Dances with Worms

I saw the most amazing thing yesterday. It was a seagull.

No, that in itself is not amazing. I moved away from Bristol to escape the fucking seagulls. (Don't tell Pirate; I'm just using him for his low-seagull lifestyle.)

The amazing bit is what the seagull was doing. It was dancing.



Pirate explained that it was creating vibrations in the ground which the worms perceive as rain, which inspires them to come to the surface. (You wouldn't think this would be necessary in a country where it rains every fucking day anyway, but there you go.)

I love this. I love this on several levels.
1. It's cute. No doubt about it. Seagulls suck. Dancing seagulls are cute.
2. It's seagulls doing what seagulls were meant to do, ie, act like birds. In nature. Not tear apart my garbage bags and squawk and shit all over me.
3. It's industrious. They're earning their lunch. I'm down with that.

But mostly, I love it because I love the idea of a universe where you can do a little dance and you lunch magically appears at your feet. How brilliant is that!!! I want to live in that universe! I want to, whenever I'm hungry, do a little dance, and look down, and *poof!* LUNCH!

*sings* Do a little dance... Make a little worm... Get lunch tonight! Get lunch tonight!

Now every night when I fix dinner I make Pirate stand in front of the serving hatch and do a little dance. Then I give him his dinner.

Oh sweet Jesus. Whatever we do, we must not, under any circumstances, elect John McCain. He has supported every one of Bush's proposals, and will carry out any legislative or governmental changes enacted by Bush, including this new catastrophe. We cannot allow this to happen.


On a more cheerful note, I am leaving today to visit Pirate and the in-laws for a week, then Pirate and I are going up to the Fringe for a few days. I will still be available on Blogger and email, so I will be in touch with Edinburgh bloggers. Whee! (I don't have time for a vacation, but holy fuck do I need one.)

I officially declare

blackberry season to be... OPEN!


At Pirate's cricket match on Saturday I went down the lane while the guys were warming up and picked a kilo of early blackberries to put out with the tea. Yummers!

Amongst the brambles and nettles were several big buddleja bushes in full bloom

And on one of the bushes was the most beautiful butterfly I have ever seen in England. It was lovely, and so distinctive I knew I had would have no trouble identifying it after I got back and consulted Prof. Google.

And do you know what butterfly it was, sucking happily away at the buddleja bush? It was this one!:
This is a peacock butterfly. (I didn't take these photos, btw. I didn't have my camera, so I borrowed these from t'interwebs.) You can read about it here.

Oh, and the match went well. Pirate didn't take any wickets, but he batted 46 (not out) off 22 balls! Aw yeeeah. Das my man, hunnachile.

Best. News. Story. EVER.

Target Practic

That's the third time in a month I've come home on my bike to find bird shit all over me - head, back, backpack - whatever. At least this time it was only a pigeon (small, purple, semi-solid poos). Last two times were seagulls -- big blogs of white and yellow, stinky sloppy crap.

Fucking shitehawks.

I think they're getting back at me for shooting them off my window ledge with a super-soaker.

I promised you hot hot penguin luuuuurve...

...and here it is!

(UPDATED)



(Ok, I admit it's fairly short. By the time we got the camera out they were nearly

done. Still, it's cute, no?)


This is a dassie. It's a wee elephant with sticky feet. I took this photo -- we were that close! This is on top of Table Mountain. We took a cable car to get up there. In the fog. It were wicked cool.


(Sorry about the lack of vid. Youtube for some reason won't upload the damn thing. Shame. Anyway, you'll have to make due with the photo.)



Here is the fog:



And here's me!!!

It's time now for...

PENGUINS!!!

I promise that I will get the video of the penguin sex off Pirate as soon as possible and post it up here. It's ace. (The couple above aren't actually in the throes; they're just napping. Possibly after he was done he didn't bother to roll off before he fell asleep. She doesn't seem to mind, though. I don't either.)

Dark Lord of the Sith (Efrica)

Okay, here we go. Sorry I haven't gotten around to telling you about my trip yet. I've been catching up on work/rowing/etc.

Speaking of work, I'm at the office, so I can't upload any photos with this post, but I will do that soon. I'll also put up the videos of me being baptized into Pirate's cricket club and the hot hot penguin horniness ass soon as I get them off Pirate's computer.

We had a good time. There were some great moments and not so great moments, but on balance it was a good laugh.

