Generally speaking, 2014 has been a weird year for me. For a start, it went so quickly that my head is still spinning, but I have no real idea of what I've done in the last 12 months to show for it. In 2013 I took up blogging, had a bizarre overseas romance, partied with elves, went on more spontaneous nights out than any one person has a right to do in the course of a single year, and travelled Europe, just off the top of my head.
Showing posts with label Exeter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Exeter. Show all posts
Monday, 29 December 2014
Monday, 18 August 2014
From Public Pools to the Royal Treatment
Everything suddenly came to a screeching halt. No new blog posts, no new Youtube videos, my nails are a disaster and I can barely remember what my friends look like. Over the past month all of my time has been sucked into some kind of vortex and I'm not entirely sure what I've even been doing other than looking for jobs and mourning the loss of my footless and fancy free student days.
Maybe I haven't adjusted to living with my parents again yet. I'm used to waking up to a plan I made the night before or a totally blank canvas ("What's the plan for the day? Four hours of Netflix followed by cocktails and the Sex and the City drinking game with my housemates? Why not?") Last week I woke up to the sound of Lauren scampering into my room.
"We're going swimming!"
I broached the subject with my mother. Admittedly, rather tactlessly.
"Swimming? Nobody consulted me. I could have had plans for all you knew."
"You don't though, do you?" She said, knowingly.
She was right. It was meant to be one of those blank canvas days. Maybe I'd have gone to pilates. Maybe I'd have gone to the pub. Maybe I'd even have finally gotten around to writing my new blog post. But my blank canvas day was snatched away and instead I was heading to the swimming pool with two small children. Still, my soul was, as of yet, uncrushed.
That quickly changed.
We drove all the way over the Swansea, only to find out the gym we're a member of wasn't open to children for another hour. Try explaining that to a four year old diva. So we ended up on the road again, heading towards the public pool in Neath, which, as it turns out (the lady on the phone failed to mention this little gem) is free for all school children after 2pm. Wonderful if you're a ten year old, but not so great if you arrive at quarter to 2 with a small child in a wheelchair and a tiny loon with no patience and find yourself in a queue that winds itself around the building. Especially as my mother had phoned ahead to make sure we could go straight over with the wheelchair with no problems.
Lost adrift in a turbulent sea of scores of screeching children with a worrying lack of manners, I started to lose it. To cut a long story short, the staff at reception made me despair at the state of humanity (and the education system) and I ended up wandering around in a towel looking for change for the locker. This is why I pay a monthly membership for the Village. That and the Village has ample room to do hair and make up when you're done working out.
Anyway, that's the kind of thing I have to put up with now that I'm no longer living the glorified student life. One small mercy is that I had to come back to Exeter for today's exam and I stayed overnight on campus. It was like being a fresher again, brushing my teeth in my little en-suit, collapsing into bed safe in the knowledge that there was nothing to wake me except an alarm I personally controlled. No one tried to make morning conversation. No one asked me to do the dishes. It was bliss.
What made it even better was that I was staying in Holland Hall, which will mean nothing to you if you didn't go to the University of Exeter and will mean everything to you if you did. Back when we lived on campus, hearing someone say, "I live in Holland Hall" was like hearing someone say, "My father wears tweed and shoots pheasant...which the servants then cook." At £6988.80 for a 32 week contract, it's officially like the Mecca of Exeter rah culture. Oh the rumours I've heard about that place...
After searching for it for 20 minutes and seeing no sign of it, I was concerned. I'd lived down that end of the campus two years ago. It isn't a big place. I took the most obscure route possible, finding myself lost more than once. ("Wait...why is there a children's park here? Where am I?" And so forth.) I started to worry there was some kind of Hogwarts-style enchantment over the place so that peasants couldn't see it.
And then I found it. Perched on the perfect spot for stunning panoramic views, close enough to campus to crawl there in the mornings with the least amount of uphill walking (a big problem in Exeter), courtyards, an outdoor dining area, a bar, full English breakfast with a selection of cereals and juices on the side...it lived up to all my expectations. Still, a girl like me with a valleys accent and an aversion to gilets would have burned upon crossing the threshold if it hadn't been during the summer vacation.
So call me a loser, but my trip to Exeter to sit my exam has been like a mini holiday. I got to have fried bread with breakfast, didn't have to share my bathroom, and no one ordered me to go swimming. In reality, I'm not really all that hard to please...
Maybe I haven't adjusted to living with my parents again yet. I'm used to waking up to a plan I made the night before or a totally blank canvas ("What's the plan for the day? Four hours of Netflix followed by cocktails and the Sex and the City drinking game with my housemates? Why not?") Last week I woke up to the sound of Lauren scampering into my room.
"We're going swimming!"
I broached the subject with my mother. Admittedly, rather tactlessly.
"Swimming? Nobody consulted me. I could have had plans for all you knew."
"You don't though, do you?" She said, knowingly.
She was right. It was meant to be one of those blank canvas days. Maybe I'd have gone to pilates. Maybe I'd have gone to the pub. Maybe I'd even have finally gotten around to writing my new blog post. But my blank canvas day was snatched away and instead I was heading to the swimming pool with two small children. Still, my soul was, as of yet, uncrushed.
That quickly changed.
We drove all the way over the Swansea, only to find out the gym we're a member of wasn't open to children for another hour. Try explaining that to a four year old diva. So we ended up on the road again, heading towards the public pool in Neath, which, as it turns out (the lady on the phone failed to mention this little gem) is free for all school children after 2pm. Wonderful if you're a ten year old, but not so great if you arrive at quarter to 2 with a small child in a wheelchair and a tiny loon with no patience and find yourself in a queue that winds itself around the building. Especially as my mother had phoned ahead to make sure we could go straight over with the wheelchair with no problems.
Lost adrift in a turbulent sea of scores of screeching children with a worrying lack of manners, I started to lose it. To cut a long story short, the staff at reception made me despair at the state of humanity (and the education system) and I ended up wandering around in a towel looking for change for the locker. This is why I pay a monthly membership for the Village. That and the Village has ample room to do hair and make up when you're done working out.
Anyway, that's the kind of thing I have to put up with now that I'm no longer living the glorified student life. One small mercy is that I had to come back to Exeter for today's exam and I stayed overnight on campus. It was like being a fresher again, brushing my teeth in my little en-suit, collapsing into bed safe in the knowledge that there was nothing to wake me except an alarm I personally controlled. No one tried to make morning conversation. No one asked me to do the dishes. It was bliss.
 |
| The red line is the ridiculous route I took |
After searching for it for 20 minutes and seeing no sign of it, I was concerned. I'd lived down that end of the campus two years ago. It isn't a big place. I took the most obscure route possible, finding myself lost more than once. ("Wait...why is there a children's park here? Where am I?" And so forth.) I started to worry there was some kind of Hogwarts-style enchantment over the place so that peasants couldn't see it.
And then I found it. Perched on the perfect spot for stunning panoramic views, close enough to campus to crawl there in the mornings with the least amount of uphill walking (a big problem in Exeter), courtyards, an outdoor dining area, a bar, full English breakfast with a selection of cereals and juices on the side...it lived up to all my expectations. Still, a girl like me with a valleys accent and an aversion to gilets would have burned upon crossing the threshold if it hadn't been during the summer vacation.
So call me a loser, but my trip to Exeter to sit my exam has been like a mini holiday. I got to have fried bread with breakfast, didn't have to share my bathroom, and no one ordered me to go swimming. In reality, I'm not really all that hard to please...
Sunday, 20 July 2014
Graduation Day: Stupid Hats, Free Champagne and Floella Benjamin
I am now officially Aimee Wellington BA. I've graduated from one of the best universities in the country and have an excessive amount of photos of me in a stupid hat to prove it. It hasn't been easy. Over the past three years I've dealt with grimy student housing, cried at my dissertation supervisor on at least three occasions, threatened to drop out, threatened to never come home, overcome the torture that is first year Approaches to Criticism, and have faced a world of people who wear Jack Wills and say things like "ciao ciao darlings" on a daily basis. On the flip side I've also befriended some fellow loons, learned some excellent drinking games, had some of the best and most ridiculous memories of my life so far, and survived freshers week three years in a row. But where did the time go?
On Tuesday afternoon my mother, father, brother and I packed into the car to head down to Exeter. Of course Rob got shotgun because he's the golden child. My mother claimed it was because he's significantly taller than me, but I'm not convinced. We stayed in a hotel overnight. Graduation was starting at 9am on Wednesday and my butt had to be in my seat at 8:30am so alarm clocks were set (with heavy hearts) for 5:45am. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, but a certain someone (I won't name names) snored all night long so loudly that even with my sound-proof earphones in and iphone turned up to full volume, the hideous snorting noises kept me up most of the night.
So Wednesday morning I was back on campus, being pinned into my robes (I will never understand why the robes and the hood come separately when it would save a lot of time and safety-pin related injuries if they were attached) and trying to keep my hat on properly. It felt surreal. Surely it wasn't time to graduate and leave Exeter already? It felt like I'd only just started university and here I was about to finish. But, on the grand scale of things it could have been worse. Because the people graduating from masters courses had hats even more ridiculous than mine.
The ceremony itself was fantastic. That was mostly down to the fact that the chancellor of the university is Floella Benjamin, ex-children's TV star and all round just an entirely amazing and highly flamboyant lady. Plus, the woman is sixty five and clearly has not aged a day since her days singing nursery rhymes on the BBC back in the 70s.
Whereas in a lot of graduation ceremonies, graduands are called up in groups of three of four, shake hands with the chancellor and scurry back off stage, in Exeter we get called up one by one, get embraced by Floella who then looks lovingly into each students' eyes and gives some words of wisdom. Rumour has it she whispers something different to every person, but I can't see how that can possibly be true. Either way, when it was my turn to go up on stage I all but threw myself into Floella's arms. She is simply a legend. And her hugs are amazing.
When the ceremony was over and everyone had managed to walk across the stage and hug Floella without falling, the brass band started up and we got clapped out of the Great Hall, which was unexpected. Then I met up with my parents and Rob. My dad was actually a little teary-eyed and, wonder of wonders, to the surprise of all, my mother shooed Rob out of the way so she could get a picture of me. If I'd known all I needed was a BA to knock him off the golden child pedestal, I wouldn't have bothered with my gap year before uni.
Photos were followed by an abundance of free champagne and cupcakes at the reception. Every time a glass started to look empty someone would appear to top it up, which my mother highly appreciated.
