From a wild Kate to a Kate conformable

If Carlsberg did Masters Courses...

2007-11-14T13:20:00.000Z

...they wouldn't do them as well as me!! I found out last night that I not only got a distinction in my dissertation, but in my MSc. as a whole!

And the Christmas markets open tomorrow night. And it's cold and crisp and sunny out. Could this be the best week ever?

Quite possibly.

EDIT: Recieved my favourite chocolates in the post today, courtesy of my awesome sister. 'Best week ever' status confirmed.

A creative rebellion against practicality.

2007-10-11T23:36:00.000Z

Well, enter a new phase in my life. Post-masters, pre-job, and it's apparently all about feeding my senses. A year focused solely on the practicalities of an extremely practical masters has left me creatively malnourished and hungry for my next he'arty' meal. Now all of a sudden I'm overqualified for the crap jobs and under-experienced for the ones I have my eye on, and subsequently I find myself with a lot of time on my hands. And it's great. Definitely feels good to have it ahead of me rather than snapping at my ass.

And I know, I should be job hunting a little more seriously than I am. Kate Conformable - my sensible side - has had a lot to say on that score, but right now Wild Kate has her in a headlock and doesn't look like she plans to let go. To hell with reality for just another day or two. I shall continue to indulge myself with the buttery, sweet and good things in life. Here are a few of my favourite recipes for contentment at the moment:

Penhaligon's - truly the most beautiful perfume and luxury goods store I know. I've adopted their Lily and Spice fragrance as my signature smell. Their attention to detail and loyalty to simple, classic good taste never fails to satisfy me in a way that no other store can.

Dunkin' Donuts - I was thinking about my amazing year spent in Barcelona recently and remembered just what a joy the Donut stand in the Placa Cataluna Metro station was after a long day in the city. There are plans to open a Krispy Kreme here in Manchester in December. Are they as good as our mates at Dunkin'? I'm excited to find out.

Chouchoute chocolates - picking a favourite is, I imagine, like trying to decide which of your kids you like best. It's not been easy but I think a couple of clear winners are emerging; passionfruit infusion ganache, and peach/hops dark ganache. But then again the rose and violet creams are to die for, and the pepper ganache is pretty good....

Montezuma's chocolate - a new discovery for me on a recent day trip to Brighton with my family. These guys do an awesome range of old school choccie bars, all nicely boxed. Be sure not to miss their coconut and macadamia nut bar. One of the yummiest things I've eaten in ages.

Lindt chilli chocolate - I know, chocolate features pretty heavily on this list huh? But seriously now, if you've not ventured to try chilli chocolate - outlandish though it may sound - I suggest you do so. Now.

John Mayer - "waiting on the world"
Feist - "1234"
These two songs are currently rocking my world.

Interior Decor - Ok, so if I was the maternal type I'd definitely be craving babies right now. Talk about the 'nesting instinct' - all I can think about is an attic flat in Barcelona, vaulted ceilings, wooden beams, and those floor to ceiling windows with shutters that lead out onto little balconies overlooking the rooftops. Or perhaps a small clapperboard cottage, near a beach, with white plank walls, a mezzanine and a garden full of honeysuckle and jasmine. A lifetime of house hopping is, apparently, finally taking its toll. I have entire folders full of inspiration for a house I can't afford to own for at least the next 15 years.

Beading - or attempting to. I'm halfway through a small lizard, which I may use as a keyring. It's a bit pointless, but therapeutic nevertheless.

I could go on about avocado, pine nuts, honey roast pistachios or apple pie with cold custard or double cream, but you guys already know they're great. Right? Also loving chunky knit scarves, though it's still too warm to wear them (never thought I'd say that living in England), wooden boxes, paperweights, marbles, and a certain pair of boots with a knitted upper - a pic of which cannot be found.

I could happily shut myself off from the world right now, just pottering round in a little place of my own, minding my own business and doing the things that make me happy. I can tell, because at the moment I'm content doing just that at my parents' house, which usually makes me restless. Batshit crazy, even.

I even went on a date the other day with a nice guy, and as I sat across from him eating my duck and listening to his awesome stories of film-making in Palestine, I couldn't wait to put a door between us. I willed him to pop out of existance in a little puff of cologne-scented smoke so that I could savour my food in peace. Is that wrong?

I'm dreading the enforced interaction, polite chit-chat and 9 to 5 drudgery that will be my life 5 days a week as of Monday, but I suppose it is high time that I rejoin the rest of the world and earn my crust. Maybe then I'll be able to afford to buy some of the fun stuff I've seen on Etsy, or get my flabby behind in the gym before it hatches a master plan to take over the world. Perhaps pick up Mandarin again, attempt to recreate some of the really nice flower arrangements I've been checking out on http://www.tryflowers.org/, or maybe - just maybe - treat myself to some Polaroid instant film and go out in search of pics. I could of course also get myself a life, or my sister a Christmas present, but that would be practical, wouldn't it now?

P.S. If you recongise the bedroom photo as yours, please feel free to step in and claim the credit you're due - I've lost the reference.

Somehow I just don't feel like writing.

2007-09-28T14:10:00.000Z

Well, my sister keeps saying I should update this thing, but quite frankly I can't think of a thing to say.