The cricket went well. Mostly. We won 2 out of 7, lost 4, and tied one. Only one of the matches that we could really could/should have been won. The others were essentially carnage. The match that tied was incredibly exciting, and converted me into a proper cricket nutter.

We played at some beautiful fields in and around Capetown, including Stellenbosch, Groot Drakenstein (it sounds scary but tranlates to Greater Ducksberg, which is not scary), and Constantia, the prettiest of them all. Wherever we played we were surrounded by trees, mountains, and vineyards, and the sun shined every day.

Except the day we went up Table Mountain. And that was ok with me. Everyone else was bummed about the fog/cloud cover because they couldn't see the grand views, but I liked it. The mountain has all kinds of wierd plantlife and rock formations, and the fog shroud made it feel like I was walking on an alien planet.

The wildlife was great. I bought a bird guide the first day there and spent a good chunk of the tour twitching. I saw
African Sacred Ibises,
hedada Ibises, cattle egrets,
red-winged starlings (much more spectacular when seen in flight),
egyptian geese (and geeselings!), all manner of sea birds,
cape white-eyes,
cape batises,
a ground woodpecker (i don't understand either),
spur-winged geese,
a juvenal black-crowned night heron (that one was a bitch to indentify),
speckled pigeons,
laughing doves (well, heard more than saw; that was the first ever species i was able to positively identify by call alone),
pied kingfishers,
LOADS of guineafowl (look at that animal and try to claim it has any other reason for living than being food for other things. I mean, it's all meat and NO BRAIN to speak of!),
a flock of cape canaries,
several nesting pairs of greater striped swallows (who LOVE to nest under the eaves of cricket clubhouses, which are ideally situated next to cricket pitches, which are ideal for catching lunch of the 6-legged flying variety),
barn swallows (if there are barn swallows, are there barn spits as well?),
a sunbird that i can't find a picture of,
african darters (which are fun because they swim with their bodies below water with only their necks sticking up, so they look like little Loch Ness Monsters),
ostriches (though i saw these more on restaurant menus than anywhere else, and they are delishous!)
and most importantly, PENGUINS!!!

The birding kept me well occupied, and i spent most of the trip with my binos around my neck. even so, i had probably a dozen sightings of things that i was unable to identify. maddening.

i'll put up some of my own photos of the penguins next week. more to come!

Sweet Cheeks

Last night after a good bitch session with Miss Melville, who has worked for my mom for 5 years and is well acquainted with her neuroticisms and control fetish, I was feeling somewhat more relaxed. I followed that up with a chat with Vi, mother of the world's cutest monster (honest, he's like godzilla in a blonde, curly wig), who had similar stress with her wedding. She reassured me that even if we go with our original plan it is still possible to enjoy the day. I'm just terrified that at after all the drama I won't be able to enjoy the end product, you know? Anyway, after all that and a good 30 minutes looking at photos of beagle puppies, I'm feeling a bit better.

Also talked with the Pirate, which is always comforting. At the end of the phone call I said "I love you."

His response? "Ok then."

I rolled my eyes and sent a text, explaining that "The correct respons to 'I love you' is NOT 'Ok then,' you suave goofball."

His respone? "Thanks for the tip, sweet-cheeks." That made me laugh.

In nature-related niceties, the weekend rowing was loverly. It's been sunny and warmer (in the 50s) for over a week. The crocuses are blooming, the primrose are in flower, the daffodils are sprouting, and all along the river bank the ducks are bumping butts and there are little green shooty things emerging from the mud. I took a scull out and did some hard pieces, in shorts and T-shirt for the first time this year, and Pirate ran along the river beside and kept me company in the sunshine. Those are the moments I live for, really.

Weekend musings

All through this weekend I kept having the thought, "ooh, this is SO going on the blog!"
and now I can't remember what half of it was. I'm sure i thought it was important at the time. What is important now is that my faulty memory has become my editor, so you're getting the benefit of reading the condensed version, with all the extra, unnecessary bits conveniently forgotten.

