Not My Genes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1280 x 800.

Happy New Year.

Teehee

Overheard whilst leaving Borders in Leeds:

Guy with Hat: It was horrible! It was like Stalin, but with tits!
Guy lacking Hat: Yeah, I know what you mean.


I wish I knew what he meant. Guy Lacking Hat is clearly a genius or something, unless there's a new kind of porn that I just hadn't heard of... which seems kind of likely, if alarming. Rule 34, right?

Leeds was poor today, it seems I can't deal with crowds whilst shopping. My problem is, I enter a shop, avoid the crowd it contains and look at something cute which they have missed. I then get pounced on (i.e. everyone in the crowd realizes I'm looking at something entirely beautiful and fascinating on account of my impeccable taste, and tries to look at it too). I then have to leave the shop.

It would be easier if crowds didn't so often contain such large people. I don't mind too much if someone gets in my way whilst shopping, as it's unavoidable, but if they take up three times as much space as the average person, they really should try to improve their spacial awareness.

So sadly, I bought nothing, and wasted lots of time doing so, I think I might book a personal shopper so I don't have to deal with the crowds at all. Still, it wasn't an entirely pointless trip, at least I now know about Stalin porn, a concept that might well amuse me for weeks.

How to Write an Essay

GuiThis is intended as a guide for people who want to know how to write an essay.

To begin, you should attempt to get up an hour earlier than you usually do, unless you already rise at 9am or earlier. You should go through your morning routine, and make sure you look entirely excellent, this will help avoid the temptation to get up and redo your hair or paint your nails. Although clearly this will be inevitable at some point, if you get it as close to being right as you can the first time, then it will take longer before you crave change.

Why not try a new hairstyle altogether at this point, who knows, maybe having a new style will convince you that it only feels like you want to change it because it's so different - and a truly open-minded person would give it a fair chance.

Ok, so once your morning routine is out of the way, you should turn on your computer. You should absolutely not at this point open any kind of word processing program. You are not prepared yet, and wouldn't be able to write anything useful anyway. Instead; check your email, facebook, bebo, any other regularly updated site on your favourites list (webcomics are good).

Next you should window shop - online only, and preferably only for shoes, though I'll accept fashion in general, and you can check play.com if they're having a sale.

Now shut down your computer, disgusted at your tendency to procrastinate. Unless you've actually bought something, in which case you can celebrate your sucess, as you've been semi-productive and now need to go check your wardrobe to make sure you have outfits that your new thing(s) will work well with.

Now for the essay bit. Make a to do list. At the top of the list write "essay," add all the other major and minor chores you need to have completed for the next week or so. Draw little check boxes. Go find some highlighters and set up a colour scheme so you know how urgent each item on the list is.

Have lunch. No one works well hungry.

Do some of the easier chores on your list so you can get into the mood for doing work. Check them off and feel acomplished.

Find some books relevent to your essay subject, and go back to your computer. This time, you're going to open a word-processor, but you aren't going to write anything, because you're also going to open wikipedia and search for your topic there.

You may now write the title, and make a note of the books you've found and the wikipedia URL (assuming you haven't lost the URL and the last three hours to frantic link-clicking). Maybe a vague sentence or two is appropriate by now, if you're certain you won't be sad when you come back and have to rewrite everything.

Get distracted and go out to buy perfume. When you come back, burn a CD and write a blog instucting people on writing essays.

You see my problem?

Geeking Out

Some of you may already know this, but I'm now ready to share this with the world. I know a lot of people may be prejudice against me for this, and I understand your discomfort around me, I only hope you can find it in yourselves to treat me no differently, I'm still who I always was, just with this as well. I'm not going to go so far as to campaign for rights for people like me, I don't really feel that we suffer as much as we once did.

Anyway, I'm ready to admit the truth at last, I hope you won't reject me. Here goes;

I'm a geek.

I first realized years ago, in high-school. I knew I was different from the others, I liked science better than art, and actually enjoyed learning in general. People used to tease me for being "a swot" and for consistently getting good grades, which I liked and got a kick out of - everyone else seemed embarrassed if they got anything greater than a C grade. As if success was wrong.