I quit my temp job on Wednesday, went out on a date with a bloke I hardly knew, searched for new jobs - both temp and permanent, and tonight I'm off to the Peak District for long walks and wine addled chats with friends in country boozers.

That reminds me, must go upstairs and charge the camera.

Brainless.

2007-09-17T00:37:00.000Z

Okay, so I'm going through an inspirational dry patch at the moment, so I'll leave you with 3 little words; Mean Kitty Song.

Scroll down my blog and check it out on youtube. I found this hilarious, but then it does remind me of an ex's cat, Paco - el gatito bonito. It jumped out of a third floor window once and survived unscathed.

Thesis.

2007-08-10T10:25:00.000Z

Twinkle twinkle little thesis,

how I long to tear to pieces

page by page,

word by word,

the worst crap I ever heard!

Stuck.

2007-07-27T09:27:00.000Z

The room is still save for the slight rattle of window panes in their frames as another truck thunders past outside. Endless traffic, the distant boom of planes overhead, and somewhere a solitary bird trills, out of tune with the urban symphony.

The smug carriage clock ticks away the tiresome minutes and the laptop hushes quietly like the sound of heavy rain or a distant ocean. I think my head would sound like that if you held it to your ear.

Staring at a blank screen. Blank screen stares back.

Little Gifts.

2007-07-17T22:10:00.000Z

All three clocks say 11:11, a lucky time according to Skippy - but then what does he know. A lot apparently.

Had our last proper evening together tonight, if together is the right word. He bugs the ass off me. He's pedantic, logical, sensible, predictable. Hasn't a spontaneous bone in his body, runs a mile at questions any more personal than 'can I borrow a pen?'. But he's logical, sensible, driven and all those other things I lack. Being around him 'completes' me in some roundabout way because he's everything I'm not but wish I was. Once again I've left him without asking all the questions that occupy the space in my mind where my thesis should be right now. Maybe I'll send him an email, and then I'll never have to deal with the inevitable pregnant silences and awkward body language that I just can't bear the thought of.

I almost trod on a snail tonight. It was the oddest thing, I just felt the slight crunch beneath my heel and managed to adjust my balance just in time to save him. Good thing too, I hate killing snails. I turn to a barefoot Skippy to warn him about our little mollusk friend. "That's no snail, it's a lizard" he says. He's a pedantic git to the end. Looking closer though I see right next to my little snail there is indeed a little lizard. It's striking for so many reasons, not least for the fact that for once we were both right. Wild lizards are almost unheard of here in England - in fact I've never ever seen one here before - and to see one next to a snail for me just seemed poignant given my strange affection for, nay, fixation with, the two species. Sometimes it's like the world sends me little gifts just when I need them most.

Sounds silly but I think I'm the snail - it's one of the creatures I identify with most, an armour plated mobile home. The lizard is only too apt for Skippy; not meant for this country, and sensible enough to make painful sacrifices when he knows it's for the best. (At least thought to be painful - the tail thing has never been proven, neither has the cutting me loose thing).

I look at it as nature's way of telling me that we're incompatible. Completely different creatures who find themselves at close quarters, despite the fact that the two should never have met. I'm glad we did.

I am Miserable.

2007-07-02T15:26:00.000Z

Lots of grumbling and sulking.

My List of Excuses.

2007-06-13T22:13:00.000Z

I bet you all thought I'd died and gone to chocolate heaven eh? I am still alive (albeit with stress fractured foot!) just having problems with very limited internet access and a horrendous workload for the dissertation - trying to wangle a trip to Venezuela for research. Wish me luck!

I should be back on blogging form after the 20th with any luck.

The Hardships of Students.

2007-05-08T13:00:00.000Z

"I say then that the hardships of the student are these; first of all, poverty - not just because they are all poor, but to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I say that they suffer poverty I do not think that there is anything more to say about their misery; for the poor man lacks everything that is good." - Yup folks, this is true. Once the student has blown all £4000 of their yearly loan in the first fortnight at uni they are cruelly subjected to a harsh life devoid of all the things that bring a person joy. £4000 worth of Gucci sandals, Channel handbags and that trendy new set of wheels are robbed of their appeal as the poor student is hit by the sudden and painful realisation that they're all dressed up, have somewhere to go, yet no money in that shiny new designer purse to put petrol in the shiny new car. Yup, that's right, those cute sandals - 'gems for the feet' as the pushy sales assistant had called them, will never see a dancefloor because the student is too broke to afford the club's door fee, and by the time next year's loan comes through they'll be sooo last season daaahling. One can only imagine the pain and anguish of the poor student upon the launch of the latest X-box or Kate Moss Top Shop range. So cruel I'm sure there are laws against it in the Geneva Conventions.

"This poverty they suffer in various forms; sometimes hunger, sometimes cold, sometimes nakedness, sometimes all of them together." - But only on a particulary good night. Said good nights usually occur in the first fortnight accompanied by firebuckets full of vodka and redbull - lovingly known as 'Vodbull' to those in the know. Hours of energy-drink-fuelled dancing and extra-curricular social acitivities have taken their toll on the poor student. He's hot and sweaty, clothes must be dispensed with - he's got lucky, so they won't be necessary for much longer anyway. The willing victim wasn't wearing many to begin with. It's all good. Time for a kebab with extra chilli-sauce on the way home for more nakedness.