Friday
Cycled to the Pirate's after work. The first 16 miles is more or less level, but of the last 9, 6 are uphill. Ouch.
Cool Thing That Happened On The Cycle Ride, Part I:
I was leaving Bristol via the Bristol-Bath Cycle Path. I was still within the city, and up ahead of me I saw a motorcycle. There were 2 teenagers on it, and a third climbing on. Fucking punks. Motorized vehicles are NOT allowed on the path. If I wanted to play chicken in traffic I'd use the fucking roads -- they're a lot more direct. I passed by them, trying not to make eye contact. Then I heard the engine rev behind me, and they came tearing past me. They disappeared quickly into the darkness, since they were moving fast and had no lights on. I stopped and got out my mobile phone.
"999 emergency. What service do you require?"
"Police"
I waited while they connected me.
"Avon and Bristol Constabulary. How can help?"
"I'd like to report 3 youths riding a motorcyle on the Bristol-Bath cycle path near Whitehall road."
"3 youths on a moped?"
"Not a moped, a full-on motorcycle. Traveling east-bound at approximately 25 miles an hour, with no lights on."
"Can you describe the youths?"
"No, but would you like the number plate?"
"You got the registration number???"
"X-ray eight eight niner, bravo alpha mike."
"Ah. That motorcycle was reported stolen this evening."
After a few more details, describing the teenagers, giving a more precise location, and my personal details, I hung up feeling a tad smug. Also a tad nervous, as they had headed up the path in the direction I was traveling and I was worried about encountering them again.

And I did.
About 10 minutes later I head the whine of a motorcycle engine coming toward me. I knew they were riding without lights, so I immediately pulled off onto the grass. A second later I saw them. They whizzed past me and made a sharp right turn, off the cycle path and onto a road. I didn't know the name of the road, but there was a middle-aged couple walking nearby.
"Excuse me. Do you know the name of this street?"
They did, and the nearest cross street. I got out my phone again.
After the momentary rigamarole I said to the operator "I just phoned a few minutes ago about a motorcyle on the Bristol-Bath cycle path."
"Yes," said the helpful operator. "I remember you." Thank heavens. By a stroke of luck I'd got the same woman.
"I just wanted to let you know that I've seen them again. They came back on the cycle-path west-bound, then got off it and are heading west-bound on Colston Road from [whatever] Street."
"Oh! Super! Thank you for that information."
"You're very welcome."
As I hung up the phone I heard a siren go on not more than 2 blocks away from me and heading in the direction I had described. Yes!!! Go get 'em, Smokey! I let out a cheer. I hope they nailed those little shits to the wall.

(I'm kinda bummed they never called me in to ID a line-up, though. That would have been cool.)

Now feeling extremely, insufferably smug, I continued on my way. It was completely dark before I even left the house, and eventually I came out of the city bit, where there are street lights illuminating the path, and into the more desolate suburbs. Further and further into the countryside I traveled, and the darkness became more and more complete.

It was cold; very cold. Only 1 degree C by the thermometer, and wind chills making it feel below freezing. All I could see was the cone of light from my (amazing, utterly bust-ass) headlamp shining on the path and the trees on either side of me. I looked up and saw a full moon shining above me in a barren, cloudless sky. That gave me an idea. I turned off my headlamp.

It wasn't dark at all. I could see quite well by the moonlight. Everything was beautiful shades of blue and grey, the moon casting stark shadows of the bare tree branches across my path. ("Whose woods these are, I think I know...") Without my headlamp, the rabbits and foxes paid me no more heed than were I a passing deer running deftly through the woods, and they did not flee from my approach. I passed over the river several times, and saw it create a perfect, silent, unmoving black line through the white fields, which were already becoming bright and shimmery with frost. ("Between the woods and frozen lake...") It was beautiful and haunting. I felt as though I was the only person alive on the planet, and not in the least bit afraid. I was exhilerated by the sheer emptiness, the vacant, life-less feeling of my surroundings.

Finally I began to put some effort in to warm my body up. I had layers upon layers, but I knew I would get chilled if I didn't keep working. I still had more than an hour of riding before reaching the warm arms of the Pirate. I put my headlamp back on and put the hammer down. (And miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.")

Save the Planes

This week crowds of people have been protesting at Heathrow Airport against expansions they argue would contibute to global climate change, which is bad.

This may be the first time in my life I have taken a stance against the pro-enviroment protestors. Here's why:


I like planes.


I'm an expat living on a different continent from my family. I fly. Rather a lot.
I also like travelling the world.
And sending gifts to people, especially my family in America.
All this requires flight.

