how long?

Do I carry on putting it off or do I stop and think about it?

Thought could lead to action.

That's probably what I want.

Why am I even writing this here? It's a kind of half arsed series of thoughts, it's not eloquent, it's not enlightening for anyone's day. There's no point reading it, no point writing it. If the writing of the above helps me to think, surely this is kind of drivel that I should scribble and throw away. But, if I throw it away, what was the use in writing it, surely I could have just thought that one.

Writing is permanent. People can keep it forever. You can deny what you said, but not what you wrote.

I'm on approximately my thrid pint of lemon and ginger tea today. The tea bag implores me, "the art of happiness is to serve all." Really? Really? Is this true? Where did the tea bag get its authority from? According to the box, some Indian Yogi who once served the tea after his yoga classess. That's ever so reassuring. Some can take it and run with it, I think I'll purposely remove all the rest of the tags.
I don't need any more bad advice in my life.

(What exactly is that supposed to mean? Go, over-analyse.)

Why did he write these fortune-cookie-esque snippets of advice? Thought he was amazing? Knew he wasn't but thought he'd pretend? Or was amazing?

Maybe in this case I'll go for the first.

Mad? Bad? or God?

Is there ever another possibility?

It's such an accepted cliche.

Think outside the box.

I'm going swimming.

but nothing ever happens

Another Sunday, another journey back to London.

5.20pm arrive back at the flat to find that there is a full-on rave, complete with smoke machine, glow sticks, flashing lights, neon skirts and DJ (still) going on in the basement flat next door. This is the same flat that twice in the last month has had it's door bashed down by the fire brigade in order to retrieve some people/bodies so the police can bundle them into ambulances.

5.40 - leave for church.

5.51 - arrive at church even though it takes 20 minutes to get there.

Have "church".
While at the Old Dairy witter on about bad "Christian music", and about housing.

9.15 ish - walk back home past the above mentioned basement flat. The rave is over, there remains a lone old fat man watching the TV.
9.16 - get back to the kitchen. Find there is no bread OR milk. Love the flatmates' logic (but my way is not the only way). Also find my bottle of unopened wine, open, and empty.
Shall I mention it? Shall I be generous?

9.40 - go to Tesco.
9.50 - home. Find milk in the flat, on the side next to the oven. In addition, find the Philidelphia on the hob (turned off). Not exactly where I would have stored those items.

But, as I am trying to learn,
My way is not the only way.

put it in the pantry, with your cupcakes

I thought that maybe it was time for a post.

I joined the gym today using the photo I cut out of my ULU card, only to discover that, as the gym is in the University of London Union, the membership card is in fact a ULU with 2 holes punched in it so you can use it in the lockers. Sigh.

So I swam. I don't know how many lengths I did but I was in the pool for 20 minutes (that's not very long really). There were less naked people than on Saturday. However the girl using the locker next to me came out of the gym, casually took off all her clothes, then headed for the showers in a very naked state. But then, isn't that to be expected when showering? I suppose yes.

In fact, maybe it's less embarassing to be naked than cowering under a towel trying to pull your knickers up without anyone seeing or falling over?

And more practical too?

But that doesn't explain showering naked in one of the non-cubicle showers when there are cubicles free.

Exhibitionists?

Or they don't mind being naked so they are leaving the cubicles for prudes like me?

I'm just not used to all this naked ness.

What's a prude anyway?

you scumbag, you maggot

Over this past "festive season" Radio One dubbed and undubbed A Fairy Tale of New York.

Simon from Southampton called the dubbing "political correctness gone mad".

How many times has someone said this?
What does it mean?
What do they mean?
What does Simon mean?
Is Simon lacking the ability for reasoned thought, and the vocabularly to express himself as an individual?
Why do we quote him, when someone else hopefully had something better to say?
Is this one of those sentances that people 'just say', because someone has, it sounded half good the first time, and we'd rather, and are encouraged to hide behind someone else's soundbites than risk exposing ourselves by saying what we really think?
Why do we accept it when people hide behind cliches like this?
Why don't we question?
Why don't we probe?
If we don't think, and speak for ourselves, won't our vocabularies dwindle and abilities for thought die?
Is there anyone you know who needs to be less able to express themselves?
Why has it been almost "cool" and certainly the done thing not to?

let's get back to work and make the best of it

Oh, I really will blog soon.
I have things to witter about I'm sure.

she forgot all about the library

The Library is on my mind.
I heard that fantastic lyric.
So, here is the result, a post about library politics (sort of).

As I expertly scanned myself into the library for the third time today I thought these things to myself :

1. Do the library staff think I'm wierd for coming here so much?
2. Wow, I must scan my library card more often than my beloved Oyster.
3. I do come here a lot, don't I?

So with the topic in mind, I thought I'd pause on my way from the first floor toilets to the Miscellanous section to write about my favourite library positions.