"But, all the same, things are not so bad that they do not eat, although it may be a little later than they are used to, or from the leavings of the rich man's table; for what students call 'going on the soup' or begging for their supper is their worst misery. " - It's true, the average student doesn't starve, though food is admittedly served much later than they're previously accustomed to...the kebab shops don't even open 'til 9pm. After the first fortnight however, kebabs are off the menu, as is anything that doesn't come in a tin for 8p at Tescos. Soup, baked beans and the trusty super-noodle, these are the poor student's food groups of choice. Vegetables and meat are relegated to the past, a distant memory of regular bowel movements and pre-anaemia good health. The student motto: Never turn down a free meal. Sod this business about not drinking the Kool-aid or taking sweets from strangers; if it's going, it's gone.

"And moreover they do share someone's brazier or hearth, which may not warm them but at least takes the edge off the cold; and last of all, they sleep under cover at night. I do not want to go into other details - lack of shirts for instance, and shortage of shoes, or scanty and threadbare clothing" - Students take the sharing of braziers and hearths very seriously - competitively even - but only sleep under cover if the other occupant of the intentionally narrow single bed affords them enough soiled duvet to do so. Lack of shirts and shortage of shoes is usually discovered the following morning as the student dresses rapidly, trying not to wake the willing victim - who's suddenly less attractive in the harsh light of day - whilst quietly cursing under bated breath the deceitful nature of 'Vodbull' when present in conjuction with scanty clothing.

"- or to describe their way of stuffing themselves over-eagerly when fortune sends them a feast." - Hey, if the parents are coughing up for a meal, why not take advantage?

"By the rough and difficult path which I have indicated, stumbling at times and falling, getting up and falling once more, they do acquire the degree they desire." - Someone really should tell the local council that uneven roadsurfaces are a serious pitfall for the average poor student. There are few amongst us who can sympathise with the trials and tribulations of a five mile walk home in heels having been deemed 'too drunk' to be allowed to take a cab. It's not the fault of the poor student that Redbull put so much time and effort into making their ad campaigns so truly irresistable. Nor is it their fault that post-first fortnight finances allow for little food and only 50p vodka shots and a can of energy drink with which to wash them down. It's a disgraceful shifting of blame.

"And when they have got it, I have seen many of them once passed through those shoals, those Scyllas and Charybolises, as if borne on the wings of fortune's favour; - I say that we have seen them command and govern the world from an armchair, their hunger exchanged for a full stomach, their cold for a pleasant coolness, their nakedness for fine clothes, and their sleep mat for a comfortable rest on fine linen and damask: the justly merited rewards of their virtue." - ?!?!

Chapter XXXVII, Don Quixote
Miguel de Cervantes.
- and Reality, by Kate!

Exam from Hell tomorrow and a whole heap of accomodation problems.

2007-05-07T23:07:00.000Z

Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrgghh!!!

God is in the Detail.

2007-05-04T23:34:00.000Z

I know. It's just a door. But look closer.

I always like to keep this photo close by, because every time I look at it I'm reminded that there is beauty in even the simplest, most mundane places - places you would never think to look, and would never expect to find it.

The colours, contrasts, contradictions and composition of this picture were a gift.

Give us eyes like children so we live each day as our first.

~Lamb.

Smile.

2007-05-03T22:52:00.000Z

I'm dressing hurredly for a meal with friends. The phone sounds its peculiar warble, muffled by the piles of tried and discarded outfits heaped high on the bed. Hunt around, pick it up, flip it open.

"Smile. You know you want to."

And sure enough I do. I always do when he calls. Bittersweet.

The Joys of House-sharing.

2007-05-02T20:39:00.000Z

'Nuff said.

I'm not painting a very rosy picture of my personal habits...to clarify, the bedroom is usually tidy, but when it's untidy then I go the whole hog. If a job's worth doing then it's worth doing properly.

As for the bathroom, this is an area in which I excel given my long-standing phobia of other people's bottom germs and the like. It is scrubbed, painstakingly, on a weekly basis. Pubes are purged, skid marks scrubbed, the shower scoured, but despite my best efforts there are two habits I just can't seem to break my housemates of:

1) Peeing on the toilet seat, the floor, the mat...anywhere other than the toilet. There's nothing worse than sitting down to business to discover that you're sat in someone else's.

2) Not changing the toilet roll when it's finished. This is the only thing almost as bad as number one. I do not appreciate having to do the twist and shout, knickers round ankles, before shimmying gingerly over to the cupboard to find a replacement. The photo is my idea of a subtle hint...you think they'll get it?

My personal idea of heaven? A bathroom in which no traces of any DNA other than my own can be found. A place where no man has boldly gone before.

The Shit Gremlin

2007-05-01T22:43:00.000Z

He sneaks into my room at night,

To sprinkle shit is his delight.

When I wake up each new day

My whole damn room just looks this way.

Ballet.

2007-04-25T11:58:00.000Z

I'm taking up ballet again. Don't laugh. I know I have all the grace and co-ordination of a marauding rhino, but it's good to do something that scares you every once in a while.

Besides, I like the shoes.

Especially with legwarmers and a tutu.

An end in sight.

2007-04-23T02:20:00.000Z

Another late night essay marathon brought to you by Jaffa Cakes and cordial.