I didn't enjoy sport, at least until we started studying the effects and benefits of exercise on the body. No one else could understand why we should be studying biology in P.E. or games, but for me it finally made it interesting, and I was finally curious enough to start genuinely taking part - after which I was regularly asked to join the netball team or the gymnastic team, but I still held grudges with those who teased me for my IQ, and had no interest in associating with them outside of the competitions - which would have been necessary.

I was interested in home economics classes, which were mostly made up of cooking, I wanted to try new foods and play with different flavours, cooking times and combinations, wanting to be able to prepare something more intriguing than fish-fingers with chips and peas. While the other students balked at trying cheeses more extravagant than cheddar, and were positively horrified by produce from other countries, I was already preparing meals from countries they couldn't even find on the map.

For a while I tried to hide the truth. I didn't use my advanced lexicon, or tell people I knew things because I liked reading books or watching documentaries. I asked my sister to tell me what was happening in soaps and reality tv, so that I didn't have to stomach watching them in order to keep up. If people asked me what I did at the weekend, I'd say I went out with friends, went shopping, watched tv - the truth was I'd play video games, read, or tinker with microscopes and chemistry sets.

Eventually I gave up, and allowed people to think what they wanted. I went to sixth-form to study phsyics, maths and chemistry, and then applied to University to study physics.

This Christmas, I'm most pleased with my new NAS drive (although I admit that until asking M's advice, I had no idea that they even existed - thanks M, you're a greater geek than I'll ever be). I also love my geeky tshirts, and all the books I recieved, especially my new copy of The Science of Discworld, which nicely combines two of my favourite things.

So, I'm sorry I'm different, but I am. This is what I love. I'll be spending my Christmas break in bliss - since I don't have exams to study for, and my boss has mysteriously disapeared - I'll be tawling wikipedia, learning Russian, playing with my NAS Drive, reading about science, playing old videogames, thinking up get rich quick schemes, learning about robotics, finding interesting music and generally geeking out. Reality TV won't be on my scedule, nor will gossip magazines or chart music.

One day the geeks will rule the world, mark my words. Join us, we've got robots, and sometimes we go to Space!

Classically Trained

oI used to do a lot more reading than I do lately. I would read anything and everything, and there was rarely a book on my extensive shelves that I hadn't read at least once, and since my shelves make up about 80% of the literary material to be found in my home, it is not surprising that I have read mst of the books in the house.

However, I was looking at my shelves last night, and it seems that in my absence my collection has grown and changed of it's own accord. Something which naturally delights me, especially since I've recently discovered a gorgeous little second hand book shop in Glasgow (just off Otago Street for anyone who wants to find it) and have been growing and changing my collection myself.

So I was starring at my shelf last night trying to decide what to pick up next, and ignoring the books on inflation that I have to read for my essay. In the end I decided to listen to an audio-book of Catch 22 I picked up a couple of weeks ago. However, it seems that Nintendo heard my silent prayer of indecision, and sent me an email today about their new DS Game.

100 Classic Book Collection

As far as I'm concerned, putting a selection of classical novels on a DS cartridge does not a video-game make. Even if it does come with an "interactive bookmark" whatever that is. It seems that Nintendo is running out of cute, quirky ideas.

Now, I got curious, and I discovered that the most recent novels in the selection provided by Nintendo were written by D H Lawrence (who died in 1930) and Arthur Conan Doyle (who died in 1930). According to Wikipedia, "the default length of copyright is the life of the author plus either 50 or 70 years."

I am therefore quite certain that even the most recent novels on the cartridge will be freely available on the Internet for those who like reading things on a monitor. Presumably then Nintendo will be offering this "game" free for anyone who wants it? Or will be charging a moderate sum for the materials and programming time that went into creating it?

I will thank them however, for providing me a checklist. I will read all the books they think they can sell to people in "game" form, but in an easy book form instead. I've already read 28 of them, which I actually think is pretty poor, and plenty of the others on the list sit unread on my shelf.

This could be a damned good project, and will sort out my hobby problems for a while. It will also give me a good excuse to go to that bookshop and squander my student loan. At least it's virtuous and will make me seem all cultured and well read.