It was at this point that my brother opened the envelope I'd been presented with in the ceremony.
"This is empty." He said.
It's really annoying, but I missed an exam in January and have to take it in August so I can't get my hands on my actual degree until then. Still, it seems a bit random that they'd just give me the empty envelope.
Then, when we'd consumed more than enough champagne, we took a stroll around campus to take even more photos. At some point my mother got hold of the camera and seemed to genuinely believe she was a professional photographer.
"Ok, tip your head at an angle slightly."
"Oooh, go and lean up against that wall. No, the other way."
"Go and stand behind that tree and kind of peak around from behind it."
"Now lay across that boulder."
I was, during this whole performance, weighed down by the weight of my robes and trudging around in the heat of the sunshine in a black cloak.
But once several hundred photos had been taken in various places with my head tipped at various angles, we headed to Chaucer's, my absolute favourite restaurant in Exeter where I ate so much cheesy chicken with bacon I thought I was going to explode out of my graduation dress. They had a deal on. Buy two classes of wine and get the rest of the bottle free. So my mother and brother got a bottle of wine...each. It made for an interesting mealtime. It was 2pm.
On the way back to the car Rob suddenly stopped in front of the Body Shop.
"Do they sell £1 candles here?" He asked and wandered inside.
"...It's a cosmetics shop." I told him. "Wilkinsons is just around the corner."
"No, no. The moment has passed."
I still have no idea what that moment actually was.
Then, when it was time for my family to leave, they dropped me off at my student house and told me again how proud they were of me because I'm the first Wellington to get a degree. And from the University of Exeter of all places. My mother was particularly enthusiastic. In fact, she kind of squished my face...in a loving way.
"I've never told you this, but before you were born, I went to a physic. She told me not to have you because you'd bring me misery and regret. But look at you! You haven't!"
...Thanks?
And then they drove off into the sunset, returning fifteen minutes later because I'd left my dress for the graduation ball in the back of the car. They loved me slightly less then.
Since then I've spent the last two days trying to cram three years worth of rubbish into boxes and tomorrow I leave behind student life for good. It's gone so quickly. Too quickly. I'm not ready to leave! That said, I'm bored of living off microwavable rice so maybe it's for the best.
On Tuesday afternoon my mother, father, brother and I packed into the car to head down to Exeter. Of course Rob got shotgun because he's the golden child. My mother claimed it was because he's significantly taller than me, but I'm not convinced. We stayed in a hotel overnight. Graduation was starting at 9am on Wednesday and my butt had to be in my seat at 8:30am so alarm clocks were set (with heavy hearts) for 5:45am. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, but a certain someone (I won't name names) snored all night long so loudly that even with my sound-proof earphones in and iphone turned up to full volume, the hideous snorting noises kept me up most of the night.
So Wednesday morning I was back on campus, being pinned into my robes (I will never understand why the robes and the hood come separately when it would save a lot of time and safety-pin related injuries if they were attached) and trying to keep my hat on properly. It felt surreal. Surely it wasn't time to graduate and leave Exeter already? It felt like I'd only just started university and here I was about to finish. But, on the grand scale of things it could have been worse. Because the people graduating from masters courses had hats even more ridiculous than mine.
The ceremony itself was fantastic. That was mostly down to the fact that the chancellor of the university is Floella Benjamin, ex-children's TV star and all round just an entirely amazing and highly flamboyant lady. Plus, the woman is sixty five and clearly has not aged a day since her days singing nursery rhymes on the BBC back in the 70s.Whereas in a lot of graduation ceremonies, graduands are called up in groups of three of four, shake hands with the chancellor and scurry back off stage, in Exeter we get called up one by one, get embraced by Floella who then looks lovingly into each students' eyes and gives some words of wisdom. Rumour has it she whispers something different to every person, but I can't see how that can possibly be true. Either way, when it was my turn to go up on stage I all but threw myself into Floella's arms. She is simply a legend. And her hugs are amazing.
When the ceremony was over and everyone had managed to walk across the stage and hug Floella without falling, the brass band started up and we got clapped out of the Great Hall, which was unexpected. Then I met up with my parents and Rob. My dad was actually a little teary-eyed and, wonder of wonders, to the surprise of all, my mother shooed Rob out of the way so she could get a picture of me. If I'd known all I needed was a BA to knock him off the golden child pedestal, I wouldn't have bothered with my gap year before uni.
Photos were followed by an abundance of free champagne and cupcakes at the reception. Every time a glass started to look empty someone would appear to top it up, which my mother highly appreciated.
It was at this point that my brother opened the envelope I'd been presented with in the ceremony.
"This is empty." He said.
It's really annoying, but I missed an exam in January and have to take it in August so I can't get my hands on my actual degree until then. Still, it seems a bit random that they'd just give me the empty envelope.
Then, when we'd consumed more than enough champagne, we took a stroll around campus to take even more photos. At some point my mother got hold of the camera and seemed to genuinely believe she was a professional photographer.
"Ok, tip your head at an angle slightly."
"Oooh, go and lean up against that wall. No, the other way."
"Go and stand behind that tree and kind of peak around from behind it."
"Now lay across that boulder."
I was, during this whole performance, weighed down by the weight of my robes and trudging around in the heat of the sunshine in a black cloak.
But once several hundred photos had been taken in various places with my head tipped at various angles, we headed to Chaucer's, my absolute favourite restaurant in Exeter where I ate so much cheesy chicken with bacon I thought I was going to explode out of my graduation dress. They had a deal on. Buy two classes of wine and get the rest of the bottle free. So my mother and brother got a bottle of wine...each. It made for an interesting mealtime. It was 2pm.
On the way back to the car Rob suddenly stopped in front of the Body Shop.
"Do they sell £1 candles here?" He asked and wandered inside.
"...It's a cosmetics shop." I told him. "Wilkinsons is just around the corner."
"No, no. The moment has passed."
I still have no idea what that moment actually was.
Then, when it was time for my family to leave, they dropped me off at my student house and told me again how proud they were of me because I'm the first Wellington to get a degree. And from the University of Exeter of all places. My mother was particularly enthusiastic. In fact, she kind of squished my face...in a loving way.
"I've never told you this, but before you were born, I went to a physic. She told me not to have you because you'd bring me misery and regret. But look at you! You haven't!"
...Thanks?
And then they drove off into the sunset, returning fifteen minutes later because I'd left my dress for the graduation ball in the back of the car. They loved me slightly less then.
Since then I've spent the last two days trying to cram three years worth of rubbish into boxes and tomorrow I leave behind student life for good. It's gone so quickly. Too quickly. I'm not ready to leave! That said, I'm bored of living off microwavable rice so maybe it's for the best.
Monday, 9 June 2014
The South West Blog Social and Nails Barbie would Envy!
Last weekend I travelled back to Exeter for the South West blog social. Never has a train journey seemed so long. There I was, standing in the cramped space near the toilets with half a dozen of my fellow travellers when the train stopped to let yet more people on board. First on was a pregnant woman with her five young children, followed by a somewhat large and very stifled-looking woman with her somewhat large and very stifled-looking daughter and then, after five or so more people had squeezed into their respective little spaces, an older lady with an enormous backpack and a fully assembled crib got on. She insisted on dragging it past everyone to the luggage compartment, injuring a few of the pregnant lady's children as she did so.
There were no windows. Very soon it started to smell like stale sweat and it wasn't long before the pregnant lady wedged the toilet door open and sat down on the loo, with her five young children sprawled around her on what I'm guessing was not a clean floor. After an hour the somewhat large and very stifled-looking woman offered to spray something on my face to cool me down. I assumed it was water. It was not. It smelled like fruit juice and made my skin itch.
So, needless to say, by the time I got to Exeter all I could think was, 'this social had better be worth the three hours I just spent stood inhaling other people's perspiration'. Luckily, it was even better than I could have imagined! Ok, so prepare yourself for some serious, shameless name-dropping because I met so many lovely bloggers and you should go and check out their sites...after you read this, of course.
I'm not a shy person, but when I first turned up at Oddfellows (which, luckily for me, is a three minute walk from my house), I was a little overwhelmed. The room was already filling up with people and photographs were being taken from all angles. That's one of the hazards of a blogging event. Everyone has a camera.
I decided my priorities were first to get a drink in my hand and second to make some friends. I sat down at a table with Hannah from Cupcake Mumma and Issy from Life and Times of a Student and they were really sweet. Issy studies English too and Hannah has two children, which amazed me because she looked so amazing. That isn't to say that women with children usually look like swamp creatures or anything like that, but it was one of those, "What? You have children? But you're so young and radiant looking!" type scenarios. I feel that in fifty words or less I've just offended mothers everywhere, but trust me when I say I know what I mean and it's not a bad thing.
Moving swiftly on from that...
I tried one of the signature blog cocktails that were made especially for the event and they were delicious! The till downstairs was broken so I had to venture up a set of creaky wooden stairs to order my drink. As I walked into the upstairs bar the barman was taking a tray of cocktails downstairs.
"He'll make yours up when he comes back." The manager told me.
"Oh great." I said. "Will he bring it down...?"
"No, you'll have to wait."
"Ok, I was just wondering because I'm a little nervous about getting back down the stairs in these shoes."
Maybe he thought this was an attempt at a damsel in distress act rather than a genuine confession about my complete lack of co-ordination or balance, but he was a little patronising when he said, "I'm sure you can manage to walk down the stairs."
Unfortunately, though, he was wrong. At the top of the stairs my heel got caught in a gap in the floor boards, I lost balance and spilled half of my drink over myself and (the horror!) ruined the heel of one of my favourite shoes! People just don't understand the extent of my incompetence. The only plus point is that no one was there to witness my humiliation.
There was so much going on downstairs! I had my nails done by Rachel from Monkey Nail Art. I love them! Even Barbie would envy these nails they're so pink and sparkly. She was so talented and so nice to chat to. Then I dropped off my new business cards at the business card exchange. In amongst the piles of sensible-looking cards, the pictures of me pulling
a ridiculous face really stood out...I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. We had really interesting talks about publishing, advertising and content. There really was a bit of everything going on and something for everyone. Oh, and I had a giant pizza to myself and felt no shame.
Then there was the raffle. Determined that for once in my life I would win at a raffle, I bought 6 strips of tickets. Ultimately it paid off because I won twice. I think the "Yesssss!" when my name was called was perhaps a little too enthusiastic, but I wasn't as loud as I was the time I won £10 in bingo so presumably my social etiquette is improving.