The last of way too many.

Hurrah for the future - leaving work at the office and having a life outside of working hours...or is that just another rumour like the streets of America being paved with gold?

Visions of Venice.

2007-04-21T17:59:00.000Z

What do you think? Opinions welcome.

Sorry it's not a proper post - don't have time 'til Monday.

Frazzled.

2007-04-17T23:04:00.000Z

Just one more assignment to go.

When it's done, I'll write and I'll run,

but for now, enjoy the photo.

Self Portraits

2007-04-15T23:19:00.000Z

When it comes to judging beauty in others I like to think of myself as something of a connoisseur. There's nothing I like better than to people-watch. To sit, alone, drink in hand in some deserted corner of a cafe watching people meeting with friends, lovers, stopping for a drink before going on with their business. You might say I'm nosy. I like to look at clothes, shoes, hair, eye colour, learning from the bad and storing away the good for future inspiration. You might say I'm judgemental too. I also study demeanor, how a person holds themself, facial expression, do they return a passing smile in the street? I like to try to construct lives and personalities for these strangers around the basis of their looks and comportment. I have no difficulty in deciding which looks I like, which hairstyle pleases me most, who is attractive and who is not - until I am confronted with myself. You might, therefore, even say I'm conceited. We are all, however, permitted a certain degree of navel-gazing, a certain amount of time to spend 'staring, big -Narcissus, into some spring, to set the darkness echoing', and that is precisely what I spent an hour doing yesterday. The portraits are the result.

Why is it that the one person you would think you'd know best is often the one you simply can't get an objective handle on? Why does it even matter?

I have always found it odd that every time I catch sight of myself in a mirror or a photograph a different girl seems to stare back. I like to think that there is a different face for each of the little personalities which together constitute the whole (Suzy Home-maker, Power-dressing-business-bitch, Popular Party Girl, Cynical Social Recluse, the Kid, the Free Spirit) and that the camera is capable of catching each one as it surfaces momentarily.

I keep looking at these photos and trying to figure this girl out, see her through eyes which aren't my own so I can make my mind up about her as I would any other person. It's no good though.

Green Eyes. Greedy for things they can't have.

How to catch a fleeting moment without freezing its flight?

2007-04-09T14:28:00.000Z

Alexandra and Pasha

Easter Sunday with the family at Chatsworth House. Blue skies, good company and a picnic. I'll miss these days when they're gone.

'Mega'bus?

2007-04-06T19:36:00.000Z

Began my journey home yesterday at 11:30 - arrived at 22:30!! No, I don't live in Jamaica, that's how long it takes to get from Watchfield to Sale if you opt not to use the train. I love Oxford Tube buses, big, clean double deckers with few passengers and lots of leg room. My inner child ran straight upstairs to steal the front seat - sensible side said 'you're toast if you crash', but my inner adventurer reasoned that the vantage point makes it worth the gamble. Windshield was sporting a massive crack from one side to the other but adventurer insisted we 'risk it for a biscuit'. London's gorgeous on a sunny day. Everyone out riding their horses, jogging or chilling in Hyde Park - a small taste of what life would be like if global warming keeps its promises.

Bought a book and an ice-cream sundae which was presented to me in a fire bucket as I waited for my bus transfer at Victoria. Was waiting for the usual sleek, blue double decker Megabus when this turned up. (see pic) 'Pity the poor bastards getting that for their journey' I thought to myself. Hmmm. Four and half hours of being crammed into a little, un-reclinable seat with no leg-room in front of the smelliest, loudest girl on Earth and I was indeed pitying the poor bastards - namely myself. Seemed that the only thing working was the air-con., which had apparently decided to make up for all other short comings by being super-efficient. 20 degrees outside, and we were all wearing coats and scarves.

Was so good to get home to the family and a dinner plate sized slab of aged red meat. Today's Easter Friday, meaning we've decided to exchange choccies 2 days early. Chouchoute, champagne eggs and Reese's peanut butter cups...who needs a man when you've got chocolate?

My sister is awesome

2007-04-02T22:25:00.000Z

I don't know what I'd do without her.

Alektorophobia...Chicken Phobia??

2007-04-02T15:41:00.000Z

Chicken for dinner again tonight. Why is it the only affordable meat/poultry not to have been put through a grinder and cut with sawdust? Oh how I burn for a good steak, or lamb chops, pork fillet perhaps...anything but bloody chicken!! Why does it have to be so slimy and whiff faintly of rotten eggs when raw? It's really off-putting trying to eat the damn thing when you're still haunted by the image of bits of it clinging stubbornly to the cutting board. Then bits of it get stuck in the brillo pad and you wind up trying to pick them off with your fingers until there's practically no scourer left...argh! What is this, the chicken's revenge?

Here's a great business venture for anyone interested; a take-away restaurant. I'm not talking McDonalds, Pizza Hut, KFC...if I wanted to eat giblets I'd buy a can of dog food. I'm talking take-away steak, cooked to your liking with a medley of vegetables and sauteed potatoes; salmon with asparagus and new potatoes; duck a l'orange on a bed of parnsip mash... On nights like tonight when the last thing I can be bothered to do is wrestle a dead chicken in the kitchen I'd pay good money to have someone cook decent, nutritious food for me. I suppose if I were less of a shrew I might have a boyfriend to do that kind of thing like just all the regular frilly girls do, but until I find my Petruccio it's a life of picking chicken off the brillo pad for me it seems. Guess it beats picking some bloke's dirty undercrackers off the bedroom floor everyday.

