

"...I was going to say 'You're entitled to your opinion and so am I,' before you interrupted me."

Of course you were Martin. I knew you were, but that was kind of my point. People do this all the time. It's either "we're all entitled to an opinion" or, "that's just your opinion" or something equally banal.

I backed down. It was a stressful evening for him - he was running the AstroSoc Burn's supper at the time. Also, I probably could not have replied as I wanted without raising my voice, and this was a polite occasion. If I could have spoken more freely I would have said,

"Of course we both are. That's why we're having this discussion. That's why any discussion is ever interesting. For Goodness' sake don't ruin it with empty, tired platitudes."

That is my request to anyone who does this. We all know we're entitled to an opinion, but if we can't discuss and challenge those opinions, they aren't worth anything at all. Your opinion isn't sacred, it isn't special and it may even be worth less than that of an opinion formed by someone with more information on the subject, but as long as you're willing to consider it, it isn't totally worthless.

Equally, the fact that this is "just my opinion" doesn't matter. It may not have been worth very much to begin with, but calling it what it is doesn't decrease it's value. If you'd rather no one ever voiced an opinion you're a worrying individual, and you probably have some deep-seated control issues.

Feel free to disagree, but don't think that that will make you right.

Disclaimer: Martin is one of my best friends, I'd still hang out with him if he was guilty of doing this every time I saw him.

Infectious Geekery

2011-02-09T13:34:00.002Z

Not long ago my friend Martin discovered (to his glee) that a Battlestar Galactica board game existed. He emailed a few friends, asking if they'd be interested in playing. I was one of those friends, we all agreed to do so. To be fair though, we're all physicists, as a collective being geeky is one of our favourite pass-times.

Last Saturday they played the first two rounds. I did not partake, not because it was a Saturday night and I'm too cool, but because I was at a friend's engagement party (being told that as a physicist I was unemployable. Go figure). An engagement party is something I didn't feel that I could miss, but I was slightly jealous about not playing.

Last night Martin sent me a text, asking if I was free to play. He said he was going to invite the same crowd as previously. I accepted - but I was the only one. With only me, Martin and his flat mate Steve, there would not be enough of us. Who else could we possibly ask?

My flat mates. Obviously.

Gav is a massive BSG fan, he discovered the series well before I did, but I'd like to think that he's been getting increasingly geeky in the time we've known each other.

Harry is a moderate BSG fan, and was a closet geek. He's now out in the open, revelling in the statistics class he's been taking this year (probably the first maths he's done since 2006), playing video games, watching sci-fi, etc, etc.

Archie... Well, Archie was out at the cinema with friends. He's not quite the anti-geek, but compared with the crowd we're talking about here, he may as well be. I guess he sometimes watches Dr Who.

So, we trotted off, beers in hand, to play the nerdiest board game I have ever seen. We were well behaved, and quit at midnight. All agreed it was a good game, none ruled out the possibility of playing again.

For physicists this is normal. Gavin is a film student. Harry does medicine. They should, if playing to their stereotypes, both be out getting wasted every night. I probably can't claim the credit for them not being dreadful individuals, but I would like to consider the possibility that geekiness is infectious.

Hell, Archie's managed to catch almost everything else - maybe he'll catch this too eventually.

The Overwatch

2011-02-05T14:08:00.002Z

I have a new favourite gaming beverage. I'd like to share it with you.

The Overwatch

You need:

1 friend

2 bottles of Crabbie's Alcoholic Ginger Beer

3 limes

4 shots dark rum (ideally Myre's or Black Seal, but almost any good dark rum will work).

Directions:

Pour a small glass of ginger beer from each bottle and drink with ice.
Juice the limes and shake the juice and pulp with a the rum and a little ice.
Pour this liquid into the now slightly emptier Crabbie's bottles and stir with a straw.
Drink whilst gaming. Win often.
Rinse and repeat, until at least 3am.

I'm willing to admit that it's simply a more badass version of a Dark and Stormy. I'm not willing to admit that it's anything less than excellent. The only thing I can think of that may improve it would be finding straws long enough to reach to the bottom of the bottle.

Fancy a game of Half Life?

Stop! Spammer time!

2011-02-03T12:04:00.002Z

I am fortunate in that I don't get a lot of spam, which is probably because (in spite of what you may believe) I have little interest in dodgy websites and a healthy respect for anti-virus software. However, no email address above a certain age can be entirely pure, so I thought I'd share with you some of the finer items I have in my spambox at this time. I'm nice like that.

Date: 6th January

Sender: Nick Clegg

Subject: One week left until polling day.

Comment: Awww, bless. Well, I don't remember telling gmail that I didn't want to read any messages from Nick Clegg anymore. Which, while it was correct to put the message in spam, is a little worrying. Not that I'll correct the filter. Poor sod.

Date: 30th January

Sender: 500 Free

Subject: Click Here to Claim Your PRIZE!!!

Comment: This one gets full marks for effort. It's delightfully old school, I didn't think people still produced things like this anymore. It has animated .gifs for goodness' sake! It claims my prize is "£500 Free!" Sadly, the £-sign keeps switching to a $ or €. I just can't bring myself to click, in case I get one of the lower-value currencies. Also because my brains have not yet leaked out of my eyes.

Date: 3rd February

Sender: Ask

Subject: Looking for Some Sparkle this Valentine's Day?

Comment: Are you implying my previous Valentine's days have lacked sparkle? Are you really implying that my life in general lacks so little sparkle that I'm going to be impressed by your "£16.95 for three courses and a glass of prosecco?" How dare you? I don't really do Valentine's day. Myself and the chap will swap cards and maybe a token gift, but I have little interest in much else. Far less a set Valentine's menu at Ask. Purrrlease.

On starting this entry I was kind of hoping to have some slightly more hilarious spam. I've got nothing about penis enlargement. No "hott" girls in Glasgow who want to talk to me now. I might have won £500, but there's nothing about online poker or bingo. No one wants to sell me prescription medication or weird software. Not so much as a Russian bride offer.

I feel a bit left out. Maybe I should visit some of those dodgy websites after all.

Travel is Dangerous

2011-01-31T13:43:00.003Z

So, I mentioned not long ago that I'd been on a brief trip to Madrid, and that I'd struggled getting back because of the weather. It had been snowing, which made a lot of people very angry. I don't quite understand that - getting angry at the snow is like getting angry at the Moon, it won't change anything.

Anyway, our flight provider sorted us out with a hotel room for the night. Hotel Auditorium is the largest in Europe, and you can tell. Sadly it's also in the middle of nowhere, so there wasn't really much for us to do. We read a little. We ate our complimentary buffet dinner. We watched Barcelona destroy Madrid at football in the over-priced hotel bar.

We needed to be back at the airport for 6am, which meant rising at 4am. Fun times. We flew from Madrid to Gatwick, then (after threats of a four-hour delay which turned out to be hollow) from Gatwick to Glasgow. Not our planned route, or on our planned day, but in the end I was back in my flat only 25 hours after I expected to be.

No harm done really. I tend not to stress about these situations. However, on arriving back I was dog tired. I'd also been wearing basically the same outfit for 25 hours longer than I'd planned to. I wanted a shower, a sleep and a real meal. In that order.

After my shower and before my sleep I bundled all of my clothes from the trip into the washing machine. I'm organised like that. After a delicious nap, I arose, and went into the kitchen to deal with my nice clean clothes and my dinner.

On opening the washing machine I discovered A Terrible Thing. Bits of papery stuff mixed among my clothes. What's this? My passport case? How did that get in here? ...Oh.

It seems my passport was still in my pocket. It was very clean, and utterly useless. No way I'll be leaving the country with it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I have had to apply for two passports in two years. There's a lesson to be learned here somewhere.

Haiku

2011-01-29T16:15:00.001Z

Ice on Glasgow's streets,

A man slips,

Goodbye dignity.

Music from downstairs,

No more sleep.

Anger reigns again.

Which shoes should I wear?

It's raining!

Middle class problems.

It is 3am.

I should sleep,

but I'm on Facebook.

As You Like It

2011-01-27T11:22:00.003Z

Challenge time!
Lets play a game where we try to make the phrase "I like my men like I like my _____: ______" as horrific as possible. I'll start us off.

"I like my men like I like my _____: ______"

Coffee: Rich and trapped in a sack.

Films: Funny and violent... or foreign.

Science: Hard and strictly physical.

Heels: High and dangerous.

Books: Thick and bound in leather.

Jeans: Distressed and slightly too big for me.

Steak: Rare, but definitely dead.

Right, your turn. Think you can do worse? Bring it on.

Birthday Stats

2011-01-25T01:32:00.003Z

General stats

Real Name: Becky Douglas

Nicknames: Becka, Wench, Wenchy, Wenchstress, Helgar the Wench, Ohshititsher, English, Beckto, Le Becs Fontaine, Fatty, etc, etc.

Age: Mind your own.

Appearance: Impeccable.

Height: 5'7", but I feel taller than last year.

Shoe size: 5, since you ask.

Do you act your age or your shoe size? Probably closer to the latter.

Occupation: Student and general layabout.

Birthday stats:

Birthday wishes received;

-in person: 18

-on the phone: 3

-by text: 7

-through facebook: 58 0_o

-through twitter: 1

-from companies via email: 8. Nice.

Conclusions:

1. Maybe I should remove myself from a few mailing lists.

2. Facebook really is taking over the world, but that's OK, because if I'd had to reply to 58 texts, or answer 58 calls today I would have had a meltdown.

3. More of my friends need to get twitter. Or maybe I need to get more friends. :-/

I had a lovely day. Thanks everyone for messages, cards (somehow not important to this survey), calls, hugs, gifts and fun times. I'm going to go find my walking stick.

Birthday

2011-01-24T15:16:00.002Z

Today is my birthday.

If you guys skipped the singing this year, I think I'd pretty much be fine with that.

Thanks.

Eggs Studente

2011-01-23T14:41:00.001Z

I have invented a breakfast!

Eggs Studente

Ingredients:

One croissant
One egg
Butter
Rocket
Salt and pepper

Method:

Poach the egg in slightly salted water.
Meanwhile, warm the croissant with a quick zap in the microwave.
Split the croissant and butter it lightly.
Fill with the egg, add salt and pepper, and a handful of rocket.
Enjoy your almost-posh breakfast.

Easy!

Bookmarked

2011-01-21T11:52:00.002Z

In November I went to Madrid for a weekend. At each airport we passed through airport security without problems. Except at Gatwick, which we only ended up at because of the weather. I bleeped when walking through the x-ray, and the security lady flagged up my handbag as containing something suspicious.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am dreadfully untrustworthy. However, people who don't know me usually can't tell. I suspect that this is why I only got stopped once on our trip. Not that I'm a terrorist, just that I'm your average, middle-class, white girl, so I don't even look like a terrorist.

I permitted the security lady to search me (I have no idea what would have happened if I'd refused the search. Probably something violent). When she was certain I didn't have a knife in my boot or a dynamite belt around my waist she let me pass.

I permitted the security gentleman to search my handbag. I promised him it contained no needles or anything else sharp or dangerous. He removed all my electronic equipment and scanned it. I'm a geek, that was a lot of stuff, it felt like it took an age. He then removed my book, which contained this:

That's my bookmark. It is metal, and hooked, and I suppose a bit suspicious if you haven't seen one before. Although the person who flagged it had not, the gentleman searching my handbag had.

I had a bit of a Moment. I thought he was going to confiscate it. That was fine, if he did so I'd probably be allowed on the plane and I'd get home. I wasn't worried about that, I had a much greater concern.

"Ah, sorry. Um, would you mind if I just checked my page number?"

He cocked an eyebrow.

"You're not dangerous."

He took the bookmark to show to the lady behind the desk. He brought it back and carefully inserted into the book at the correct page. He chuckled, and sent me on my way.

Nick, exasperated, commented that this is why I should just use a bit of card like everyone else. Card isn't nearly so pretty, but I may consider using it for future flights.

Resolution

2011-01-17T14:46:00.003Z

I just realised that my previous post was in fact the first post of 2011, and that I haven't done a New Years' Resolution entry yet.

I asked a couple of friends for ideas, first via facebook. This was not useful, suggestions ranged from giving up physics to building a teleporter. My ever hilarious flat mate suggested I loose some f**king weight. That's the kind of wit you can cut yourself on.

So, I got brave and went into the real world. I asked some people there. Not randomers, that would be weird, I asked my friends. Someone suggested doing more of whatever I wished I had more time for last year.

So, as a result, here are my New Years Resolutions:

1. Play more video games.

2. Bake more cake.

3. Make better use of your shoe collection (expanding it where possible).

I think I'll be a genuinely better person if I succeed.

By the by, my spell-checker is not happy about "facebook" or "teleporter" which leads me to believe that it is from the past.

Nitwit

2011-01-17T14:18:00.002Z

Here is a conversation via text message between myself and my chap (I am in italics, because they're girly):

Hey, want to meet up some time next week? xxx

Yeah well I figured we'd meet up at the weekend anyway. xxx

Ok, sounds good. I reckon we should get sushi :) xxx

Yeah sure. I could come over Monday if you'd prefer. I don't know if you have anything planned. xxx

Monday as in tomorrow? I have Red Cross stuff on. The weekend is fine if it's ok for you too. xxx

I meant Monday as in your birthday :P

-----

True story. Time kind of sneaks up on you like that sometimes. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'd forgotten my birthday - I knew that it was soon - I'd just forgotten how soon it was.

So, as one might expect, as I am getting older I am becoming senile. It's the only explanation. Who's surprised?

Plans

2010-12-17T11:46:00.004Z

Being a bit of a geek meant that I was rather excited about the new Tron movie. I was extra excited when I learned that it's release day (today) coincided with the day of my only exam this semester. I expressed a desire to go see it after my exam, at the Imax, by way of celebrating post-exam freedom.

Harry and Gav agreed to come along. We decided booking would be a good idea if we intended to go on the release day, and went directly to the Imax website. So, when it turned out that they had an early viewing of the film, starting at 00:01 on Friday 17th December - I could not resist.

"This is going to be perfect!"

Ten minutes after booking I realised that 00:01 was before 13:00, which is my exam time today. This meant that rather than getting an early night and plenty of rest, I was going to watch a sci-fi film at midnight.

I could have cancelled and booked later tickets. I admit that this was always an option. An option I ignored.

We got back at 3am. I'm sure my exam will go just fine, it is only general physics. Pass the coffee.

[Edit: 16:35: The film was awesome by the way. Oh, and yeah, the exam was fine.]

Frost

2010-12-13T22:08:00.004Z

The sun is warm, but the ice is slippery.

I've always wanted to say that in context and today I could. Although most of the snow has melted, or been pushed into lumpy, icy piles at street corners, the pavements are now coated in a fine film of frost.

It's truly beautiful, of course. Sparkling and delicate and dangerous. It's amazing that this much water was there to freeze - I didn't think we had had much precipitation in the past week. The last we had was real snow.

It would be sensible to avoid leaving the flat until the frost melts. I do not have the necessary footwear, which I admit is a bit of a shock. You see, I no longer have a pair of walking boots, and I rather object to the idea of wearing walking boots in the middle of a city anyway.

Sadly it seems that my trainers do not have enough grip to deal with the frost. This is deduced from how often today I slipped on the ice. What if I had fallen? The risk isn't worth it. Perhaps I would have broken a bone. Perhaps my laptop. If I had fallen when crossing the street I could have been hit by a bus!

Worse! What if someone saw me? The indignity! I shall remain indoors.

General Physics Exam

2010-12-11T15:51:00.006Z

Question:

If the law were changed so that traffic in Great Britain travelled on the right-hand side of the road instead of on the left, would the length of the day increase, decrease or be unaltered? Explain the reasoning behind your answer.

