Who died and made you king of the zombies?

My plan for today was very simple:

2004-12-07T16:19:53Z

10: wake up.
11-1: seminars.
1-3: research for latest essay.
3-6: lose interest and do something else.
6-whenever: Terry Pratchett.

Well that was the plan anyway. But my impressively boring seminars on Swift's argument for eating Irish babies and the concerns faced by medieval shepherds left me so depressed at the thought of doing more work that Jeremy took me for a drink at the union cafe instead. As I'm sipping my hot chocolate my phone rings and a young male voice says:
"Turn around and guess who..."

Was mildly disappointed to discover that the voice belonged not to boyfriend or even a tall dark stranger but to brother-number-one and his entire RS class who collectively decided that a conference on medical ethics, though in itself a fascinating experience, pales in comparison to gatecrashing their classmate's sister's union. This is the fourth time one brother or other has done this to me and am beginning to think it was a mistake telling them where I live.

But I jest; it was great to see him, and also those of his classmates that I know. We quickly deserted the nice quiet cafe and took up residence in one of the union bars. Felt only mildly guilty that my younger brother insisted on buying my drinks; turns out Josh can be a gentleman when he wants and I can be a scabby student when I want, and this makes for a very happy combination.

In the interests of making the boys do at least something related to RS I then took all 25 of them to see Jeremy Bentham before leaving them at Euston station and heading back home where I should even now be reading up on medieval satire and the Canterbury Tales. I'm not. Instead I'm going to waste time by updating my journal, eating something, washing hair, maybe eating something else, possibly even going to Tesco's, by which point it will be 6 o'clock and I can go and see Terry Pratchett do whatever it is he does when he's not writing.

And that's all for now.

Oh, except to add that I was out last night with the LGB when who should turn up but Scott, the pretentious American from my ICS seminars. He was more than a little surprised to see me and I feel this could lead to some amusing moments in the future since I failed to tell him that I'm only an honourary member.

And that really is all.

Randomness in London

2004-11-30T16:40:35Z

I really love living in London. I love the fact that when I woke up yesterday morning my day consisted of no prospect more exciting than finishing off my essay on Swift’s shifting satire (try saying that repeatedly after having a drink) and yet less than ten hours hence I found myself, via a recruiting fair for third year law students, sitting in a BBC studio watching Angus Deyton interrogate Stephen Fry and Hugh Grant, whilst waving a banner reading ‘Go, You Angels of the North’. It was an interesting day.

Along similarly random lines, I was hanging around in a corridor of the Cruciform building this week when a blonde girl walked up to me and asked my name. Upon telling her she screamed “I’m Georgia” and threw herself at me in a highly enthusiastic embrace.
“…?” was the only suitable reply I could think of.
“We were at primary school in Wilmslow together.”
I eventually managed to wrestle some sort of recollection from the depths of my memory, and it as really cool to meet her again after eleven years. It was slightly less cool that I haven’t seen her since I was seven and yet she still recognised me, and felt the need to inform me that I “haven’t changed a bit”. Yay.

In other news; exactly a week from today I will be on my way somewhere to see something. I don’t know what it is I’m going to, nor where it is, but I do know that it involves Terry Pratchett. That is all I need to know.

Although its whereabouts may be useful.

My first entry for ... quite a while.

2004-11-16T21:51:36Z

London is way cool. Am living in a humungous room behind a retired graveyard with three flatmates. Am 15 mins walk from Tottenham Court Road (=Forbidden Planet) and Covent Garden, twenty minutes from Oxford Street. These things considered I have actually done rather well not spending my entire student loan in the first two weeks.

My flatmates are cool, if a bit weird. Don't let Sam tell you 'jokes' when you're eating and under no circumstances agree to have a part in Jake's money-making schemes and you're generally ok. Jarv is my other flatmate, she's pretty sane.

My course rocks. I have a strenuous seven hours of lectures a week, Wednesdays off and a three day weekend. Admittedly I'm reading about four books a week at the moment and have two 3000 word essay due every fortnight, but the lecturers are so laid back about stuff.

The introduction by our department head went like this:

"This year doesn't count towards your final degree. All you have to do this year is pass your summer exams. Attend the majority of your seven-hour-a-week lectures and there is no way you can possibly fail those exams without trying. At UCL offer you a liberal arts degree. That basically means we encourage you to muck about this year as much as possible. Do a bit of work, but don't get too hung up about it. Have fun."

It's sweet.

Elsewise I'm still on the lookout for a job. I've signed up for psychological research tests. They pay at least £10 per hour' plus and you get a mug with a pic of your brain on it. So far I've had a couple of offers but they want people over 21.

There are some downsides to London. The fact that every week thus far I have seen a road accident is more than a little depressing. As is the fact that I live twenty minutes from the uni and, more importantly, the union. And Tescos is ten minutes walk, which doesn't sound much but is when you're trying to lug your shopping home in the rain. Although I am getting pretty fit.

And I think that's it for now.

My day:

2004-06-18T15:20:28Z

I feel like a middle-aged house-wife.

First thing on my list was taking the cat to the vet for another blood-letting session. This time I got to leave her there while I returned to make all the beds in the house (mum thought it would be a good idea to get everyone's duvets washed at the same time) and folding winter blankets away into the attic.

Then I had to pick up the cat again and very nearly forgot to also pick up my neighbour's kid from nursery. I got there at five minutes past three.

Me: I'm here for Rhys.
Evil Nursery Teacher: Most parents pick their children up at three.
Me: Do I look like his parent? Just give me the child.
ENT: Rhys-ie sweetie. Someone's here to take you homie. Isn't he an angel?
Me: No. He hates me.
Rhys (face lighting up): Vicky! Yippee! I uv oo.
Me: No you don't. You're evil. You hate me.
Rhys: (turning upon me his most innocent angel face,whispers) I tort oo forgot about me I did.
ENTs: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Me: Get in the car, satan.

Of course, as soon as we were out of the sight of the ENTs Rhys fell back into his usual blackmailing self. You'd have thought they'd give nursery teachers lessons in cynicism.