I completely acknowledge that global warming is a catastrophe on a scale that has never before been witnessed in human history. We have it in our power to minimize the damage done to ecosystems the world over (and ultimately to ourselves) by making technological and lifestyle changes. I absolutely believe these changes can and should take place on a national/commercial/industrial scale (more fuel efficient cars, alternative energy sources, etc) as well as a personal scale (turn off your fucking lights, hang the laundry on line, ride a bike to work, etc.).

But please please please please please can we leave the planes alone?

This is what I think: I think we should do everything possible to arrest global warming, and if all that stuff doesn't work, then we can get rid of the planes. But can we leave them as a last resort, pretty please with a cherry on top?


Oh, and while we're on the subject of the environment, I would like to point out this article, which gets my vote for The Most Obvious Headline Of The Year Award.

One year on... The Run-Up

This past weekend was my one-year anniversary with the Pirate. I'm going to desribe the events and feelings of the weekend in agonizing detail, because I want to be sure that in 50 years I still have a record of it to fill in the gaps in my happy, hazy memories, and because there are a lot of bits that I'm sure you lot will enjoy. This will likely be spread out over several posts...

We had a big weekend planned, but it kept growing and growing. Every moment was gorgeous, joyous, and filled with mental sunshine.

Friday he popped into Brizzle to pick me up. I would have been happy to cycle, but I needed to bring all the bits and bobs to make me beautiful for the ball on Saturday night, and I couldn't carry everything I needed on my own. I got out of work, threw the last few things in my bags (I began packing 3 days early), and waited downstairs. I had just sat down on the steps and opened my book when I heard his car horn outside. We listened to The Now Show on Radio 4 and laughed ourselves all the way to his place. (Marcus Brigstock is GOD.)

I had a nice dinner planned, so when we arrived at HMS Lovenest (as the Pirate's home shall henceforth be known) I immediately hit the galley. "It's been raining for a month and the grass has grown a foot. I'm going to go out back and destroy the garden while you're burning the sausages," he said. He donned the Yard Work Shoes (old trainers with holes that were once employed in the service of a Rocky Horror costume and spray-painted metallic gold), and I slipped into an apron. It was such a picture of domesticity even I couldn't help but laugh. We've properly turned into June and Ward Cleaver. I listened to the venison sausages sizzle and the lanwmower hum outside, and smiled.



Saturday was an early start. Pirate and I had to drive to some place south of London to check out a classic Aston Martin he's thinking about buying. We were out the door at 7:30. Ouch.

The drive was pleasant and we enjoyed the first sunshine we'd seen in weeks. The directions were complicated but detailed (I always get nervous when directions include items like "turn left by the high hedgerow"), and we found the place with no difficulty. If only the broker selling the car was as thorough with his automobiles as he is with his directions. I believed him when he said "I really believed the car was in operating condidtion. If I'd known it wasn't I would have phoned you and told you not to come," but if he'd bothered to get the thing out of the back of the garadge a day or two early and dust it off he would have known that it barely started and only engaged 4 of the 6 cylinders. We had to abandon the test drive after less than 100 yards. Trip wasted. Understandably, Pirate was not in a good mood. His bitterness at the waste of time was amplified by the let-down. After years of searching he thought he'd finally come across the model he wanted with the features he wanted in his price rance. Alas, it was not to be. We got back in his Skoda Dinghy and left.

On the way to the car place we'd spotted a PYO berry farm advertising ripe raspberries, the Pirate's second-fav fruit (blackberries being the first). We decided to make a spontaneous detour and pick some berries. This had the triple beneficial effect of 1, making the trip seem slightly less futile; 2, extending the break between outward and return drives; and 3, giving us an excuse to get out and enjoy the sunshine.

And enjoy it, we did. I was wearing a cute little sundress and frolicked, yes, frolicked, around the fields. They had far more than just raspberries -- they had loganberries and tayeberries as well. I'd never heard of either of the latter. P had heard of loganberries but had never tried them. We sampled a few plump specimines of each and became immediately enamoured, me with the loganberries and P with the tayeberries. We grabbed our baskets and began picking. An hour later we had more berries than we could carry, and had to make several trips from the fields to the car. I put my nose right down to one of the larger punnetts I'd picked and inhaled deeply. The fruit was warm and gave off a thick, intoxicating smell. Some things smell of summer because you associate them with summer (sunblock, burgers grilling, etc.). I had never smelled this smell in my life, but somewhere deep in my DNA I knew that this was the smell of summer.