Answer:

It would be unaltered.

Driving in the opposite direction to the Earth's rotation may have some effect due to the conservation of angular momentum, but roads in Britain go in many directions, so the effect would cancel out.

When the driving in the opposite direction to the Earth's rotation, angular momentum is required, so when the car starts a small fraction is "robbed" from the planet. However, this will be returned as soon as the car stops - in fact, it is necessary if the car is to stop thanks to the conservation of angular momentum. Friction takes care of the stopping (and hence the return of momentum) for you.

Even if we assume that people drive in the opposite direction, and do not stop, sooner or later they are going to give in and come home. Probably they will do this before completing half a circuit of the Earth's circumference (after all, we're only looking at Britain), so it will make the most sense to come back the way they came. Travelling in the opposite direction will also return the momentum to the Earth.

If we ignore all this, and pretend that either stopping, returning, or other cars moving in other directions does not lead to a cancelling out of the removal of angular momentum, we still encounter a problem. The Earth is huge, your car is not. The effect of a car's momentum being gained from the Earth would be so minor that it would likely not be measurable, since the mass of the Earth is so much greater. So, since the difference between the mass of the car and the mass of the Earth is so great, the change in the length of the day would be negligible.

That is, unless your mum is driving the car. Fortunately, she's too stupid to drive.

I thank you.

Justification

2010-11-23T18:44:00.002Z

I accidentally bought a new hoodie last week. It was too expensive, but then, suddenly it was in the sale. Still too expensive, but I'd wanted it for ages, and my will was broken. I caved in and bought it. Incidentally it is now my favourite hoodie. In general I don't really like or wear the things, but this is 100% merino wool, which makes it ethical and super warm. It's also beautiful.

So, the only thing I feel guilty about is the price (which I shan't share with you). Now, I know that guilt is bad for you and that it can give you heart problems. I wouldn't want to die and make everyone sad, so I'm doing what I can to alleviate my guilt. I have (very responsibly) formulated a cunning plan. I think you'll like it, because you can probably implement it yourself and use it to justify all kinds of purchases.

Every time I wear the hoodie I shall make a note of the fact, until I have worn it as many times as it cost in pounds. That way, it only cost me £1 per wear, which sounds pretty cheap when you think of it that way. See? The perfection of the plan is in its simplicity.

Of course, I wouldn't want to stop there - I know when I'm onto a good idea after all. Also, I might not want to stop wearing it after... um... that many times. So, once I've got to that point I will start putting £1 in a jar (or rather, my savings account) for every further time I wear it. Later, when it's starting to look a bit sad, I can use the money to buy a new one!

Admit it. I'm a genius.

When can I be rich?

Elegance

2010-11-17T14:59:00.003Z

Last January my flatmates got me a beautiful calligraphy set for my birthday, along with a book for practising in and an instruction book. It's probably my mother's fault that I like calligraphy, but it's my flatmates' fault that I'm now a little more skilled at it.

Writing lecture notes in a range of hands with different nibs and inks is always fun. It also means you end up producing a set of notes that you don't hate looking at. Oh, and because it takes so freakin' long you've basically learned everything you've written down by the time you're done. I'm at a speed now where I can write notes in calligraphy during the lecture - provided it's not a lecture where the whole time is spent writing.

I've learned a range of hands - from the relatively basic and pretty such as French Ronde to the complex and and elegant (if somewhat illegible) Black Letter. I've wasted many a happy hour carefully pencilling out guide-lines until I get the hang of sizing letters with a new pen and carefully removing them afterwards so no one can tell. Adding squiggly, curly, dotty designs and colouring things in is also entertaining.

I am a kind and giving person, so I'd love it if my skills could help others. Up until now though, I haven't had the confidence in myself to share them. What if I offered and then it all went wrong? I should be mortified.

Imagine then my glee when Harry volunteered me for making posters for the uni's Red Cross group. Not just any posters either - these are for the world AIDs day call to action event. It's a band night. They just want fairly basic things, some slogans written on card. I've been practising, and I don't actually think it should give me any trouble. (Plus I get to use my poster pen, which is very exciting).

I'm just slightly unsure. Do I really want this to be the first public display of my work, as it were? After all, the slogans are... well, see for yourself.

"Wrap it before you tap it."
"No balloon? No party!"
"Listen to your granny, protect your fanny."
"Condomise then womanise... or sodomise."
"Protect your winkle before you sprinkle."

Somehow I don't think that a hand that is based upon the lettering commissioned by Emperor Trajan in Rome in around A.D.114 is quite appropriate. Maybe bubble letters? Perhaps graffiti-style text? No? Well, they're having none of it either.

I don't think I'll be signing them...

Get innocuous

2010-11-14T16:29:00.003Z

Innocuous, adj, not harmful or offensive.

I'm not an enormous fan of LCD soundsystem; I consider most of their music to be a unique blend of whiny and dull. I do like the odd song, maybe two or three per album, and I seem to remember not hating get innocuous. However, I couldn't tell you how the song goes, I don't know what any of the other lyrics are, I can't hum the tune.

Maybe if I heard it I'd be able to say "oh yeah, I remember now." Maybe not, I wouldn't like to put money on it. I think perhaps Soulwax did a good remix of it.

Anyway. The phrase, not the song, not the idea, but the phrase itself has been stuck in my head for a good two weeks now. Every now and again the impulse the say it allowed occurs. Thus far I have resisted (in public). I'm told that getting words and phrases stuck in you head is not normal, but I'm disinclined to believe this. I feel fine.

Perhaps it's a sign. Not sure what for. Maybe I should obey it - I'm not sure I could currently claim to be either harmless or inoffensive, perhaps I ought to change my ways. On the other hand, if I do I'll be obeying the voices in my head. That probably is a problem.

Upside? I now have a good reason to avoid being harmless and inoffensive. Not that I needed an excuse, but I'm damned if I'm not going to use it now it's here.

Identity Crisis

2010-10-31T20:50:00.002Z

Over the weekend I have been:

A pirate
A drunk
A cowboy
A fund-raiser
A willing volunteer
A cook
A zombie
Asleep.

I haven't been the vampire I planned to be on Saturday night, but these things happen. I also haven't been much like a dedicated physics student - but these things happen too. Besides, I get to be a student all the time.

Life would be much more interesting if dressing up were more acceptable on a more regular basis. There's a good chance you had a dressing-up box (or at least a dressing-kit) as a child. You were happier back then, weren't you? Let's go back to that.

Happy Hallowe'en.

Addict

2010-10-12T15:25:00.000+01:00

My Amazon recommended list under "Books":

-Concepts in Thermal Physics - Stephen J. Blundell

-A First Course in General Relativity - Bernard Schutz

-Introduction to Elementary Particles - David Griffiths

-An Introduction to Modern Cosmology, 2nd Edition - Andrew Liddle

-Schaum's Outline of Optics - Eugene Hecht

-Lectures on Quantum Mechanics - Paul A. M. Dirac

-'What Do You Care What Other People Think?': Further Adventures of a Curious Character - Richard P. Feynman

-The Pleasure of Finding Things Out - Richard P. Feynman

-The Character of Physical Law - Richard P. Feynman

-Atomic Physics - D. C. G. Jones

-The Meaning of it All - Richard P. Feynman

-Mathematical Techniques: An Introduction for the Engineering, Physical, and Mathematical Sciences - Dominic Jordan

-Introduction to Fourier Optics - Joseph W. Goodman

-Particle Physics - Brian Martin

-An Introduction to the Physics of Nuclei and Particles - Richard Dunlap

That isn't edited, that's just the first 15 books (i.e. the first page of recommendations) that comes up. I'm willing to accept that I may have a problem - but I dispute any suggestion that I have some kind of Feynman addiction. I only own the 2nd volume of his lectures and his Easy and Not so Easy Pieces (not including the rest of the lectures on audio-book, or the copy of Surely You Must be Joking Mr Feynman that I picked up for the physics society library)

I just ordered a physics text book from amazon - hence noticing my recommendations. Principles of Optics by Born and Wolf if you must know. I ordered it because it was recommended as being useful for my project (which is on solid state physics, not optics, but nevermind). I don't have a copy, the society's library doesn't have a copy, the main library has three - but the only one available for long-term loan won't be back 'til November and I've never been cruel enough to request books back. Ordering it was my only option.

That's how it happens.That's how you wind up in a situation where you have more books for your course than you have books of any other kind - including fiction. It starts by getting the main recommended text for each course. Next you pick up any other text mentioned more than once because "it might be useful to have alternative explanation." After that you'll buy anything recommended at all, provided you can find a copy for under £10. Before you know it you're acquiring books by accident and you're running out of shelf-space.

Add this to the fact that I'm acting as the society's librarian this term - giving me full and constant access to the library - and I'm still buying books, and you'll understand the gravity of the situation.

I am an addict. I am ready to admit that. At least it's not crack.

Influence Map

2010-09-06T13:06:00.004+01:00

This looked like fun, so I put one together. The idea is you find pictures representing things that influence you and then use it when you need inspiration later. Of course, realistically an unfathomable number of things influence us, so a "map" like this can never be complete. Still, they're quite entertaining to make.

Summer Scorcher

2010-09-03T11:54:00.003+01:00

I have enjoyed summer. I have completed a Summer project. I have holiday-ed in London and Cornwall. I have chilled with family and friends in a number of locations. I have returned to Glasgow and I have found employment within nine days (no doubt I'll talk more about that in future posts).

This blog isn't really about nice things though. This blog is more often about dreadful (if amusing) things that happen to me. Presumably I deserve them for being such a shocker of an individual, but I'd rather not dwell on superstitions.

Cornwall then. Fantastic house, and let me begin by telling you a nice fact - even if that's not what this space is for. Sitting in a hot tub, with a glass of rum on the rocks, is quite simply the very best way to start your day.

Anyway. To balance things out. I took my much-beloved, limited edition, purple, ghd hair straighteners with me to Cornwall. I do tend to straighten my hair more often when I'm on holiday; I suppose it's because I have so much more time on my hands. All is vanity.

On the very last day (not the day that we thought was the last but turned out not to be) I decided to straighten my hair. Because the device is utterly adorable it emits two beeps when working; one when you turn it on and one when it's hot enough to use - which should be about 200°C. I heard the second beep, picked the straighteners up and clamped them down upon a section of my hair at the back.

This section instantly melted. Hissssssssssssssssss. Arghhhhhhhhhhhh! A quick google search tells me that the melting point of human hair varies with it's hydration, and that around 270°C is the maximum it can stand (who did that study? I should probably have saved the paper). Mine was potentially very slightly damp, although I had already blow-dried it. However, I dispute any possibility that the fault was mine.

Not only was the temperature hot enough to laminate my hair to the ceramic plates, it was hot enough to melt the glue which held the plates into the plastic. Not knowing what kind of glue they used (even though I'm an expert on the subject) I'm unable to find a realistic answer for the temperature using google. As a result I'm going to go for "it was as hot as the Sun" and let you do the googling.

In conclusion; my Ghd's ruined my hair, my day, and themselves. In approximately 5 seconds, which might be a record. If only my blog was influential enough to make them worry about their sales.

They won't though, and I know why. Even though I experienced a massive and traumatising malfunction with my set, they're still the best pair of straighteners I've ever had. I've got quite thick hair, and I've noticed it has a tendency to grow back, even if cut (or frazzled). So even though this whole ordeal was truly horrific, I'll probably get a new pair when I can afford one.

It wouldn't be unfair to accuse me of being shallow regarding this. However, after having time to calm down, I honestly feel that the most disappointing result is that I probably won't be able to find another pair in purple.

Trade

2010-06-04T20:17:00.003+01:00

It had come to my attention that I no longer used my once much-loved Nintendo DSi. A sad thing to notice indeed. Nevertheless, I am a practical person, and if I have no use for a thing I once admired I know that I ought to give it up. I decided to trade it at Game, for credit, so that I might later purchase something I would rather have.

I took the console and my games (not trifling number I may add) to the store and gave them away. In return I received their value on a gift card. I left the establishment and threw away the bag I had been using to carry them. I wandered the town centre, picking up the odd item until I eventually found myself standing outside a different branch of Game.

I had previously decided against spending my credit that day, but I changed my mind, and entered. Soon a pleasant young man with a strong accent and a bad hair-cut was telling me things I didn't need to know about products I didn't want to buy. It was cool in the shop, though, and he wasn't being impolite, so I pretended to care about his opinions. I chose a few items (carefully disregarding his advice) and took them the the counter. A different young man was about to give me advice I didn't need on what had already chosen when I realised the gift card was gone. I rifled through my handbag and pockets: Nothing. I stammered excuses and left.

I searched my bag twice more to no avail. Then it struck me; the card must have been in the bag I had thrown away. Hellfire! I returned to the shopping centre and found a cleaner. I explained to her my predicament. She told me the bins had been emptied and it was likely that the rubbish inside them had been crushed, but radioed her comrade anyway. He arrived shortly thereafter and said he had been on his break - crushing had not yet occurred! Delight.

He vanished to the basement to search for my bag, warning me that he may be gone some time. I waited. He returned, bag in hand. I rejoiced until I opened it and discovered it empty. I may as well have simply thrown my unwanted gadgetry away. I explained what had been in the bag, and, noting my distress, he agreed to go have another look.

The minutes dragged by. I began to wonder if the card had ever existed at all. Perhaps my receipt would suffice? Doubtful. Eventually he returned, a small slip of held between fingers like pincers. "Is this it?" He queried.

"Yes! I can't believe you actually found it!"

"It's a bit messy I'm afraid, but you must be the luckiest person in the world."

The delightful little chap may have something there. The card was coated in grime, but it didn't bother me - I removed it with some ultra-cute tissues I had acquired during my earlier wanderings. I returned to the store and bought the items I had left behind earlier. The boy who's advice I had ignored had by now realised that I'd been ignoring him, he glared at me, I didn't care.

I may in the past have asserted that luck does not exist. I still consider this to be true. In spite of this fact, I do seem to have an awful lot of it.

Baldersgate

2010-05-30T16:38:00.004+01:00

A junkie.

A Nazi.

A fully grown adult wearing a nappy.

A pimp.

The crossbow cannibal killer.

A person with bipolar disorder.

A domestic abuse victim.

A dead hooker.

Robert Mugabe.

Where are you if you find yourself drinking with the people listed above? Nope, not Hell, but close! You're at Archie's 21st Birthday Party: Guaranteed to ruin the prospects of anyone intending to go into politics.

Thanks Archie, I'd hate too see any of those people gain any real power. 'Cept myself of course, but it isn't as if I was going to gain power by pretending to be a good person anyway.

Certain party-goers are probably experiencing something approaching Hell by now either way. After all, we discovered this morning that we managed to work our way through all the tequila. Yes, all of it. No, I didn't pour any away - the bottle is empty. We drank it, it's gone.

The result of the party is this: Next time you're worried about looking silly at a fancy-dress party, or next time you're worried that your outfit is a bit too far, I will show you the photos from last night, and I will tell you to man up.

I can't wait for Hallowe'en.

iAddict

2010-05-29T11:37:00.003+01:00

Disclaimer: Before you all run a mile, the "i" prefix on the title has nothing to do with Apple nor indeed Macintosh. In fact, this entry has remarkably little to do with technology of any kind.

Mostly, it has to do with caffeine, and the acquisition of it. I mentioned some time ago that I wasn't very good at drinking coffee. I run on enough nervous energy anyway, the addition of caffeine can occasionally produce destructive (if amusing) results. As I said before, if I have a cup of coffee I will shortly require a glass of red wine simply to even things out.

Since saying these things I have made two discoveries.