Anyway, Jake got home to find me doing the ironing and actually sat down and told me about his day, plus is there any chance I could write him a note getting out of PE. He tells me "things have changed since you were at school, Vicky". I only left three weeks ago.

Then I cooked dinner for the boys could heat up while I'm at work. I feel like an eighteen year-old mother of three, aged 16, 14 and 3.

And I now need to go to work.

"It's just a bunch of feelings that we have to hold"

2004-06-15T09:29:07Z

I wish getting up in the morning was simpler. It would be so nice to hop out of bed the second after the alarm goes off and find that a little pixie has come in the night and brushed, scrubbed and dressed me all ready for the next day. Think how much more time I'd have for important stuff. Like updating my LJ.

Last night was so cool. Mr B from next door got his super-powerful telescope out and set it up in the middle of the road so that everyone could come and look at the stars. Looking at the stars anyway is always cool, but with Mr B's super-powerful telescope you can see the moons of Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. It was awesome.

Not so cool is Mr B's wife, Sandra. She's just the sort of nosey neighbour who is hilariously funny to watch inflicting herself on someone else, especially on TV, but absolutely excrutiating when you find the person she lives next door to is you. Also at the gathering was the rest of my family, Graham's family, my other-next-door-neighbours, the French woman from the corner and the usual herd of kids that hang round without apparently belonging to anyone. But with all these other innocent victims to choose from, it was still I who found myself the object of Sandra's good-natured malignancy.

Yesterday I also finished my philosophy and ethics revision at last. I think I've managed to teach myself more in the past two weeks than I learnt in the entire year from our various 'teachers'. I went through it all with Fi last night, and we both agree that the only thing we still don't get is life after death, but I think I might ignore that. I also finished reading The Seven Daughters of Eve by Bryan Sykes. I skipped the fictinal chapters at the end about the daughter's lives, it seemed a bit pointless and cheesey to me. But the scientific parts were very interesting. Everyone should read it.

I want to make a band. I don't know why, or how, or with whom, but I have a real urge to make a band. It would be so cool.

I should have been a surgeon. They have all the fun.

2004-06-14T12:06:37Z

Last week Chiara (one of my cats) had to have an operation after she burst a blood vessel in her ear and said blood vessel pumped her ear with blood until it was the size and approximate shape of a large tomato.

A large baby tomato that is. An ear the size of a large cooking tomato would be most worrying on any animal smaller than an elephant.

An African elephant that is. Indian ones have smaller ears.

Anyway, cat had to have what seemed to me to be a very primitive operation in which her ear is cut open, drained of blood, and then filled with stitches to hold it together and stop it from filling up again. The hole through which the blood was drained is left open so any more blood will be able to leak out at its own leisure. My vet takes great pride in her ability to describe any action in great and graphic detail.

The operation seems to have been about as successful as any operation which leaves an enormous bleeding gash in my cat's ear can be said to be. I had to take her for a check up today. Apparently Chiara's ear was healing too fast and I had to hold her still while the sadistic vet re-opened her wound. Blood gushed forth once more and covered most of her fur. Vet tells me to keep holding her while she mops up the blood before "silly pussy cat shakes her head and it goes everywhere".

She's a vet, she should know better than to tempt fate and feline in such a blatant way. Of course, the first thing Chiara did was shake her head. It was like a scene from a horror film. Everything in the room got splattered; walls, floor, ceiling, everything. Everything also includes myself and the vet. Since I was holding Chiara, it was I who got the most liberal dousing.

It's lucky I'm not squeamish, and it was very funny to see the expressions of the people in the waiting room when I came out. It was unmissable.

Jenny told me to write an entry, so here it is.

2004-06-02T08:48:00Z

My life at the moment is taken up with only two things: work and revision. Jeff, having gotten wind of the fact that I'm no longer at school and not overly familiar with the concept exams, has devoted all his energy to persuading, coercing and blackmailing me into overtime. So far it hasn't been too bad, I've done a bank holiday and I've got a couple of Sundays coming up. Double pay all the way! But he also managed to worm an early morning Friday in there, too. I have to be at work at SEVEN. That's seven IN THE MORNING. I'll never manage it.

Anyway, last night I found myself working the infamously strenuous Tuesday evening shift. This involves coming in to work for all of two hours, pretending there's a reason for you to be there, then legging it at 7 on the dot, £10 richer. It's great.

In the interests of not being forced to write about revision, I will now tell you the happenings of Tuesday evening, in great detail.

I arrived to be informed by Chris that I was looking 'very pink'. My cheeks, finding themselves under the sudden scrutiny of Chris, Amy and Doug, decided there was nothing for it than to go even redder. Which induced a fit of laughter from Doug. So they went redder still. And Doug laughed more. And so on, until I was resembling a large tomato and Doug had collapsed in a heap on the floor, gently expiring from asphyxiation. At this point Chris advised me to hit Doug. Which I thought was rather unfair on him, so I flicked water from the tap at him instead. And thus ensued a small-scale water fight.

Doug and Chris then realised they should have finished about 15 minutes ago, so they ran off to their respective homes. The rest of the shift was about as interesting as can be expected of a Tuesday evening in Waitrose Beaconsfield.

Then came my journey home. Which was interesting. Or at least, interesting in comparison. Whilst driving through Beaconsfield New Town, my car decided to die, spontaneously and without warning.

Well, almost without warning.

Driving back from David's on Monday night a similar thing happened. Suddenly the windscreen wipers, lights, everything but the engine, went out. It's very scary to be hurtling down a national speed limit road in the dark and suddenly find that you have no way of either seeing where you're going or letting others know you're there. Luckily normal functions resumed before I had time to panic and/or hurl my car into a bush and the rest of the journey was fine. Driving to work on Tuesday the radio was playing up a bit, but this being my car, ie older than my eldest brother, I'd be more worried if something wasn't playing up. And that, I thought, was that.

Not so, I realise, gliding along the road in what has now become nothing more than a metal box on wheels. I figured I had enough momentum to make it to the train station road, which is downhill and would carry me to parking bays where I could, if needs be, leave the car. The only thing that could possibly ruin this perfect plan would be if the car in front stopped.