The day really slipped away from me and it seemed like no time at all before I was collecting my goody bag and thanking Albertine from Dippy Writes and Jodie from a la Jode for putting together such a wonderful event. And then I got home and stuffed my face with complimentary Quiz cookiesQuiz cookies and riffled through my freebies. What a fantastic day! I would quite happily stand squashed between a smelly woman and a crib for three hours to attend a day like that again!
And...
If you'd like to see what sort of goodies I got at the event then your curiosity can be satisfied by watching this video. Because I'm kind like that.
There were no windows. Very soon it started to smell like stale sweat and it wasn't long before the pregnant lady wedged the toilet door open and sat down on the loo, with her five young children sprawled around her on what I'm guessing was not a clean floor. After an hour the somewhat large and very stifled-looking woman offered to spray something on my face to cool me down. I assumed it was water. It was not. It smelled like fruit juice and made my skin itch.
So, needless to say, by the time I got to Exeter all I could think was, 'this social had better be worth the three hours I just spent stood inhaling other people's perspiration'. Luckily, it was even better than I could have imagined! Ok, so prepare yourself for some serious, shameless name-dropping because I met so many lovely bloggers and you should go and check out their sites...after you read this, of course.
I'm not a shy person, but when I first turned up at Oddfellows (which, luckily for me, is a three minute walk from my house), I was a little overwhelmed. The room was already filling up with people and photographs were being taken from all angles. That's one of the hazards of a blogging event. Everyone has a camera.
 |
| "In amongst the piles of sensible-looking cards..." |
Moving swiftly on from that...
I tried one of the signature blog cocktails that were made especially for the event and they were delicious! The till downstairs was broken so I had to venture up a set of creaky wooden stairs to order my drink. As I walked into the upstairs bar the barman was taking a tray of cocktails downstairs.
"He'll make yours up when he comes back." The manager told me.
"Oh great." I said. "Will he bring it down...?"
"No, you'll have to wait."
"Ok, I was just wondering because I'm a little nervous about getting back down the stairs in these shoes."
Maybe he thought this was an attempt at a damsel in distress act rather than a genuine confession about my complete lack of co-ordination or balance, but he was a little patronising when he said, "I'm sure you can manage to walk down the stairs."
Unfortunately, though, he was wrong. At the top of the stairs my heel got caught in a gap in the floor boards, I lost balance and spilled half of my drink over myself and (the horror!) ruined the heel of one of my favourite shoes! People just don't understand the extent of my incompetence. The only plus point is that no one was there to witness my humiliation.
 |
| "Even Barbie would envy these nails" |
a ridiculous face really stood out...I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. We had really interesting talks about publishing, advertising and content. There really was a bit of everything going on and something for everyone. Oh, and I had a giant pizza to myself and felt no shame.
Then there was the raffle. Determined that for once in my life I would win at a raffle, I bought 6 strips of tickets. Ultimately it paid off because I won twice. I think the "Yesssss!" when my name was called was perhaps a little too enthusiastic, but I wasn't as loud as I was the time I won £10 in bingo so presumably my social etiquette is improving.
 |
If you'd like to see what sort of goodies I got at the event then your curiosity can be satisfied by watching this video. Because I'm kind like that.
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Life After the Dissertation
I've been back in Exeter for an entire week now and I have the dwindling bank balance and bags under my eyes to prove it. There has been an abundance of cocktails, many bad life choices (I have no idea why I insist on taking advice from strangers I meet in the girls' toilets) and many days like today, curled up in my bed of shame, watching 'Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse' on my brother's Netflix account.
But, while many of my post-dissertation celebrations have involved tacky, overpriced Exeter night clubs and hidden hip-flasks, my housemates and I have found other forms of entertainment over the last few days. Of course, when you live in Devon it's sometimes necessary to think outside the box. The most exciting thing we could find within an hour's drive was a hedgehog hospital, which, if anything, would surely make for a very depressing day out. So, when we decided to seek out fun on Tuesday it was...varied.
I was forced out of my bed of pain at an unearthly hour to go to Brody's all you can eat breakfast buffet. Usually I'm not a big fan of buffets (or salad bars for that matter), but I loved it! Up until the point where I'd eaten so much that it hurt to breathe. It wasn't quite on par with the breakfast buffet I had in Florida (then again, does anyone really need ice-cream for breakfast?), but it was delicious. There is no such thing as too many pancakes.
After a brief time of resting my head on the table with a glazed stare, too full to move or communicate in any way, we headed across the road to the Royal Albert Memorial Museum. I can't say I learned a great deal, but they had costumes to try on and mosaics to play with so it was a big hit with everyone. I particularly enjoyed the World Cultures exhibition, which was a bit like being on the It's a Small World ride in Disneyland. But without the boat. Or the cool music.
When our cultural adventure was over we decided the logical thing to do next was to splurge on white clothing to take home and tie-dye! Let me just say, I had no idea Primark pants was so large. I now have four pairs of enormous tie-dyed knickers, which really aren't in any way as cool as I'd envisioned.
What a great way to pass an afternoon though! Yes, Jess may have dipped her hand into the bucket of purple dye without her glove on and stained her fingers. Yes, we may have forgotten to take the clothes off the washing line before the rain started and made all the dye run. And yes, to anyone walking past our conversations on why whites are easier to work with than blacks may have sounded like the ravings of a group of racists rather than the innocent discussions of a merry band of crafters with fabric dye. But now I have a new skill, some unique t-shirts and some hideous giant pants. Overall I'd call that a success.
I'm glad I have housemates who enjoy a day of trying on ridiculous hats and flicking dye onto pillowcases. How boring it must be to be normal!
Rumour has it next week we're going to paint mugs!
But, while many of my post-dissertation celebrations have involved tacky, overpriced Exeter night clubs and hidden hip-flasks, my housemates and I have found other forms of entertainment over the last few days. Of course, when you live in Devon it's sometimes necessary to think outside the box. The most exciting thing we could find within an hour's drive was a hedgehog hospital, which, if anything, would surely make for a very depressing day out. So, when we decided to seek out fun on Tuesday it was...varied.
 |
| "...our cultural adventure..." |
After a brief time of resting my head on the table with a glazed stare, too full to move or communicate in any way, we headed across the road to the Royal Albert Memorial Museum. I can't say I learned a great deal, but they had costumes to try on and mosaics to play with so it was a big hit with everyone. I particularly enjoyed the World Cultures exhibition, which was a bit like being on the It's a Small World ride in Disneyland. But without the boat. Or the cool music.
When our cultural adventure was over we decided the logical thing to do next was to splurge on white clothing to take home and tie-dye! Let me just say, I had no idea Primark pants was so large. I now have four pairs of enormous tie-dyed knickers, which really aren't in any way as cool as I'd envisioned.
What a great way to pass an afternoon though! Yes, Jess may have dipped her hand into the bucket of purple dye without her glove on and stained her fingers. Yes, we may have forgotten to take the clothes off the washing line before the rain started and made all the dye run. And yes, to anyone walking past our conversations on why whites are easier to work with than blacks may have sounded like the ravings of a group of racists rather than the innocent discussions of a merry band of crafters with fabric dye. But now I have a new skill, some unique t-shirts and some hideous giant pants. Overall I'd call that a success.
I'm glad I have housemates who enjoy a day of trying on ridiculous hats and flicking dye onto pillowcases. How boring it must be to be normal!
Rumour has it next week we're going to paint mugs!
Monday, 19 May 2014
My Life is no Fairytale...Yet
I'm back in Exeter, patiently waiting for my housemates to finish their exams and doing my utmost not to run into their study area with a bottle of tequila and demand someone entertains me. Instead, I've spent my afternoon looking up a half-decent questions tag for my blog (note to whoever writes these, 'what do you order at Starbucks?' is not an interesting or enlightening question). Eventually I found the fairytale tag and, as I am on board with anything Disney-related, I've spent my time typing away at this and avoiding housework. After all, I'm not Cinderella.
Snow White - Do you consider yourself beautiful?
 |
| "I am on board with anything Disney-related" |
Snow White - Do you consider yourself beautiful?
There are some variables to consider here. For instance, am I wearing make up? Did I just wake up? Am I sober? Sometimes I can look in the mirror and think, "Oh wow! I look great!" but I'm always treading the line between Beauty and the Beast and you never know which way it's going to go.
Sleeping Beauty - How many hours do you sleep at night?
Somewhere in the region of 10-12 hours a night, which is slightly excessive.
Cinderella - Do you have a curfew?
It would be rather ludicrous for my parents to officially implement a curfew now that I'm 22 years years old, have been living alone on and off for three years and have proven myself to be an upstanding member of society (most of the time). They always know exactly when I return home anyway because I've usually forgotten my keys and have to wake them up to let me in. I'm a joy to live with all round.
Rapunzel - Do you love being outside?
 |
| "I'm always treading the line between Beauty and the Beast" |
Unfortunately yes. There was the time Kirsty found me making friends with a large group of Iranian men who were giving away free champagne. Then there was the time Hayleigh and I agreed to follow a group of army officers in posh suits back to an after party in the Grand Hotel. (Free gin? Why not?) And who could forget the incident in Venice when I led my friends into a wine cellar because the waiter told me he owned it? And that he had a gondola.
The Wolf and The Seven Young Kids - Are you easy to fool?
See the above story concerning the man with the gondola who, in hindsight, had so obviously illegally broken into that wine cellar.
The Little Mermaid - What would you sacrifice for love?
I'm a true romantic. That said, I don't think I would ever willingly give up my voice the way The Little Mermaid did. I'm sure there are many people who wish I would, but it would take a seriously amazing man to convince me to shut up for more than five minutes. However, there's plenty I would give up. I'd move away, I'd spend all my money, I'd set aside my plans...I wouldn't give up my shoes, though. That's not negotiable.
The Frog King - What do you find disgusting?
There are many things I find disgusting, but what instantly pops to mind (probably due to some recent escapades) is the decline of chivalry. Call me sexist (I'm sure you will), but there is nothing more disgusting to me than a man who pushes past a woman in a queue, allows a door to slam in her face, or dashes for the last seat on the train and lets a girl stand. If this is progress, hand me an apron and count me out.
Jack and the Beanstalk - What plants do you have?
None. I have an excessive amount of mould growing in my bedroom in Exeter if that counts?
