I am back in the Hoe after a swift weekend in the Shire for Mother's Day. Interestingly, and in this particular order, I managed to get drunk with (and spoon) Lady (who is a mother), have a drink and chats with her mother (my mummy number two), have Sunday lunch and watch Larkrise To Candleford with my own mother, and discovered that a mate of mine is going to become a mother this autumn. Unfortunately I didn't get to see Auntie, which is rather upsetting, due to the fact that she was at Blood Brothers, a show about a mother, with her mother-in-law, and pregnant.
Muchly enjoyed the weekend though. Instead of watching Wales lose and England scrape a draw in the internationals, myself and the Lady watched Upton 2nds comfortably beat, er, somebody else. Well, the last twenty minutes anyway. Was required to explain why "all those fat fucks are jumping on my little brother!!!" (it's a ruck, it's meant to happen) and why said little brother had to stick his arse out in preparation for a scrum, something she found slightly distasteful (I actually don't know the answer to this one). Having decided that a new rule should be brought in that only the fat ones are allowed to be jumped on top of in a pile on the ground, we witnessed a hilarious on-pitch scuffle then retired to the bar for a pint. Much better fun than watching England fuck about ineptly and listening to Jeremy Guscott whine about it being unfair.
This isn't all I did at the weekend, obviously, otherwise I really would need to learn how to have a life. I am just not about to record every moment of my life, and not really because I think it would bore you, but because I know it would bore me. I am, however, writing a travel journal when I go travelling, and blogging it if I get the chance, which I then plan on writing up once I am home. I can see this becoming one of those lifetime works thingys that people do and never finish, but hey, whatever. At least I have a smidgeon of ambition now, something that I really did not possess when I wrote the first post on this blog. But in far-flung, exotic places like Thailand and Kansas and Queenstown NZ every moment of my life there will inevitably be incredibly exciting and worth telling the world about. Of course.
Pretty short and slightly pointless post but what ho, never mind. This is pretty reflective of my life so far. Oh, look a bit of leftover teenage angst. Did not miss that whilst it was gone. Laters mofo, but first:.....
On an entirely almost separate note, Lady's rugby-playing brother who featured slightly earlier in the post is in a rather enjoyable band who I think many of you would appreciate (if you don't already), and so in the name of being the lovely person I am, and because I'm currently having a listen, here is the link to their website, http://www.bashroland.com/, where you can listen to some of their tracks. If you like them do inform them of this; they enjoy compliments :)
Actually, while I'm promoting things for people, this is a downloadable mix by my DJ mate Jennarate http://soundcloud.com/jennarate/pressure. Entirely different to Bash:Roland's perky ska-pop (and if that's not how you'd describe yourself guys, then I'm mildly sorry) - instead some bish bash boshin' hard trance/house. =D
Monday, 15 March 2010
Thursday, 11 March 2010
Weetabix and Beans
Having assessed the food situation, this was what was left.
Assorted carbohydrates e.g. rice, pasta etc
Approx. 5 slices of bread (including the crusts)
1 tin of tuna
1 tin of sweetcorn
1 bowl of leftover baked beans
Squeezy mayonnaise
Milk
Weetabix
Cup-a-Soups
Hot chocolate and teabags
Toast toppings, e.g. jam, marmite, honey, butter
1 green pepper
Several cereal bars
Box of jelly beans left over from Christmas
5 Activia yoghurts
Small misshapen block of cheese.
Sadly, unless my dear, darling parents gift me with a loan, I have a mere £200 to last me until April 26th, only £60 of which is actually in my account due to financial stupidities on behalf of Odeon Kingston-upon-Thames. Therefore technically, this food needs to last me four weeks until I go home for Easter (and please bear in mind that I had the cheese and baked beans for dinner). Luckily I am going home for the weekend in a couple of days, so I must consume many, many calories courtesy of mum and dad (pub Sunday lunch is a must) and retain them until the time comes for somebody else to buy me dinner... All I can say is, at least this is doing something for the losing-the-stomach-podge cause.
Was this the idea of graduates that Labour had when Tony Blair so eloquently ranted about "education, education, education"? Did they realise, when they brought in top-up fees, that students woud be so skint they'd be having a dinner of scrambled egg, spaghetti and processed salami, as Doodle did this evening? Did they realise that when I leave university in June 2010 with a 2:1 (here's to hoping) degree in English Lit with Dance I would be nearly £30,000 in debt and being rejected for jobs I was capable of doing when I was 18? (This last one hasn't happened yet but it's only a matter of time.) Also I am not quite a graduate yet, but you know. Nearly. I just don't understand the point of paying this much for a degree that doesn't actually help you get a job. Having said that, I have thoroughly enjoyed my years of study, possibly because the social side of things outweighs the studying slightly, and wouldn't have it any other way.
I don't really know what the answer is. And in the run up to the general election, I actually don't think the major parties do either. Nick Clegg's got it spot-on in terms of abolishing fees - avoiding the kind of debt I've run up just from tuition fees and maintenance loands - but what actual good will that do in the long run? I don't think anyone really knows. Although I know one thing for sure - the job market will never get better whilst the banks use the money they've been bailed out with to give themselves Christmas fucking bonuses. So much of that money coud be going on graduate training schemes. And, in the slightly longer run, allowing me to eat something other than weetabix and beans for dinner.
Assorted carbohydrates e.g. rice, pasta etc
Approx. 5 slices of bread (including the crusts)
1 tin of tuna
1 tin of sweetcorn
1 bowl of leftover baked beans
Squeezy mayonnaise
Milk
Weetabix
Cup-a-Soups
Hot chocolate and teabags
Toast toppings, e.g. jam, marmite, honey, butter
1 green pepper
Several cereal bars
Box of jelly beans left over from Christmas
5 Activia yoghurts
Small misshapen block of cheese.