This is me, so of course the car in front stopped. Which forced me to. Realising my brake lights wouldn't come on I braked as slowly as possible, but the woman behind me still came within a hair's breadth of flattening my bumper. The car in front then sped off into the distance leaving me stuck on what is probably the narrowest stretch of road on my entire homeward journey, with not much of a clue what to do.

When nothing better came to mind I tried switching off all the electrics in my car, to no avail. I then tried switching only half of them off. Then I tried the other half. After much frantic switching of buttons and twisting of dials I eventually managed to coax life back into the engine. It turns out my car will only have certain things on at the same time. Radio/lights is fine, radio/windscreen wipers is fine. Windscreen wipers/lights makes car die. It's very strange.

So I continue on my journey. Keeping as close an eye on the car's interior as I could meant I wasn't really concentrating on what was going on around me as much as I should and it came as some surprise when I found myself in the middle of a large convoy of army trucks. There were about five big-big-trucks, four big-trucks and a number of smaller truck-like things. And there was also my car, right in the middle. It was a very surreal moment.

Actually, it was a very drawn out surreal moment lasting a good fourty minutes which is how long it takes to drive to GX from Beaconsfield at an average speed of 25mph. Apparently the big-big-trucks can't manage anything above 30mph.

And then I got home, went to bed, was kept awake by Mary until some ungodly hour in the morning, woken up at another ungodly hour to explain to Mr B next door what happened with my car and show him that 'girlies' are quite capable of opening a car bonnet, and now find myself writing this entry.

And now I'm going to do some revision.

Riding in cars with Sellotape Men

2004-05-12T21:10:37Z

Waitrose rules my life. It really does. Furthering on from last week's moan, I've worked another Sunday and Wednesday evening. And they want me to work this Sunday and Monday 31st as well. I'm not doing this Sunday. I'm too tired and the last time I had a day which wasn't squandered either at school or the Supermarket of Doom was Mary's birthday. That was nearly a month ago.

Anyway, rant over. Last night I went to see Van Hellsing. It was ... well, I thought it was crap. Others may choose to disagree if or when they see it. But that's my verdict.

Elsewise, it's the penultimate week of school ever. It's a sobering thought. I don't want to leave. I don't want to grow up. I want to be a child forever. Young and innocent and free. I do not feel ready to go out into the world and fend for myself. Reading stuff David wrote when he was fifteen has made me realise just how naive and innocent I was at the same age, and probably still am in many ways. I mean, I've had a job since I was fourteen. I've had to fill out mum's tax returns and sort out her finances. I've done a lot that many people my age wouldn't be able to do. *cough*spoilt brat-children that infest my school*cough* But there's something else, some 'innocent normality' that a few of us have retained which everyone else has lost or forgotten about or killed. Going to university feels to be the final nail in the coffin of my childhood.

On the other hand, going to university also feels to be a very cool prospect and I cannot wait.

What else have I been up to? You guessed it: working. Ah Waitrose, the bane of my life but also the only thing preventing me from selling all non-vital organs and lesser body parts to fund my way through the next three years. What a love-hate relationship I have with thee. And certain of thine managers whom I am determined to drive to the brink of nervous breakdown unless they change my hours. I WILL NOT fail.

Anyways, today I worked 5-8. Which was great, and has only deepened my determination to get my crappy Friday evening hours converted to super-cool Wednesday evening hours. It was so quiet that, although alone for the entire evening, I didn't actually have enough to do. Out of desperation I even cleaned the cheeses. However I was forced to realise the folly of my actions when I discovered that, bereft of anything to grip on the newly-cleaned boards, the cheeses started sliding around the display counter at dangerously high speeds. That is why we do not clean those slabs of festering mould-milk.

Then I decided, for reasons unknown, that Sellotape Man from work would benefit from a ride in my car. We recently discovered four things about Sellotape Man:

1) He is called Nick
2) He is Jewish
3) He fears white Nissan Micras
4) He lives a few roads away from me

Numbers 1-3 didn't help much, except that I knew he wouldn't run screaming from my car as he did with David's, because my car is neither white nor a Nissan Micra. Number 4, combined with the distinct impression that Sellotape Man is the sort of person to get the train to work, led me to march up to his kiosk and inform him that I would be driving him home. This led to a few more discoveries:

1) He does get the train to and from work
2) He wants to live in Italy
3) He can talk for several hours about Italy without apparently drawing breath
4) He really loves Italy
5) Really, really loves it

So this led us to GX train station where we managed to force his bicycle into the back of my car. That's right. Not only is he the sort of person who gets the train to work, he cycles to the station. He was sceptical that it would fit, but I proved him wrong. Getting the bike out was a little harder, but we suceeded.

And thus concludes my thoughts for this evening.

Good luck for driving test tomorrow, Ria! Remember Mary's wonderful and highly useful advice: "this is not Italy, in England we drive on the right" and you can't go wrong. xxx

Who died and made you king of the zombies?

2004-04-28T21:20:37Z

Coffee is for morning, not night time. This is a thing I need to learn. Unfortunately I have yet to learn it and so, although it isn't particularly late as of yet, I'm pretty sure I'll still be sitting here in another three hours.

So we will fill in my hours of sleeplessness with rambles about my day.

Despite leaving for school at twenty past ten, I was still early for my 10.30 lesson. And I even obeyed the speed limit. The whole way. This I consider to be quite an impressive feat.

So, we're at school and it's 10.30. Crazy-Amy arrives and starts asking about the latest plans for my wedding.

Crazy-Amy probably needs some explaining. She is the epitome of brainless stupidity and as such represents a typical member of my English class. It takes her a gargantuan length of time to grasp even the simplest of concepts. It once fell to me to explain to Amy the theories behind Marxist lit crit. It was not an experience I care to repeat. Anyway, once a thought has found lodgings in her small brain, it takes even more effort to shift it. And somehow, somewhere, Amy got the idea that I am engaged. When, where and to whom this engagement occurred is as mysterious to me as the theories of dear old Karl are to her, but apparently I am to be married. This provides me and Anisha with an endless source of amusement/exasperation during the more tedious English lessons. Such as today's.