• In the above mentioned miscellanous section, on the seat with Misc IX to my right and the photocopier to my left. These are the only desk on the first floor arranged in a face to face pair with a mini wall in between, and no here is behind, so no one can watch you work, or not work. In front of this desk are the 2 computers in the main body of the library with the internet, so, if in the middle of the reading you suddnly think "Hang on, who was Bela Kun again?" or "What is "sateity"?" you can quickly pop online and utilise Wikipedia (remember not to reference it in your essay, of course). The photocopier is right there if you want to copy anything, but then this does when there are often people coming into your "work zone" to copy things themselves, but this is often welcome company.

• In the Russian/Ukrainian reference section, on the desk on the left hand side of the four. Again, this is two-facing-plus-mini-wall desk, and no one is behind you. This section is quite quiet, as the books here are generally boring or have limited interest (Russian engineering dictionary anyone? Russian for computing? Russian - Japanese dictionary?). You can't take them out, so they don't need to be reshelved often. Also, these desk are quite far removed from the main bank of desks on this floor, and from the main bank of good books (Rus XXIV 7, and Rus IX) , and as most students will get the book first then a desk, they don't usually come near you. Also, if you need a giant Russian dictionary, or to check a verb form, they are right there, in between the first long shelf and the last shorter one. Finally, if you are at your maximum loan limit, or more likely, already have the 3 permitted 7-day loan books, and want to sneakily hide a book, the un-interesting nature of this section, means a hidden book is unlikely to be found, allowing you to come back later and retireve it. Downsides to this desk - it is very close to the library staff's kitchen area. This means if you are there at 11, 1 or 3, they are perpetually in and out of there, boiling the kettle, using the microwave and generally being loud. And reminding you that you don't have coffee or food because you are in the library and that is therefore Not Allowed. This constant movement of librarian also means that if you are doing anything Not Allowed, for example - texting, having a drink other than water in a clear bottle, you are more likely to be seen and spoken to. But all in all. A good desk.

And now, i must get back to the main body of the library, to the miscellanous seat this time.

look who's alone now

So, apparently, Dumbledore's gay.

I'm not going to believe it. The books have been written, and "set free" as it were, JK Rowling has no control anymore, and if it's not in the book, it's not in the book. The reader can interpret the contents however they wish. Here's some interpretation.

Harry Potter shows pretty much "traditional/conversative" type values.

Firstly, it's a boarding school, and there is no sex, no sneaking into each other domitries, showers etc, and the First Kiss comes in fifth year, and that point it's a Big Deal.

Unlike other boarding schools, there is no excessive alcohol comsumption at Hogwarts. We're not really sure what Butterbeers are, but I'm guessing they can only really be as strong as shandy, (or even the 0.1% of ginger beer). No one comes back from Hogsmeade trollied, there are no alcohol-fuelled initiations into the Quidditch team, and most surprisingly, no one is found collapsed in the toilets during the Yule Ball.

On this theme there is also a distinct lack of the smoking of Class C magical substances out of the domitory windows.

And in the wider world, a lot of childhood sweethearts marry (Harry's Parents, Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Mr&Mrs Weasley?, The Malfoys?) , they marry young, have babies straightaway, they stay married - happily, there are no divorces at all, and the people who get married later (Bill and Fleur) get married quickly, and they have babies straight away as well, and Mrs Weasley and Fleur are both stay at home mums.

Dumbledore is single. So is Mcgonagall.

people are just people like you

I'm in a large cluster room tucked away in the corner.

I went to Planet Organic today, which was very cool. It sells so much wierd food! I didn't branch out into an "almond protein ball" or spiced quinoa (although I wanted), but stuck with Maya Gold and mushroom soup. That is two seperate items, not the chocolate and the vegetable combined into a warm filling liquid. I also have to mention that I think the name is fantastic, and very satisfying to say.

And now I'm going to pop off to the All Souls Club House for some Koinonia-BBQ action, hurrah!

I'm going to go now, having not satisfied the potential of the title with these food related musings.

are you lonely yet?

If I felt less like I was abusing the cluster room by blogging, I'd do it more

the dandelions in the sun

I'm away from my carefully compiled list of lyrics waiting to find new life as a title. I have also forgotten my cable so I cannot retrieve my pre-written blog entry from my phone.

But I can say that the 259 to Kings Cross does not go to Kings Cross, but rather leaves the rider stranded at some unknown bus stop somewhere behind Pentoville Road.

you were an island to discover

Somehow I'm more worried and/or stressed about going to London tomorrow than I was this time last year. But this year it's in a quiet, exhausted way, not a run-around way.

And this time round I know things I didn't know last time including

• Who I'll be living with
• Exactly where I'll be living
• What my rooom looks like
• That the kitchen is a sensible size
• How to get to uni
• How to get into the library
• How to understand the library codes
• What courses I'm doing
• Who I'll be doing them with
• Who I like
• Who I don't
• That I will have a job
• Where the nearest supermarket is to my flat
• What I'm doing nearly every day next week

I haven't managed to convey how I'm really feeling.

But maybe I like surprises.

they'll inherit your legs

So I've recieved my letter from the student loans people telling me that they are giving me money next year, woo hoo! It is, being London, less than my rent, but never mind, I'll cross that bridge later. On the top of the letter it says in big red letters "TAKE THIS WITH YOU TO REGISTRATION" and at the bottom stresses the importance of this, saying that if I don't then the money will never arrive at The Nationwide.

