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.
"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!
'Nuff said.
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.