So Amy arrives, shortly followed by Katy. They take seats opposite me. Katy stares at me for a good five minutes before announcing "Your hair looks different today". I decline to mention the large blue headband adorning my head, and instead answer "I washed it". It was another five minutes before either Katy or Amy could resume breathing. As a pair they are far too easy to amuse.

English then proceeded without event. Which brings us to 11.50 and break time. During which I talked with Stacey about Kill Bill Vol 2. We agreed that the only lasting impression of the film is an urge to use the word 'gargantuan' more often. And that was that.

12.10 means Philosophy. In which Taryn managed to surpass all previous learning interruption records by convincing Mr Hunt that we didn't actually need to have a lesson at all. And he agreed. I swear it must be some sort of Jedi mind trick.

So we went to Starbucks instead. We return to relinquish Mary into the possession of her sex-obsessed pet boy and then go to Wycombe for a repeat viewing of Shaun of the Dead. Which is one of the best films I've seen in ages and everyone must watch. Ria agrees with me that the best part of the film is the zombie fight scene choreographed to Queen's 'Don't stop me now'.

Paula then asked to drive my car round the car park. Picture the setting: it's four o'clock. There's about an acre of wide, straight tarmac containing all of five cars, excepting my own. True, Paula has only driven once before, but how much damage can she really do?

Plenty. First we attempt a three point turn. Paula doesn't seem to understand the concept of looking where you're driving, and instead just reverses blindly in whatever direction the car happens to be facing.

Vicky: Paula, look through the rear window when you reverse.
Paula: Why? I'm not going to hit anything.
Ria: You're about to hit the cinema.

Paula also comes equipped with some sort of mental deficiency which forces her to drive STRAIGHT AT parked cars at THIRTY FIVE miles an hour in FIRST GEAR. Nor does she understand the word BRAKE.

So, having regained possession of my car, minus a fair bit of rubber which even now is spread along the Wycombe Cinema car park in the form of numerous elongated skid marks, we set off for home. Slight panic when I realise my indicators aren't working leads to John Lewis' car park where Ria and myself try to fix said indicators by switching them on and off repeatedly while Paula begs to be allowed to drive some more.

Indicators fixed, Paula gagged and we're back on the road. Ria once again demonstrates her remarkable talent at getting us from one place to the next using the longest route possible without going down the same road twice. Consequently I arrive home at 5.50, to find the boys pissed off with me. Apparently it is my sworn duty to be on hand to cook them food. Always and without fail. Since I don't plan on eating the food myself, I find this arrangement offends me and instead give Josh detailed instructions on what to do. They were very simple:

1) Roll out pastry into shape of pie-dish.
2) Place pastry on pie-dish.
3) Place pastry with pie-dish in oven.

I even turned on the oven for him. He still managed to get it wrong, and this has now been added to mum's ever growing list of my misdemeanors.

I then did a past exam question for English, which took me an hour.

I have no wish to relate the rest of my evening. Except that I sent off my student accommodation application.

And so concludes my gargantuan entry.

I can't be bothered to think of a title and I really should be going to school now.

2004-04-28T09:02:51Z

There was a thunder storm last night. It was very cool. I got to Signing Lessons half an hour early, and sat in my car while the first drops started to fall. As I went into the hut where the lessons are held it began seriously pouring it down, and there was thunder and lightning. Lots of. And then, in an example of such perfect timing as never usually occurs in the life of me, the storm concluded with the end of the lesson meaning I could drive home with perfectly clear skies and have great fun speeding through big puddles. I got one to splash about twice as high as the car!

This morning I decided I have developed a pschicsophrenic taste in clothes. At the moment I am swinging between two basic outfits:

Cute Pastels. Or, see-how-young-I-look-in-pink-you'd-think-I-was-about-twelve-see-how-people-stare-when-I-drive-past-them.

Pros: The amusement factor of being able to drive to the cinema then be sold a child's ticket. Plus the sweetness of cheap tickets.

Cons: Sooner or later I know some policeman will decide I'm joy riding and pull me over. Altough then I'll have the satisfaction of showing him my licence and proving that I am, in fact, eighteen. So not really a bad thing.

Then there's All Black, aka Lucy-Lui-is-very-cool-in-Kill-Bill-let's-emulate-her-by-wearing-all-black-on-one-of-the-hottest-weeks-of-the-year-thus-far.
And so the world's first pacsifist assasin is born.

Pros: I don't look about twelve. I still don't look eighteen, but I could probably pass for fifteen. Plus wearing all black feels highly cool.

Cons: I have to wear white trainers until I can go shopping, which detracts from the look slightly.

At the moment I'm in a cute pastels faze, with a headband as an added measure, just to make sure I really don't look anything older than thirteen.

In other news, I'm off to see Shaun of the Dead again today. That film is highly cool. I should really be leaving for school around now. Wish me luck navigating the complicated black hole that is Wycombe with Ria as a guide.

Killer Ape Attack

2004-04-08T18:56:29Z

Have taken to playing a new game. It's a version of spamming people with texts, but cheaper. All you do is select a random mobile phone, preferably one whose owner you know will be otherwise occupied, and you call it thousands of times. Minutes or maybe hours later you are guaranteed to get a panicked call/text demanding to know what's wrong, what's happened and whether you still posess all body parts. To which you answer '... nothing much. I was bored.' Doesn't sound much fun but oh it is. I love the holidays. There are suddenly so many more hours to a day.

Take today. Having completed all my tasks, including a trip to the dentist, by 2.30, I found myself at a loss. What shall I do? When nothing better sprung to mind I decided to go and lie in bed to mull stuff over for half an hour. Next thing I knew I was rudely awakened by the sound of male laughter. Five hours later. How can it be that, on top of my normal sleep pattern, I waste another five hours on sleep and still find myself at a loss of what to do? It's great.