On the distinctly up-side I shall be going home for Easter on Thursday, where the man in my life - aka Dad - will be cooking up a storm. I'm told we'll be eating out a bit too, and of course there's always that little matter of Easter eggs...Hurrah!! Do I detect Chouchoute chocolates on the horizon? I can picture it now: Hi Mum, Hi Dad. Where's the chocolate?

Cookies or cake?

2007-04-01T15:59:00.000Z

Skippy popped round unannounced today with the ex he went to Paris with. To add insult to injury the curtain pole fell down and hit me on the head as I tried to open the door, and the front door blew the kitchen door shut, locking us out because the handle is broken. Meanwhile a batch of cinamon and maple oatmeal cookies was threatening to catch fire in the oven. To top it off, I was looking fabulous in my jogging bottoms and t-shirt, with no make up and greasy hair. Also reeked of stinky cream of yesterday's post fame. Awesome.

I apologised to the ex for my appearance and mentioned that had I known she was coming I'd have made more of an effort, to which Skippy retorts "oh but don't bother for me then...". He was kidding, but I couldn't resist pointing out that he forfeit that particular priviledge when he decided he 'just needed to be single and selfish at the moment'. God love him but he's getting on my last tattered nerve at the moment.

Cookies are good, though undergoing some kind of identity crisis as to whether they are indeed cookies or cake. I've tried to come up with some witty hi-bred name for them but to no avail...seriously, give it a go, all you get is 'cookies' or 'cake'.

Really must go for a run tomorrow. Have been pretty slack of late.

April Fool's...

2007-03-31T22:48:00.000Z

I don't need a day to remind me I'm a fool.

The pharmacist got her little joke in a day early it seems. Went to Boots earlier looking to buy some E45 cream to clear up a few patches of eczema appearing on my arms. Pharmacist says "you should try this aqueous cream, it's cheaper, you get more of it and it's actually better. It's really good - unperfumed, and can even be used as a soap in the shower".

Unperfumed?? Now to me this means odourless. To her it obviously means they just haven't added any scents to sweeten the deal. This stuff is the antithesis to perfume. I unscrewed the lid only to be confronted by a smell so bad it made the muscles in my throat contract. Now I'm faced with an important choice between vanity and practicality:

To be covered in eczema, or to smell like burning rubber?

P.S. Blogger is odd...I posted just after midnight, but it reckons it was a good deal beforehand, and for some reason it doesn't want me to have spaces between lines tonight. April Fool's indeed.

Name that critter...

2007-03-29T14:13:00.000Z

My sister and just discovered we have similar pictures of the most random thing. We don't know what the hell it is, or if it's even real. Take a peek:

I have to know, what is it? Is it real, and if so, where can I get one?!

Quick update...I'm told it's an 'Aye-Aye'. I'm serious. Check it out at http://www.arkive.org/

Little streak of misery

2007-03-27T16:16:00.000Z

Okay so all of yesterday's 'hooray I'm running the trail' enthusiasm went out with a little fizzle this morning when I whipped back the curtains to discover that our promised 17 degrees and sunny looked more like flippin' cold and foggy. Any other day I'd have wimped out and resigned myself to the gym, but having made arrangements with Rob and won my fight with the Frenchman to run before lunch I couldn't see any way to worm out of it this time. Damn.

It was freezing - cold enough to see breath - and the only t-shirt I had to hand was rather small and not very warm. Arms looked like corned beef after just five minutes and I've brayed like a donkey all afternoon. Why is it only running outside that leaves me with a cough? Managed about 3kms at a mixed pace - was passed by a few stampeding turtles (see photo!) and the odd racing snail but at least I was trying. Was quite disappointed that I had to keep stopping to catch my breath, that never happens on the treadmill. Rob was actually pretty useful, even if he did keep telling me I'm a little streak of misery...I know, but I don't need to keep hearing it!

Lunch went by the by, as none of the participating restaurants were actually aware they were a part of the Independent's 'eat out for a fiver' deal. I didn't mind though. Last night the Frenchman strode purposefully into the kitchen to inform me that *assumes 'allo allo' accent* he would not be waiting for me to have my run before going for lunch, and neither would Nick, so I had better think twice about running if I wanted to eat with them. I felt like telling him he could shove his lunch, but I knew very well Rob was running with me and Nick would wait, therefore I'd won the argument without even opening my mouth. If there's anything that annoys an arrogant, narcissistic only child more than waiting for me to finish my run before lunch, it's losing an argument. Take that Frenchie.

Photo's courtesy of this site by the way; http://mfrost.typepad.com/cute_overload/

Hooray for spring - running the trail tomorrow!!

2007-03-26T16:28:00.000Z

Recce'd the running trail in my lunch hour with Nick today. It's great - nice springy peat surface, pretty trees and, most importantly, no inclines. It helps that it's a mild, sunny day too, so here's hoping tomorrow follows suit weather-wise. I'm supposed to be running it with Rob after class, which should be fun as he's somehow tragically convinced he's playing a lead role in Top Gun. Probably not the ideal partner, as he'll no doubt be running rings around me and talking up a storm about whatever obscure political gems he's gleaned from the morning papers, but I guess if I can persuade him to run just a step or two behind me I could always maintain the illusion of running away - motivation if there ever was any.