Sadly, unless my dear, darling parents gift me with a loan, I have a mere £200 to last me until April 26th, only £60 of which is actually in my account due to financial stupidities on behalf of Odeon Kingston-upon-Thames. Therefore technically, this food needs to last me four weeks until I go home for Easter (and please bear in mind that I had the cheese and baked beans for dinner). Luckily I am going home for the weekend in a couple of days, so I must consume many, many calories courtesy of mum and dad (pub Sunday lunch is a must) and retain them until the time comes for somebody else to buy me dinner... All I can say is, at least this is doing something for the losing-the-stomach-podge cause.
Was this the idea of graduates that Labour had when Tony Blair so eloquently ranted about "education, education, education"? Did they realise, when they brought in top-up fees, that students woud be so skint they'd be having a dinner of scrambled egg, spaghetti and processed salami, as Doodle did this evening? Did they realise that when I leave university in June 2010 with a 2:1 (here's to hoping) degree in English Lit with Dance I would be nearly £30,000 in debt and being rejected for jobs I was capable of doing when I was 18? (This last one hasn't happened yet but it's only a matter of time.) Also I am not quite a graduate yet, but you know. Nearly. I just don't understand the point of paying this much for a degree that doesn't actually help you get a job. Having said that, I have thoroughly enjoyed my years of study, possibly because the social side of things outweighs the studying slightly, and wouldn't have it any other way.
I don't really know what the answer is. And in the run up to the general election, I actually don't think the major parties do either. Nick Clegg's got it spot-on in terms of abolishing fees - avoiding the kind of debt I've run up just from tuition fees and maintenance loands - but what actual good will that do in the long run? I don't think anyone really knows. Although I know one thing for sure - the job market will never get better whilst the banks use the money they've been bailed out with to give themselves Christmas fucking bonuses. So much of that money coud be going on graduate training schemes. And, in the slightly longer run, allowing me to eat something other than weetabix and beans for dinner.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
The 22 Club
By the time I've finished writing this and have posted it I will be 22.
This doesn't sound like a massive issue. And it isn't. In fact, I'm having a rather splendid week as of now - essays are written and printed, there is a bottle of rose in the fridge ready to crack open for breakfast, I am going out tomorrow night with mates, and on Friday myself and the Hose are having a joint merry bash with all of our lovely mates at uni. It's actually a double celebration in two ways - the 22nd year of life and also our 3rd anniversary as birthday bum chums Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. I don't know what I'll do next year... actually, yes I do, I'll be travelling with Bell, so ideally I can drink rum and puff some sheesha/hash (depending on country) and get merry in an entirely hippy backpacker manner.
There are, however, certain problems that come with being not 21 anymore. 21 is the last age where it is completely acceptable to be in girlish high spirits (drunk) and to be completely obvlivious as to a career plan. Now, my girlish high spirits still tend to reach St Trinian levels (and I mean the genius Ronald Searle illustrations rather than Rupert Everett in drag), and I my only office experience as yet is a week's work experience at an independent publisher's in Evesham. I feel like by now I should really have something I can say I can do that is useful to someone who would like to pay me lots of money for doing it (this blog and being able to do some exceptionally authetic Sixties dancing do not count).
This is why I'm going travelling, to discover myself and find out what I actually want to DO.
This is basically a lame way of saying that I have no clue and therefore wish to waste yet more time before I'm forced to pick something, or face the endless stream of rejection letters...
You see, this is why getting old is not fun. I would like to skip to the bit where I go travelling, and then skip again to the bit where I get a job I vaguely enjoy, even if it's only because I have a hot colleague to flirt with when I get bored. I don't know, just... oh good lord, 10 minutes.
Also, once you are a responsible adult, are you allowed to have pictures of hot dancer men on your walls? Or is this only allowed until you leave university? Answers directed via the comments box please...
This doesn't sound like a massive issue. And it isn't. In fact, I'm having a rather splendid week as of now - essays are written and printed, there is a bottle of rose in the fridge ready to crack open for breakfast, I am going out tomorrow night with mates, and on Friday myself and the Hose are having a joint merry bash with all of our lovely mates at uni. It's actually a double celebration in two ways - the 22nd year of life and also our 3rd anniversary as birthday bum chums Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. I don't know what I'll do next year... actually, yes I do, I'll be travelling with Bell, so ideally I can drink rum and puff some sheesha/hash (depending on country) and get merry in an entirely hippy backpacker manner.
There are, however, certain problems that come with being not 21 anymore. 21 is the last age where it is completely acceptable to be in girlish high spirits (drunk) and to be completely obvlivious as to a career plan. Now, my girlish high spirits still tend to reach St Trinian levels (and I mean the genius Ronald Searle illustrations rather than Rupert Everett in drag), and I my only office experience as yet is a week's work experience at an independent publisher's in Evesham. I feel like by now I should really have something I can say I can do that is useful to someone who would like to pay me lots of money for doing it (this blog and being able to do some exceptionally authetic Sixties dancing do not count).
This is why I'm going travelling, to discover myself and find out what I actually want to DO.
This is basically a lame way of saying that I have no clue and therefore wish to waste yet more time before I'm forced to pick something, or face the endless stream of rejection letters...
You see, this is why getting old is not fun. I would like to skip to the bit where I go travelling, and then skip again to the bit where I get a job I vaguely enjoy, even if it's only because I have a hot colleague to flirt with when I get bored. I don't know, just... oh good lord, 10 minutes.
Also, once you are a responsible adult, are you allowed to have pictures of hot dancer men on your walls? Or is this only allowed until you leave university? Answers directed via the comments box please...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