1. I can drink latte (and to a lesser extent cappuccino) without such an effect.

2. It may be the case that I was simply looking for an excuse to drink red wine, but apparently I don't actually need one.

So, during the exam period I needed places to study. I'm quite good at studying in my flat. I can study at the uni, provided that very few other people are doing so (which more or less ruled it out for the last month). I can't study in my flat all day every day without going completely mental - especially if earlier in the day I have had an exam.

In cases where I required a change of scene I tended to find myself, often with a flat mate, studying in one of the iCafes down the road (I told you it had nothing to do with Apple). This is not problematic until you begin to understand the sheer quantity of time I spent in these establishments. Arriving at noon and not leaving until 7pm was not rare. Clearly spending this kind of time in a cafe also meant that I was spending money in a manner that I'd rather not think about.

Naturally, then, I thought about it. After a fair bit of thought I decided it was not, in fact, all that bad. I made myself feel better about my situation - one which was beginning to look a little like an addiction.

Put it this way; I don't go out drinking very much. Maybe for the odd half here and there, but for the most part it isn't often that I find myself in a bar. I don't actively avoid them, I just don't really have the time. I tend to catch up a little outside term-time, but I'm certainly not making any effort to do so.

At the flat we have a tendency to provide for ourselves anything we are likely to want to drink - often in better style than we might find in a bar. I'm not suggesting that I don't drink, but a good 85% of my drinking is done in the flat - with friends and flat mates.

As for socialising; I can do that in a coffee shop. It's cheaper, lighter, the music is never so loud that you can't hear each other speak, the crowds are never rowdy, the toilets are always clean, and if anyone accidentally has a "drop too much" coffee, the worst side-effect I have found is jitters. No one ever got in a fight for that reason. No one sends confusing, coffee-infused text messages to friends at 3am because they've over-indulged. Do they?

You can sit in a coffee shop alone without looking like you have a problem. You can read a book in one without looking weird. You can study in one and no one bats an eyelid. Importantly, provided you keep buying drinks and the odd muffin - you can stay there all day, and no one will mind a bit. (Unless you're hogging the sofa, but tough, you got there first.)

If a caffeine addiction prevents an alcohol addiction so be it. My need is basically gone now the exams are over. However, come the next time I need to study hard, I suspect I'll find myself there once again. If you need me, look in the iCafe, just don't try to get me to leave.

Freedom

2010-05-24T20:08:00.004+01:00

The exams are over and I am free. My experiences have left me with a piece of advice to share with you.

When sitting a maths exam do not wear a t-shirt covered in equations. It may seem like the appropriate choice for the day, but if you are not paying attention and have forgotten what is actually on it, you may look like a cheat.

Also, try to avoid accidentally affixing your question paper to your desk. This shouldn't be difficult, but believe me, the risk is very real.

Oh and, never claim that any question was "easy." In fact, don't even go so far as to say it "wasn't so bad." Either you will have got it wrong, and will look foolish, or someone else will have found it difficult and you will look insensitive. The two are not by any means mutually exclusive.

That is all. I'm going to go enjoy my Summer.

Fashion Advice

2010-02-16T18:58:00.002Z

Ladies, may I have your attention, please? Thank you.

Many of you have been doing something rather vulgar lately. I am sure it is not your fault, perhaps you have been drawn into the wrong crowd, maybe you have fallen victim to fashion, or, it is even possible, that you don't know that what you're doing is wrong. So, I forgive you, and I will do what I can to help you correct your behaviour. I will not be so forgiving if I am ignored.

It is not my intention to offend, only to educate. However, if you are inadvertently offended, I am sure that I will get over it. You might, I guess it depends on your self-esteem. So, here goes.

Stop wearing tights or leggings* with t-shirts.

If the t-shirt is long enough to cover your ass even when you have to reach up on your tippy-toes to retrieve something from a high shelf, and when you bend down to pick something up off the floor, it is fine. However, only then is it long enough for me to consider your outfit decent without the addition of a skirt.

Dresses are fine, but need to be of at least the length described above. Shorts are also fine, but you must ask yourself if a hooker might wear them before you do so. It would be embarrassing to be mistaken for a hooker (unless, I suppose, you are one). Without these items though, you are simply not dressed properly.

Here's what you ought to do if you're not sure:

1. Get dressed.

2. Look in the mirror.

3. Consider whether or not you would be mortified if, once outside, I came up to you and said "Um... I think you've forgotten your skirt..." In the same manner that one would inform a stranger that their shoe-lace is untied.

4. If you can't see that happening, go about your business. If, on the other hand, it could happen, and it would ruin your day, put a damned skirt on.

The problem is, sometimes it's done on the catwalk. Sometimes it's done in magazines. The fact is, in real life, no one wants to see that. You're too fat. That's why you're not doing the modelling. I can see your cellulite through your tights. It's only 10am, and I feel nauseous.

Even if you're super-skinny it does you no favours. If I can see a panty-line I'm horrified, if I can't I'm still horrified. So is everyone else.

So, consider yourself warned. If I see anyone else guilty of this, I will tell them that they've forgotten their skirt. I will probably suggest they go home and put one on before anyone else notices. I'll give them a concerned look, as if I'm wondering where their carer is. I will ruin their day.

I won't tell you again.

Actually, while we're on the subject...

Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? Thank you.

Pull your jeans up. Buy a belt. I don't want to see your ass either. It wasn't cute, endearing or cool in the 90s and it sure as hell isn't now.

Your ass is ugly, your boxers are ugly, I'm already assuming your face is ugly, and you haven't even turned around yet.

For goodness sake! Could everybody please just learn to dress themselves?

*Jeggings are also dreadful, but for different reasons. I might write about them too at some point, though only if the fad doesn't pass as quickly as I currently hope.

Stop Gap

2009-12-04T18:03:00.002Z

Instead of writing a blog today I'm going to fill in a rather short quiz, but which has rather in depth questions. Skip it if you're not interested, I promise I'll do a real one next time.

1. My username is usually _____ because ____

BeckyDouglas, because that's my name. Sometimes it's Unazukin, which is a kind of Japanese decision making doll. This is not because I am a Japanese decision making doll, but because I quite like silly words, and that is one.

2. My name is _____ because ______.

My first name's are Rebecca and Claire because my Dad chose them, apparently on the spur of the moment when my mum passed out after giving birth (she naturally is a very motherly figure, she's good at stuff like this).

If I'd been a boy it would have been Robin, apparently my parents didn't know that there was a feminine version of Robin. If my mother had been conscious it would probably have been Gwendolen or Cecily or something equally ridiculous, so I guess I'm technically quite lucky, though Gwen has grown on my lately.

My last name is Douglas, and that really isn't my fault. Apparently (and unsurprisingly, I guess) I have Scottish ancestry, and my Grandad did trace us back to the Black Douglas, though I haven't seen the full family tree myself. I am neither proud nor ashamed of this, it is just something that happened. Being proud of your family history seems silly, you haven't been involved in it yet.

I do however quite like that a very old nursery rhyme features our family, and goes

Hush ye, hush ye
Little bairn ye
The black Douglas shall not get ye.

kind of cool 'til you find out that "Douglas" is derived from the words for "black water." So that last line is "The black black water shall not get ye."

Scots are weird.

3. If my life were a book, it would be titled ____ because ____.

I don't know, I gave "Ruining it For Everybody" to Harry as an album title for an album he'll probably never make, so I can't use that. It has recently been pointed out that "Coming Up For Air" was taken some time ago by George Orwell, which is a massive shame, everyone who ever wanted to write anything should be bitter about that. Except Orwell, I guess, but he was already bitter about a lot of things.

Maybe something like, "A Book of Lies", since if I ever wrote an autobiography, that is what it would end up being. I really don't know, I'll have a think about this one.

4. If the book was about my friends, it would be called ____ because ____.

"Minions and Maniacs." Not an entirely representative title, but somewhat amusing. Most of my friends are at least somewhat odd at any rate.

5. My profile picture is ____ because ____.

A cartoonish version of me. I look a bit like that, I didn't want to use a real photo on my blog, it just seemed a bit of an odd idea that I would do so. I toyed with the possibility of not having a picture, or having one that was unrelated, but in the end I settled on the one I have now.

Flood

2009-11-24T17:52:00.003Z

Ahem.
Excuse me? Hello?
Right, now that I have your attention, I have an announcement to make:

Glasgow: You are flooding.
Apparently you have not noticed.

That or the Scots just don't really mind. They're so used to having lots of water fall out of the sky, that it isn't a problem that it doesn't drain away once it's on the ground.

I noticed though. I spotted that any gradient worth mentioning has a sizable stream running down it. I realised that most puddles are deeper than they appear and that it's very uncomfortable to step in them when this is the case. (You tend to forget where the potholes are when they're full of water).

I have seen the giant lakes forming at the bottom of hills. I have seen large vehicles hurtling towards them at break-neck speeds anyway. I have seen giant sheets of murky water narrowly miss me when I'm wearing pale outfits. I have shrieked.

I mentioned this to a Scot the other day. He said, "Oh yeah, we know. We just don't really make a fuss about it. This isn't England."

Um, what? Your roads are a foot under water at certain points. Most of your cars just will not cope with that. It is now appropriate to make a fuss.

My feet are wet! Get better drainage!

Brandy Alexander

2009-11-23T18:23:00.000Z

This past weekend I have been very productive. At least, I have produced many things. Some things. I made pains au chocolat and I began making Christmas puddings. I wish I'd started a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't have the perfect recipe. Fortunately there's two puddings, we'll have a young one this year and a mature one next year. It will be perfect.

One of the things you need for Christmas pudding is brandy. I don't drink brandy, not really. I don't even have brandy glasses. So I have no experience in choosing it - I selected the cheapest Waitrose had to offer and went home to be productive.

Archie tried the brandy and told me it was better than the last cheap bottle he'd bought, but not actually good. Archie likes to think of himself as someone who "appreciates dark spirits." He even drinks whisky. No one knows why. Either way, I am inclined to trust his assessment, I have no reason not to.

Later, after mixing a large measure with dried fruit etc, I decided to try a small measure myself. In a wine glass (this must change). I do not like brandy. That, or I only like really good brandy, and I haven't tried it yet.

It was only today that I remember how much I like Brandy Alexanders. It's one of the only creamy cocktails I'll drink. Booze with milk or cream is weird, milkshakes are excellent without being adulterated like that. It's unnatural. For Brandy Alexanders, though, I will make an exception.

So, now I need one. I don't have any creme de cacao so I'll either have to buy some or go to a cocktail bar. It's probably best that I do the former. Being in cocktail bars with the wrong crowd can make me inpatient. It's hard to lean back in my seat and maintain an air of complete relaxation when your companions have been nursing the same drink for an hour and a half.

I don't want to have to stab someone to death with my heels and drink their blood while demanding a mojito with no sugar* from the terrified bar staff. It always takes forever to get the blood out of the silk. Maybe if I wear a red pair? Worth considering.

Unfortunately, I have financially crippled myself by deciding to go on a weekend trip to Budapest (this weekend! Eeeep!) As such I can't really afford to be buying liqueurs. Much less showing up in court for murdering people in cocktail bars.

Now, they say that necessity is the mother of invention and they are right. I have made a discovery. Would you like to know what it is?

Brandy with cream and no creme de cacao is dreadful. I shall give it a name. I shall call it "Necessity." I truly hope it will never live up to it.

*Mojitos are better when people don't feel the need to sweeten them. Fact. I don't care that it's not the generally accepted way to do it, it's still better. Hell, I'd rather you just gave me rum, lime juice and mint, skip the sugar and skip the soda too.

Hobbling

2009-11-22T11:28:00.006Z

After mild humiliation yesterday, I changed my clothes and decided I'd better brave the rain and walk to the market. We try to buy meat from the butcher there every week, because it's very cheap and means we don't have to buy rubbish, expensive meat from the supermarket. It's about two and a bit miles from the flat.

If I was going to brave the rain, I didn't want to get wet feet. I own many pairs of mind-numbingly beautiful shoes, but not one is waterproof. I own two pairs of boots that are mostly waterproof. One needs re-heeling, so I couldn't wear those.

The other pair is ever so slightly ridiculous. Also brilliant. They are viking boots, existed long before Uggs were cool and are basically here to stomp all over them. If my boots were a man, they'd be Chuck Norris, only beautiful. If Uggs were men, they'd sing for My Chemical Romance.

They are heeled (though not stilletto) black leather with fur which folds over the top of leather between my ankle and just below the knee. The fur is held in place with buckles. This never quite works because vikings have chunkier calves than me, but this does not ruin the look.

Until yesterday, I had not worn them for two years.

My outfit was carefully selected to keep me warm and dry without making me look like a mountaineer or a farmer's wife and I was ready to go. I'd made it about a mile before my toes started hurting. Secretly, I had always known this would happen.

The boots don't rub, they're not even terribly high, but if you walk in heels of even a slightly different height to those which you are used to, your feet will complain. Anyone enthusiastic about shoes knows this is worth working through. When you get home, you take them off, give yourself a quick footrub and pad around in flats for the rest of the day. You don't wear the heels for a week, and when you do, it hurts less.

Sometimes you need to repeat this a few times, but eventually, you will win. The prize for conquering the heels is being able to wear them pain free whenever you want. If you really love them, you'll do it.

Unfortunately, I had another mile to walk, and two miles to walk back when I got to the market. By the time I got there my usual swift stride had dropped to the pace of someone slowly and casually browsing shop windows. I could not persuade my legs to move me any faster.

I made my purchases, and set off home. Slowly. In the end I gave in and got the subway. A random guy complimented me on my footwear and I even managed a smile. It was still worth it.

Finally I got back, removed the boots. Stood up and immediately collapsed. My own dumb fault. Got back up, hobbled carefully to the bathroom and bathed my feet in cool water. I assessed for blisters, a few very small ones, nothing to worry about. I put on a big pair of fluffy socks and my old comfy trainers.

This enabled me to walk again. Very slowly. I had been reduced to old lady speeds. Very annoying when you want to get things done. Only my feet were unable to move quickly - meaning it would take me a full minute to get from the kitchen to my bedroom, but only a few seconds to complete a task there. Rubbish.

I remembered there was a cane in the umbrella stand. Less rubbish.

My feet are better this morning, still sore, but I can walk like someone who isn't in their 80's now. I have, however, discovered that I will make and extremely efficient and vicious old person. I suspect I'll need a little practice, though. Who wants to come stand in the queue at the post office?

Good Morning

2009-11-21T12:45:00.006Z

It matters to me that I make a good first impression. When meeting someone for the first time I replace the foul language I learned in Glasgow (read: high school) for phrases like "gosh" or "crikey.*" I only put them down if they set themselves up for it. I try to remember their name, though I stop if they forget mine, and this only lasts as long as the encounter. For the time being at least, I want them to think that I consider them important.

The fact that when I first met my flatmate Gav, I was stealing glasses from a bar is by the by. I impressed him with my brilliant wit instead. The fact that I was doing the same thing when I first met my flatmate Archie is also by the by. He was way more drunk than me, and neither of us knew we'd be sharing a flat one day.

So I may be slightly immoral. Perhaps I got out and get wasted occasionally. Sometimes I fall on my face because I'm wearing ridiculous (incredibly cute) shoes in Glasgow when it's snowing. But, I'm a basically good person, and, at least before they get the opportunity to know me better, I want a new acquaintance to believe that. I care about first impressions, I'm just not very good at them.

I'm also not very good at breakfast. Or rather, I'm not very good at organising it. I eat cereal with yoghurt, or toast with butter. If I have neither, it's going to be a bad day for someone out there who has already passed the "good first impression" stage, and who's opinion I no longer care about. Unless it's the weekend. In which case I can spend time making a delicious and more interesting breakfast.