The only disappointing thing is that I have to start with Jane Austin because she's at the top of the list.

Pffft, as if I can be bothered with Sense and Sensibility, I'll read about Inflation first.

I Need a New Hobby

Really, I do.

I know this because I've only been back about 24 hours and I'm already panicking about getting bored while I'm at home.

I had hoped to get some work, but I'm fairly sure my old boss has been murdered by his employees, because every time I called to see if he'd have any work for me over Christmas I was told he was out, or it was his day off, or he was interviewing people all day today. No one gets to be in charge by taking so many days off in the run up to Christmas. I'll miss him, he was a good guy. However, it's now far to late to expect work there, and anyway I'm scarred to go see them in case I suffer the same fate as he did, at the hands of evil shop assistants.

I bet his body is hidden in the creepy room full of all the spare manikin parts.

It will be fine when people are around, I'm happy to chill out and chat with my sister and my mother for hours on end. But my mother has to work, and my sister spends all her time hanging out with her boyfriend in Wetherby. It will also be fine when I have plans with friends and Nick. It will not be fine in all the gaps in between.

After a while I'll get insomnia, because I won't be doing enough to tire myself out and make me need sleep - my sleep patterns will fade in and out with everyone else's and things will get progressively odd. Especially since I don't need to get up for lectures or employment. Three weeks of this and I'll be a real mess. No one will be able to tell that anything is different at all.

So I need suggestions. Preferably those which don't cost much money and don't involve writing my essay. Ideally they should improve me as a person and leave me feeling like I've had a productive day. Drinking does not count as a hobby, even if it is with friends.

Answers on a postcard to the usual address.

Psychological Knee Cancer

Well, I've had a good run, but I guess everyone's got to go sometime. I'm afraid to tell you that my time seems to be quite close.

There was once what I believed to be a perfectly benign freckle on my left knee. Now, on my left knee is only impending doom. It had changed not only shape, but also colour, so surely all hope must be lost.

I strongly suspect that the fact that about a quarter of my left knee has also changed shape and colour is because of the cancer that started at the freckle. It definitely cannot be related to the fact that I went out on Wednesday and drank too much Havana Club and coke* and then walked rather forcefully into a chair-leg. Several chair-legs. And a chest of drawers. Hell, at least I was still walking, more than I can say for some. My point is, any fool can tell a bruise from a tumor, right?

If I did have a tumor, I'd name it after Bono.

*My tipple of choice on a night out is Bacardi and coke, the reason being that it's a fairly good, but also fairly cheap rum. If I don't have a tumor, and if I survive psychological knee cancer, I must remember that Radio do such cheap deals even on interesting spirits on Wednesdays.

Breaking the Laws

A couple of days ago I got a text from my mother, asking me when I'd be home because she'd quite like to call me. I said I was home now, which was true, and was asked why I wasn't answering my land-line.

This struck me as odd. The main reason I hadn't answered my land-line was because it hadn't rung, and I never answer phones which aren't ringing. Actually, it's relatively common for me to fail to answer phones which are, but on this occasion that opportunity hadn't even arisen.

I told my mother that it hadn't rung, that I'd check to make sure it was working, and that she should probably be able to call in about ten minutes. A quick inspection of the phone led me to believe that it was out of battery, but at this point I noticed something rather odd. Every other phone I've used has always plugged into a power socket, or into a charger which in turn plugged into a power socket. There was space for standard batteries, but a screwdriver was required to take the cap off and replace them, and I couldn't be bothered to look for one. I called my mother back on my mobile, and thought no more about it until the next day.

When the next day came, Harry wanted to make a call, and found that he could not. I suggested replacing the batteries, and he went to get a screwdriver. When the cap was removed, it turned out that there had never been any batteries in the phone, and that furthermore, while there was space for them, inserting them would be fruitless. There was no terminals.

I should point out that the phone was working perfectly with no obvious source of power for several weeks prior to this.

Now I am extremely concerned. It seems that the laws of physics are either a lie, or occasionally suspended for cheap electronic equipment. This leads me to worry about my degree - what if my subject of choice is all wrong? What if it's founded on mistakes, which can be proved invalid by a phone that cost less than £10?