Once again I'm being mean. See the thing is, Rob's one of those quirky Irishmen who regularly turns up to lectures brandishing a large pineapple which he proceeds to carve and eat using the very same leatherman he used to pick his toenails with earlier. He's been known to carry cold fried breakfast around in a tupperware for two days and call it a snack, he never irons his clothes, is a mine of useless information, and has even been known on occasions to strap a whole roast chicken to his handlebars with the intention of sharing it with the class at uni for lunch. Oh and he farts. Unashamedly. All the time. Great guy, slightly odd, very stinky.

Anyway, in other news I've just spent a whopping £7 on phone credit alone whilst fighting over extortionate electricity bills. At long last I've managed to settle the issue of paying bills to two companies simultaneously, but somehow I have a suspicion that the trouble isn't over yet. The landlady has decided to have a key meter fitted, which will mean paying money into a kitty on a monthly basis - easier said than done when dealing with my housemates who, naturally, all know better than everyone else. I have a creeping feeling that somehow this is going to come back and bite me in the ass.

Interesting fact for the day; In addition to the well-known nerve agents and irritants, there are also 'psychochemical agents' which "cause mental disturbances eg.depression, hallucination, psychosis". Awesome. Depress your enemy to death. I'd like to see Al-Qaeda release that one on the London Underground...

"prepare to be depreeeeessed! Mwahhahaahaa...oh wait - you already are. Damn."

P.S. Is it illegal to kill a man even if he's French?

Will you cook me dinner?

2007-03-25T11:32:00.000Z

Well readers (reader?), it's been a wild week and I'm a little tired, also a little confused. Calendar says March 21st was the first day of Spring, Daylight Savings Time says it's now officially British summertime. If only we could get winter down to four days too.

Running's taken a bit of a back bench this past seven days I'm afraid. Last time I went, it was like wading through treacle just to get to the gym, and by the time I'd completed 10 minutes on the treadmill I would have sworn that someone had smeared superglue on the soles of my runners...the feet just did not want to pick up! By the time I made it home I was convinced I was going to die, so I collapsed, a miserable heap, into my bed until necessity forced me out of it later that evening.

There have been so many dinner invites this week I don't know where to start. It's an absolute blessing because I'd still sooner eat roadkill than anything prepared by my hands at the moment. Cal and his wife had prepared a vat of chilli con carne and enough apple turnover to feed the five thousand on Wednesday, all to be followed by dangerous amounts of amaretto, sloe wine, sloe gin, and ultimately a slow, and painfully early morning of terrorism lectures the next day.

Luckily our South Korean contingent, Martin, had just been promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel, and therefore traditionally owed us all a slap-up celebratory lunch at the local. In a moment of health inspired madness earlier in the week whilst making my menu choice I had plumped for a salad option, which I truly regretted as I watched everyone else tucking into their 'mega-fat-bastard' curries whilst I nibbled at lettuce leaves and the odd strip of cremated beef.

Not to worry though, Laszlo and his lovely wife more than made up for my stingy lunch with a veritable banquet of Hungarian offerings and, more importantly, Thai Bites, that evening. I ventured to try some dodgy looking Hungarian liqueur that came in a bulbous bottle with a big red cross on the front which, I thought, was rather misleading. A skull and cross bones would have been far more appropriate. It tasted like a Night Nurse flu remedy and should probably have come with the following list of possible side effects; convulsions, vomitting, temporary blindness and, ultimately, loss of consciousness. Needless to say I stuck with good old Bushmills the rest of the evening.

My Dad turned up a half hour or so into the affair. He'd been at a defence industry expo the other side of Oxford for two days and decided to pay me a flying visit on his way back up to the grim North. Ordinarily this would be weird, perhaps even verging on social suicide, but as my Dad is closer than I am in both profession and age group to my friends here on the MSc it actually works out strangely well. It's still rather sad to admit though that he's the only man to turn up to an event here on my arm, despite my having had a boyfriend for most of the Cranfield experience. So much for Skippy. I can't blame those who think I made him up.

Speaking of the Australian wonder, we had dinner at his last night - just the two of us - despite the recent break up. I still find this odd, but the free food is good, and a speck of me is still hopeful he'll change his mind and things will go back to the way they were. Well to be honest, things are the way they were, except now I get a ride home in the evening instead of the following morning. I can't say I understand the logic but I've done all I can do without sacrificing my dignity. Anyway, dinner was good and after a day of nothing but an apple and a slice of chocolate cake I devoured three helpings of Thai curry before collapsing onto the sofa to fall asleep half way through 'Chocolat'. I know, what a vixen. Still, I must have done something right because he popped round unannounced with tin of maple syrup and the hoover this morning. More original than that old 'cup of sugar' chestnut I guess, but it's kind of left me wondering if he's hinting at the state of my carpets. As for the maple syrup...who knows?