Such a thing happened today. I decided to make a French omelet. Not complex, but very tasty, light and fluffy, designed specifically to melt in your mouth and make you want to spend the rest of the day lounging around and drinking good wine. They don't seem to have any negative effects on me. I began, and had got to the stage where I should fold the omelet, when the buzzer rang.

Postman? I have a lifelong grudge with postmen everywhere, but we won't go into that. I casually and perfectly flipped the omelet into the folded shape I wanted, moved it off the heat and let whoever it was in. Switched on the lights in the hall, and opened the door.

The guy came up the stairs. "Hi... Is uh... Jamie about?"
The need to make a good impression kicked straight in.
"I'm sorry, Jamie? He doesn't live here, think you've got the wrong flat."

He apologised and left, I couldn't help but notice he was stifling a giggle as he did so. Weird. Went back to my perfect omelet. Sat down to eat. There's a mirror on the wall by the table, so it was then that I noticed the huge, white, eggy stain on my top.

"Omelet splash" is literally the worst euphemism I have ever thought of. Somehow I think the opportunity to make a good impression on Jamie's mate has been lost forever. On the other hand, I do have a hilarious new euphemism, so maybe it's not been a truly dreadful morning.

Perhaps though, I should stop claiming that I'm basically a good person.

*Actually, I'm just generally loving any opportunity to say "crikey" at the moment. Also "gosh," "goodness," "cripes," "blimey" etc. Haven't quite managed to pull off "golly" just yet, but I'm working on it.

Lucky

2009-11-20T18:23:00.003Z

Luck does not actually exist. However, unlike many things that don't exist it can be bought, sold, traded or earned*. You might feel that you deserve some good luck, or that you don't deserve some bad luck. It also seems to come in bursts - hence having a lucky streak or, alternatively, "one of those days."

Earlier this week I had a lucky day. Not the kind of luck I wanted, nor the kind I felt I deserved.

I got up and discovered someone else was already in the shower. This meant I'd have to rush my morning routine, and probably be late. During the day I lost my ring, my glasses and the stylus for my phone. In spite of this, the day wasn't actually that bad - I was even in quite a good mood, until someone I don't like decided to talk to me.

I won't tell you who it was, but anyone who knows me through physics at uni will probably suspect. Yes, that one. Incidentally, if you know me through physics at uni and you don't have a clue who I'm talking about, it's probably you. Get off my blog, you cretin.

Even this didn't entirely ruin my mood though, I was angry for a couple of hours (perfectly natural after speaking to this individual) but not lashing-out angry. Just general background simmering anger, of the kind that causes people to go completely postal every once in a while. Don't worry though, I manage my anger by buying copious amounts of shoes, and thus hardly ever go postal.

On Thursday, Harry had a much worse day than I had. He accidentally left without his keys. He lost £5, which he discovered when he wanted to buy lunch. He went to the cash point to get more money, and had his card eaten because it had expired (he should have known, because they sent him a new card and a letter telling him this would happen). He lost an ear-piece from his headphones. He lost his student card. He lost his laptop power cable. He got rained on.

He tried to call one of us to see if there was anyone around to let him into the flat, and discovered there was no money on his phone. He would have topped it up, but his card had been eaten. He could have gone to the library or med-school instead, but that would have required using his student card. He couldn't even find a cafe with wifi and email us, because his laptop was dead.

Fortunately, someone was at the flat to let him in - but it seems that was the only good piece of luck he had that day.

Naturally I found it hilarious. But, I have spare headphone earpieces. I went to find them, to see if they would fit his headphones, and found a spare stylus. Earlier I had discovered my glasses in a drawer I hadn't previously looked in.

My ring showed up in the pocket of my other jeans. Why it hadn't been there the first time I looked is beyond me. Either the mice are getting smart, and also developing a complex set of ethics, or I'm a moron. I prefer the former explanation.

So, now I'm expecting to see my other two flatmates have days that are even worse than Harry's was, approximately on Saturday and on Tuesday. They can decide between themselves who goes first, but the smartest will choose Saturday. I also expect Harry's luck to be canceled on Saturday, and everything that was lost should be found.

At least I would, if luck existed at all.

*Interestingly, merchandise based on things which don't exist is almost always bought, sold, etc, but you just try selling the actual Loch Ness Monster, and you'll see what I mean. If you succeed, contact me, I have a business proposal for someone like you.

Why I Usually...

2009-11-02T14:17:00.004Z

...Wear jeans and a t-shirt. Approximately. You'll let me off for including almost any jeans and top combo here, I hope. Not sure how you'll stop me.

This morning I got up, decided I didn't want to wear jeans, and selected a day-time dress from my wardrobe. It's stripey and purple and made of wool. It's quite pretty.

I put it on with a pair of tights, since it's Glasgow and Glasgow is cold. I looked in the mirror and swapped the tights for thicker, darker tights. I looked again and decided I needed a black vest top under the dress as well.

Having added the vest I looked again. Now, I'm not showing leg or cleavage. You can see my forearms, hands, neck and face. This cannot be slutty, right? I decided it wasn't and went to make breakfast.

Post breakfast I looked one more time in the mirror. Realised the dress was very clingy. Thick tights and extra top didn't help that. Felt like a whore - changed into jeans and t-shirt.

What can I say? Maybe I should give in and buy some more jeans. I blame the parents, frankly.

Happy

2009-10-30T13:57:00.007Z

Yeah, yeah, I'm not very good at updating regularly these days. I'm over it, I'm supposed to be getting a degree, remember?

Anyway, I mentioned that I might write about the other thing I discovered at some point (the first being that knowing you're angry for a bad reason only makes you angrier). So I shall.

I mentioned that my foul mood had been broken "largely due to home-made soup and a new book arriving." This was true. Interestingly, the soup made me happier than the book - I love books of all kinds, and I wasn't even that hungry.

The reason seems to be that it was home-made. Tinned, powdered and condensed soups are probably the work of the devil. Very few things in life are worse than thick, herby, hot ketchup masquerading as tomato soup - making it from scratch avoids this ever occurring.

The same is true of many foods, they taste better if you make them from scratch (assuming you know roughly what you're doing, or you carefully follow a recipe). From soup to lasagna to cheesecake, buying pre-made means buying inferior. Often it also means more expensive and less nutritious.

It's not even limited to food. When I told people I was moving into a hell-hole that needed lots of TLC, bleach and DIY, most of them immediately offered to help with the final acronym (some immediately commented on my overuse of acronyms instead, but I'm not friends with those people anymore). Based on this I'd like to state a postulate.

I suggest that doing things for yourself makes you happier than having someone else do them for you. Especially if a challenge needed to be overcome in order to complete the task, or if there is an obvious reward.

For example, to go back to food, it has long been known that baking has a massive therapeutic effect. It's not the same as cooking (though obviously I'm personally enthusiastic about that too). You don't need to do it, so it isn't a chore to do so - it's an opportunity to use some creativity - and when you're done the reward is cake/brownies/cookies/whatever.

DIY follows a similar pattern. You put in some work to improve something, and then you enjoy the benefits. Perhaps my OCD is all that makes me think that cleaning is the same, and I agree that it is much more obviously a chore, but that's just a mindset, there's no need to suggest it's the right one. Gardening works too - especially if you're growing something you can use (herbs and vegetables are more satisfying to grow than flowers, which are in turn better than shrubs).

Perhaps this is coming back to my standard rant about not liking TV very much. I think more than that it's about hating wasting my time, or being bored. I'm happier when I'm doing something productive, or more generally, when I've completed something worthwhile.

If I ever get depression it'll be because I spend too much time on facebook. The cure is to remove my internet access and give me a cookbook.

Angry

2009-10-19T13:56:00.004+01:00

*Looks around sheepishly*

Um, hello?
Oh, er, nearly three weeks you say? Well... um... doesn't time fly when you're... um.
Anyway, back now, that's the important thing, right? Friends again?

Today I discovered two things. I'll tell you about the first one, maybe you'll get the second one later. I know how you all value my wisdom.

1. Being rational and logical about emotions doesn't make them go away.

For example, I wanted a mug of tea this morning. Not a huge ask, it's something I want every morning. I boiled the kettle, poured water over the bag in the mug. I went to the fridge. No milk. Disaster.

I remembered that because I am a ridiculous person (but in the very best way) I occasionally bow to the wills of my flat mates, as well as to my own cravings, and make pains au chocolat. One of the ingredients for which, is 3 tablespoons of powdered milk.* I rummaged in the cupboards until I found a tub of Marvel.

Marvel is a misnomer. It isn't one. Not at all - in fact, it's about as far from being marvelous as powdered milk can get. Trust me when I tell you that the competition for that superlative is strong.

The side of the tub indicated that if you wanted it for tea or coffee you should simple sprinkle a couple of teaspoons of the powder into your drink and stir well. I did so. My beverage turned grey for a few seconds. By the time I'd carried it back to my room it was dark brown again, since the powder had sunk. I stirred it with a pen, and drank quickly.

Foul beyond belief. Easily the worst cup of tea I've had in a long time.

All of this nonsense should have been hilarious to me. Or, at worst, a little disheartening. Instead, I was furious! Nothing could have filled me with more rage. I stomped to uni ready to scowl at people, angrily. Hoping that someone would say something incredibly stupid so that I could vent my anger at them (taking it out on the tea-cup seemed irrational even in my fit of rage. Tea cups are important).

Fortunately by the time I got to uni I'd calmed down a bit, although not much. I knew my anger was irrational. I knew how I ought to feel about the tea (i.e. it was silly to even remember at this point) but I was still severely peeved.

Interestingly - and this is what I learned today - knowing that you're angry for a stupid reason doesn't cheer you up much. Quite the opposite.

I am now completely back to my unbearably cheerful self. Largely due to home-made soup and a new book arriving. I must wonder if I have a hormone imbalance. Can't help thinking that chocolate ice-cream would never make me angry, no matter how illogical I was feeling that day. Perhaps it really can solve all the world's problems.

*Requests for the full recipe to the usual address.

Something Awesome

2009-09-30T14:43:00.006+01:00

Something wonderful just happened.

I was leaving the Kelvin Building. Imagine, if you will, a corridor with a set of double doors in the middle. I am approaching the doors from one side, four guys approach from the other, the doors are open.

The boys are traveling faster than I, and are closer to the doors to begin with. When they reach the doors however, they stop. Two guys stand at each side, next to each other, and wait for me to pass. One says "hello," I recognise him and return the greeting, then continue on my way.

They pass through the doors. I overhear one of them say "wait... why did we just do that?"

This, my friends, is power. Expect me to grin manically for a little while - I'm plotting how to use it.

Uggh

2009-09-27T10:29:00.004+01:00

Warning: Mini-rant.

It's a fifteen minute walk from my flat to the physics building at uni. Last time I did it, I noticed something, so I started counting.

It's still only September. It is not OK for me to have been able to count 35 pairs of Ugg boots* teamed with skinny jeans. That's completely out of proportion with the way things should be. Because I was there, I also feel completely justified in saying that everyone wearing this combination was a student. Once upon a time being a "student" implied not only that you had some intelligence, but also some taste. Guess that's not the case any more.

Y'know, I don't even hate Ugg boots. I used to, but now I understand; they're actually exactly the kind of fashion I wanted to start happening. They're not screaming "penetrate me now" as a person slightly more vulgar than I pointed out (doesn't count as being vulgar if you're quoting), but they're also not completely hideous. They actually score neutral on the aesthetics front.

This matters little by itself. Clogs score neutral for goodness sake, but that doesn't make people pay over £100 a pair for them, nor does it make them wear them incessantly, nor does it make them fashionable. What works for Uggs has to be teamed with the neutral appearance: They are incredibly comfortable. Incidentally, Crocs failed for a different reason - apparently quite comfortable, but completely foul to look at.

This is actually from having worn fake Uggs. Any student who pays for full price Uggs whilst on a normal student budget should not have got onto their course on account of being an idiot.

Back to the thirty-five pairs I saw. It's not acceptable, I won't accept it. So I'll give a guideline for anyone who's too stupid to be sure of what to do. This is, after all, a slightly contradictory rant if you're IQ dropped a few points after that terrible accident. Or if you're a twat.

I won't be a bitch to you (about your Ugg boot - skinny jean combo) if you don't wear them until October 20th. Yes, even if you're living in Glasgow - this isn't the god damned North Pole. Get over it. Wear a scarf or something.

If you fail to do this I will not give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you don't have any other shoes. I will instead assume that you are a waste of human flesh that could be put to better use in a Matrix-style pod, providing renewable power for the rest of us.

When I get my degree, I'm totally going to develop those pods.

*This includes a pair of male Uggs, or Muggs as I shall be wittily calling them from now on. Not sure how I feel about Muggs, but it's definitely not a good feeling.

Deutsch

2009-09-18T12:07:00.003+01:00

Some things that are true;

1. I have a friend who occasionally talks in his sleep. When he does so, he speaks German. He has never had a German lesson in his life, and I am told that the reason he does this is that he's seen faaaar too many war movies. When asked, he cannot translate what he has said (or often shouted).

2. For GCSE English lit, we studied some poetry. In one piece the poet - who's name I forget - describes being worried that she has lost touch with her mother tongue, and therefor a part of her culture. She becomes happy and relieved when she dreams in Gujarati again. I remember it being mentioned that one cannot consider themselves fluent in a language until they dream in it.

3. I watched Goodbye Lenin last night. It was in German but had English subtitles (thank goodness).

4. I can speak a very small amount of German. I used to be better, but never fluent, just good enough to get by in basic conversation.

5. Last night I dreamed in German. Unfortunately, I did not understand a word of it. Somehow, I don't think this means I'm fluent. I remember "machen sie..." but not what I was told to do, probably because I didn't know what it meant.

Moral: Don't watch German films when you've had too much Baileys.

Quiz

2009-09-03T13:02:00.001+01:00

Tomorrow I am going to

A) Dance in sky-scraper heels
B) Cornwall
C) Hide the body and the evidence

I will

A) Break my leg
B) Play beach volleyball
C) Get caught and show up in court next week

See you in

A) Leeds infirmary
B) Seven days
C) Three years to life.

Zombies

2009-08-30T18:20:00.002+01:00

My mother is preparing for the zombie invasion.

This may seem like an odd statement, but it's true. She doesn't know she's doing it, she doesn't believe that the invasion is coming. Fortunately for her though, her instincts are much smarter than she is, and are forcing her to prepare unconsciously anyway.

I realised this when my sister mentioned that all her friends would come to our house when the zombies arrive. After thinking about this, I can kind of understand their logic. Although we don't have a cellar, and I always imagined hiding either somewhere underground, or somewhere many floors above ground (even seen a zombie try to climb stairs?)

The most obvious reason is the food supply. My mother has a giant chest freezer, and lots of kitchen cupboard space. She insists upon keeping both the freezer and the cupboards fully stocked, even though for most of the year only she and my sister (Steve) live in the house. She and Steve eat about the equivalent of one normal person's meal a day. Between them.

Mostly they snack on fruit, cheese and crackers, ice lollies and the odd pizza. Their diet is decidedly strange, but mostly it's just limited, and they generally eat very little. Usually if the supply is noticeably decreasing week-by-week, it's either because of me, or Steve's boyfriend, who loves cooking almost as much as he loves eating.

Due to this, you could easily not buy any food for about 3 months (I calculated this careful, and didn't just make it up, not at all). Admittedly, this only works if you don't mind eating lots of low-fat baked beans, and similar things. I suppose if there's a zombie invasion, you probably have bigger things to worry about.

The food isn't the only good reason though. We live in a village. We're about 20 minutes from the nearest real city, and ten from the nearest small town. The population is tiny, and is mostly made up of old people.