I always suspected that if the laws of physics went wrong, it would be something to do with me.

I'm off now, going to go see if I can defy gravity, or build a perpetual motion machine.

Whoops

On Friday I was studying algebra, because there was an algebra exam on Saturday morning. Yeah, you read that right, whoever is in charge of choosing the optimum time to examine second year maths students is a bastard - I haven't decided if I should hunt them down and be extremely polite to them or not yet, but I digress.

Actually, there is a lie in the above, I wasn't studying algebra. I was supposed to be studying algebra. Hell, I was even trying to study algebra, but I was distracted. It turns out that everything in the world is more interesting than learning alegbra on a Friday.

I actually managed to get enough done to not be afraid that I've failed the exam, but there's no argument that I was a mess all day long, and for a little while afterwards. For example, when I spoke to Harry later on Sunday, he already knew that I'd struggled to study on Friday, and told me he knew what I did instead - the conversation when like this:

Harry: I know what you spent all day yesterday doing.
Becky: Me? You do? I was studying.
Harry. Barely. Do you know how I know what you were doing?
Becky: How?
Harry: I did the washing up earlier.
Becky: Well done.
Harry: And I found fourteen teaspoons. I though to myself, now, what does one use a teaspoon for? Making tea! Only Amy and Becky drink tea, and Amy's in Fife...
Becky: I did not have fourteen cups of tea! I probably had about 5... no, I had 6. You can use teaspoons for other stuff.
Harry: But generally you don't. Have I mentioned that you're a disgusting addict?
Becky: You're just disgusting.

Etc.
I'm not a disgusting addict, I haven't had any tea today, and that's got nothing to do with the fact that we've run out. Harry really is just disgusting.

Apparently then, I spent the day making tea and putting on red lipstick. That's quite wonderful actually, I used to wear red lipstick lots, but don't tend to lately, and I couldn't tell you why, becuase it's a wonderful substance that I'll probably start wearing again soon.

Anyway, I had put on some lipstick, because it was something to do that wasn't algebra, and I decided to go to the kitchen. I can't think why. However, my progress was impeded by accidentally walking into the wall. I should point out that it was pitch black in the hallway, I wasn't simply walking into walls for kicks, or because I'd lost motor-function due to all the tea.

So, straight into the wall, knocking the phone from the notice-board. Chaos. I winced in pain and turned on the light, and started putting the phone back up when Harry entered the hallway and asked why I was causing chaos. I lied and said it had fallen as I walked past, that I had done nothing. He believed me but pretended not to, and went to the kitchen himself.

I finished putting up the phone, looked up. There was a bright red kiss mark on the wall. I still have no idea if he noticed, but I think I removed it in about 8 seconds with bathroom cleaner - fastest cleaning job I've ever done, so if he didn't, I'm probably safe now, and I severely doubt he reads my blog.

So yeah, there has been chaos, and now it's all over, only a joke exam left, hurrah! Frankly I'm just pleased I don't need to cram maths anymore, because it means I can function as a half-way decent human again.

Mhhreeehh

The calculus exam is over, only algebra and ExCos left... so realistically only Algebra left if we're going to consider real exams. Algebra is on Saturday, and while ExCos isn't until the 19th, I think I can assume that I'll be able to write real blog posts by Monday. I intend to spend Saturday drunk (after my exam) and Sunday eating Christmas diner with my flatmates.

I'm not functioning particularly well, it comes from studying too much maths I think. I spent an unusal lengthof time yesterday completly unable to speak cohearently. It was... amusing, but also kind of scary.

So, no real post today I'm afraid. Mostly because I'm in real dangerof making maths/physics based jokes, and that just plain isn't ok.

Uncommon Sense

Yesterday everyone awoke to find that the shower was broken, no hot water was forthcoming. While this was a horrific experience for all involved, each person decided to deal with the situation a different way.

Gav elected to man-up and take a cold shower. I believe he came close to death, it is not warm in Glasgow at the moment, being cold and wet is probably quite dangerous. Though admittedly a manly thing to put yourself through.