Back on the road again we passed a sign that said "British Wildlife Centre." Que spontaneous detour numero dos. The place was much larger and more extensive (and expensive) that I would have guessed from the inauspiscous signage. In addition to the Scotish Wildcat breeding program, the herds of red and roe deer, the stoats, foxes, otters (Lutra lutra), bees, birds, and butterflies, there was a barn owl who slept on a perch in the visitors' center and danced in his sleep when you stroked his feathers (which were the softest thing I've ever touched), a tiny harvest mouse who clambered up and down the blades of grass in his cage, and a wild male pheasant who kept trying to break in to the pheasant enclosure to romance the hens therein. Hehehe.

Before we got to the water vole exhibit I could feel my shoulders getting hot. By the time we'd made it 'round to the eagle owl I knew I was toasting, and badly. I told the Pirate I needed to get under cover, and soon.

We'd seen pretty much everything, and needed to be getting back to the HMS Lovenest anyway so I would have ample time to bee-ootify myself for the evening's festivities: a formal ball. Back in the car, and this time no more procrastinating. We hit the highway and made tracks west.

At Reading P needed a short break and a nap in order to continue driving safely, so we pulled into a service center. I could already feel the burn coming up on my shoulders and decided to go inside to buy some aftersun. The first horrible thing about this stop was that when I got out of the car I left a significant portion of the skin from the back of my legs attached to the vinyl seat. That hurt like a bitch. The second horrible thing was that at a huge service center situated directly next door to a Travelodge there was no place to buy a toothbrush or any other toiletry basics, never mind a simple bottle of lotion. I got back in the car and put my feet up on the dashboard to prevent my thighs from coming into any further contact with the seat.

"Why are you sitting like that?" asked the Pirate.
I explained.
"Is the seat OK?"
I have not the words.

We arrived back that the L.N. at 5 pm with a freshly aquired bottle of after sun aloe gel, courtesy of the local supermarket. Time to get in the shower and begin preparing for the Big Event!

Stay tuned for Part 2, where our heroine addresses issues like

• trying to create a hairstyle that doesn't say "a diseased rodent died on my head"
• coping with sunburn and tan lines while wearing a new, sexy, backless ball gown
• being dumped by one's date, who suddenly decides he prefers the company of another... !
  

For Llwetra

The Pirate and I went back to Longleat this weekend to see the house and maze and other stuff we missed last time. The maze was free because 2/3 of it was closed off for repairs to the bridges. We still managed to spend 40 minutes in it getting lost. You can see why.


We also went into the "Pets Corner" area, which is really just a small zoo for small animals where you get to pet the snakes and guinea pigs. I didn't get to pet the snakes and guinea pigs. There were too many sprogs around, and the keepers seem to think that people over the age of 11 aren't interested in snakes and guinea pigs and ignore you. I like guinea pigs. And snakes.

But they had otters, which is why this post is dedicated to Llewtra. I thought of you, honey, and took lots of photos, even though these are Asian otters and not European otters. They're cute, though, and they make the most adorable squeaking noises!







Then we walked around the gardens (which frankly were pitiful given the size of the estate) in a drizzle. There wasn't much to see except some anally-retentive topiaries (I don't like topiaries; i like my bushes to look like bushes thank you very much) and wierd, mulit-boobed modern art. This amused me, though:





Mmm, irony.


What did you guys do this weekend?

Wildlife Exotique

It was a wild, wild weekend. (When is it not?)

Here is our local finned wildlife, doing what it does best. Nothing.

Our local furred wildife, attempting to reach his food bin by busting through the yellow, plastic cap on his mushrroom hut. *sniff sniff* I can smell eet! I know eet's there!

Here is our local feathered wildife. This winged mofo is trying to decide if I would pose a threat to his chicks were he and his bitch to roost on the ledge outside my window. I'm trying to convince him that yes, yes I would be a HUGE threat to his chicks. Noisy, shite-squirting, raucus, garbage-eating fuckwads. (You have no idea how unsettling it is to be sitting at your compter happily blogging working and suddenly look up to find a seagull, 6 feet from your face, at head level, staring at you through your window. Fuking unnerving, I can tell you.)