Puss in Boots - Do you have pets? If not, do you want them?
I have no pets. I have no desire to get pets. And I do not appreciate pet owners trying to force me to love their pets. You may see it as some kind of small child with fur, but I wouldn't take kindly to your real children slobbering over me and I don't appreciate it from the dog either.
Pinocchio - What is your biggest wish?
I've got my fingers crossed for a miracle. My nephew has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, which is a progressive muscle-wasting disease. My biggest wish is for a cure.
Yeah, I know, way to darken the mood.
Yeah, I know, way to darken the mood.
Peter Pan - What is your mental age?
My mother calls me childish. I prefer to think of it as a youthful inner glow. After spending some time at home I realised just how much I have in common with my niece. We love the same films, I envy her amazing pink dresses, we discuss Barbie at length. So, from that, I would put my mental age at four. No. Four and a half.
 |
| "We discuss Barbie at length..." |
I have some fancy mod-cons, I have my cute little car, and, when my Nanna was alive, she used to buy me expensive earrings (which I am too terrified to wear). But I'm very sentimental. My most treasured possession would be something left behind by my grandparents, photos of me when I was tiny and adorable, or the weird gifts my niece and nephew get me.
The Princess and the Pea - Are you sensitive?
Yes. I especially react badly to being shouted at. My neighbour shouted at me a couple of weeks ago and I cried for four hours. That probably had more to do with the fact that my dissertation was due in a few days later and I hadn't slept in nights, but, either way, I am still slightly terrified of him.
Bluebeard - What is your weak point?
Chocolate cake. That counts, right?
So there are some random insights into my life based on beloved children's stories...and some stories that I've never heard of in my life. Now all I can think about is chocolate cake so I'm probably going to have to buy some. Seriously, I'll never be fairest of them all if I'm popping out of my jeans.
Chocolate cake. That counts, right?
So there are some random insights into my life based on beloved children's stories...and some stories that I've never heard of in my life. Now all I can think about is chocolate cake so I'm probably going to have to buy some. Seriously, I'll never be fairest of them all if I'm popping out of my jeans.
Thursday, 20 March 2014
I Removed my Face for a Good Cause. Next Time I'm Drinking Cocktails...
So far, it's been a pretty average week. On the weekend I went for a glass of wine with Jess and Kirsty and ended up stumbling home at 4am after a night of dancing, hiding our coats in condiments draws to avoid cloakroom charges, and getting into the most bizarre arguments with middle aged women in fancy dress who don't understand that Northern Ireland is a country. For the rest of the week I have been pretty much banging my head against useless textbooks and trying to form a 3,000 word chapter for my dissertation out of the 3 convoluted bullet points I have.
But this week has been somewhat out of the ordinary. For a reason I at first could not understand, dozens of makeupless selfies started to clog up my Facebook newsfeed. Initially I was confused, partly because I didn't recognise any of the faces staring out of the pictures at me (apparently, I'm not the only one who looks like a completely different person without my customary 5 layers of makeup on). But it quickly became clear what was happening. Snap a picture of yourself sans makeup, upload it to Facebook, nominate your friends (or enemies), and donate £3 to Cancer Research UK.
Once that was cleared up, my confusion quickly turned to terror. This thing was spreading faster than the plague. Eventually it would find me and, as the day progressed and the number of selfies doubled, then tripled on my newsfeed, I knew it wouldn't be long before a nomination came my way.
It was waiting for me when I woke up the next day. And so was a spot on the end of my nose. Because having to expose your naked face to the world isn't bad enough. But I did it. I won't lie, it was a challenge. I don't have great self esteem. Yes, I'll walk into a room and talk to anyone. Yes, I'll be the last one dancing when they turn the lights on in Arena at the end of the night. And yes, I do insist on wearing ridiculous fancy dress costumes whenever possible. But ask me to take my makeup off or tie my hair into a pony tail and expose my Dumbo ears and I freak out. Welcome to my inner crazy.
But what really surprised me were all the negative comments. Not about my naked face, although there are probably a few of those floating around the place. About the campaign itself. I've read articles about how this trend won't achieve anything, Facebook statuses about how stupid
the idea is, and, of course, numerous male comments stating, "seeing as it's for Breast Cancer, why don't you just get your boobs out?" Original.
But the last I read, the Cancer Research text line was overrun with people making donations and the campaign raised over £1 million pound in 24 hours. I may not enjoy posting a picture of my real face online and I doubt anyone out there enjoys looking at it, but this crazy random idea has done a lot of good. But I would appreciate it if the next campagin was something less scarring. Like, "Nominate 3 friends to go grab a coktail and donate money to Cancer Research." In fact, let's just make that a thing right now.
But this week has been somewhat out of the ordinary. For a reason I at first could not understand, dozens of makeupless selfies started to clog up my Facebook newsfeed. Initially I was confused, partly because I didn't recognise any of the faces staring out of the pictures at me (apparently, I'm not the only one who looks like a completely different person without my customary 5 layers of makeup on). But it quickly became clear what was happening. Snap a picture of yourself sans makeup, upload it to Facebook, nominate your friends (or enemies), and donate £3 to Cancer Research UK.
Once that was cleared up, my confusion quickly turned to terror. This thing was spreading faster than the plague. Eventually it would find me and, as the day progressed and the number of selfies doubled, then tripled on my newsfeed, I knew it wouldn't be long before a nomination came my way.
It was waiting for me when I woke up the next day. And so was a spot on the end of my nose. Because having to expose your naked face to the world isn't bad enough. But I did it. I won't lie, it was a challenge. I don't have great self esteem. Yes, I'll walk into a room and talk to anyone. Yes, I'll be the last one dancing when they turn the lights on in Arena at the end of the night. And yes, I do insist on wearing ridiculous fancy dress costumes whenever possible. But ask me to take my makeup off or tie my hair into a pony tail and expose my Dumbo ears and I freak out. Welcome to my inner crazy.
But what really surprised me were all the negative comments. Not about my naked face, although there are probably a few of those floating around the place. About the campaign itself. I've read articles about how this trend won't achieve anything, Facebook statuses about how stupid
the idea is, and, of course, numerous male comments stating, "seeing as it's for Breast Cancer, why don't you just get your boobs out?" Original.
But the last I read, the Cancer Research text line was overrun with people making donations and the campaign raised over £1 million pound in 24 hours. I may not enjoy posting a picture of my real face online and I doubt anyone out there enjoys looking at it, but this crazy random idea has done a lot of good. But I would appreciate it if the next campagin was something less scarring. Like, "Nominate 3 friends to go grab a coktail and donate money to Cancer Research." In fact, let's just make that a thing right now.
Wednesday, 26 February 2014
A Day in the Life: Dissertation Dejection Mode
As the dissertation deadline looms ever-closer and people insist on saying things like "this is what you've spent your whole life working towards" (no pressure), I thought I'd try out something a little different to give you an insight into what an average day is like for me right now. It will mean carrying my laptop around with me (if I bother to leave the confines of my room/ bed), but it's worth it to accurately record all of the mundane details of a student's life when they're in dissertation dejection mode.
10:41am
Not only am I awake, but I've been out of the house already. I had an appointment with the chiropractor at 9:40am, convincing that if I had an early appointment I would have all day long to spend at the library. Unfortunately, all I have done is get back into bed.
My back hurts (hopefully in a 'don't worry, it's just healing' kind of way), but my neck feels great. At the end of the session I asked if he wouldn't mind, "doing that thing where you make my neck go all clicky," to which he looked at me and laughed. Apparently I'm one of the only patients he's ever has who has requested to have their neck manually contorted until it cracks. I can't see why. Personally, I love the feeling and the sound.
On the way home I found out my 3pm lecture has been cancelled, which is going to make forcing myself up onto campus even harder than it was already going to be. I wouldn't have a problem with heading up there right now, but every day last week I spent at least 20 minutes of my time wandering from floor to floor of the library, searching for a seat. Side note - University of Exeter, I appreciate you spending £50 million on the new forum, but I would appreciate it more if you'd trade in the electronic touch screen maps no one has ever used and the overpriced coffee shop (how many does one campus need?) and just put in more places where people can, you know, do work.
When deadlines start inching closer, everything else seems to go out the window. So right now my room is full of empty bowls that once contained My Little Pony pasta shapes, I only have one pair of clean knickers left in the draw, and I didn't even have it in me to apply bronzer this morning.
All the essentials for work. Pencil case, notebook, jar of honey, magnifying mirror...
12.35pm
Another short story and five more articles done and dusted. Now it's officially nap time.
I made it onto campus, mostly because I knew the campus shop had Milkybar mini eggs in the Easter display and they have now become my go-to dissertation snack. I do not need the extra calories, but they are my new weakness in life and they make the endless hours of research more bearable.
I can't say that anything particularly interesting has happened this afternoon. On my way here I passed a man talking to his dog. Not the normal "sit," "stay," "for goodness sake get out of that puddle and spit out that mouse" kind of talking. He was having an in-depth, one sided conversation. The dog didn't strike me as a particularly good listener. If anything, he was a little too self-obsessed.
And now I have to force myself out into the cold to go and sign up for a meeting with my lecturer tomorrow. Ok. Movement. I can do this...
I went to the shop to get something else to eat and it seemed that everywhere I turned first years were talking about their plans for this evening. It's been so long since I've been out on a week night that I can't even remember which of Exeter's four useless clubs is the place to be on a Monday. Stop talking about your amazing, pre-dissertation lives!
I temporarily made myself feel better by thinking that in eight weeks I'll be done with university work and they'll have another two years to go. But then I realised that graduation is just the start of a whole new series of problems. I'll be living at home with no student loan, trying to find a job, waking up early and being all responsible and those annoyingly chirpy first years will still have another year and a half of carefree student life ahead (and then that six months of dissertation dejection mode, of course).
So yeah. Wish me luck!
I seem to be spending the majority of my time researching the southern belle for my dissertation and all I have to show for it so far is this:
Before that I had a quick read through The Week Magazine, which I got sent this week to review. I do honestly try to be cultured and knowledgeable, but when I have a spare 10 minutes before class in the morning and I have a choice to either scroll through my BBC news app or my Facebook app, Facebook just always wins out. And we don't have a tv so I feel well and truly cut off from the rest of the planet. Martians could invade and I'm not sure how long it would take for me to find out now that I don't watch the news while I'm eating my cereal in the morning.