I have however, already registered for this coming academic year. It did online, have paid my fees and am now fully enrolled.

I probably have a need to call some people and quote reference numbers. Oh joy.

it's only smoke and ashes

Yesterday I got the train to London, and somewhere between Doncaster and Peterborough the weather turned from bright sunny skies, to completely dark grey. On the return trip today I noticed the same thing in reverse. After 2 months of jeans and the threat of rain, I'm back in a skirt.

I definitely like skirts. A lot.

And I'm turning over a new leaf.

Again.

Write positive, be positive.

poor little rich boy, all the couples have gone

I haven't written in such a long time. I'm starting again in a shaky, wobbly unsure way. This will hopefully lead to confidence and greatness.

It's not only the blogging that's gone down the pan this summer. I feel pretty much inept at communicating in any way anymore. The ability to prase a text message or an email in such a way as to not appear rude seems to have completely eluded me. I don't know how to make small talk anymore. I don't know how to talk to anyone at work. I probably come accross and wierd and young and completely uncaring, especially in relation to the whole Tim's probably schizophrenic wife situation. I'm rubbish on the phone. When and if I ever get round to it, I don't have any sentances.

Does no one else realise I'm this bad?

I can be better.

Or has it been too long to recover?

no cars go

I'm still alive.
Just bad at blogging.
And the amount of stuff in my head has reached new levels.
I'm completely clogged up.
I'm failing to communicate.
At all.
So eloquent prose has no chance.

open up, everything's waiting for you

I have done nothing good today.
It is grey outside.
I am in a grey mood.
I have not finished packing.
I have had a bath.
I have eaten Pret food.
I have not emailed.
I have watched the Wright Stuff.
I have not bought shampoo.
I have brushed my teeth.
I have not left the house.
I have put a plaster on my toe.
I have not baked.
I have bought a rail ticket.
I have not planned.
I have not.

you're still not famous

I'll still not posting properly.
But I really want to.
I have been too busy, too tired, too far from a PC, and too abroad to post for a long time.
I have many, many half post ideas in my head struggling to come out.

On Saturday night our car broke down in a carpark near Gatwick airport and we had to call out the rescue men. We got home at 5am. I was at work at 9, then church and wasn't home til 10pm. As a lay in bed at midnight, knowing I had work in 8 hours I really wanted to post but I was too physically tired to get from bed to PC. And PC was off, another barrier. It's harder to post when the "set-up laptop" is no longer a feature of my room and I have to venture into the rest of the building to find a broadband connection and keyboard combo. But there were so many possible posts in my head that I couldn't sleep.

As I laying there thinking them through, I suddenly wanted to the blog about the fact that I couldn't blog because I needed sleep, but couldn't sleep because I needed to blog.

And then I REALLY wanted to blog about the fact that I wanted to blog about that.
So here I am.

But it seems none of the other topics have blossomed enough to distinguish them from the rest of them, and therefore, for the time being, remain brain bound.

i'll go home and mull this over

On Tuesday I bought some shoes. They are flat. I wore them for 10 minutes and they made me feet bleed. My feet hurt more than with any other pair of shoes I have ever worn. (Excluding a pair of 4-inch gold stillettoes, but I did wear them and dance in them for 5 hours) Yesterday I tired taking them back despite the fact that I had clearly worn them, argued with the shop assistant "They must be faulty, you shouldn't sell such poor quality shoes, I didn't expect this from a market leader, if I had known I wouldn't have bought them, etc". I failed. Today Ben heard the staff in that shop bitching about me and I am stuck with a pair of shoes that I can't wear.

Yesterday I saw a man drop his McDonalds burger on the floor just as his friend took a step. The friend unfortunately stepped straight into the burger-casualty leaving a meaty cheesy mess lying mid-pavement on Bootham. Were my stomach weaker, the side would have been vomit-inducing.

This is what the world offers.
Cheap shoes that hurt.
Cheap food that makes you vomit.
Both of which damaged something else in the process.
People that bitch about you when you can't accept this.

Despite this realisation, I have been to that shop three days in a row now and bought chips in McD's 3 hours ago.

It clearly made a big impression on me.
It's hard to walk away from.

you are the generation that bought more shoes

While I was in Russia I wrote down loads of song lyrics to save for blog titles. I've lost the piece of paper.

I got my library card and bus card out of my suitcase and put them somewhere. I'm pretty sure that somewhere should be either the desk next to this computer or on my bed. The somewhere is not there.

And why hasn't PostSecret been updated? I hope Frank's OK.

prloqsc spells touble to me

So I'm back.


I have realised I made a typing error while typing in Russian. I am now far away from the nearest known Cyrillic keyboard. Correction, therefore, will have to wait. Unless I give copy and paste a go, using a random Russian website. We'll see.


I have decided to compile my thoughts for a post about Kazan', but for now I'll break my literary mold and give you some artistic distraction while I walk to the cash point and survey what damage 3 feet of flood water causes to a market town.