This weekend Pirate and I went to Longleat Safari park, where we saw even more wildife. It was wicked good. If you havn't been there, go. It's so much better than a zoo. The animals have loads of space to move around, and you drive through the park in your car. We saw lots of things.

We saw white rhino things:

And things with babies:

And more things with babies:

(This is a rock wallaby. See that second little head sticking out there? I want to be that baby. That is the warmest, coziest, snuggliest place ever. I want to live in a pouch.)

And monkeys on cars:

(These monkeys are experts at destroying windshield wipers and radio antennae. Pirate did not want to stop the car in this area because he didn't want monkeys tearing it to bits, like what happened the last time he was here. So the converstation went more or less like this:

Me: Aawwww! Monkyes!
Pirate: Aaagh! Monkeys!
Me: Stop the car, I want to take a photo.
Pirate: No! We're not stopping! The car is NOT. STOPPING.

Result: dozens of blurry monkey photos.)

There was some hot lion on lion action, complete with audience:

And butterflies on flowers:

And the wildest wildlife of all:
(photo removed)

Wild Thing, I think I love you!

We also had a couple really good talks this weekend. There was a lot of stuff that needed to be said. We talked about our chosen career paths and the ways in which we might be able to reconcile the logistical differences of our respective careers, etc.

We also talked about our religious and philosophical differences. I'm not going to go into detail, but we have very strong opposing beliefs on some subjects, and it's an issue I've been reluctant to discuss for a variety of reasons. It got quite emotional for both of us, and we havn't come to a final resolution, but we are a lot closer than we were 48 hours ago and I am feeling much reassured. It was agreed that if we can handle this issue, we can probably handle anything.

Spring Flowers

I know I promised you photos of my new gown and fish (how often do you get to say that???), but I havn't got round to taking them yet. I will also be writing shortly on the appalling lack of proper etiquite in English bowling alleys, but I've been too busy. In the meantime you may amuse yourselves with these images I snapped around campus in the lovely spring sunshine.

Pink hyacinth in front of the cathedral:

A hillside covered in wild primrose:

A magnolia tree and daffodils behind the Russian Studies department:

Magnolia stellata somewhere on campus:

Flowering quince somewhere on campus:

The Scone Also Rises

Pirate is coming home late tonight, and I will see him tomorrow morning. He's been gone for two weeks, and so will have no food in the house when I rock up to his place. Ergo, there needs be baking.

Thanks to Hendrix Cat I have a fabulous new recipe for treacle (molasses) scones. I've been living in England for a total of 2 1/2 years, and have spent the entire time complaining that I couldn't buy molasses anywhere. Then I get this recipe, go to the store, ask the clerk where the treacle is (having no idea what it is), get it home, open it, and voila! It's molasses! Who knew. Damn transAntlantic language breakdowns. Anyway, here's a picture of them:



"And I beheld when he had opened the sixt seale, and loe, there was a great earthquake, and the Sunne became blacke as sackecloth of haire, and the Moone became as blood."
-- Revelation, 6:12



Tonight there was a total lunar eclipse. We were priveledged to see it, not only because it's such a rare occurance, but because this is the first clear night we've had in months. Stargazing is not a popular past time in England for obvious meteorological reasons.

It was beautiful. I've never seen one before. I had no idea the moon would be so red. Now I understand that verse from Revelation. One can only imgane what the ancients must have felt when they saw the moon darkening, disappearing in the sky before their eyes, and emitting that erie, garnet glow. No wonder they thought the world was about to end.

Spring sprang!

The crocuses are running riot, the daffodils are smiling up at the sun, and the delicate, fluffy cherry blossoms observe the scene.

Pictures tomorrow.

Bike ride

I wrote this post a few weeks ago and promptly forgot about it. But here are some pretty pictures for you. :-)

Ah, autumn. My favourite season. September is without a doubt my favourite month. The weather in september is lovely all over the planet (except in the southern USA where it's hurricane season. But that doesn't count). I went for (another) long bike ride today, from Bristol to Bath and back. 28 miles round trip. I do this about 4 times a week. Here are some scenes from my most recent ride:

The road goes ever on and on...























Some kind of tree covered in red berries. Anyone out there know what they are? Lovely, aren't they?














the Avon. and Cows.

















Ooh, the scary tunnel!