So I was excited to take a look through The Week and find out what was happening in the world. My first thought when I opened it was, "There aren't very many pictures." Yes, I'm aware that I'm a twenty two year old English Literature student who reads Dickens and Austen in my free time so I have no idea where that came from, but it was instantly followed by a sense of deep shame. Clearly I've been reading too much Cosmo.
Anyway, I like it. I like the way it's broken down into little bite sized pieces. They give you just the right amount of information on a wide range of topics from all over the world. I've never been able to read a traditional newspaper (despite the abundance of pictures), but this was short and snappy so I didn't feel like I was trudging through it. I feel less ignorant having read it and I'm very tempted to start up a subscription. Just in case Martians invade or something. And they didn't even pay me to say that!
So there you have it. This is what my typical day looks like at the moment. Mundane, messy, and full of diverse forms of procrastination, such as writing this right now. And when my dissertation finally gets handed in, I'm going to party hard! That's a total lie. I'm going to sleep for a week.
5:42pm
Time flies when you're forcing your way through a novel about a talking monkey who is driven to crime by his despair at mankind. I can't believe how late it is already. I swear I only napped for an hour so I can't understand where the day has gone.I made it onto campus, mostly because I knew the campus shop had Milkybar mini eggs in the Easter display and they have now become my go-to dissertation snack. I do not need the extra calories, but they are my new weakness in life and they make the endless hours of research more bearable.
I can't say that anything particularly interesting has happened this afternoon. On my way here I passed a man talking to his dog. Not the normal "sit," "stay," "for goodness sake get out of that puddle and spit out that mouse" kind of talking. He was having an in-depth, one sided conversation. The dog didn't strike me as a particularly good listener. If anything, he was a little too self-obsessed.
And now I have to force myself out into the cold to go and sign up for a meeting with my lecturer tomorrow. Ok. Movement. I can do this...
7:30pm
Still sat at the desk in the library. Still reading about talking monkeys. Slowly losing the will to live.I went to the shop to get something else to eat and it seemed that everywhere I turned first years were talking about their plans for this evening. It's been so long since I've been out on a week night that I can't even remember which of Exeter's four useless clubs is the place to be on a Monday. Stop talking about your amazing, pre-dissertation lives!
I temporarily made myself feel better by thinking that in eight weeks I'll be done with university work and they'll have another two years to go. But then I realised that graduation is just the start of a whole new series of problems. I'll be living at home with no student loan, trying to find a job, waking up early and being all responsible and those annoyingly chirpy first years will still have another year and a half of carefree student life ahead (and then that six months of dissertation dejection mode, of course).
8:01pm
Library time is over and I'm ready to head home. I just hope it isn't raining. Things are bad enough walking home in the dark through that woodland path. By day it's beautiful and tranquil, a relaxing way to stroll to campus and spot the last of the robins, fluttering from branch to branch amongst the early morning dew. By night it is a terrifying death path where there must be ghosts lurking in the bushes and demons hiding at every curve in the path.So yeah. Wish me luck!
8:36pm
It was raining. Of course it was.I seem to be spending the majority of my time researching the southern belle for my dissertation and all I have to show for it so far is this:
9:33pm
I just finished the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred and I am a very attractive shade of beetroot right now. I'm proud that after a day of work I still managed to drag myself upstairs to do squats and jumping jacks. Who have I become?Before that I had a quick read through The Week Magazine, which I got sent this week to review. I do honestly try to be cultured and knowledgeable, but when I have a spare 10 minutes before class in the morning and I have a choice to either scroll through my BBC news app or my Facebook app, Facebook just always wins out. And we don't have a tv so I feel well and truly cut off from the rest of the planet. Martians could invade and I'm not sure how long it would take for me to find out now that I don't watch the news while I'm eating my cereal in the morning.
So I was excited to take a look through The Week and find out what was happening in the world. My first thought when I opened it was, "There aren't very many pictures." Yes, I'm aware that I'm a twenty two year old English Literature student who reads Dickens and Austen in my free time so I have no idea where that came from, but it was instantly followed by a sense of deep shame. Clearly I've been reading too much Cosmo.
Anyway, I like it. I like the way it's broken down into little bite sized pieces. They give you just the right amount of information on a wide range of topics from all over the world. I've never been able to read a traditional newspaper (despite the abundance of pictures), but this was short and snappy so I didn't feel like I was trudging through it. I feel less ignorant having read it and I'm very tempted to start up a subscription. Just in case Martians invade or something. And they didn't even pay me to say that!
10:11pm
Ok brain, bring on the insomnia! I haven't been able to sleep properly for about two weeks (the joys of a heavy workload). I've tried Nytol (which taste like a gone off plant), long relaxing baths, hypnosis apps on my phone, but my brain seems to perk up considerably around the 9pm mark and, no matter how early I wake up and how many naps I deny myself, it'll still be buzzing at 2am.11:27
Oh no, I just found out that Jillian Michaels has a cheesy American weight loss show. Now I have to watch every episode I can find.So there you have it. This is what my typical day looks like at the moment. Mundane, messy, and full of diverse forms of procrastination, such as writing this right now. And when my dissertation finally gets handed in, I'm going to party hard! That's a total lie. I'm going to sleep for a week.
Sunday, 23 February 2014
"What goes with pyjama bottoms?" "Shame!"
Five minutes ago there was a knock on my bedroom door. I crawled to the door on my hands and knees (naturally). It was my housemate, Iona.
"I just read your blog from start to finish and I really like it. I think you should write another post soon."
I was both touched by her compliment and impressed by her procrastination skills.
"Thanks," (still on my knees) "I want to write one, but I've just been so boring lately doing my dissertation. I don't know what I'd write about."
When she left and I crawled back to my pilates (which was my own form of procrastination and the reason I was crawling around the room), I realised that, in fact, my weekend had been far from boring and now is the perfect opportunity to write my next blog post...and procrastinate by doing so.
What started out as dinner with Kirsty and her parents on Friday night ended with me walking home through puddles with no shoes on at 2am with Sophie and Jess. I have a knack for spreading the evening out.
It was Emma, from Wasting Tuition Fees', birthday. I only realised when I was on my way out the door to go to dinner, but I'm not one to pass up an opportunity for a cocktail or seven so, after stuffing my face with the world's best chicken in mushroom sauce, I headed over to Monkey Suit, which is one of my favourite places in Exeter because they know exactly how to make a strawberry daiquiri, a skill which is often overlooked in life.
I told Sophie and Jess I'd meet them there so I was alone when I got to the entrance.
"Are you just coming in for a drink?" Asked the bouncer.
"No...I'm going to a party."
"Whose party?"
"Emma's"
"And how old is Emma?"
I stopped and stared blankly, partly because this interrogation seemed somewhat unnecessary and partly because at that moment, I couldn't even remember how old I was.
"22. No. 21. 22. Wait. No. I'm 22. So she must be...I'm just so confused."
But my confusion was obviously believable because in I went.
By the time Sophie and Jess got there I was three cocktails better off and already had a wristband for queue jump at Timepiece, despite the fact that it was originally going to be a 'just one drink and then home so I can get up for the library tomorrow' affair. Fast-forward to us heading home in the early hours with me carrying my shoes, something that simply does not occur in my life. I once kept my shoes on all night despite the fact that my feet were bleeding and yet here I was splashing through the puddles, high heels in hand, like some kind of shoe-novice.
But, as much fun as we had that night, it was the next day that inspired me to write this post. Having point blank refused to leave my bed all morning, I assumed the others had made it to the library. Imagine my surprise when Sophie popped up on Facebook chat.
"Have you got any self raising flour? I need cookies."
What a genius idea! Cookies were exactly what we needed. And so I made the most productive move of the day thus far and moved from my bed to Sophie's bed.
So Sophie, Jess and I sat on Sophie's bed, each at various levels of exhaustion and all still wearing our pjs and last night's eyeliner. It was a serious issue, trying to decide what treats we needed. We could make cookies, but we had no chocolate chips. We could make cake, but deep down we all wanted cookies. There was ice cream, but no brownies. The odds were seriously stacked up against us.
At last there was no alternative, but to head to Londis in our pjs, hair unkempt, eyes bloodshot, faces unmade. There was a bizarre moment before we left when Sophie couldn't decide which shoes to wear.
"We're in pyjamas. I don't even have a bra on. I don't think it matter which shoes you wear."
"It's just...what goes with pyjama bottoms?"
"...Shame."
We simply needed chocolate chips. And it was worth wandering the streets in my Mickey Mouse pyjama bottoms to stuff my face with cookies...and cookie dough....and ice cream...and Dorritos. Because sometimes, when you simply can't face another day of reading about the antebellum South, the only thing to do is to lie in bed and eat and week's worth of calories.
I feel no shame. It was amazing.
"I just read your blog from start to finish and I really like it. I think you should write another post soon."
I was both touched by her compliment and impressed by her procrastination skills.
"Thanks," (still on my knees) "I want to write one, but I've just been so boring lately doing my dissertation. I don't know what I'd write about."
When she left and I crawled back to my pilates (which was my own form of procrastination and the reason I was crawling around the room), I realised that, in fact, my weekend had been far from boring and now is the perfect opportunity to write my next blog post...and procrastinate by doing so.
What started out as dinner with Kirsty and her parents on Friday night ended with me walking home through puddles with no shoes on at 2am with Sophie and Jess. I have a knack for spreading the evening out.
It was Emma, from Wasting Tuition Fees', birthday. I only realised when I was on my way out the door to go to dinner, but I'm not one to pass up an opportunity for a cocktail or seven so, after stuffing my face with the world's best chicken in mushroom sauce, I headed over to Monkey Suit, which is one of my favourite places in Exeter because they know exactly how to make a strawberry daiquiri, a skill which is often overlooked in life.
I told Sophie and Jess I'd meet them there so I was alone when I got to the entrance.
"Are you just coming in for a drink?" Asked the bouncer.
"No...I'm going to a party."
"Whose party?"
"Emma's"
"And how old is Emma?"
I stopped and stared blankly, partly because this interrogation seemed somewhat unnecessary and partly because at that moment, I couldn't even remember how old I was.
"22. No. 21. 22. Wait. No. I'm 22. So she must be...I'm just so confused."
But my confusion was obviously believable because in I went.