Harry panicked and decided not to shower at all. This meant that he hadn't got up properly, and as such was unable to properly function all day. Instead he regularly walked into the sofa, and pretended to learn medicine whilst playing piano. No one could tell how this was different to usual, but at least he had something to blame his many mistakes on.

Amy rose at around three and decided to spend the next couple of days at her boyfriend's place. In Fife. Miles from the library she hopes she wont need in order to study and pass her exams. She's probably right, and had one of the best ways of dealing with the situation.

I wasn't up for a cold shower. I'm also civilized, and as such not washing didn't seem like an option. It is also true, that while my boyfriend would have been happy to see me, we both have exams at the moment, and one of mine was today. Going all the way to Stirling for the sake of a shower would have been inefficient if I needed to come back again the same day.

Instead, I elected to speak to the landlord, and persuade him to send round an electrician the next day (electricians don't work on Sundays because they're all deeply religious). I then ran a bath.

The electrician showed up today and fixed the shower, I'm not sure when I'm going to tell everyone else about this. Maybe when Harry starts to smell.

Everything is Perfect Forever

This morning, I awoke the way I normally do - barely. Having stumbled about blindly and yawned a lot, I got to the point in my morning routine when I needed to get dressed. Part-way through doing so I had one of the single worst experiences of my life.

I glanced up at the mirror, and discovered that one boob was bigger than the other.

Overnight I had become a freak. I had always believed that all the stuff about everyone having one boob slightly larger was urban myth and designed to terrify children - as far as I was concerned, anyone who was wonky was also a freak, and should be hidden inside under layers of badly fitting clothing. Now I too was a freak.

Tears were close, I went through the seven stages of grieving. Denial came first, I turned on a better light and altered the angle of the mirror, in the vain hope that my eyes were simply playing tricks on me. It semed they were not.

Guilt came next - if only I had not mocked others for being hideously malformed, perhaps this would not have happened to me. My cruel jokes were finally being played back to me with alarmingly harsh irony, which I did not appreciate.

I quickly ran through the rest, promising to be a better person if only they'd even up. Wondering how this could have happened, trying to rationalize the situation. Disgusted by the possibility of having to buy padded bras and take out half the padding.

I refused to move onto acceptance. Desperate, I jiggled once more in front of the mirror, in the hope that I could possibly "bounce" into shape.

A balled up sock fell out of my bra.

Everything is perfect forever.

You've Gone All Yellow

I am a kind and caring friend. When people need my help I only occasionally pretend to be on my wayto do something important. If asked to go out for a drink with someone I don't like, I tend to say I have no money, in order to avoid hurting their feelings. No one could accuse me of being unnecessarily mean to someone I didn't think deserved it.

Today Sonia called when I got home, and asked me if I'd like to go to Curler's with her friends for a beer and a burger. I like Sonia, but Curler's is not my favourite place, and I don't know if I like all of her friends. It seems that tonight I have no money.

She persisted, and asked me to come for a cup of tea and flapjack. I like both of these things, even better when they're free and combined with the kind of excessively juicy gossip only Sonia provides me with. I arrived. Late.

Since I am a good friend, I was forced to tell Sonia that she was turning the wrong colour, and that it was possibly due to becoming an alcoholic. I was sensitive and thoughtful, I sung her a song about turning yellow written by the amateur transplants, she enjoyed the song but pointed out that I was exaggerating (which turned out to be true when we left the room with the yellow-ish lighting). She also said that she'd barely drink at all over Christmas, as she'd be home with her family.

I hope that I have a friend good enough to make sure that I drink over Christmas, however, I am not nearly good enough to think that visiting Poland in midwinter to help someone get tipsy is worth it. I shall persevere, and buy her a drink when we're both back in Glasgow. It's what friends are for.

The Weather Outside is Frightful

And if I light a fire in the flat I violate the terms of my lease.

We do however now have a pretty Christmas tree, with pretty silver things on it, also chocolate (not as pretty as the silver things, but definitely tastier). This leads me to believe that victory is mine once again.

Also, thanks to Euan, simple harmonic motion is now officially my bitch, which means now all I have to master is the rest of the syllabus, and I'll pass the test on Monday with flying colours.