Anyway, I staggered downstairs to find Josh and Ape Man ritually cremating chicken-flesh in the kitchen. Ah, Ape Man. The missing link between modern humans and whatever primordial gloup spawned them. He's not particularly tall, no taller than Josh, and he's not fat, he's just built to a substantially larger scale than your average homo sapien. Add into the mix a generous sprinkling of facial hair and apparent inability to wash or master any word more complex than 'nrgh' and you have Ape Man. His original name, supposing he has one, I've never discovered. Josh refers to him as Dude.

It transpires that the sarificial offering smoldering on the stove was actually intended to be edible food. Rather taken aback by the thought of Josh cooking, I decided it best not to mention that chicken is not meant to be black, nor are vegetables, and 'simmering' liquid doesn't usually bear such resemblance to an erupting volcano. The outcome isn't all that bad, provided one doesn't actually look at it. Unfortunately the handful of pasta Josh deemed sufficient for all four of us was viewed by Jake as a small starter. Consequently supper is more like a thick soup through which floats the occasional piece of carbohydrate than its intended existence as pasta with chicken sauce.

Still not sure what came over me last night. It was ... interesting.

EDIT:

Have just encountered Ape Man and Josh on their way out to Winkers. Forget Ape Man being the same height as Josh, he's possibly shorter than I am. It's his Ape-ness that makes him seem so tall.

March

2004-04-04T20:37:41Z

I'm feeling really good. March, the month in which all manner of unpleasant experiences decided to accumulate, is over and really wasn't as painful as I had expected.

Let us recap this month of torturous events.

UCAS
I recieved all my university offers and now have some idea where I'll be heading off to in September. I didn't get rejected from university choice number one, which I guess is a mildly good thing.

Re-sit results
High enough for me to feel partially able to achieve grades for university choice number one, hence a good thing.

Driving Test
Passed. Very happy about that since it liberates me from any further association with a certain Mr Woods, stupid annoying driving instructor of doom, and his crappy car.

New Girl Sarah
Needs an entry of her very own to convey how much I loathe and detest her. I worry that I seem to take a natural disliking to new employees. I did spend several months referring to Amy as Incompetent One. But saying that, I get on fine with Hayely and genuinely liked Tim from the start, so I don't think it's that. It's just that Sarah is the most annoying, stupid, lazy, idiotic person to have actually succeeded in getting a job. At least when Amy's incompetent she does it in a cute, endearing manner. Sarah will not even be graced with a nickname more imaginative than New Girl.

Coursework
Having spent the last few days of term barakaded in the school computer room, I actually managed to get my coursework pieces in on time. I don't know that this has ever happened before. It's a great feeling anyway.

h00r Party
Funnily enough, the thing I was dreading most. Never mind money-eating driving tests or future-deciding exam results, it was this party that was making me wish that March was over, and at the same time hope we'd never reach the end. The only reason I didn't refuse to go was because it was one of only two parties David's inflicted on me, and I guess I owe it to him to try, given the amount of time I force him to spend being social with my associates. *Kate's party*

Having said that, I'm really not good at talking to a room of h00rish sluts I don't know, don't particularly like, and would never voluntarily be seen with were they not my boyfriend's close friends. I am once again forever in Mary and Ria's conjoined debt for accompanying me. And, like most things you spend weeks dreading, it wasn't really half as bad as I was expecting. Once I'd drunk enough to stop caring who I was talking to I actually found myself enjoying the evening. Although I fail to see how a school of such sluttish magnatude could turn out someone as normal as David.

Speaking of which, mum decided to treat David and myself to a 'little chat' today concerning the finer details of sex. Which is cool I guess. Only most mothers don't seem to want their kids sleeping with people, let alone actively encourage it. She must be the one parent on this earth who, when a guy tells her he doesn't want to jump straight into bed and deflower her first born child and only daughter, acts like he's done something wrong. It's crazy.

Also went to see Pashion of the Christ. ... is that how you spell pashion? pashon. passion. Don't know. Anyway, it was ... interesting. Not really my cup of tea I think.

There were good things about March aswell. Paula's party was good. Three month anniversary with David was good. End of penultimate term of school ever was ... scary as hell, but good I guess.

One of the few things I was looking forward to in March was changing my hours at work, which hasn't happened. But Phil has given me permission to keep pestering him so I think I'll treat it as an on-going project.

Feeling Icky

2004-03-22T19:57:37Z

Have just completed drugging myself up on Lemsip, throat sweets, cough medicine and something I found in the back of the cupboard claiming to be good for colds. Not sure if it's wise to have taken all the above mentioned articles at the same time, but I don't really care. Anyway, half were past their use-by date, so I figure it can't do much harm. I hate being ill. Especially when outside is so pretty and spring-like at last. Having said that I am forced to concede that it did hail-stone today. But at least there was no snow.

Spent some time this evening helping David buy edible supplies for his rugby team tomorrow, which is apparently his duty as team captain. It's funny how different we are. He really actually enjoys sports, whereas I have managed to avoid taking part in any form of organised physical exertion for the best part of a year.

Saw Rachel at her Kiosk.

Then came home and worried about Ria some. I hope she's Ok. If not Ria, the guinea-pig hutch offer still stands. I cleared the eye out a while ago.

I'm a very happy bunny

2004-03-18T18:39:02Z

I'm in such a good mood I'm actually listening to Tatu, whose breathless bounciness usually repulses me greatly.

Yep, March is turning out to be a good month. Not only did I get an offer from UCL in March, but I will be finishing my Friday night shifts at work,which will make me a very happy indeed.

Plus I passed my driving test today. This pleases me for many reasons. Partly because of the convenience afforded by my ability to drive anywhere, anytime. Largely also because of how happy it's made people around me, which is always a nice thing. And partly because it means I'll never need to see a certain driving instructor ever again. Yep, this is certainly a good thing.

Also just got off the phone to Penny, which is guaranteed to leave me in high spirits. Penny is similar to Em Reeve in that she's always in the kind of mood normally brought about by repeated consumption of illegal substances.

Anyway, I've been asked to babysit at the last minute by a couple who forgot their kid's parents evening. Again. They always do this. So I'll be off now.