By the time Sophie and Jess got there I was three cocktails better off and already had a wristband for queue jump at Timepiece, despite the fact that it was originally going to be a 'just one drink and then home so I can get up for the library tomorrow' affair. Fast-forward to us heading home in the early hours with me carrying my shoes, something that simply does not occur in my life. I once kept my shoes on all night despite the fact that my feet were bleeding and yet here I was splashing through the puddles, high heels in hand, like some kind of shoe-novice.
 |
| "I feel no shame." |
"Have you got any self raising flour? I need cookies."
What a genius idea! Cookies were exactly what we needed. And so I made the most productive move of the day thus far and moved from my bed to Sophie's bed.
So Sophie, Jess and I sat on Sophie's bed, each at various levels of exhaustion and all still wearing our pjs and last night's eyeliner. It was a serious issue, trying to decide what treats we needed. We could make cookies, but we had no chocolate chips. We could make cake, but deep down we all wanted cookies. There was ice cream, but no brownies. The odds were seriously stacked up against us.
At last there was no alternative, but to head to Londis in our pjs, hair unkempt, eyes bloodshot, faces unmade. There was a bizarre moment before we left when Sophie couldn't decide which shoes to wear.
"We're in pyjamas. I don't even have a bra on. I don't think it matter which shoes you wear."
"It's just...what goes with pyjama bottoms?"
"...Shame."
We simply needed chocolate chips. And it was worth wandering the streets in my Mickey Mouse pyjama bottoms to stuff my face with cookies...and cookie dough....and ice cream...and Dorritos. Because sometimes, when you simply can't face another day of reading about the antebellum South, the only thing to do is to lie in bed and eat and week's worth of calories.
I feel no shame. It was amazing.
Thursday, 13 February 2014
The Not So Fabulous Student Life
I've been back in Exter for less than a week and already student life has become the norm again. It's amazing how quickly you forget about the existence of ironed clothes, general warmth, and a kitchen floor that isn't so sticky it pulls the socks off your feet. And now that the winds outside are up to 100mph and something as simple as the walk to campus has become a nightmare in its own right, I've begun to realise just how un-glamorous student life can be.
1. Student Housing.
When I was in first year I lived in brand new student accommodation that, while luxurious compared with some of the rooms I've seen at the likes of Swansea and Cardiff, was in no way worth the £123 a week I paid to live there. But it was warm and comfortable. Yes, our cleaner used to spend her shift sat at our dining room table, eating our biscuits and insulting us if we walked in instead of actually doing any kind of cleaning, but that was as bad as it got.
When I left campus I entered the world of deposit-snatching landlords, 'house' snails, broadband scams, arguments about when it's acceptable to turn the heat up (apparently, in some cases, only when you can literally see your own breath) and various other student housing delights.
Last year my room had no window. It led onto a badly constructed extension that clearly wasn't up to any kind of building code. It let in the rain and there were weeds growing in it. There was no natural daylight in the room itself...or air.
This year our house is a great improvement. It's bigger, the housemate to bathroom ratio is fantastic, my room has two whole windows and space for my clothes in the cupboard. But we have damp. And, as this seemingly never-ending downpour continues, it's not getting any better. When I got back last week and opened my wardrobe, my shoes had grown a layer of mould. I had to scrape a living entity off my favourite red Mary Janes. The estate agent did not understand my despair.
2. A Ridiculous Life.
It would be a lie to say that ridiculous things only happen to me in Exeter. If you read about my trip to Europe last summer then you will be well aware that it makes no difference where in the world I am. I just attract stupid scenarios. But living at university offers up a whole new realm of possibilities for me to get myself into trouble.
On the weekend I popped across the road to the corner shop. It's conveniently placed right opposite our house, next to the Thai 'Massage Parlour' (which isn't fooling anyone, by the way). I left the door on the latch, only to find when I got back that I'd been locked out. Our doorbell was broken. I banged the door until I thought I might inadvertently punch right through it but, as is one of the fun novelties of student living, someone had music on and no one heard.
It was cold and wet. I had nothing to hand but my purse and a tin of chopped tomatoes. My very will to live was fast slipping from me at the point. I pushed past the shrubs to get around to the side of the house. The gate was locked.
So I scaled the pointed fence. It's a good two feet taller than me and my cowboy boots were of no use in trying to get a decent foothold. Halfway over, shivering, hair frizzy, butt in the air, a man walked up the lane next to the house.
"Just...trying to get back into my house."
He looked in no way surprised to see me crawling my way across a seven foot wall. Has living in such close proximity to students made Exeter residents immune to this kind of thing or do I just give off the vibe that this kind of thing is part of my day to day life?
3. Grunge, Grime, and Tiny Nervous Breakdowns.
Student houses are disgusting because, generally speaking, students are disgusting. That's why landlords turn the other way when there are indoor snails, indoor weeds, and indoor mould (even when it's on my shoes). Forget dissertations and presentations, the biggest stress in a student's life is usually the kitchen and the fear of what kind of diseases may be lurking there.
Since I first lived in my comfy little flat, kitchens have been a nightmare. Back then it was the guy who would leave his saucepans unwashed for so long he had to throw them out. Now it's the nightmare of having six people share a teeny tiny kitchen...and leaving their stuff unwashed for so long that they maybe should consider throwing it out.
I've gotten into a great habit of washing, drying and putting away my dishes as soon as I'm done with them, mostly because I don't like the idea of them touching the surfaces. In fact, my parents were pleasantly surprised when I went home last week and did the dishes in an almost paranoid way. Yes, dirty kitchens are annoying, but I had no idea how much it irritated me until the other night when my subconscious decided to join the party...in a big way.
It was a normal, quiet evening. I was a normal, quiet human being. Kirsty and I were in the kitchen and I was just washing up a mug.
"The kitchen looks so much better, doesn't it?" Said Kirsty. "I've noticed it doesn't stress you out so much anymore."
"No," I said (still a normal, quiet human being). "I just let it all go over my head now. I try not to think about it too much. But," (still normal and quiet) "one thing that does annoy me is this whole draining board thing. We never have any dry tea towels and then, when we do, people use them to create a second draining board." (This is where normal and quiet started to ebb away). "I mean, we don't need two draining boards. We don't even technically need the one if people would just dry their dishes, but they seem to insist on using it as some kind of communal storage unit! And then, when this storage unit, which isn't even meant to be a storage unit, is full, they make another one instead of emptying the first?! And how do they do that? They use the only dry tea towel in the house so that even if anyone actually did want to dry their dishes, they couldn't! But clearly no one does anyway because otherwise we wouldn't need two draining boards for them to store all their crap on!! But maybe I DO want to dry my dishes and now I can't because of this stupid second draining board thing!"
Normal and quiet had well and truly left the building. Kirsty just stared at me.
"But, yeah...apart from that I think I've really chilled out about the whole kitchen thing..."
Kirsty quickly removed all of her kitchenware from the draining board.
So those are just a couple of examples from the last week I thought would highlight some of the more...challenging aspects of student living. As well as these there's the mountain of Dominoes boxes, the battle of who will take out the bins, library fines, attempting to navigate the amory building (you will not understand the horror until you've tried), student loans not covering the high price of alcohol in Exeter, Student Finance Wales in general, MLA citations, the way Arena smells like feet...oh good grief, I'm having another 'draining board moment'.
But, despite the grim realities of student life, we are some of the few people who can drink midweek without being judged, lay in bed until 2pm, leave the house in whatever happens to be clean and pretend we're being 'hipster' and generally enjoy all the perks of independent living without the drag of having a job. And, most importantly, at the end of term you always get to return to your parents house, where it's dry and clean and the wall is only 2 foot tall if you ever need to scale it.
1. Student Housing.
When I was in first year I lived in brand new student accommodation that, while luxurious compared with some of the rooms I've seen at the likes of Swansea and Cardiff, was in no way worth the £123 a week I paid to live there. But it was warm and comfortable. Yes, our cleaner used to spend her shift sat at our dining room table, eating our biscuits and insulting us if we walked in instead of actually doing any kind of cleaning, but that was as bad as it got.
When I left campus I entered the world of deposit-snatching landlords, 'house' snails, broadband scams, arguments about when it's acceptable to turn the heat up (apparently, in some cases, only when you can literally see your own breath) and various other student housing delights.
Last year my room had no window. It led onto a badly constructed extension that clearly wasn't up to any kind of building code. It let in the rain and there were weeds growing in it. There was no natural daylight in the room itself...or air.
2. A Ridiculous Life.
It would be a lie to say that ridiculous things only happen to me in Exeter. If you read about my trip to Europe last summer then you will be well aware that it makes no difference where in the world I am. I just attract stupid scenarios. But living at university offers up a whole new realm of possibilities for me to get myself into trouble.
 |
| The first time I ever went to the uni library I was drunk...and wearing hotpants. |
It was cold and wet. I had nothing to hand but my purse and a tin of chopped tomatoes. My very will to live was fast slipping from me at the point. I pushed past the shrubs to get around to the side of the house. The gate was locked.
So I scaled the pointed fence. It's a good two feet taller than me and my cowboy boots were of no use in trying to get a decent foothold. Halfway over, shivering, hair frizzy, butt in the air, a man walked up the lane next to the house.
"Just...trying to get back into my house."
He looked in no way surprised to see me crawling my way across a seven foot wall. Has living in such close proximity to students made Exeter residents immune to this kind of thing or do I just give off the vibe that this kind of thing is part of my day to day life?
3. Grunge, Grime, and Tiny Nervous Breakdowns.
 |
| In first year we brought a random cat into our kitchen. |
Since I first lived in my comfy little flat, kitchens have been a nightmare. Back then it was the guy who would leave his saucepans unwashed for so long he had to throw them out. Now it's the nightmare of having six people share a teeny tiny kitchen...and leaving their stuff unwashed for so long that they maybe should consider throwing it out.
I've gotten into a great habit of washing, drying and putting away my dishes as soon as I'm done with them, mostly because I don't like the idea of them touching the surfaces. In fact, my parents were pleasantly surprised when I went home last week and did the dishes in an almost paranoid way. Yes, dirty kitchens are annoying, but I had no idea how much it irritated me until the other night when my subconscious decided to join the party...in a big way.
It was a normal, quiet evening. I was a normal, quiet human being. Kirsty and I were in the kitchen and I was just washing up a mug.
"The kitchen looks so much better, doesn't it?" Said Kirsty. "I've noticed it doesn't stress you out so much anymore."