Terrorism module is going well. So far we've gleaned that a person's political leanings can be discerned by their facial hair ie. beard = Communist, moustache = fascist, really long beard = terrorist. (Lenin, Hitler, Bin Laden. Need I say more?) It may also interest you to know that one person in every ten can be clinically diagnosed with pyscopathic/sociopathic tendencies. Our lecturer clearly had the time of his life watching us all cast covert glances round the classroom trying to figure out which one of the twelve was bound for the funny farm. I just wonder if he knows what half of them actually do for a living...

My list of things to do doesn't seem to be getting any shorter. Have to jazz up my CV a bit and send it out with a stack of covering letters - my favourite passtime. There's been some recent interest expressed by a couple of people but I'll have to move fast if I'm to capitalise on it. The latest uni assignment is based upon a quote by my dissertation supervisor so I'm going to have to put in some extra hours on that if I'm to convince him I'm any good. The running goal stands at 4km this week, AND I'm supposed to be teaching a Spanish class this Wednesday night (The upside of that is there's a free meal involved). How I'm going to fit it all in around lectures I have no idea. I'm knackered just thinking about it.

Can't wait for Easter. Going home to see the family and am hopeful of Chouchoute chocolates!

A second in time.

2007-03-19T18:33:00.000Z

Was walking from class today when I noticed the dry, brown leaves skipping along behind me on the pavement like little African children after sweets from affluent foreigners. Screwed up against the biting wind and squinting into the watery sunlight I felt like nature herself was tugging at my coat hem. For a second I forgot being cold and tired.

And to think I'm paying for the priviledge...

2007-03-19T05:17:00.001Z

Will the crazy late night essay sessions ever end???

Four seasons in one day.

2007-03-18T12:03:00.000Z

The weather is about as stable as a two-legged table today. We've had, sun, rain, sleet, a few flakes and howling wind and it's only just midday. It's all over the place like a mad dog's poop, I tell you. One of the trees at the bottom of the garden is making an ominous creaking sound and leaning a little further in the direction of the house than I'm comfortable with in the strongest gusts, but with a casual shrug I reason that it's not my heap of bricks - and the landlady's a thorn in my ass anyway.

I'm dying to go for a run but it's difficult to gauge what to wear to get there. Running outside is definitely out of the question unless I can be sure of having the wind at my back...I'd have no trouble beating my personal best if I could manage that. Today's one of those days when you practically need to pack a survival kit just to walk to the end of the road: umbrella, jumper, coat, gloves, scarf, hat, tissues, lip balm, sunnies.....the list goes on. Am beginning to wonder if it's worth all the trouble. After all, the proper gym shuts at weekends (squaddie logic, go figure...) so I'm relegated to a tiny room in the mess where they throw all the old equipment that's too worn and shitty to be of any use to anyone serious about exercising. I guess I should feel right at home.

The treadmill is a deathtrap when all is said and done, but it's worth chancing if I can forget Skippy for a half hour and up my distance. Brettus Minimus will be accompanying me as my gym buddy because you can't exercise alone in this gym for safety reasons - whether they're worried about you simply pulling a hamstring or being crushed by dodgy machinery is open to speculation. I feel quite bad about inviting Brett because I know I won't speak a word to him while we're there. I'm still at the stage where I have to concentrate hard on breathing to survive a 20 minute run without a crashteam stepping in, and, to be brutally honest and very mean spirited, I generally run to escape people, not to make polite small talk with them. I'm becoming as crabby and anti-social as my sister, the self professed 'bitch-hermit' extraordinaire. ;)

Just cooked myself a salmon steak. Like all of it's culinary predecessors this week at least half of it met with a sticky end in the bin. It tasted just fine, despite supposedly having gone out of date yesterday (I reason 'no mould, therefore it's all good') but somehow I seem to have developed a powerful aversion to food I've cooked. I even ate at McDonalds yesterday to avoid having to cook, and after my abortive attempt at salmon earlier I reason I may have to order pizza later if I'm to avoid starvation or over-dosing on 'After Eights'. Luckily I already have two dinner invites this week, and Skippy will no doubt have something up his sleeve as it's been over a week since we last ate together. I can probably squeeze a meal out of Nina the housemate too at a push. It's times like these when I miss home the most. What I wouldn't give for a big, juicy steak and home made chips the way Dad does them. I'm missing mother's day too. I wish the train fares were cheaper and work-load was lighter.

Have another 2000 words to bash out about Cuban disaster reduction by tomorrow. Right now all I want to do is curl up and pile up some Zs. Think I might do just that. I'm sure the Cubans can manage just fine without me for now.

What have I done?

2007-03-17T10:29:00.000Z

If my body is a temple then last night I ransacked the altar and overturned a lot of tables. Drank the sacrificial wine too if the hangover is anything to go by. To make things worse, despite only crawling into bed at 02:30, I've been awake since around 06:00 - alarm call courtesy of my housemate talking to his family in Nigeria. Any louder and he wouldn't have needed the phone.