Shiny newness in Vicky's life

2004-03-11T19:25:44Z

Today has been an extremely fantastic day, all things considered. Both my re sit results (English 119/120, Ethics 98/100) were higher than I'd dared hope, or even deemed possible. My AS level results are now:

Media Studies 293/300
English 274/300
RS 267/300
Biology 209/300

Which works out as AAAC. Which leaves me feeling quite intelligent. Which in turn makes me feel better about my decision to accept UCL. I am enjoying a rare moment of self worth. It is a good feeling.

In other news, I finally have my own phone again. It's very cool but also a little daunting; shiny new technology isn't really my kind of thing. I'm sure I'll get used to it though. Plus has camera. The possibilities of annoying people with said implement are endless. Mwahahahahahaha.

Ahem. Anyway, I'm off to get my Waitrose kit together and wash my hair. What an interesting life I do lead.

"But WHY is there no Gwuyewe?!"

2004-03-07T16:05:50Z

UCL have managed to complicate my life horribly by giving me an offer. What do I do now? Where do I go? I can't decide between Lancaster and UCL, even despite the vast amount of thinking I've put into it over the week. Much of that thinking occurred at Waitrose, where I have spent large quantities of my precious time in recent days. There are weeks when I spend so much time at Waitrose I actually begin to feel like I live there. This week has been one such instance, having been incarcerated in my place of work on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Of all, Sunday is the one I mind least because it's double pay and there's never any work to be done.

Saturday was least enjoyable and at one point got so bad I was seriously considering handing in my notice. I was not having a good people day, and there were oh so many aggravating people to deal with. The first and foremost being Katie. Coming a close second were the managers, all on edge for various reasons (although Jeff made up for it by being very sweet as soon as Terminator Miller went away). And thirdly the customer who stalked me through the shop for fourty minutes demanding to know why Waitrose's Beaconsfield branch had failed to stock enough Gruyere. In the end I had to hide in the chillers until my lunch break. The only reason she isn't higher on my list of nuisances is the amusement I gained from her total inability to pronounce the letter 'r'.

It amuses me also that Ria is still there.

Since Friday morning I've had the pleasure of a staggering eight hours' sleep. Take into consideration also the time spent at work, which zaps your energy faster than any form of physical exercise could possibly manage, and you can see why I am tired to the extreme. This is also due to last night. Technically I was meant to be supervising the house while Jake had a 'few' friends over. In reality I was drifting in and out of sleep from about eleven onwards, and can remember only fragments of the evening. David gets on remarkably well with my little brother and his minions, which is useful because it meant I could sleep on the sofa while he entertained them and prevented them from setting fire to anything too major.

They all went to the cinema at about ten. On his way to the door, Simon (who is actually my age, scarily enough) gave me and David three bottles of vodka "in case we got thirsty". They were his spare ones. This explains the happenings of the latter part of the evening.

At one point I woke up to find Jake and two other boys telling dirty jokes to David, most of which he pretended not to understand as soon as he realised I was conscious. Sitting in a corner was Brandon (the crazy but sweet American who calls me "ma'am") singing 'Kumbaya' with his guitar, and in the background frolicked Simon, naked from the waist up and covered in coal dust, shrieking "I'm a coal miner" in a dubious Welsh accent.

Later I had a very strange dream in which I heard Jake showing David the 'fire-bombs' he and his friends had made and were going into the garden to play with. I remember David telling Jake to be careful and trying to be quite firm with him. 'That's sweet' thought I. Not so several minutes later when I realised I hadn't dreamt the conversation at all and had to go and remove several glass bottles containing ethanol from the (by then very drunk) boys. And this is my baby brother.

Anyway, the evening somehow concluded without incident and I finally managed to persuade David to go home at around four. I staggered into bed only to be woken a meagre three hours later by mum who had just got back from Chris' to find everyone asleep and was "feeling lonely". How I do love my family.

And Ria is still working.

Happy Leap Day!

2004-02-29T14:59:08Z

It is my ambition to be married on a Leap Day. It's the sort of thing that would amuse me.

Work

2004-02-25T22:11:57Z

I got home from school at 4.30 today and worked. I ate supper while making notes on Pride & Prejudice. I worked some more. I didn't stop working until exactly thirty seconds ago. I haven't worked this hard, for this long, in months. Years maybe.

The first thing I worked on was my media coursework, which is now nearly complete. All I have left to write is a conclusion which may prove tricky since I don't actually want to read the main body of the essay for fear that it's as stupid as I think. But never mind, at least I have something resembling a nearly-final draft to hand in tomorrow. Not having a word count feature on my beloved computer I can only guess how long it is, but I estimate around 2700 words. Leaving 250 words for the conclusion and an extra 50 for neatening bits up, I should hit the word limit exactly. Add on to that my recently completed English coursework and I've written just over half the length of a dissertation. Oh how I am looking forward to uni.

Then I did the timed essay which made up the third and final part of my media mock. I remember very little of this except that 45 minutes was not enough time and I answered the question about genre.

Wait, they were both about genre. It was the Genre Paper. Hmm...

I *think* mine had something to do with mise-en-scene.

Maybe

Anyway. Next I prepared the presentation I'm meant to be giving to UltraStupidEnglishClassFromHell tomorrow morning entitled Money Matters: The Economics of Marriage in Jane Austen's Novels. (Nice title? I made it up myself.) Were it not for a certain text that Anisha was kind enough to send me this evening I would actually have clean forgotten about it and would have felt a bit of a fool trying to improvise my way through Regency finances first thing in the morning. Feeling strong Anisha love right now.

Then I went back and did some more on my coursework. Also came up with a title for it. Something along the lines of Why is it necessary to make fundamental changes to a novel's plot and themes when adapting it for use in a film based medium? which is a lot better than my working title: Book adaptations need to be simplified for stupid people. Discuss.

If the school e-mail isn't working tomorrow I may well hurl myself from the Tower Block.

And now I'm going to bed.

"You lot are abnormal. In oh so many ways"

2004-02-23T19:58:20Z

What a joy it is to be greeted with such a phrase as that, uttered by an unreasonably cheerful teacher, on the first day back at school after half term.