I've always thought the word syllabus sounds oddly like it should be used to describe a particularly nasty demon - but maybe that's just me.

All in all it's been a successful day, and I don't want to waste time writing a real blog post, or that would make it seem less successful, and then I wouldn't get the prize... I sure hope someone, somewhere is preparing some kind of prize, or there might be Hell to pay, and I'll have to chose the person who pays it comepletely at random. Otherwise it might not be fair.

You can't say I haven't warned you.

Skating to Uni

Brrrrrr.

It's cold today. Seems it snowed last night, and before I woke up the snow turned to ice. As I am but a poor student without car or license I was forced to ice-skate my way to uni, this was made harder still by not having ice-skates, but also kind of fun.

There is no longer any grip on the base of my trainers. On the upside, this means tomorrow might be even more fun. Though it would certainly be better if it snowed properly - it doesn't seem like cold weather is really worth the effort without proper snow.

Though if it does snow I may never get home for Christmas. I'm basing this on the fact that when there's leaves on the ground I can walk, but a train can't necessarily take me home for Christmas. When there is snow/ice on the ground I can't walk, so a train has got no chance.

Conclusion: I am mightier than a train.

Testing...

Today was interesting. I started with an algebra test, which went ok considering how little I like algebra tests. It turns out I like them better when I know the answers, though why they decided to ask me questions I knew the answers to on this occasion I'll never know - I didn't think that's what tests were for.

After that I met with Alison. Alison is my best friend's mother, and was in Glasgow because she and some of her friends are walking in Scotland, she seemed excited about this, but I was polite and didn't ask her why. We went for lunch in Princess Square. I like Princess Square, because it's too expensive - I like most things that are too expensive, especially when other people are paying.

Lunch was followed by complimentary Amaretto. It seems that Amaretto, whilst being one of my favourite liquers is a terrible thing to drink before a lecture, and now I know this - though the lecture was fun anyway. I also have more things with me now, as Alison was kind enough to bring me some things from home - including a dress that I wore in Paris to stop Parisian traffic. I'm looking forward to stopping Glaswegian traffic, though I doubt it will be as challenging, or impressive.

I also picked up my post. I don't like the postman, or the lady at the post office who doesn't speak any English. The postman only delivers mail when he feels like it (hence picking it up myself, and being charged fifty English pennies for the privilege) and the lady manages to be very rude in whatever language it is she's speaking, she shouts at me a lot. I do though, now have post, which is nice. My mother sent me a lot of things I'd asked for, and couscous. I haven't figured out why she sent me couscous, as she refused to explain, but I'm glad she did.

I am now very tired, and it's only 5.20, though this could be because I got drunk and then sober again, which in my books make it a very long day. Perhaps I'll take it easy this evening, bake a cake or something.

I lied

I'm sorry, but I did. I didn't think I was lying, but it turns out that I was.

I guess the odds of me updating this blog regularly are not so great, simply because usually when I have something interesting to say, I say it to the next person I encounter (providing I know them of course, some of my interesting thoughts should not be shared with random strangers) and get it out of my system.

On the occasions when this doesn't work, I can rarely be bothered to go online, log in, and write it all down.

Should I manage to get online, with the intention of writing it all down, I tend to get distracted by checking my email, then my other email, then facebook, then bash.org, then "ohhh, look what the featured wikipedia article is" then random browsing because by that point I've forgotton why I turned on my laptop. I struggle to complete online assignments for the same reasons.

If procrastination was an olympic sport, I wouldn't even show up.

Holiday

I've been on holiday in Mallorca with my family. It was alright, but two weeks is a long time to spend with people you're related to.

I got stung by a jellyfish, I think it was dying, as I stood on it and the sting only hurt for a while. I've been stung by them before, and it always used to hurt a lot and leave a mark. Either way, that was the most interesting thing that happened in the entire two weeks. It happened on the second day.

I wish I were a jellyfish.

Free laptop?

I just don't get it.

I swatted the fly.
I hit all the targets.
I found all the eggs.
I caught the baseball.
I shot the politician.
I headbutted the footballers.

I still don't have my free laptop.

Wonder who believes those things work?

(Humour stolen largely from a conversation with my friends).