"No," I said (still a normal, quiet human being). "I just let it all go over my head now. I try not to think about it too much. But," (still normal and quiet) "one thing that does annoy me is this whole draining board thing. We never have any dry tea towels and then, when we do, people use them to create a second draining board." (This is where normal and quiet started to ebb away). "I mean, we don't need two draining boards. We don't even technically need the one if people would just dry their dishes, but they seem to insist on using it as some kind of communal storage unit! And then, when this storage unit, which isn't even meant to be a storage unit, is full, they make another one instead of emptying the first?! And how do they do that? They use the only dry tea towel in the house so that even if anyone actually did want to dry their dishes, they couldn't! But clearly no one does anyway because otherwise we wouldn't need two draining boards for them to store all their crap on!! But maybe I DO want to dry my dishes and now I can't because of this stupid second draining board thing!"
Normal and quiet had well and truly left the building. Kirsty just stared at me.
"But, yeah...apart from that I think I've really chilled out about the whole kitchen thing..."
Kirsty quickly removed all of her kitchenware from the draining board.
So those are just a couple of examples from the last week I thought would highlight some of the more...challenging aspects of student living. As well as these there's the mountain of Dominoes boxes, the battle of who will take out the bins, library fines, attempting to navigate the amory building (you will not understand the horror until you've tried), student loans not covering the high price of alcohol in Exeter, Student Finance Wales in general, MLA citations, the way Arena smells like feet...oh good grief, I'm having another 'draining board moment'.
But, despite the grim realities of student life, we are some of the few people who can drink midweek without being judged, lay in bed until 2pm, leave the house in whatever happens to be clean and pretend we're being 'hipster' and generally enjoy all the perks of independent living without the drag of having a job. And, most importantly, at the end of term you always get to return to your parents house, where it's dry and clean and the wall is only 2 foot tall if you ever need to scale it.
Saturday, 8 February 2014
I'm Sorry! I Just...Ended up in Wales Somehow.
First things first, I apologize for disappearing off the face of the virtual earth for the past few weeks. I'll blame a combination of my latest trip to Germany, having no internet in my bedroom and not feeling inclined to walk all the way down to the living room, and a completely unexpected turn of events that meant I ended up back in Wales this week.
I left the Beacon's house at 3pm German time last Sunday. I was prepared for the usual 10 or more hours of travelling and the hassle that is navigating Schiphol Airport. But then I remembered that due to recent 'adverse weather conditions' my train to Exeter wouldn't be running. My plane would land at 9pm and the next bus was at 2am and no amount of free KLM wine could make that prospect any less daunting. So when I landed in Bristol and found my Dad waiting to take me back to Port Talbot, for the first time ever I was grateful that my mother is so paranoid about me doing anything after sundown. Suddenly the fact that she says things like, "take extra care and make sure you have your rape alarm" when I walk home from campus at 6pm in winter was overshadowed by fact that I wouldn't be travelling through the apocalyptic Devon weather on a bus until 4:30am. Within an hour and a half I was warm, comfy, and wearing my amazing Mickey Mouse pjs.
Determined not to step outside the house into the whirling chaos of gale force winds and bone-chilling rain (why put my hair through such an ordeal unless it's absolutely necessary?), I decided to put my time to good use and get some work done. So naturally I constructed a cave in my parent's living room and watched Gone with the Wind. There was only another 40 minutes or so left until Scarlet finally realises Ashley Wilkes isn't all that, even if he does have a completely unnecessary British accent, when the storm cut off our power. After some deliberation about how my mother would react to us using her 'display candles', my father and I drank Jack Daniels in the dark. I did not leave my cave.
A quick summary for my readers from outside the UK, we are currently experiencing mass flooding and 80mph winds. And will continue to do so until at least the end of the month according to the weather people. They've issued an Amber Warning, although I can't say with any certainty that anyone knows what that actually means. But it is wet and cold. Even by British standards. We're talking evacuations and train tracks in the sea.
That said, I was in no way discouraged from heading into Swansea with Ellis, Lauren, and my mother for a trip to TGI Fridays. That is the kind of necessity I am willing to risk my hair for. Lauren, now 4 years old, asked me for relationship advice. It seems her boyfriend won't play with her in the yard at lunchtime any more. I briefly outlined the 'men are like elastic bands' theory, but she couldn't quite grasp it. So I distracted her with a colouring book.
And now I'm back in Exeter with a cold, a full laundry basket, mould growing on my wall, and absolutely no inclination to get out of bed and face those 'high risk' winds. Maybe it's time to make a new cave...
I left the Beacon's house at 3pm German time last Sunday. I was prepared for the usual 10 or more hours of travelling and the hassle that is navigating Schiphol Airport. But then I remembered that due to recent 'adverse weather conditions' my train to Exeter wouldn't be running. My plane would land at 9pm and the next bus was at 2am and no amount of free KLM wine could make that prospect any less daunting. So when I landed in Bristol and found my Dad waiting to take me back to Port Talbot, for the first time ever I was grateful that my mother is so paranoid about me doing anything after sundown. Suddenly the fact that she says things like, "take extra care and make sure you have your rape alarm" when I walk home from campus at 6pm in winter was overshadowed by fact that I wouldn't be travelling through the apocalyptic Devon weather on a bus until 4:30am. Within an hour and a half I was warm, comfy, and wearing my amazing Mickey Mouse pjs.
Determined not to step outside the house into the whirling chaos of gale force winds and bone-chilling rain (why put my hair through such an ordeal unless it's absolutely necessary?), I decided to put my time to good use and get some work done. So naturally I constructed a cave in my parent's living room and watched Gone with the Wind. There was only another 40 minutes or so left until Scarlet finally realises Ashley Wilkes isn't all that, even if he does have a completely unnecessary British accent, when the storm cut off our power. After some deliberation about how my mother would react to us using her 'display candles', my father and I drank Jack Daniels in the dark. I did not leave my cave.
 |
| Picture from the BBC website to show I'm not being melodramatic. |
That said, I was in no way discouraged from heading into Swansea with Ellis, Lauren, and my mother for a trip to TGI Fridays. That is the kind of necessity I am willing to risk my hair for. Lauren, now 4 years old, asked me for relationship advice. It seems her boyfriend won't play with her in the yard at lunchtime any more. I briefly outlined the 'men are like elastic bands' theory, but she couldn't quite grasp it. So I distracted her with a colouring book.
And now I'm back in Exeter with a cold, a full laundry basket, mould growing on my wall, and absolutely no inclination to get out of bed and face those 'high risk' winds. Maybe it's time to make a new cave...
Wednesday, 22 January 2014
All the Random Details of my Life: The Liebster Award
Let's make the most of the fact that for first time in a week I can get internet in my room and write a blog post. Yesterday my housemate Jess, the blogger behind Mismatched Knitwear, tagged me to do the Liebster Award. I have no idea who or what Liebster is, but these are the rules...
1. Include a link to the blog that tagged you.
2. Share 11 facts about yourself (11 seems like an odd number, but I'll roll with it)
3. Answer 10 questions put to you by the person who tagged you
4. Make up 10 new questions and tag some more bloggers to answer them.
Confused? I am...
2. I am left handed. Let's just put that one out there now because I'm sick of people I've known for years randomly shrieking one day, "You're left handed? Since when?" Since birth. Let's all accept it and move on.
3. When I was born I was a jaundice baby. For those of you who don't know, jaundice is a pretty common condition in newborns that turns your baby an attractive yellow colour. The doctor told my mother to make sure I got plenty of sunlight to make it disappear faster. When I was a few days old my Nanna dropped by to check up on us, only to find my mother had left me out in the garden to bake in the noonday September sun in some kind of attempt to cook the jaundice out of me. My Nanna quickly pointed out that this was probably not what the doctor had had in mind.
4. My favourite food is Dominos. I know my dad is right when he says it tastes like cardboard, but I just can't get enough!
5. Most nights I dream about Disney World. I don't particularly spend a lot of time thinking about Disney World when I'm awake, but it somehow always manages to find a way to creep into my dreams. Usually I'm rushing to see the parade or meet Belle and recently my dream-self has spent a lot of time trying to get onto It's A Small World, which, for some reason, has an entryway so small you have to crawl through it. If any medical professionals would like to offer an opinion on what on earth is going on in my brain, please feel free.
6. I'm a godparent to both my niece and nephew. No one actually ever mentioned this to me and it was a bit of a shock when the vicar asked all the godparents to step forward. The first I knew of it was when my mother poked me in the back and hissed, "Move, that's you."
7. I don't like gravy. Go ahead and judge.
8. I love Halloween. Ever since I was little my dad made a big deal of it. It started out with him making a few creepy decorations and screwing in coloured bulbs. Eventually it got to the point where our entire house would be transformed, inside and out. One year complete strangers dropped by to take pictures of it (Halloween isn't a big deal in the UK like it is in the US...except in my house). Some of my best memories are of Halloween and now that I'm a grown up it's my job to scare Ellis and Lauren.
9. My eyes are so big that my eyelids don't cover them when I blink. I need eyedrops. Yes, I'm a freak.
10. I am pretty much always cold. There are not enough layers in the world to get me through winter in my student house and, when I'm at home, I have to put the heating on full and curl up next to the radiator while everyone else slowly melts.
11. I organise my wardrobe by colour and I am in no way ashamed of this.
I don't particularly like the name of my blog. It just kind of happened. I wanted to start writing about all the random stuff that was going on in my brain and didn't have the patience to sit and think about the fundamentals of the blog itself.
2. What was the last thing you ate?
Bran Flakes. Is there a more boring food?
3. What is the weirdest thing someone has searched for to find your blog?
I always hear these great stories about the weird and wonderful keywords that can lead to your blog. Unfortunately, the only thing anyone has ever searched to find me is twentyoddball.
4.What is the first thing you do when you get up in the morning?
I'm judging myself right now, but the first thing I do is look at my phone to see if the Beacon has text me. Loser!
5. What was the last GOOD film that you watched?
I watch a lot of bad films. The other day Kirsty and I watched Boogeyman 3. I can't imagine how Boogeyman 1 and 2 proved so popular that it was necessary to make a third, but it does exist. The last good film I watched was Frozen. I loved that, Tangled, and the Princess and the Frog. Finally Disney are making good films again!
6. What was you New Year's resolution? Have you stuck to it so far?
My resolution this year was a bit of a tricky one. Basically it was to get my life together. Get more organised, spend less time in bed, get fit and healthy, stop wasting so much money and so on. I've definitely improved in some areas, but it's an ongoing process. That's how I can justify being in bed right now.