Now, you may have noticed that old people are pretty slow. Zombies are pretty slow too. Now, don't get ahead of me, I'm not going to suggest that old people are zombies already, that would be ageist! No, I just think that logically, old people will make even slower zombies than young people do.

So if the majority of the population of my village gets zombified, the plan of action will often be simply to walk away. They'll follow you, but you've got plenty of time to think of a better plan before they get there. Maybe you could offer them a boiled sweet instead of your brains. Or maybe you could hit them in the face with a shovel, it's up to you.

Of course, no one can be said to have survived the zombie holocaust, unless they have a long term strategy. Fortunately for us, there's a field behind our house, at the bottom of which is a river. Two minutes away is a wood, in which live rabbits, hare and deer. My point is that agriculture, fishing and hunting will all be more than possible.

Most people would ask if there's any kind of big wall around the area, which could be used to keep the zombies out. There isn't. Don't suggest building one, not even a fence from the trees from the wood. Let it look like an ordinary deserted village. Who're we keeping out? The zombified elderly? We've already decided that we can hit them with shovels, that seems just fine to me.

All we'd be doing by building defenses, is making other survivors believe we have something to defend. Sometimes people unite against a common enemy, sometimes they attack each other for their resources. Better to let them think we don't have any, they can join us peacefully if they must.

I might be having a bit too much fun with this, but I'm totally up for building an underground bunker in the garden and filling it with weapons and ammo. Y'know, just in case it turns out that this is the kind of zombie that can run fast, because if we get those, the old people will move at a pace fast enough to be worthy of target practice.

Oh! I should build a sniper tower too! Do you think a treehouse would work?

Unoccupied

2009-08-26T14:16:00.003+01:00

Why I need a job:

1. Money.
2. Experience.
3. Structure to my day.

Jobs I'd like to do:

1. Hotel reviewer in exotic city.
2. Shoe model.
3. Jet plane pilot.

Why I'll never get them:

1. There's no call for them in the current economic market.
2. I'd be scared of foot fetishists.
3. When things fly at me at high speed I shriek and throw my arms up to protect my face.

What I'll do instead:

1. Sleep in.
2. Waste time online.
3. Keep being a student for a couple of years, then get a real job.

Targetted

2009-08-21T18:31:00.005+01:00

Someone wants me dead. I must have annoyed somebody who has one of those friends "who knows a bit about black magic." Y'know, like that friend everyone has "who knows a bit about computers" and who will tinker with your laptop, proclaim it fixed, and then vanish from the face of the Earth when, inevitably, the problem gets worse a week later.

I assume they don't know much because I am still here, though it is possible that they are Toying With Me.

My fear knows no bounds.

In the past two weeks I have nearly died three times.

1. I went to plug in my laptop (which fortunately remains un-tinkered-with by anyone who knows anything about computers), and noticed that the socket was soaking wet. It's below a pot-plant, which clearly had recently been over-watered. Only my incredible powers of observation saved my from electrocution.

2. I nearly got run over by a Porsche. I only ever nearly get hit by very expensive cars, presumably because if the Gods can't quite kill me, they still want me to have to worry about owing people a lot of money.

I also quite regularly nearly get run over, sometimes the other side of the street is just too interesting to worry about looking both ways. This guy meant it though, he was going too fast, and I was at a crossing. The fact that I hadn't pressed the button has nothing to do with it.

3. I got followed by a gang of mods back from Ikea. I was with Euan. We are rockers (technically). Mods hate rockers. We nearly died. Only the decidedly un-rock-and-roll nature of his mother's car saved us from taunting and swift death.

Fortunately I don't think they suspected us, thank goodness the ancient automobile doesn't have a CD-Player, or there's a good chance we would have been playing Boston or something. Now we are safe I feel quite confident in mocking them. I only wish I was cool enough to ride a Vesper.

To whomever is trying to have me killed: Your wizard isn't very good, his attempt at hexing me has failed, ask for your money back.

In future I'd suggest a ninja.

A Quick Comparison

2009-08-21T15:14:00.004+01:00

...Of Mathematics and Hard Drugs

The way I see it, mathematics is a lot like opium. That's a bold statement, so allow me to explain a little.

As with opium, most people never use mathematics at all, and rarely come into contact with it. Sure, kids are taught to count and add up, the same way they're given Calpol when they're ill - there's nothing wrong with that - it's even a good thing. However, just as no one would compare Calpol to heroin, no one would compare adding to calculus.

Some people only use mathematics when they have to, and the experience is rarely enjoyable. It may bring some relief, and help to overcome a problem that could not be surpassed without it, but that doesn't mean they'd consider themselves a mathematician. A user.

In the same way, if you're in a great deal of pain, you may succumb to morphine or Vicodin. You don't want to, and you don't associate the use with a happy experience. You do need to though, and there's no shame in that, it'll help you recover faster.

Finally we come to those who use it all the time. Mathematicians are maths junkies, just like heroin addicts are opium junkies. Unable to function properly in society (watch as I carefully avoid making mathematics-based puns). Never being quite accepted by their peers, although clearly many feel sorry for them, and would like to be able to help.

Interestingly, both mathematicians and junkies tend to live for their poison. They are also very concerned with the purity of their experiences, as well as their ability to transcend all else.

It isn't just the users of mathematics and drugs from which a stark parallel may be drawn. Consider also the history. The development of both drugs and mathematics has been propagated by outlaws and rebels. Mathematicians rejected by the church for questioning God and pushing the limits of perfection, addicts were equally rejected, though generally less memorably. Both often went mad.

I may have mentioned before that I'd be good at coming up with conspiracy theories. I only hope that no terrifying Christian cult finds this argument and starts attacking mathematicians for their "over-pure" thoughts. Although, it is quite clearly unnatural.

Consider yourself warned. Mathematics can be dangerous to your health and your social life. Just say no.

P.S. Fiona's allowed me to put a link to her Vet Science blog. It's in the link section with the others. She's a very occasional mathematics user, and needs your support.

Skinny

2009-08-05T18:23:00.003+01:00

I'm rubbish at counting calories. I don't own a set of scales. I do a little exercise (to the point that if I miss it it ruins my day) but nowhere near as much as is probably required or recommended for the amount I eat.

As far as I'm concerned I'm thin enough if my jeans fit and fit enough if I can run up the stairs without getting out of breath. Both are true almost 100% of the time.

I have a lot of rules about food, mostly I make them up as I go along, but they seem to do the job. For example;

1. Anything I eat whilst standing up doesn't count.
2. If I break it into smaller pieces it's better for me.
3. I can eat all the chocolate if I've left the flat and eaten a stick of celery - not necessarily at the same time.

Also, if I think really hard about being thinner, I usually feel thinner. Mind over matter and all that jazz. I'd like to believe that my mind was good enough to actually destroy matter - I only wish it worked on everything else. Imagine the fun I could have!

I'm going on holiday to Cornwall in about a month (exotic, I know). I would like to be able to wear cutesy surfer shorts and a bikini top to play games on the beach. Maybe even just the bikini, and if I'm honest, I'm probably confident enough to do it, so long as the weather's good. But I feel guilty that I don't feel obliged to diet or do more exercise in order to prepare.

I also feel guilty that I can eat as much as the guys I live with (occasionally more) and not be the size of a rhino. I do sometimes skip lunch, but that's more out of forgetfulness than a concern for my calorie intake.

I am better at feeling guilty than doing anything about my guilt. I am also better at thought than action - since thought rarely involves me having to organise anything. I hear it's the thought that counts. So I'll be thinking very hard about being skinny.

One day my metabolism will crash and I'll put on six stone in 48 hours. It's all I deserve.

Up for Review

2009-07-26T17:15:00.002+01:00

I've started a new blog, it's for reviewing things; restaurants, bars, clubs, markets, delicatessens, gig venues, hair-dressers, etc, etc. Basically whatever I fancy.

For now I'm going to update it quite a lot, to get a bit of content in there and make it worth looking at. After a while this will drop to one review per week. Before then, though, this place is probably going to get neglected again. Not much, just a bit - I won't be looking for things to write here, I'll be looking for things to write there instead.

Have a peak at the new one if you're bored and have the time, and feel free to leave a comment. I'll put a permanent link to it in the links section later, once it's been running a while.

Not My Genes

2009-07-20T17:47:00.004+01:00

A couple of weeks ago, when we first moved into the hell hole, it became obvious that I would need some clothes I didn't really care about that I could do extreme cleaning and DIY in. This was a problem. It turns out I don't own any clothes I don't like.

If something is to old I either throw it away or give it to charity. If it's too ugly I don't buy it in the first place. If it's the wrong size the same is true, and since I've been the same size for clothing since I was about 14 the only way anything might not fit me is if I managed to shrink it in the wash. Too large isn't a problem for DIY, too small is.

However, I do own a lot of clothing, so after much deliberation and rooting-through of my wardrobe I discovered a couple of items that I don't wear much and wouldn't really miss. Especially if their destruction produced an opportunity to go shopping.

Among these items was a pair of dark blue, plain, straight leg jeans. From Gap. I worked at Gap for a while last Summer, and the discount they provided me means that it's not unusual for the odd piece of their produce to be in my wardrobe, even if it's not the kind of stuff I'd normally buy. So finding them did not shock me, I even seem to remember buying them.

What is shocking is that they're plainly not mine. They're about 6 inches too long (I like my jeans a little long for me, but that's just silly). They're too wide at the waist and practically skinny fit at the calf (I assume they're made for someone who's a weird shape, rather than assuming that I am, and I'll thank you to do the same). They're also suspiciously... male-feeling. There seems to be more than the necessary quantity of fabric in... certain regions.

Now, I don't know many guys who wear that style of jeans. I'm certainly not good enough friends with any to have them drop by my flat and change, or to borrow jeans from them. I'm not in the habit of borrowing clothing from guys anyway - I might borrow a belt if mine broke, or a pair of gloves if it got cold, or maybe like a hoodie or something, but always with the intention of washing and returning the next time I saw them.

But Jeans? No. I almost never leave the flat without jeans or the equivalent (read: skirt, trousers, shorts or whatever). So I now don't know what to do. I have somehow acquired these, I am quite certain they are not mine, and I have no idea who they belong to.

If you left a pair of jeans at my flat, or know someone who did, or indeed, if you're in the habit of breaking into people's flats and hiding your clothing in their wardrobe, like some kind of demented fashion-cuckoo, then tough. I wore them for painting, as such, they have been painted.

Guys jeans are weird though. It gave me an unusual perspective on what it must be like to be a guy. I suspect it feels a little...unbalanced.

Third Circle

2009-07-11T18:47:00.003+01:00

So, I moved into a new flat about 10 days ago. It's around twice the size of the old one, the bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and hall are all much larger - which is excellent. Naturally I was pretty excited by the prospect.

However (if you've spoken to me at all in the past few days, you'll already know this) the previous tenants were all completely insane. They lived there for two years, and I don't believe they ever cleaned. Ever.

There are signs that they planned to. There was a cupboard full of recycling, behind which we found cleaning products. This tendency to start with good intentions and excellent plans, and then just give up on them is evident throughout the flat. For example, it seems they were into their music, abandoned speakers were in every room, and they'd all been wired up so you could control them from a single point in the kitchen, or individually. They'd started the wiring well, it was neat in some places - in others they'd pretty much dropped the wires on the floor and pinned them to the nearest wall.

That's another point leading to the suggestion of insanity actually; they've left behind tonnes of technology. As well as the speakers they abandoned a classic mac (complete with floppy drive, but no usb ports), an unused 3-in-1 printer, a projector, a handful of amps (if you happen to have massive hands), a tv, and much more!

It's like a shit treasure trove. We even found a couple of lobster creoles. I quickly vetoed the guys suggestion that we keep them as conversation pieces. I reckon I can talk about lobster creoles, even if I've thrown them out. Hell, I'm blogging about them.

After spending a full week cleaning and working our way through the general carnage that was our new abode, we were in a position to use it without breaking into screams of despair every few minutes. Which was nice.

We're now on the DIY stage. Having thrown out most of the broken furniture (no idea why the last people wanted to keep it) we're sanding down and staining the good items. Not doing so would have resulted in splinters. We're also painting walls, ceilings, skirting boards, doors and any other surface that requires it, read: all of them. Soon we'll be able to sand and varnish the floors.

So, I'm asking myself two questions about this place.

Firstly, how exactly did the "people" who lived here before not get extremely ill from living in their own filth and die? Instead of moving away, did they in fact simply "move on?"

Secondly, how much money can I get out of my landlords for leaving the place in such a state? If we didn't have a week's overlap where we had the keys to both the new, and the old flat, we would have needed them to put us up in a hotel for a few days. If we all worked full time, we would have needed them to employ cleaners, joiners and painters.

I'm thinking that we probably deserve the deposit the last tenants paid when they moved in. At least. So, I'll be visiting the landlords at their office next Friday afternoon. I'll be asking for a long list of things, and I won't leave until I've got all the ones I actually want. Could be a looooong day.

P.S. Sorry for neglecting the blog and not being especially funny lately. What with moving, work and study there seems to be little time. I promise to try harder in future ;-)

Moving

2009-07-03T09:22:00.003+01:00

My excuse for not blogging much lately:

I've been working and organising a flat-move. The new flat is huge. The last tenants were apparently completely insane. Also probably quite ill.

Don't ask me about the move unless you have time to hear me rant. Trust me, I'll be ranting about it here soon.

Empress

2009-06-21T15:24:00.004+01:00

A little over a month ago I was appointed President of PhySoc (the Glasgow Uni physics society). Naturally enough I was most pleased, and have decided to set about abusing my powers as soon as possible.

So far, among other things, it has been agreed that the title "President" will be changed to "Empress." I'm happy with this, but it does make me think I ought to start and "empire" of sorts. Control of a single society may not be enough. I intend to start by controlling AstroSoc (the astronomy) from the inside, until such as point as they are ready to call me their leader.

So, I have made sure everyone on their board agrees with me on important points, and I have appointed Martin the position of AstroSoc Rep within my board. Although, clearly a better title would be AstroSoc spy. If there was anything interesting to spy on them for.

I can only be president for one year, which alarms me. So once the year is through I intend to give someone else (of my choosing, none of this silly voting business) the title of "President." I shall continue as Empress, simply telling people that it's a largely meaningless role, and that I'm really just there to help out.

Of course, the "President" will be nothing more than a puppet, happy to do exactly what I suggest.

We are currently working on a greeting that makes me look slightly less like Hitler, and a"goodbye" that makes me look slightly less like a trekkie. But, you know what, I'm working with physicists here, these problems were always bound to show up.

In addition to this, I've decided that I get 10 votes for each member of my committee, and I'm going to install a lion pit in the Kelvin Building (to throw people who irritate me into).

I'd make an excellent dictator. I've even told you my evil plans before I'm certain there's no way you'll survive. They'll make a Hollywood movie about me one day, but only if I give them permission to do so.

Licked

2009-06-12T21:24:00.003+01:00

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who feel the need to lick their finger before turning a page, and those who do not. I suppose technically there's people who believe that there's two kinds of people, and people who actually know there are many more. There's also people who smell their clothes before putting them on, and those who already know all the clothes in their wardrobes are clean. I don't know where these groups intersect.

When I turn a page, I do not first lick my finger. I wash my hands regularly, I have a keen knowledge of where my hands have been, and yet I still do not lick my finger. I have always found that the pages turn without that being necessary. I cannot help considering it "icky" to have saliva on the pages of anything I'm going to read.

Mum is a licker, dad is not a licker. They should have known from the start that it would only end in tears.

I do not judge lickers. There's nothing necessarily wrong with being a licker. Some of my best friends are liquors. So long as you don't want me to handle your document after it's been moistened that's just fine.