You really shouldn't waste your time reading this one

You're really not going to let this go, are you? Ok, fine then. Here's what's been going on:
(don't say I didn't warn you):

First, the money thing. Namely, I don't have any. The Bristol U finance office fucked up (read: LOST) the paperwork for my federal student loan. I should have had the money weeks ago. I was expecting it any second. Here's the timeline:

August somthing: I took my Student Aid Report to the Bristol Finance Office, whose job it is to apply for the loan on my behalf.

September: The FO informed me thy needed something called a Master Promissory Note. They were unable to tell me how to get this, I had to figure it out. I got the MPN, signed it, and took it in to them. They thanked me, and told me they needed my SAR (the thing I gave to them in August). I heaved a sigh, went and got another copy of my SAR and gave it to the FO. They assured me they would get my my $18,500 as soon as possible.

October: I wait nervously for my $$$ to arrive.
Last saturday: I call home to find out when my parents are due back from holiday. The dogsitter informs me that there was a message on the answering machine from SallieMae (the lender) stating that my loan application is incomplete and cannot be processed.

Monday: I send an email to the woman in the FO who handles my case. (I would have gone personally but scheduling didn't permit.) I told her about the message. She replied to the email and said I should find out what exactly the problem is. How? I thought. The application was filed from your office! I don't have any contact information at all. So in the afternoon I walk up to the office and ask in person, expaining that I have no means of investigating the trouble. The woman in the FO (let's call her Troll, shall we?) is one of those people who can't be bothered to do her job. Whenever you ask her to do something that is the thing she is paid to do, she heaves a great sigh and makes likes she's doing you a huge personal favor out of the goodness of her heart. The only way to get her to do anything is to appeal to her sense of charity and let her believe she's some kind of fucking saint for bending over backwards to help you. This is why she is a Troll.* Troll phones SallieMae, they tell her everything is fine, they will cut the cheque on Wednesday, and I will have it by Friday. Too bad my rent is due on Thursday, and will be deducted from my account automatically by direct debit.

Tuesday: I get an email from SallieMae telling me my loan app is incomplete. Remember, this is after Troll called them and supposedly sorted everything out. I pray that the email was sent automatically, and that everything is still fine. There was a toll free number, so I rang it. They told me they never received my MPN. You remember the MPN, right? The one I took the FO back in September? Yeah, that one.

Wed: I download another MPN from the web, sign it, and take it up to the FO. The whole office is in a meething, there is no one there to help, and I will be gone the rest of the day. Bugger.

Thursday (yesterday): I took the MPN to the FO, Troll gets all huffy about how she sent the last one, I ask her sweetly to just send this by the fastest means possible as otherwise I won't get any money. She agrees. (How good of her.)

Friday (today): I receive a phone call from HSBC. My account is overdrawn, but as an international student I'm not allowed to have an overdraft. I had told my landlord on Monday about the difficulty, but it seems he wasn't able to halt the direct debit. SO, HSBC informs me that I'm 400 quid overdrawn, and i'm going to incur all kinds of penalties and feeces and interest. The woman from HSBC (who called me, remember), told me that I had to call another number. I rang the number, but because I was calling from Skype I wasn't able to navigate their number menu thingy, and I couldn't get a person to pick up the line. So I walked around the corner to my local branch (wearing a tight, low-cut blouse. Don't look at me like that - most bankers are men and I'll use every weapon in my arsenal, damnit.). After I waited in a queue for 45 minutes, I was helped by a lovely hormonal chap named J. J's eyes darted back and forth between the computer screen and my cleavage for 20 minutes. Good, pawn, good. After i 'splained the situation, J said that he would speak to his manger and see what could be arranged. A few minutes later he returned and informed me that the transaction would be reversed and as a good will gesture they'd get rid of the fees. (I have a new favorite blouse.)

And that's just the money issue. There was also the teaching thing.

I'm teaching a 2nd year literature class. This was the first week of class, which of course involved all kinds of logistical nitty gritty like contracts, room assignements, email lists, attendance forms, photocopies, etc. This wouldn't have been a problem, except that the University just restructured everything. The English department no longer has its own office; we're lumped into a central office with several other departments in the newly created School of Humanities. So I'm bugging the new office with all kinds of questions about aforementioned nitty gritty issues, and finally the woman says to me "you know, I put all this information in your pigeonhole. didn't you get it?"

"What pigeonhole?"