I'm a disgrace. Last night was only supposed to be dinner and a glass of wine at Kate's - a quiet girly evening to remind me what it's like to be in female company. I spend so much time with guys here that I'll soon be scratching my butt in public and leaving the loo seat up. Anyway, quiet girly evening turned into getting shit-faced drunk and talking about men - one in particular - which is only ever going to end one way. Skippy is in Paris right now with his best friend's girlfriend. Sounds like an issue worthy of an article in 'Take a Break' magazine I know, but if I'm honest it's actually quite innocent. She's nice and there's nothing going on, but I object to the audacity of the girl asking my then boyfriend to go on holiday with her, and even more so to him accepting after turning down my offer and going on to dump me a month later. He got flu two days before the flight and he left for France feeling like death. Karma's a bitch ain't she? Anyway, time to put the voodoo doll down and leave the poor boy alone. He's kind and honest. It's just me who's bitter, twisted and suspicious.

So, aside from getting ashamedly drunk and weaving my way home through an imaginary chicane in the wee hours of the morning, what else did I get up to yesterday? Not an awful lot really. I loafed better than bread itself all day Thursday, leaving it 'til 23:00 to get started on the presentation due the next morning. Somehow I'm gifted with the bizarre knack of pulling projects out of my ass at T minus 2 seconds and getting good grades - yesterday was a shining example. After delivering 8 pages of basic powerpoint and 15 minutes of related dialogue by the seat of my pants, I'm approached by my lecturer and offered a reference should I be considering a PhD - Dr. Warwick...has a kind of kinky ring to it, don't you think?

Eight solid hours in a darkened room watching powerpoint presentations on the sunniest day so far this year had me screaming for a run 10 minutes in though, and run I did - like my usual herd of turtles, admittedly, but the peanut butter's thinning. Settled into my pace really quickly, and instead of my usual lower-lip-sucking-grimace, I ran with a smile on my face. It's not true what they say about 'smile and the world smiles with you', by the way. They just think you're simple. Anyway, did 3kms easily and had to force myself to stop, too much too soon is likely to result in a loud snap and a long spell in A&E, but I'm building steadily by half a Km or so each time. The body-busting combination of having a hangover and being on my euphemisim means the only running I'll be doing today however, is between here and the cupboard where the chocolate is kept. To think I lost 2lbs this week too. That'll be returned with interest by the time I'm done feeding the painters and decorators. I'm stuffing my face with a vanilla slice as I type.

So, if not running, what's on the agenda for the rest of today then? Answer; not much. Have another assignment due Monday, but the fact that I'm blogging rather than slogging suggests I'll be pulling another mammoth all nighter sponsored by Doritos and Cadburys tomorrow. Can't wait. Terrorism module starts Monday and, true to form, the lecturer has managed to spread seventy hours of lectures in such a way that they're going to feel like a hundred and forty...it's going to be a tough couple of months!

Hiccup

2007-03-17T02:17:00.000Z

Tired, tired, tired. Pissed. *hic*. Will post tomorrow (...today?).

Procrastinate now. Don't put it off!

2007-03-15T12:27:00.000Z

A double bed really is a terrible thing to waste, so here I am, under the quilt, propped up on cushions in a fashion reminiscent of grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - he only got out of bed for chocolate too. Snuck, stealth-like, down to the kitchen at about 10am to raid my stash for a Fudge bar - only 115 calories and a bit of fat - I reason it's less than a bowl of cereal and therefore a perfectly viable breakfast. One cup of Te Rojo and a glass of Robinsons no added sugar apple & blackcurrant cordial later and my staple dietary requirements for the day are well on the way to being complete. Disaster Management presentation due tomorrow is, however, far from it.

We've had some nice weather recently - 'nice' in the British weather vocabulary meaning 'not wet' and 'above freezing'. It's slightly overcast today but the damn wind has finally blown itself out and all is strangely peaceful. Nothing but the sounds of people mowing their lawns, the birds chattering in the trees and a flock of pigeons flying themselves dizzy in circles round the house. God, I crave summer like a fat kid craves cake. Have been sleeping with the window open the past few nights for the simple fact that I can - finally - without dying of hypothermia in my sleep. Just 3 days of 12 degrees and watery sunshine and already I wake up covered in mosquito bites - god I love scratching them. Reminds me of summer.

Study's not going too well. Somewhere between New Year and now I lost impetus, then interest, and finally the will to live. Okay, so it's not that bad, but this course can be pretty tough when you have nothing and no-one to take your mind off work. (Cue the violins...) I need a hobby, a release of some kind.

In a period of extreme desperation a couple weeks ago I decided to brave the treadmill while the gym was deserted and no-one could see me sweat. Lo-and-behold I discovered not only that I can run (previous attempts had resulted in something verging on heart failure) but that I enjoy it. For a blissful 20 minutes the only thought to cross my mind was where the next lungful of oxygen was coming from - a welcome respite from the usual 'does he, doesn't he?', assignment deadline panic, and job application fear. My personal best is still only 2.5kms in 16.5 mins - I know, herds of turtles have been known to stampede through peanut butter in better time - but I'll improve with practice and the correct motivation, ie. anger, frustration, and chocolate. For those of you who don't know, I was always the kid bringing up the rear in gym class (no, not the chubby asthmatic kid, the one behind him), so this will be no easy journey, but should keep us all entertained nevertheless. Now all I need is the courage to ask one of the on-site army PTIs to help devise a training plan...

Be afraid.

2007-03-14T23:30:00.000Z

Doing a masters in Global Security and I can't even figure out how to add a photo to my profile - you guys had better hope and pray I'm not made responsible for anything important in the future. Utterly useless.