It's also important to note that some things are OK to lick. Envelopes are fine, so are stamps, lollipops, and the tops from yogurt pots. It's OK to lick your fingers if there's food stuck to them, though, in most cases this should be done with minimum fuss and no seductive gazes at people across from you.
Especially if you're a guy. And/or in your 40s. And/or clinically obese. In which case failure to comply may mean that I'm forced to sterilize you. Sorry, it's the rules.

It's OK to lick salt from your hand before a shot of tequila (another excellent liquor, possibly because it makes other kinds more bearable). Though you should only do so if there's lime wedges handy.

Perhaps I am more of a sucker than a licker. It seems that anything that can be licked is likely to be better sucked. At least that's what I'm told. It's certainly true for the lollipop.

Newbie

2009-06-02T23:16:00.004+01:00

It occurred to me that last time I talked about moving out, we were looking for a luxury castle for the three of us. This is no longer the case. We've found a cute flat for four of us, including Archie, the newbie.

After testing him in several ways, we decided he would do, although he did seem slightly timid, we thought we could fix that. Also, he seemed to have no specific music taste, which meant that he probably wouldn't try to play anything dreadful, and if he did, he wouldn't get too upset when we turned it off and played something better.

I feel we've done a rather good job in choosing a new someone suitable, so, because I am kind, I've decided to develop a guide for others. It's a little sketchy at the moment, but my faithful blog-readers may have a sneak preview. I should probably mention that the "sneak preview" is likely to be the only bit that actually gets written, since I'm fair to busy and important to sit around writing nonsense all day. Obviously.

So yeah, that makes you even more special.

Five ways to test a new flat mate:

1. Interview:
It's an obvious choice, though some people get it wrong by going too easy on their candidates. All current flat mates should be present and sit at the opposite side of the table to the prospective newbie. Then ask the meanest questions you can think of. Do not laugh, if they maintain their confidence that you're just joking, even when none of you are laughing, you'll know they're sharp enough.

2. Cake baking:
I'm aware that not all students bother with a cake rota like we do, and as such it may not be quite as essential in other flats. However, even if you don't regularly make cakes (and you probably should) you have to admit that having a new flat mate who can is an advantage.

3. Absorbency.
I'm sure I don't need to explain this.

4. Ability to fight a bear.
The smart person will chose both their weapons, and the bear they wish to fight carefully, since clearly you don't want to look like a coward, but at the same time you'd also rather not be mauled too severely.

5. What would they do if...
This could go in the interview section, but there's some really important questions of this type which people often forget to ask, so I felt it deserved it's own section. Those questions are
-...There was a zombie-velociraptor outbreak?
-...You needed to destroy the population of the world with a genetically modified virus?
-...Vladimir Putin turned out to be your great uncle?

The answers to those questions really will tell you a lot about a person.

So there you go. I urge anyone considering taking in a new flat mate to follow these steps carefully, goodness only knows what kind of person you might end up living with otherwise.

Lobster

2009-05-31T12:51:00.005+01:00

The weather at home is beautiful at the moment. I'm told the same is true in Glasgow, and I really hope it still is when I get back.

Yesterday, while reading in the garden, I fell asleep. I was woken by my mother about an hour later and told to go inside to avoid burning. I did so, and fell asleep again (perhaps I should point out here that I did have a rather heavy night the previous evening, I'm not simply suffering from some weird sleeping sickness).

When I awoke, I was the wrong colour. At least 30% pinker than I should be. This did not please me. Especially since Today I am going to meet two of my best friends, Jenny and Hannah, who are always expertly groomed, seemingly without effort. We'll giggle and gossip and probably shop for shoes, and though I'll be the only one in heels, I'll feel very short in comparison to them.

Add this to having bright red arms, and you can see my concern. Giggling is fun only when it's not about my bright red arms. However, as usual, I have a cunning plan. I remembered hearing that they paint hospitals green to neutralize the colour of blood.

Blood is red. I am red. Hospitals are painted green to make the blood look less red? Actually, that's a really odd idea. Surely if someone's bleeding in a hospital the last thing you need is attention taken away from the fact? I can't help thinking you need certain people to notice, say for instance, doctors. I wonder what colour they paint the walls in Bupa hospitals.

Having said that, if there is a chance that it works, I'll go for it. I am now decorated like a hospital (by which I mean, I'm wearing green). Let's see if it does the job...

[Edit, 22:52] Not a chance.

I'm back!

2009-05-22T08:09:00.003+01:00

As promised.

If only I'd had the discipline to stop the rest of my procrastinating, as well as that associated with blogging. Never mind. Exams are over, Summer may begin, as well as my Summer project, which I'm now really looking forward too.

But, unfortunately, I have nothing to say. I will write a real post soon, this one is just to keep my promises (sometimes it seems like a good idea) and let you know I'm not dead.

I'm not.

Study Leave

2009-03-30T13:50:00.003+01:00

I know I've not written a post for a few days, so it's a little poor of me to be writing this one now, but, well... tough.

Unless anything particularly exciting/alarming/interesting/hilarious occurs I'm going to avoid posting here for a while. I've got exams to pass and this is just a giant encouragement of procrastination.

No idea how long I'll manage to go without writing anything, but I'll definitely be back when all my exams are done, if not before.

Feel free to talk among yourselves.

Supermarket Retard

2009-03-25T21:12:00.005Z

You know those people who don't seem to be able to cope with grocery shopping? They're perpetually surprised, incapable of finding anything, doomed to be the one to drop the eggs.

Today, and only Today, I have sympathy for them. Today, I joined their ranks for one evening only.

I ran to the Tesco across the road to pick up a couple of extra ingredients for dinner. Due to being a giant food snob and refusing to do things like buy ready meals or jar/packet sauces or frozen pizza, I often have to run across the road for tomato puree, or oregano.

Off I went. I ran into three people I knew and was surprised surprised to see each of them. I'd possibly go so far as to say I was "taken aback." I then walked straight into two people I didn't know. I was incapable of finding anything I wanted, with the exception of tights (I can leave the house in a skirt again!)

I don't trust automated check-outs at the best of times. They've managed to short change me before, and they're stealing jobs from our chavs and students. It's just not on. Even so, I decided that the queue for being served by a real person was too long, and I thought since I was forewarned, I'd be able to check my change carefully.

The machine hated me. It just didn't work. Nothing would scan, it couldn't tell when I'd put the items in the bags (which took me a good minute each to open). It kept repeating itself, as if I was a retard. I started to realize that it had a point.

Eventually I left, paying with card without checking the price. No way it can short change me now, right? Right? Aw sh*t.

Having made dinner I decided I needed to bake a tasty treat. Started off OK before discovering we were ought of strong white flour. Had to go back to Tesco. They were out too, I asked some one to go see if there was any left, the guy found some right at the back of the shelf. Again I felt like a moron, but not as much as when I dropped it. Or as much as when I saw him standing in the queue, turns out he wasn't working, just a guy in a blue shirt.

I can never go back there. But at least I've got every potential item of shopping related embarrassment out of the way for at least six months or so. Maybe I'll just stick to shoe shopping, I am more than adept at shoe shopping.

Domesticated Violence

2009-03-24T13:36:00.006Z

I am exceptionally handy around the flat. I can change all the light bulbs I can reach (read: the one in my desk lamp). I can get things from high shelves if I stand on a chair. I know how to clog up a drain. I do most of the washing up out of the goodness of my heart, OCD and having found beetles in the past has nothing to do with it.

I cannot wear a skirt again until the giant bruise on my knee heals. Unless I go out and buy more dark tights. All my dark tights got holes in them, I don't know how his happened, but I suspect that drinking more rum would help make sure it never happened again. I hear these things cancel out.

I finally got my bravery back after the last kitchen fiasco. I had cleaned the curtain, dried it, and folded it up neatly in one of the cupboards. But it bothered me, it needed to be back in its proper place.

I knew the step ladder was not safe for people who weigh more than the average seven-year-old, but I'd skipped breakfast and lunch. I figured it was worth the risk. In hindsight I should probably not have tried it with heels, but they're so slimming.

I got to the fourth step before the ladders started to slip. I froze. It stopped. I took a deep breath and slowly started to move back down. Our windows are huge and the curtains are long. It caught round my heel and I missed the step completely. I twisted like a cat (only much more elegantly) and attempted to jump forwards off the ladder. My ankle caught the last rung. I landed on my knees.

Two seconds later, the ladders landed on me. I doubt my knee is the only thing that's bruised. But at least I didn't break a heel.

You'd think one of the guys would be a gentleman and fix this for me, but only if you'd never met them.

Moving Out

2009-03-23T16:54:00.004Z

A couple of weeks ago Amy (one of my flat mates) announced that she would be living with either her boyfriend or her parents next year, she has a really close family wants to be closer to home so she can be with them and help them out.

No really, it's got nothing to do with her hating us. I'm quite certain. We're all delightful people, I'm sure the only reason she hasn't been crying about it is because she doesn't want us to ~~take the piss~~ see how sad she is to leave.

This means that we need a flat for three, as it'll just be me Harry and Gav next year. Now, I thought maybe we could be sensible about this. We'd work out our price range, have a look at a few flats near the uni, visit them, and decide which was best.

For the first ten minutes of browsing online, I was right. We bookmarked a couple that looked quite good, that we could afford, and that were within walking distance of everything we would need.

Sadly though, the same data bases that hold stuff for student-style flats, apparently hold stuff for penthouses in the Merchant City. Trust me when I tell you that I have now seen more than enough beautiful penthouses that I absolutely cannot afford the rent on, even if I don't pay bills, or eat.

It didn't stop there. Here's a link to what the boys are now considering our ideal property for next year: most ridiculous suggestion ever. It's not even for sale! It's in Germany! Now they're bitching because I haven't won the lottery!

Perhaps Amy had the right plan, maybe I should get out now before the boys ruin me completely.

Good Morning

2009-03-19T17:22:00.004Z

Lately I have been waking up earlier than usual*. I think it must be because I'm having extra exciting dreams (not like that! pervert!) So I need to return to normality early before I tire myself out.

Like last night I dreamed I was in a knife fight (told you it wasn't like that) and the winner got to keep the knives. I won. This is not the first time I've won knives, though it is the first time I've dreamed about it.

A few of years ago I entered a competition in a magazine. The first prize was a TV and DVD player, they looked cute and I thought they'd go well with Sam (my elderly CD player). It was a cross-word, I knew the answers. I cut it out of the magazine and found an envelope. Then I noticed the website address that you were supposed to send the answer to. I logged on, entered the competition and immediately forgot about it all.

Two months later there was a knock at the door. It was a parcel for me. I love getting post, even if it's just a bill. Parcels are amazing fun to receive, even if I ordered them myself. This one was a mystery. I signed for it and then googled "How to tell if a parcel is a bomb."

Once satisfied, I opened it. It was a set of kitchen knives. Apparently that was second prize. It at least explains why my postman looked so surprised that a kid signed for them, and may go some way to explaining my life-long difficulties with postmen ever since.

I have to say, it's much more fun to win them this way than to win them in a knife fight. This way they were a surprise, and I didn't need to clean them up when the competition was over.

*I look angelic in the morning, really I do. Brings a smile to my face. The angles my hair can stand at before 9am occasionally defy Euclidean geometry.

Wassup G?

2009-03-18T23:41:00.005Z

When I was around 13, I went through a period having gangsta friends. This was a surprise to me, since I'd always been the quiet kid everyone picked on (at least until a couple of years later, when I learned the art of ganging up on a gang of people all by yourself - worth mastering if you can manage it).

It happened simply enough. One of the gansta girls who got my bus home from school was shouting about needing a muthaf*ckin' tissue before the bus arrived. My mother had bought a bunch of special edition mini-packs of Kelvin Klein Kleenex (best phrase this week so far). They were to raise money for charity. They were also hideous. Even then I had enough sense of style to be ashamed of having them in my bag. I mean, leopard print Kleenex? Seriously? I respect Mr Klein, but he had lost it.

I gave the whole pack to the gansta chick, they matched her handbag, and she recognised the designer. I was an instant hit. She and her friends made other people get out of my way so I could sit at the back of the bus.

I was taught the language. The music was shared and explained. I got respect and they miraculously started getting A's in all their homework assignments. We were excellent influences on each other.

Then, the rest of the popular people started noticing. The balked at first, and pointed out that I was a nerd. But the gangstas did not care, they stuck by me through everything. We were homies, no muthaf*ucka could stop us, biatch. 'Cept some chick's ex-boyfriend who she was still into. Damnit, but I was terrified of that guy, not interested - he was twice my size! Word got around that he liked me. I left the group before I was forced to.

Popularity dropped again. I was banned from using the words "homie", "bled" and "shizzle." Frankly, it's probably for the best, I always sounded ridiculous. I couldn't get whiter if I was caught in an avalanche.

But in a weird way I miss it. I understand gangsta rap, even if I never actually liked it, and can even explain why some rappers are better than others. Why everyone in hiphop actually hates soulja boi. What I can't explain is why anyone in hiphop is... well... in hiphop.

But then, I listen to a combination of death metal and French electro, what do I know?

P.S. My spell checker went mental on this post. I've left it as is, but there's no way I'm adding "shizzle" to it's dictionary. It'd just be a bit too far.

Languages

2009-03-17T22:59:00.009Z

A couple of months ago, I picked up an audio book. The title was "Rapid Russian." My plan was to learn Russian, Rapidly.

I have listened to it maybe four times, but not at all for a couple of months, so I've forgotten quite a lot of things. I already knew how to say "yes" and "no," so I have to admit that those don't really count.

Because I have my priorities right, I also know how to say;
-"I would like a small measure of vodka."
-"I have lost my keys." and,
-"A bottle of red wine, please."

I would fit into Moscow perfectly and would definitely not get mugged. Nor would I find myself in a situation I wasn't fully equipped to handle.

My German has always been better, presumably because I studied it properly for two years. Among other things, I still remember how to say:

- "Yes, I would like another beer."
- "Oh look, a guinea-pig!"
- "I'm sorry, is this your boyfriend?"

And the ever helpful phrase:

- "I think that women is an evil witch."

I've been toying with taking up Spanish next year. It's easier than Russian, and Harry speaks it fluently, so he would enjoy being a true hindrance to my learning. I'd hate to deprive him of that.

The main reason is that I'd like to get drunk in Spain, and so far I don't know any Spanish phrases that would get me slapped or mugged. Once I am drunk I'm likely to start reeling off everything I know. This means that the study must be very careful and specific, because I tend to remember things better a) if there's only very few situations in which they could be appropriate, and b) if they sound hilarious.

Perhaps I should just speak very slowly and loudly in English regardless of the country I find myself drinking in.

Present

2009-03-15T22:53:00.005Z

My friends' visit this weekend went off with only one hitch, and it wasn't my fault. They got on the wrong train and showed up two hours late. It should really have been expected. Nice girls, but not to be trusted in navigation.

On Friday before they showed up I got a call from my mother. Having updated me on stuff going on at home she told me that she had a present for me that she was going to send up with Jenny and Hannah. She refused to say what it was, hinting only that it wasn't pink or fluffy. Though she also said that she was quite excited about sending it and that she thought I'd like it.

By the time the girls showed up I had forgotten all about this, terrified that they'd get it wrong again and end up in Northern Scotland. A place in which they surely could never have survived. We got back to the flat, they had a wander round, enjoying the opportunity to be nosy. We drank hot chocolate and gossiped and shared rumors that were only occasionally true, but which we will now spread as indisputable fact.

Then Jenny remembered and said, "Oh, your mum wanted me to give you something. I think it's a lump of meat."

Turned out to be a pork joint. Admittedly not pink and fluffy. Admittedly I liked it (roast dinner for the win). However, even with those clues, I would never have guessed.