"Your staff pigeonhole. You're teaching staff now. You have a staff pigeonhole."

"I do? Where is it?"

"In G9."

"G9? Isn't that the photocopy room?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it locked?"

"Yes. Don't you have a key?"

"No I don't have a key! Where would I have gotten a key?! If you didn't give me one, then I clearly don't have one. May I have a key, please?"

"Sorry, I'm all out."

"Let me get this straight. You put a bunch of information in a pigeonhole that no one told me existed, that is in a locked room to which neither of us has keys. How exactly was I supposed to retrieve this information?"

I'm not kidding, it was like the opening sequence to Hitchiker's Guide.

In addition to all this hoo-ha, I was of course prepping for tutorials and doing actual teaching things.

Then we had the pain thing. The pain thing was because on Monday I began boxing again. My body was in agony. Following monday boxing which left me hobbling all over uni, i had to do a 2K erg test on tuesday morning. Naturally I overslept and didn't have time to warm up, so I did it cold. Needless to say, by tuesday evening I was in teeth-shattering agony. Every muscle in my body stiff and store. I couldn't move. I couldn't sit, stand, bend over, type, or take a piss. So that helped my mood.

Somewhere in there I'm supposed to be doing research. Whatever.

There were a few other more minor things, but that's the big stuff. And it all happened in the first part of this week. I'm better now. Mostly. The pain is better, anyway. My bank account is still a bit sore, but my quads are ok, and that's the important part.

Ooh, would you like some good news? Here are the good things that happened, all in the last 24 hours:

• I bought plane tix yesterday for Christmas. That's tickets, plural. Two of 'em. One for me, and one for the Pirate, who is coming home with me for Christmas!!!!! YAY!!!! I can't wait for him to meet my family, and vice versa. I havn't been this excited about Christmas since I was about 10.
• For my birthday presents, mom bought tickets to see Spamalot while the Pirate and I are home for the holiday. Whoo-hoo!
• I took a bicycle ride this morning, and saw 3 deer. It was cool and grey and misty, a lovely autumn morning, and these three deer were lying in the grass of a field, having a bit of a lie-in.
• I picked 3 pounds of sloe berries along the way, which will make me 3 pints of sloe gin. Mmmmm.
• The Pirate's business excursion is half over, and he should be home in 6 more weeks, if all goes according to plan. Half way is good. This is the downhill stretch.

Are you still reading this? Good god. Get a life.


*I humbly apologize to any trolls reading this that may take offense at the comparison.

Flipped like a fried egg

My brain has two modes: summer and winter. Yesterday it flipped over.

I'm rather impressed with myself. That's only aobut a week after the equinox. It seems my brain is rather on schedule with the season this, um, season. I remember this one time back when i was in high school that my brain flipped from winter to summer mode in the beginning of march. damn was i cold.

The modes, explained:

Summer Mode: the brain is active, the metablolism is high. The desire to feel grass between one's toes is almost overwhelming. The body feels free - uninhibited, exuberant. Salads, strong herbs, and loads of fresh veg are on the menu daily, as are yoghurt smoothies and milkshakes. Even when it is raining outside, the sun is shining inside. We wear as little clothing as is decent, and revel in the feel of the weather, beit sun, wind or rain, on our bare skin.

Winter Mode: the brain attempts hibernation (which is, regrettably, incompatible with PhD research). The metablolism slows (which is, regrettably, incompatible with winter rowing training). The body feels close, snuggly, and warm. We begin to crave rich foods, more meat, and root vegetables. We might even deign to eat a potato should the craving become sufficiently powerful. We wrap ourselves up in soft, fuzzy, warm clothing, and revel in the darkenss, and listen to the rain and wind lashing outside. It's all about the candlelight.


I'm very solar powered. The seasons have a powerful effect on my mood and mindset. I've often thought that i'd make a rather good druid, being so closely connected to the changing weather. In the summer i'm manic (unless i'm lying on a beach* somewhere listening to Enya and tanning my nipples). I have a really hard time focusing on anything. Come winter, though, when outside the windows is blackness, the world feels smaller. I can focus more on the tasks at hand. The walls close in and force one's attention inward.

I love winter.


*that said, in the summertime you're much more likely to find me running on the beach where the sand is wet and hard, barefoot, listening to Chariots of Fire and fantasizing about the Olympics.