This week I will be concentrating on my media coursework. I've got as far as opening up the document. I'm hoping that if I stare at it for long enough the remaining 1500 words will appear in a puff of sparkly pixie dust and tinkling fairy music.

Ah I love it when that happens...

In other news, I was given the privilege, nay the honour, of a visit from Vicky over half term. The one bad thing about mum going out with Chris again (she's been airing many of her past relationships recently) is the thought that that creature could become my dearly longed-for sister. I'd rather have a hundred more brothers than It as a relation.

And her boyfriend has the same name as mine too. That's just creepy. Talking about her is like discussing myself in the third person. Especially worrying when statements such as "Vicky dropped out of uni after three weeks" crop up.

Oh well, I return to my coursework and waiting for the anticipated fairies to arrive...

UCL status: still not replied. Bastards.

On Birthdays and Valentine's

2004-02-14T09:31:30Z

This time Vicky can remember her week pretty clearly and will review it using nice little subtitles as follows:

Monday & Tuesday
Vicky did sod all.

Wednesday
Lancaster open day! I managed to direct mum half way up the country, using only a map and my wonderful habit of following people. This being Lancaster we also followed a good number of sheep.

And now I'm really torn. The university was beautiful. Really beautiful. It couldn't be more different from UCL if it tried. There's loads of green-ness, everyone was really friendly and because it's a campus I could quite feasibly survive the entire three years without ever stepping foot into the real world. It'd be a hell of a lot cheaper living in Lancaster than London. The grades they want are lower. And I'll be living really close to all my family (minus the ones I live with now). On the downside: it's not as academic as UCL, the medieval department is much smaller, I'd be a good four hour drive from home. And I'd be miles away from my friends. Of course, all this reasoning is totally useless at the moment seeing as UCL have yet to tell me if they want me or not. If they do reject me (which I'm pretty sure will be the case) then there's no issue. But if they don't... I hate making decisions.

I also met some really nice prospective students on the Open Day. Most memorable was David, who stood about six-foot-something, was built like a rugby player, and whose opening words to me were "There's some little bunnies in that field." At least I *think* those were his opening words, I couldn't really follow his accent.

But he was right, there were bunnies in the field.

Anyway, after the Open Day I visited my cousin Penny, her ickle baby Larry and my great-uncle Alan, who live so close to the uni it's ridiculous (another point to Lancaster). It'd be fantastic to be able to see them every day.

Got back at some ridiculous time in the evening, and completely forgot that:

Thursday
was my birthday. Which it was. I am now 18, and legally able to buy alcohol, fireworks, 18-rated films and ... I'm sure there's more. I had a fab day thanks to Ria and Mary; most random present I have ever received would have top be the enormous spider which is now sitting in my car under a pile of blankets because mum won't let it in the house. Thanks Ria!

Also got phone call from my Dad, who is now living in England again. With his mother. There is something very worrying about the fact that I am the spawn of a 50-year-old who never left home.

Friday
Work was absolutely brilliant and featured the police, a loathed member of staff and many stolen goods. The thing I love about working on the Deli is that, being situated near both the door and Em, we get all the gossip first.

Then went to Kruti's party, which was only just bearable seeing as everyone I like who was meant to be there managed to leave exactly ten minutes before we arrived. Boy managed to get us a little lost. Serve him right for not listening to me when I told him to follow the yellow car.

Saturday
Guaranteed to be eventful, being both Valentine's Day and today. Am not looking forward to this. Boy is incredibly soppy while I am an emotionless fiend with a heart of stone who loathes the very idea of making a show of affection. He knows I love him, why do I have to give him a gift to prove it? It's a disgusting day that should be banned. Although it will be the first time we have done something even remotely resembling a date, so this could be interesting.

Oh well, should really go and get ready for work. Where I will have to spend all day watching people buying last-minute roses and fluffy bears from the stand next to the Deli. Urgh.

Most disturbing thing I have seen this week: Randy Miller buying Valentine's rose and teddy bear.

"Last train to Lancaster. Board now."

2004-02-05T21:37:01Z

Let's recap Vicky's week:

...

Let's not. Vicky's week is all a bit of a blur. There was snow, she remembers that pretty clearly. Vicky got her English coursework done, a very proud moment. And interviews featured quite prominantly. There was much frantic reading of intelligent sounding books in time for the UCL interview. There was the oft-rescheduled mock interview (surprisingly good). And then there was the actual interview.

Difficult to express quite how terrificly, fantastically, spectacularly badly this went.

After finding UCL (the map said it was right opposite Euston station. Oh no. Never trust maps) and then wandering round some more before finding the actual building she was meant to be in, Vicky was subjected to the worst twenty-five minutes of her life. Ever. Not only did her interviewer have the same sense of humour as a damp sponge, he tended to either stare at Vicky's throat in a menacing manner (Vicky does not like this - as a child she had a great phobia of vampires) or frown whenever she said anything and mutter something along the lines of "I suppose you could say that", which was highly off-putting. Vicky got very sick of this and began slipping into sarcasm mode. Luckily this was the point that her hair clip decided to leap across the room and attempt to strangle the interviewer. Compared to the agony of this, the written part of the interview was a doddle.

Regardless, Vicky does not think she will be getting an offer from UCL. This bothers her less than it should, since she has decided that she does not like London for the following reasons:

~ London is not very green or pretty. There are few trees, it smells and it covers everything it touches with a liberal layer of London-muck.

~ Not only is London smelly and noisy but it's big and full of scary people. Her habit of following someone reliable-looking when she gets lost, while perfectly reasonable in the vicinity of Bucks, would probably lead to a nasty end for Vicky involving rape and/or murder.

~ There is not one single normal sized person at UCL, it is peopled entirely by cardboard cut-outs. This indicates two things. Either the people of UCL find London such an expensive place that they cannot afford food, or you are subjected upon your arrival to a hideous operation involving the removal of all excess body fat and any trace of personality. After the experience of her interview, Vicky rather suspects the latter.