The fact that this is not a normal thing to do is completely lost on my mother. This women brought me up. My continued ability to function semi-well is one of society's great unsolved mysteries.

Mistakes

2009-03-11T16:57:00.007Z

I've made a lot of mistakes. Cutting my hair to an ultra-short bob was a mistake. Blue eyeliner was a mistake. Lots of my ex boyfriends were mistakes. Thinking my best friend couldn't get me drunk on three shots was a mistake.

It seems I have not learned from my mistakes.

I've made two new ones recently.

1. I've told my father he should blog. While I was home a while back he showed me an email he apparently sent to a couple of friends at work. Apparently it developed into a chain email because it's full of in-jokes about the job, which were naturally lost on me.

He got into trouble for it, but wants to write more stuff. I have no idea if he'll go through with the blog, but I told him it'd probably be a better plan then sending more emails.

It has now occurred to me that he had a hand in raising me. He knew me as a child, and as a teenager. He has access to photos of me... pre-braces. I'm sure he'll remember that I was always a delightful kid, and never did a single thing wrong. That I was never stroppy or bitchy or difficult, because I understand how hard parenting must be.

2. I've invited my two best friends Jenny and Hannah (whom I'll be referring to as Jennizzle and Hannelore) to join me for a night out in Glasgow on Saturday. Do not expect me to remember any text messages I might send you. In fact, don't expect me to remember if I bumped into you in person.

Jennizzle can get me hammered on three shots. I might as well give up the fight right now.

Nice and Clean

2009-03-07T00:32:00.003Z

OCD comes in bursts. I'm not generally obsessive compulsive, apart from the odd tendency, the most obvious example being that I have to eat my food in the right order. It's impossible to know what that order will be until I am presented with the food, but it's very important anyway.

Today I spent five hours cleaning my kitchen. This may seem like typical OCD behaviour, but it's actually much more complicated than that. I do not often spend more than half an hour cleaning anything. This was sparked by an experience that I might never truly recover from.

About a month ago, my flatmate Gav accidentally pulled down one of the curtains in the kitchen. We tend not to close them anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. Today though, I decided it was about time someone put it back up. It had been left on the floor, and I picked it up to work out how I could do this. It was a little damp, but I figured there was no reason why it shouldn't be clean, and that it would dry when it was hanging in front of the window again.

I went to get the step ladders. I put them up. I gave them a push, and instantly decided that I was far to important to actually put any weight on them, and that I would wait until one of the boys came home. I decided to wash the curtain, just in case.

At this point I noticed that the floor where the curtain had been was a bit dusty-looking and could probably use cleaning. I moved the table out of the way to get a closer look. At this point the worst thing that's happened to me all week occurred.

I found an exoskeleton.

From some kind of bug.

With lots of legs.

I wretched. Then I cleaned for five hours. Muttering "nothing crawls in my kitchen," under my breath.

Flattery

2009-03-04T13:43:00.006Z

Don't have much time for a post, supposed to be studying for physics tomorrow, decided to take the day off to do so, and as such I can't really justify wasting too much time blogging.

Oh, and I've just caught myself half-way through making a cup of tea. Supposed to have given it up for lent, seems I am on auto-pilot. At least it's only the first time I've slipped up... as far as I know.

OK, that's a bit too weird. On with the mini update:
- I've unwittingly been making tea.
- Insomnia seems to be just about gone, but somehow I'm still very tired, must be because I'm working so hard.
- When looking through some note last night, I noticed that I'd managed to spell "therefore" as "theirfore." I set the notes on fire. No one will ever find out (except anyone who reads this).
- I am definitely not loosing it, not even a little bit.

Oh, and a couple of my friends have started writing blogs too. I have to assume I inspired them, that or they realised that if I was already writing one, I couldn't take the piss out of them for doing so. If I was mean I'd say they were just copying me, but because I am lovely, I have put links to their blogs in the new link section (scroll down, it's on the right somewhere). Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and flattery will get you everywhere.*

If you write a blog and you suspect that a) It's not an entirely awful read, and b) I don't hate you, let me know and if you're right I'll link it. Of course, if I don't link it, you'll have to spend the rest of your life wondering which reason it is. Up to you to decide if it's really worth the risk.

*Unless you try to flatter me by buying the same shoes/clothes/bags. In which case it won't get you anywhere you actually want to be.

Parcel Wars

2009-02-27T14:25:00.006Z

I ordered a case of wine from nakedwines.com because I got a voucher sent to me, and it seemed like a pretty good deal. Especially since they said that the would definitely deliver it the next day, and if I wasn't in they'd leave it somewhere safe. This seemed like an even better deal because they also mentioned that should it get stolen, they'd replace it for free.

I'm sure I don't need to tell you what my cunning plan was. It was very cunning, but very simple, and in its' simplicity lay its' beauty.

Anyway, I got back and found a card from Parcel Force saying they'd left the wine with a neighbour. The card also said

"(BOX OF WINE) Untouched! NONE BROKE ON DELIVERY."

Now, I don't know if my Parcel Force Guy (PFG) doesn't trust my neighbour, or if he doesn't trust me and thought I might try to run some kind of scam to get more wine (as if!) Or perhaps he's just feeling guilty for smashing a whole case last time he made a delivery, and wants someone to notice his skills are improving.

It could be any of those things. Just in case it's the last one, I'd like to say this:

Thank you PFG. You bring my deliveries on time and in tact. You successfully leave them somewhere safe, and tell me where that somewhere is. You never break any of my things or try to lie to me. For this I truly appreciate you.

Would you be interested in taking part in an epic battle with The Postman? (I assume he is your arch nemesis).

Tweeze

2009-02-25T22:36:00.006Z

I had a meeting yesterday with the staff student committee. I am the student representative for ExCos, which is a dumbed down version of astronomy. I was not forced to take the post, I volunteered. I did this because I really care about the other students who take it, they can't speak for themselves, most of them are art students, they communicate through clicks and whistles. This would not be understood at the meeting.

I also did it because I'd like to give something back to the University. It has nothing to do with wanting to add stuff to my CV whenever possible.

I sat next to the chairman, I don't know his name, but he seems like a nice enough man. I think he used to be very ginger, there's still some ginger in his beard. After noticing this I realised that he had more facial hair coverage than any other man I've ever seen. I don't mean that he had the biggest beard I've ever seen, I've been to metal gigs, it would be a ridiculous claim. Rather, a greater proportion of his face had hair growing out of it, most of which he presumably shaved off. He had hair growing on his earlobes. Seriously.

It occurred to me that one of the worst things that could happen to a guy would be getting really hairy when you're really old. I mean, shaving must suck as it is, but hair on your ears? Like some kind of rodent? Totally not up for that. You know what though? It'd be easy enough to solve. Maybe I've got the odd OCD-like tendency, but I know where the nearest three pairs of tweezers are, and they're all within reaching distance.

Yes. Three pairs of tweezers is the optimum number. What if you suddenly realised your eyebrows were the wrong shape and there wasn't a pair in your handbag? What if it was dark? Definitely need the ones with the light. What if you needed false eye-lashes? You just going to try to glue them on with your fingers? I know I wouldn't put glue anywhere near my eyes unless I had my needle-nosed tweezers to do it.

The hairy old chairman would look amazing with false eyelashes. At least in that I would be amazed.

Nature vs Nurture

2009-02-23T21:34:00.003Z

I was thinking about my childhood, and I reckon there's a chance I was groomed for academia. It surprises me, because when I was in high-school I asked my parents if they'd ever had any thoughts on what career they I'd eventually have, or what they'd like me to have, and they said no, and I thought no more about it.

I now have reason to believe that they lied to me. This is not unusual, if you look back on your life you discover that as a child people lied to you constantly. Incidentally they simultaneously try to teach you that lying is wrong. No generation to date has been successful in passing the virtue of unwavering truthfulness onto the next.

Anyway, it was thinking about the differences between my sister and I that lead me to this conclusion. We're a lot a like, both in general personality and appearance, though she's smaller than me and tends to die her hair red these days. Our parents claim to have tried to treat us both the same as they were raising us, and in the respect that they spent equal amounts of money and time on each of us both, they're claim is valid.

However, I'm on my way to becoming a physicist and she's on her way to becoming a photographer. I was always the academic one, and she was always artsy. I reckon its got a lot to do with the season in which we were born. I'm January, she's August. So when it came to birthdays she'd get a swing-set, or a sand pit, or a trampoline. I tended to get microscopes (yes, plural), chemistry sets and electronics sets to play with.

One year Steph got a Barbie and a "Make your own lipgloss kit" for Christmas. The same year there was two dictionaries amongst my gifts. An OED for students and a "Dictionary of Difficult words." No wonder I didn't mix well with my peers. I'd ask for a remote controlled car and get a book called "My First 100 Science Experiments." I didn't even know Fisher Price did such a thing!

And yet, as a child I never noticed. I pointed out the unfairness that I never got anything as cool as a trampoline, and was told I could always use Steph's and that it was only because you couldn't use trampolines in Winter. It made sense. So I absorbed all of it. The interactive encyclopedias, the 1000 piece world map jigsaws, all the books I could get my hands on. Lessons disguised as toys.

When I was home at Christmas last year, my Dad looked at a pile of my notes. He called me over and asked me to explain what they meant. It was some basic stuff on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. I did my best, but the conversation ended like this:

Dad: Let me get this straight, not only are you doing maths when you should be doing physics, you're doing it with letters instead of numbers, and the letters are in Greek?
Me: Yes.
Dad. WTF?

Serves him right. I'm still bitter about that trampoline.

Uh-oh

2009-02-18T17:48:00.003Z

Alright, my last blog apparently left me open for attack. At least judging by the complaints this morning. Martin was the most hurt I think, because I gave him grief for buying an ipod a while ago. Poor ickle Martin.

You might have guessed, this is not an apology. I'm bad at apologies. They always start off well, but they tend to end badly. An example of me apologising might go like this.

"I know I upset you the other day when I called you a fucktard, and I probably shouldn't have. Not that I'm wrong though, you are a fucktard, it's just that I didn't expect you to be sad when I pointed it out. Actually, the fact that it bothered you at all leads me to believe that you're an even worse individual than I at first anticipated. So yeah, sorry. Not for what I said, but that you have to live with that."

See the problem? Frankly it's amazing that I have any friends at all. Perhaps it's because I avoid making friends with fucktards, so that kind of thing doesn't happen often.

Aaaaaanyway. I have a statement to make:

I have never bought an Apple product. The shuffle I own was a free gift. I refuse to use it for anything other than audio books, and I absolutely will never download anything from itunes. I have been debating getting an iphone, but simply because I'd quite like a nice phone that I can get online with, there are alternatives, and considering that I can't afford a new phone at all yet, by the time I can, I will have done my research well enough to choose something better.

Apple is probably evil. Microsoft probably is too. I don't know how to use Linux. I hope this goes some way to absolving me.

(Martin still shouldn't have bought his ipod though. Pretty silly thing to do. What? I'm just saying).

Unconventional

2009-02-16T23:55:00.003Z

I have another confession to make that might surprise you. I own an ipod shuffle.

I'm not a fan of Apple in general. My shuffle was free when I signed up for an offer for something I actually wanted. I didn't know there was a shuffle in it for me when I signed up, but then they sent me one.

I actually use it. It's only 2Gb(at least that's what it claims), it's nice and small, so it fits even in girly jeans pockets*. It's also kind of cute, in a clinical kind of way. Silver and white is a pretty unoffensive colour scheme so long as it's not on a car.

I do not have it set to "shuffle." It amused me that I could turn that function off, effectively removing what is apparently it's 2nd biggest selling point. Only apple could market a piece of technology as being especially good for doing something that every other piece of similar technology on the market can already do perfectly well.

Nor do I have any music on it. This removes it's 1st biggest selling point. Apple are actually quite good at selling mp3-players, and nobody is really surprised about that anymore. If only because it's old news.

There are five files on my shuffle:
1. Rapid Russian: A course for Beginners
2. Catch 22 (Unabridged)
3. Gulliver's Travels (Unabridged)
4. Labyrinth (Unabridged)
5. The Feynman Lectures on Physics (Volume 1)

These are audio books.

The fact is, I like using things for interesting purposes if I find out that I can. My shuffle holds my audio books. I listen to MP3s with my phone. I connect to my network with my DS, which I also now use as a synthesizer (but rarely play games on, that's the phone again).

One day, I'll be able to do all of those things on one piece of technology. Chances are I can already, if I'm willing to pay the price. The fact is, if ever someone puts synthesizer software on my phone, I'll use it for that. I'll get two cans and a length of string for when I want to call people.

*Guys, you do not appreciate your jeans pockets enough. You can get phone, wallet and keys, possibly also mp3-player in two pockets sometimes, that's incredible. If I've got my phone in my pocket, that pocket is completely full, even now I've got my nice phone back.

Slander

2009-02-10T14:31:00.003Z

Due to some of my recent actions, my flatmate is trying to convince people that I am an engineering student. It's because he's very bitter that he could never study a real science. Do not believe him, he will tell you that I failed an exam, so I've decided to start again with first year engineering, he'll tell you I'm very embarrassed about this, he might even be convincing.

Do not believe him. Frankly, I'd rather stoop to biology than engineering, hell, I'd rather do Earth science (I wonder how many people I can alienate with one blog post?) God knows that could never happen.

Watch out also for him telling you that he's studying medicine. He isn't, it's nursing. Nothing to be ashamed of, we're not living in the 1950s, if we can have policewomen we can have male nurses (though honestly, I'm not sure what we'd need them for). I suppose it just goes to show that you shouldn't believe everything you hear (or read).

Harry, you may consider yourself owned.

Refuse Collection Individual

2009-02-04T15:53:00.005Z

Firstly, I've had a complaint. Apparently Fi is not a robot. To this I'd like to say "oh yes she is." Sorry Fi, but it does seem likely.

This morning I awoke early. I've been trying it out every couple of days, I'm not sure if I like it or not yet, but it does help my concentration in lectures if I've already been awake for two hours. Normally I get up forty minutes before my first lecture and stumble about the flat getting ready, but not waking up until I leave the building. This has produced odd situations in the past.

If I'm going to wake up early I have to give myself an incentive. Things like; "You can get some work done before you even get to uni!" don't seem work. It has to be more along the lines of, "just think how many times you can get changed before you finally settle on an outfit, you might not even be bored of it by lunch!"

Today, my incentive was that I'd ordered something cute from asos.com a couple of days ago, so it should be about time it arrived. I don't trust my postman, and I reckon he might knock extra quietly, so I don't hear him and he can leave a "Sorry you were out" form instead of having to carry a parcel upstairs. I planned to catch him if he tried it.

A quiet tap at the door came at around 10am. I dashed to the door to open it before postie could get away, and readied my accusing look. I yanked the door open angrily. Standing there, wearing an expression of surprise and fatigue was what I am now calling a "refuse collection individual," simply because I'm certain that "Bin man" is not PC, and I don't know what is. Also, I feel bad for giving him my accusing glance, it's not his fault my parcel isn't here.

He told me our buzzer isn't working (which I knew, and I've been trying to get our landlord to fix it for some time, but he always fobs me off saying he needs to speak to all the other landlords that own flats in our building). He explained that this was why our bins haven't been collected for some time, and asked for my landlord's number.

This is all very well and good. I'm pleased that the refuse collection individual will call my landlord for me, and that the buzzer will be fixed, and that the rubbish will be taken away. Now I won't have to persuade someone else to take the rubbish downstairs so that I don't get eaten by a giant rat. On the other hand, I was going to use the rats to dispose of the postman's body, and I still don't have my parcel.

Postman... postman... Post delivery personnel? Physical communications manager? Git?

Pink

2009-02-03T17:34:00.003Z

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, and I was very grateful for all of my gifts (even the ferrero rocher from Worby, that I reckon he probably picked up at a service station on the way in. They taste the same wherever you buy them from. They taste good).

I am going home at the weekend, since my parents didn't see me at my birthday, and want to see me now. I don't trust my postman, and its best not to ask why, because the rant's a long one. Anyway, they agreed to give gifts when I came home, though that's actually by the by.

As well as the FR from Worby (bless him) Nick's parents gave me a Thorntons box. I've always felt that being fat wouldn't suit me, my ankles couldn't take it, so I put both boxes of chocolates in the kitchen so my flat mates could have some. They did, though I suspect only out of the goodness of their hearts and concern for my delicate ankles.

I like chocolate. I know some people claim that they don't, but they are lying/robots. I thought I liked all kinds, even that 80% cocoa mass stuff, that people claim is too dark, I think it's perfect. I like white chocolate too, and all the weird flavours green & blacks do, though I've never been brave enough to try the chili one, I have put cocoa in chilies, and it works.

I have one question: What the hell do they put in the pink goo in the centre of the chocolates that are suppose to taste like strawberries? Seriously? They taste like cancer. Gone are the days when I could take a chocolate without looking at the "menu card" on the box, claiming that it doesn't matter because "I like them all". Now I have to carefully try to dodge the nasties, ideally without anyone noticing, the last thing I need is people thinking I'm fussy about chocolate, or they might stop giving me it.

Caffeine

2009-01-30T16:54:00.004Z

I am a tea drinker. I enjoy coffee, but it makes the buzzing in my head a little too loud. Shortly after a cup of coffee I need a glass of red wine just to even things out.

It also makes me talk too quickly. I already speak too quickly for some people, I put this down to them thinking too slowly, but really, who am I to judge? It seems a fair assumption, but I haven't actually done any tests yet. Either way, it's very inconsiderate of me to drink coffee if there's a chance I'll have to speak with someone who can't keep up in the next hour.

Caffeine pills are even worse. I took a couple last Summer because I was tired and needed to work. I'd had a cup of tea and it had only made me feel warm. I had a coffee (with vanilla in it, can't drink it without) and it had only made me feel warmer. I had a couple of pro-plus. Ten minutes later my heartbeat matched the bass on whichever Chemical Brothers song I chose to play.

Amusing, but also kind of scary. I was too on edge to work and instead cleaned the whole flat and cataloged my DVDs. It's a mistake I won't make again, I prefer my DVDs messy and random, the good ones stand out better that way.

Today I stopped in Starbucks for a mocha. I refuse to use their sizing system, and ordered a "small." The girl said, "you mean tall?" I said, "No."

Fortunately she took the hint, or I would've had to point out that she was being pedantic about a pseudo-Italian sizing system in an ugly Glaswegian accent. That would have been mean. I'm not allowed to be mean to people in Starbucks because of the Incident.

The coffee was good, but after it I couldn't concentrate. I was trying to buy silver shoes, but I couldn't focus. I saw nothing I wanted. At first I was inclined to put this down to some kind of horrible depression, but then I realised it was just the caffeine confusing me.

I'll never drink coffee again.

Interestingly, you apparently need 12 cups of tea before you start hallucinating. I'm up for trying that out, but I need volunteers to make sure I don't try to slice my veins out of my arms, or take flight out of my window. Anyone? Anyone at all?

Motivation

2009-01-26T17:09:00.003Z

I am an easily entertained person. The sort of person who notices shiny things before anyone else notices (that or no one cares about shiny things as much as I do). I am also easily distracted, though if all possibility of shoe shopping is removed from a situation my attention span can be formidable.

I should point out that a) this has never happened, and b) shoe shopping is the exception that proves the rule. I have to shop alone, no one I know has the stamina.

Naturally this means I have a talent for procrastination. I've mentioned it before, so you know I really mean it. This combined with my limitless creativity means that I can always find something more interesting to do than the task at hand. Even if that task is my maths homework four hours before the tutorial. Actually, that's an easy one, my tutorials are at 10am, the best thing to do at 6am is sleep.

People confuse this with a lack of motivation. I disagree, I have too much motivation, which is why I want to do so many things that aren't my maths homework. Surely this is the kind of wonderful logic that brought me to the sciences in the first place?

I was discussing my lack of work with Euan, and he said that the carrot method doesn't work for me because I can always find a better carrot. This is true, but he's misspelling it. Instead, he thinks someone has to be a bastard to me until I get some work done. He has volunteered, because he's thoughtful like that.

Today however I have found myself full of motivation. You'd think it was because of exam result if you didn't know that I haven't been given them yet. You'd think it's because of my super-intelligent new tutor if you didn't know I actually find her a little intimidating. You'd think it's because I've just turned 20 and I'm afraid of wasting my life if you didn't know... me.

The fact is I've no idea why it's occurred. I think it might have something to do with a certain 2nd-hand book shop, but that's because that's all I can remember from my dreams last night. If I work out what's causing it, I'm going to distill it, bottle it and sell it to large companies. I'll make millions. Watch this space.

It's My Party

2009-01-24T14:43:00.003Z

And I don't really feel like crying. Suddenly I'm 20, this didn't really sink in until I noticed that it changed automatically on my Last.fm profile. It's alright though, don't feel old yet, I happen to be the youngest of my flatmates, which helps a bit :-)

I've had plenty of birthday facebook messages too, which is nice. They tend to run along the lines of "Happy Birthday Becky! Have a great day! xxx"
But my sister's just says
"You're old."

I love my sister. She can't borrow any money for her Paris trip.

I've been OCD-ishly cleaning the flat. It's delightful, look, I even made a graph:

5 Things I'll Never Understand

2009-01-23T15:02:00.003Z

1. Footless tights.

You're wearing tights because otherwise your legs will be cold, yet you somehow think that your feet won't be? I only realized you could buy these about three years ago, I couldn't figure out why, but I bought a couple of pairs anyway, just to see if there was something everyone knew and that I didn't. My feet got cold.
I guess maybe they're to attract foot-fetishists without looking too slutty.

2. Bloody Mary's

Generally speaking this is an early morning drink, or a hangover drink. It's got vodka in it. Now, as I've mentioned before, I don't do hangovers, but one the two occasions when I have, the thought of more booze has only made me feel worse. I do do breakfast, and at breakfast time, vodka seems not actually repulsive, but definitely bad. Vodka with your cereal is a bit much really.

Also, if you're going to ignore the above and decide that it's just a cocktail (which I guess is valid) then that's fine. Until you read the ingredients list; vodka, tomato juice, Tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, celery stick garnish. Some people will tell you to add horseradish. Could someone please try to explain to me why you'd want to drink that? It's spicy!

3. Wave-particle Duality.

I can relay explanations parrot-fashion. I can take some numbers, put them into the right equations and come out with answers that are somehow "correct." I can not work out how matter/light can technically be described as two things at once, and that it knows which one to be when you're dealing with it in a certain way.

4. International Obsession with Dan Brown Novels.

You'd think the vast majority of people didn't read real books at all. I admit to having read "Deception Point." It was ok. Not amazing, not eye-opening, not worthy of awards, just ok. I guess people never get bored of conspiracy theories. But they should, they really, really should.

5. Crotch-Topiary.

Just... No. There's no words left. Please, for the love of whatever you happen love the most (unless what you love the most is shaping your pubic hair), get a hobby. Or, just don't talk to me about it. Or in fact ever. That'd be great. Thanks.

Daiquiris

2009-01-17T13:20:00.004Z

There was some very good white rum left in the fridge.

There was four limes in the fruit bowl.

There was a bottle of cointreau I'd opened to add a little to this week's cake, even though I'd sworn not to open any of the party booze until the party.

There was one metric fuckload of ice in the freezer.

Now there are only headaches.

Although, thankfully I am fine as usual*. People keep warning me that this will change, I refuse to believe them. I've had hangovers before. I didn't like the first one, and a few months later I had another, just to be sure. That one wasn't fun either, so these days, I just skip them, in spite of how many people choose to have them on a regular basis. I will not be swayed by popular choice, I will stay hangover free (though not always clear headed, I am after all still going to get very drunk).

My mother seems to deal with drinking in the same way. She's the only women I know who can out-drink me and still feel fine in the morning. Clearly I have inherited her metabolism, allowing me to drink all I want, and with will-power alone feel great the next day.

Perhaps this is evolution in practice. People need to get drunk, but they also need to not get ill. Those who are capable of processing alcohol in such a way as to get drunk cheaply and not get ill are "the fittest" and can pass their genetic material onto the next generation because they'll never choke to death on their own vomit, or end up in hospital having cracked their head on the toilet seat.

Eventually the human race will be able to process all kind of interesting drugs - enjoying the good effects, skipping the bad ones. Maybe it works like bacteria; if you expose a petri-dish of bacteria to penicillin, eventually some of them will learn to process it harmlessly. If you expose heroin addicts to heroin, eventually they'll enjoy it without addiction or harm. Of course, it'll take longer for the heroin addicts, because they're slightly more complex creatures. Many of them will die in horrible ways - but in the name of science, surely it's worth it?

*Daiquiris are delicious. I'll have to buy rum after I've bought everything else, or I'll end up drinking all the party booze with my flat-mates well before I throw the party.

PS. Sorry for not writing for a week, it wasn't out of being too lazy or too busy, it's just that I don't want to write if I have nothing to say. Fortunately though, now I do - the value of what I have to say is, as always, up for debate.

I Guess it's Started

2009-01-12T16:18:00.004Z

I went shopping a couple of weeks ago, it's something I enjoy and I happen to excel at it. I purchased a pretty new pair of black jeans, because I haven't had black jeans in ages and quite fancied some. Having worn them twice I've discovered that the dye is not quite stable, and transfers to light coloured socks etc.

Yesterday I decided I really needed to know when and where my maths lectures were going to be held. It would be nice if the maths department told you this, maybe sent out an email, or put it on moodle (the online information part of the course). Generally though, they'd rather not, so you either have to guess, find it on some general information page on the uni website (which I did not find, but Martin did and saved me) or go exploring in the maths department.

I like to think of myself as adventurous, so I chose the third option. It really is a exploration, you never know which noticeboard they're going to put class information on, and there's at least five floors. I left the flat, noticing very light drizzle, and hoping it wouldn't get heavier.

By the time I arrived at the maths building, I was soaked to the skin. I shivered. The building was closed because it was Sunday. I cursed. I went round the corner and picked up some stuff from Boots, considered buying an umbrella, but it seemed a little worthless at that point, and trudged home.

Naturally, when I got back, the first thing I thought to do was go get a shower, especially since shivering was pretty serious by this point, and the rain had become nastier on my trip back, meaning that I was literally dripping when I arrived. So, straight to the shower.

My legs were stained bright blue. It doesn't even make sense! The jeans are black! Grey I could understand, but blue? This stuff is aparently also sticks to skin better than it does to denim, judging by how long it took to get off.

At least now I have the wisdom to not wear them in the rain until I've washed them a couple of times, but I'm pretty sure I'll forget this the first time I wash them, and I'll dye a couple of shirts a horrible shade a blue-grey.

Glasgow is already trying to ruin me. Don't worry though, I'm already plotting my revenge, that's another thing I excel at, although taking revenge on a city's bad weather is going to be tricky, and may take quite a lot of plotting.

Glasgow

2009-01-11T12:30:00.003Z

Well, I'm back in Glasgow, and term's about to start.

I seem to write better in Glasgow for some reason. The reason is that I'm left to my own devices for a greater percentage of my time, and as such there is a greater potential for ridiculous things to happen to me.

It's partly my fault, I admit. It seems to be my nature to haphazardly put myself in situations where something ridiculous might occur. But I can't help thinking that it's also the fault of some kind of God of Hating the English, that the Scots all secretly pray to. The influence of this God is to try to persuade me to go back home, where I can't write as well, but fewer terrible (if amusing) events occur. The Gods are nothing if not humorous.

But I shall resist! Partly because I want a degree, partly because I quite like Glasgow, and partly because I like asking questions such as

"What's the worst that could happen?"

Let the carnage commence.

4 Overdose

2009-01-05T12:18:00.004Z

I'm generally not a huge fan of tv. I don't like advertisements, normally I have a good attention span, but when they come on I discover that it's less than 30 seconds long, a fact that fills me with self-doubt. Maybe if I could stay interested in commercials showing how white my whites could be, or how much other people are "loving it" I'd be a better and more complete individual. Yet somehow my will is not strong enough, and I always end up changing channel, or going to make tea.

I also fail to be interested in the majority of programming. While my mother will always have the tv on in the background (sometimes as many as three at once in different rooms, so she can pay attention to different shows as she moves around the house - an odd habit) I tend to observe an absence of interesting material, and then switch it off. I later find out that I missed something I would have liked to see, because I wasn't browsing channels at the right time.

Other's seem to have a physic ability, telling them when something good is showing, apparently that physic ability normally manifests itself as those adverts I can't bring myself to watch. It seems the trick is to either watch them, or leave your sofa only when they're on, so you never miss anything important.

The introduction of things like 4od (which I refuse to call "on demand," there is an older and better acronym using those letters) iplayer and the imaginatively named "demand five" which I've never even tried to use, should be a blessing. But for some reason, I barely use them.

There are always many things available, I only consider the options that are free, because I don't like paying for things I can't hold. I tend to go for Channel 4, because on my home connection iplayer crashes. The problem is, I'm now swamped by choice, quickly each item looks less inspiring than the first, and when the first option is "Celebrity Big Brother" that's pretty horrific.

It gets to the point where even a show titled "Catastrophe" which stars Tony Robinson and has a picture of an exploding planet won't persuade me to sit and watch. I like Tony Robinson, I like space and planet-type objects, and I like explosions, but now I'm questioning Channel 4's motives - why is it free? What do they have to gain?

Maybe my mother's state is due to years of channel hopping, maybe she's been steadily hypnotised by television, bound to always have one, pay the license, watch the adverts, unable to function without it anymore. The thought is a scary one.

I'd be a great conspiracy theorist, I wonder if I could involve Tony Robinson somehow...

Oh, Alright

2009-01-02T13:56:00.004Z

A real new year's resolution? Seriously?

I like to set myself nice, attainable goals. For example, three ideas I came up with for new year's resolutions were;

1. Don't smoke.
2. Don't invade any third world countries.
3. Wake up every day.

Technically, if I consider these to be easily attainable goals then I must be more virtuous than certain entire governments, but lets not make this political, it's not a competition or anything.

I think I'll do the three things above, but I'll have a challenge as well. My challenge will be to stop swearing.

I tried it last year for lent, but I kept slipping up, and two weeks in I remembered that I wasn't Christian, and uttered something along the lines of "f*ck lent." See that, just censored myself, I've started already. That's motivation for you.

I'm going to make sure the goal isn't entirely impossible by starting easy. I'm going to cut a handful of words out of my vocabulary, and then add others when I've completely stopped using the first lot.

The first to go will be the mother of all curses. I can't help thinking it's a shame, because honestly, I like it. It's only the "worst" because we allow it to be, just as it is only a huge insult to women because that's what we've let it become. The sharp "c" sound flowing into the harsh grunt is, as fas as I'm concerned, everything that swearing should be.

Still, I'll try not to use it. Along with a few other particularly harsh four-letter words. Not sure if this is a goal worth aiming for, but if I succeed people might tell each other off for swearing around me (like they do when they swear around my mother, a fact that I find hilarious, but that's because I've seen her drunk).

It strikes me that this would be a lot easier if I could pronounce asterisks.

New Year's Resolution

2009-01-01T19:24:00.004Z

1280 x 800.

Happy New Year.