So Vicky thinks she will be heading North, walking the footsteps of good old Budrik, and choosing Lancaster as her first choice. Her second choice will be Exeter, which will put Vicky in the rather interesting position of having a firmly accepted offer with lower grades than her insurance offer but Vicky does not think she will be getting below BBB for her A-levels so the only way she will end up taking her insurance offer is if Lancaster burns down.

Did that last paragraph make much sense? Vicky thinks not.

Vicky wonders why she is referring to herself in the third person.

Vicky is going to go and wash her hair.

(Before she goes to rid her hair of London-muck Vicky would like to say thank you to Mary for coming with her to the interview and preventing her from following strangers or running into busy roads. She would also like to thank Ria for dragging us all (plus Boy) to McDonald's afterwards. You guys are great.)

Places I have been and people I have seen

2004-01-27T17:30:29Z

I finally got my English coursework written and handed in. I have a feeling it's the longest essay I have ever written and I'm actually quite proud of it, despite completing it some weeks later than everyone else. It's not that it took me longer than the rest of the class, I actually wrote it in under four hours. It just seems to take me longer than everyone else to find motivation, usually in the form of a teacher following me round school yelling at me for several hours a day.

What else have I done recently? My finger was mauled by one of the degus and is quite painful, especially having just done a mock exam. Ria made Moppy look at it and he declared, with all his medical knowledge, that it didn't look infected but he'd laugh if it is. I have to agree. The swelling's almost gone now and I'm sure the blackness is just bruising. However, if I do lose it then I'll be incapable of writing, and can become a tortured soul bereft of my one true love in life. Then I can either start writing with my left hand or use a computer. But for a few weeks at least it will be most tragic.

It turns out that myself and Lauren are the only two people in the entire year doing English at uni. This has made us rather favoured by the English Department who have decided (not offered, decided) that I shall be subjected to a Mock Interview. Today Lauren once again likened her experience with them to Room 101; "They strap you to a table and torture you whilst making you define stream of consciousness". And then she burst into tears. I am so not looking forward to this. I'm hoping that my knowledge of obscure and random Norse Sagas will enable me to confuse them, and they'll leave Joyce and the likes well alone. But just in case:

stream of consciousness - [noun] genre which uses extended soliloquy to present the continuous flow of ideas and feelings that constitute an individual's conscious experience.

I'll be fine.

And now, as a sign of the lengths I will go to in order to avoid doing anything constructive with my time, here is a map of Places I Have Been.

create your own visited country map
or write about it on the open travel guide

Apparently I've visited 6% of the countries in the world. Another random fact for me to amaze strangers with.

"I'm just a garbage picker; garbage picker; garbage pickerrrrrrr"

2004-01-22T22:10:21Z

I really hope I wasn't meant to be doing anything this evening. Because I haven't.

White Stripes were FANTASTIC! And our e-bay Ticket Provider, was so pretty. And lovely. Although hanging around outside HMV, Oxford Street asking random by-standers if they were Barry was probably not the best idea in the world:

Ria&Vicky: Are you Barry?
Strange-man: No.
Ria&Vicky: Are you sure?
Strange-man: Who the hell's Barry?
Ria&Vicky: Our thoughts exactly.
Strange-man: So you're meeting this man in the middle of London. You don't know what he looks like, how old he is, where he lives, or even his full name?
Ria&Vicky: ... well it seemed like a good plan.

Barry made a timely arrival just as the HMV security guard was beginning to edge our way with an air of great suspision, not helped by our quick exchange of money and white envelopes.

Selling our spare ticket was terrifying. The support band were the funniest thing I have EVER seen. The White Stripes were fantastic. Finding our way home most amusing. Convincing Mary that Barry got close to kidnapping us was hilarious. Like we'd ever be stupid enough to accept a lift in the middle of the night from a guy we'd met on the internet...

Anyway, tomorrow is Kate's greatly anticipated 18th. Oh, the anticipation. Although I guess it should be reasonably good because all our friends will be there. And it surely can't be that difficult to avoid a single person in a group of seventy, even if that person is the host and birthday girl. Can it?

I really should have written more of my English coursework. Oh well, tomorrow is anouther day.

I am a REJECT!

2004-01-20T22:08:09Z

My first rejection! Woohoo!

Durham have deemed themselves unworthy of my presence and have rejected me! I have no idea why this makes me happy except it means that I now stand a reasonable chance of beating Ria in the UCAS competition, seeing as I also got an offer from Lancaster. The Lancaster offer came with a cover letter from the admissions tutor saying that she was very impressed with my application and my "obvious love of literature". Now I just need to convince UCL of this.

Ah well, off to bed with me now. Upon the morrow I shall be attending the White Stripes concert. Minus David and possibly with the addition of Moppy.

That scares me.

Interview!

2004-01-19T20:42:08Z

Ok, well for once I'm actually feeling quite calm about school-related stuff. My re-sits are over, both of my coursework titles now have a substantial portion of essay to go with them and everything seems, for once, to be pretty much under control.

Plus I got a letter through the post (although to be honest, where else would a letter come from?) informing me that on Wednesday, February 4th I should present myself to UCL to be interviewed and examined and poked and prodded whilst a bunch of university professors decide whether I'm worthy of a place at their institution. There's only 75 places. The sheer terror of the prospect of an interview is being lessened only by the sheer terror at the prospect of the accompanying "45 minute practical criticism". I have to write stuff.

And in nice big bold writing at the bottom of the letter it says:

Competition to read English at UCL is fierce. We wish you luck.

Fear.

Anyway, I'm not going to worry about that for at least a couple of days. The rest of my week should go as follows:

Tuesday
Taking Ria to book theory test. Wondering if she realises she can book it online? But never mind, David's fulfilling his main purpose in life as our personal driver. Then I'm off to the second session of my sign-language course.

Wednesday
White Stripes Concert!

Thursday
...something. I'm sure I was meant to be doing something here, but it escapes me.

Friday
Kate's party. Oh the fun.

Saturday
Chris' freaky Burn's Night party which will involve the consumption of Haggis, dancing of Scottish country dances and other such strange practices. Which should be...interesting.

Well, that's how it's meant to be happening. What will actually come to pass remains to be seen.