7. What is the 'go-to' song on your Ipod?
Oh Jess, why would you ask this? Generally speaking, I refuse to let my Ipod embarrass me. I fully admit that my music tastes are...individual and varied. I'm aware that the amount of Britney Spears is probably disturbing for some people and the lack of house music or whatever annoying noise my housemates listen to probably makes me very uncool.
But I am ashamed to admit that recently my go-to song has been my 4 year old niece's favourite, LOL by Isabella Barrett and Eden Wood. I need to link the video so you can see why it grieves me, but be warned. It will be stuck in your head forever.
8. If you could pass 1 law right now, what would it be?
Twentyoddball is not the place we go to to talk politics so I'm not going to give this much serious thought. I do think they should ban airbrushing because if you've seen that weird gif that's going around the internet of a model being 'touched up' you'll know how freaky it all is.
9. What is your proudest achievement?
Tough question! Probably winning a Blue Peter badge. My dad used to tell me that when he was little he'd always wanted one. I didn't tell anyone I was submitting anything and when I won and they sent me the badge I felt so proud that I could give it to my dad and he could finally have his own. He still has it framed in his bedroom.
10. Tell us an embarrassing story.
My life is just a series of embarrassing stories! Where to even begin?
When I was in my first year of uni I lived at the bottom of Cardiac Hill, which, if you can imagine, if even worse than it sounds. One day I had a 9am seminar (boo!) and I hadn't felt too great when I first got up. But I ate some breakfast, packed my bag, and made my way up the hill. Then I got to the top...and collapsed. No one seemed particularly bothered about my being sprawled on the grass with by head in my bag, but I did get a few funny looks when I came to and had to lay on the floor for 15 minutes before I could walk back home. I did not enjoy that.
Ok, so now I have to tag some bloggers to answer some questions of my choosing (all of which will probably be totally bizarre).
So Bethan Jane and Ashleigh, it's all on you.
1. What's at the top of your wishlist right now?
2. What was your most ridiculous hairstyle?
3. What would be your plan of action in a zombie apocalypse?
4. What's your signature dish?
5. What was the most random thing that happened in 2013?
6. Do you still sleep with a teddy? (I won't deny that I am guilty of this)
7. If you had to be a Muppet, which Muppet would you be?
8. What has been your best ever bargain?
9. What is your weird food addiction?
10. What is the worst item of clothing/outfit you own?
So there we are Liebster, whoever you are. I hope that's done to your satisfaction.
1. Include a link to the blog that tagged you.
2. Share 11 facts about yourself (11 seems like an odd number, but I'll roll with it)
3. Answer 10 questions put to you by the person who tagged you
4. Make up 10 new questions and tag some more bloggers to answer them.
Confused? I am...
11 Facts About Me
1. I have a crippling fear of cows. I don't know whether is the slow, lumbering way they move or the evil that is clearly lurking in their eyes, I am just terrified. Once, when I was younger, I was on a walk with my father when I noticed a cow lurking in the bushes. I screamed and fled and have never walked down that path again. To this day my father insists that the cow was just standing there, but clearly it was up to something malicious.2. I am left handed. Let's just put that one out there now because I'm sick of people I've known for years randomly shrieking one day, "You're left handed? Since when?" Since birth. Let's all accept it and move on.
3. When I was born I was a jaundice baby. For those of you who don't know, jaundice is a pretty common condition in newborns that turns your baby an attractive yellow colour. The doctor told my mother to make sure I got plenty of sunlight to make it disappear faster. When I was a few days old my Nanna dropped by to check up on us, only to find my mother had left me out in the garden to bake in the noonday September sun in some kind of attempt to cook the jaundice out of me. My Nanna quickly pointed out that this was probably not what the doctor had had in mind.
4. My favourite food is Dominos. I know my dad is right when he says it tastes like cardboard, but I just can't get enough!
5. Most nights I dream about Disney World. I don't particularly spend a lot of time thinking about Disney World when I'm awake, but it somehow always manages to find a way to creep into my dreams. Usually I'm rushing to see the parade or meet Belle and recently my dream-self has spent a lot of time trying to get onto It's A Small World, which, for some reason, has an entryway so small you have to crawl through it. If any medical professionals would like to offer an opinion on what on earth is going on in my brain, please feel free.
6. I'm a godparent to both my niece and nephew. No one actually ever mentioned this to me and it was a bit of a shock when the vicar asked all the godparents to step forward. The first I knew of it was when my mother poked me in the back and hissed, "Move, that's you."
7. I don't like gravy. Go ahead and judge.
8. I love Halloween. Ever since I was little my dad made a big deal of it. It started out with him making a few creepy decorations and screwing in coloured bulbs. Eventually it got to the point where our entire house would be transformed, inside and out. One year complete strangers dropped by to take pictures of it (Halloween isn't a big deal in the UK like it is in the US...except in my house). Some of my best memories are of Halloween and now that I'm a grown up it's my job to scare Ellis and Lauren.9. My eyes are so big that my eyelids don't cover them when I blink. I need eyedrops. Yes, I'm a freak.
10. I am pretty much always cold. There are not enough layers in the world to get me through winter in my student house and, when I'm at home, I have to put the heating on full and curl up next to the radiator while everyone else slowly melts.
11. I organise my wardrobe by colour and I am in no way ashamed of this.
Jess' Questions
1. Where did the name for your blog come from?I don't particularly like the name of my blog. It just kind of happened. I wanted to start writing about all the random stuff that was going on in my brain and didn't have the patience to sit and think about the fundamentals of the blog itself.
2. What was the last thing you ate?
Bran Flakes. Is there a more boring food?
3. What is the weirdest thing someone has searched for to find your blog?
I always hear these great stories about the weird and wonderful keywords that can lead to your blog. Unfortunately, the only thing anyone has ever searched to find me is twentyoddball.
4.What is the first thing you do when you get up in the morning?
I'm judging myself right now, but the first thing I do is look at my phone to see if the Beacon has text me. Loser!
5. What was the last GOOD film that you watched?
I watch a lot of bad films. The other day Kirsty and I watched Boogeyman 3. I can't imagine how Boogeyman 1 and 2 proved so popular that it was necessary to make a third, but it does exist. The last good film I watched was Frozen. I loved that, Tangled, and the Princess and the Frog. Finally Disney are making good films again!
6. What was you New Year's resolution? Have you stuck to it so far?
My resolution this year was a bit of a tricky one. Basically it was to get my life together. Get more organised, spend less time in bed, get fit and healthy, stop wasting so much money and so on. I've definitely improved in some areas, but it's an ongoing process. That's how I can justify being in bed right now.
7. What is the 'go-to' song on your Ipod?
Oh Jess, why would you ask this? Generally speaking, I refuse to let my Ipod embarrass me. I fully admit that my music tastes are...individual and varied. I'm aware that the amount of Britney Spears is probably disturbing for some people and the lack of house music or whatever annoying noise my housemates listen to probably makes me very uncool.
But I am ashamed to admit that recently my go-to song has been my 4 year old niece's favourite, LOL by Isabella Barrett and Eden Wood. I need to link the video so you can see why it grieves me, but be warned. It will be stuck in your head forever.
8. If you could pass 1 law right now, what would it be?
Twentyoddball is not the place we go to to talk politics so I'm not going to give this much serious thought. I do think they should ban airbrushing because if you've seen that weird gif that's going around the internet of a model being 'touched up' you'll know how freaky it all is.
9. What is your proudest achievement?
Tough question! Probably winning a Blue Peter badge. My dad used to tell me that when he was little he'd always wanted one. I didn't tell anyone I was submitting anything and when I won and they sent me the badge I felt so proud that I could give it to my dad and he could finally have his own. He still has it framed in his bedroom.
10. Tell us an embarrassing story.
My life is just a series of embarrassing stories! Where to even begin?
When I was in my first year of uni I lived at the bottom of Cardiac Hill, which, if you can imagine, if even worse than it sounds. One day I had a 9am seminar (boo!) and I hadn't felt too great when I first got up. But I ate some breakfast, packed my bag, and made my way up the hill. Then I got to the top...and collapsed. No one seemed particularly bothered about my being sprawled on the grass with by head in my bag, but I did get a few funny looks when I came to and had to lay on the floor for 15 minutes before I could walk back home. I did not enjoy that.
Ok, so now I have to tag some bloggers to answer some questions of my choosing (all of which will probably be totally bizarre).
So Bethan Jane and Ashleigh, it's all on you.
1. What's at the top of your wishlist right now?
2. What was your most ridiculous hairstyle?
3. What would be your plan of action in a zombie apocalypse?
4. What's your signature dish?
5. What was the most random thing that happened in 2013?
6. Do you still sleep with a teddy? (I won't deny that I am guilty of this)
7. If you had to be a Muppet, which Muppet would you be?
8. What has been your best ever bargain?
9. What is your weird food addiction?
10. What is the worst item of clothing/outfit you own?
So there we are Liebster, whoever you are. I hope that's done to your satisfaction.
Sunday, 19 January 2014
The Ramblings of a Loon
So I've been back in Exeter for 2 weeks and I haven't had anything really interesting to blog about. Yes there was the kidney infection, the exam drama, the sitting on the kitchen floor drinking with my house-mates, and a few other oddities, but nothing worth sharing with the world. 2014 has not gone off with a bang. So, you lucky people, because I can't stand the thought of remaining silent, even when I have nothing to talk about, I'm going to give you a review of the week. No major catastrophes or humiliations, but just the casual awkwardness of my day to day life and all the weird things that go through my head.
So, for the first half of the week I was a model student. I had an essay due in on Thursday so I spent Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday reading anything I could get my hands on to do with the representation of the family in Dickens. (Party on!) That gave me the whole of Wednesday to write the essay, which was all well and good until I couldn't get Microsoft Word to work on my new laptop and had to camp out on campus for 6 hours, buried under a pile of colour-coded notes. After 4 hours Kirsty came to check that I was still sane, took me for a coffee to ensure that I still had full function of my legs, and then returned me to the library to finish off my last 1000 words. By that point the English language had lost all meaning and I had to sit with my head on the desk for 10 minutes before I could conjure up the word 'overtly'.
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| You know the week hasn't been the best when you see this in the mirror. |
That night, to celebrate, I drank wine in my pjs with Kirsty and our friend Clare. We gossiped about boys, uni, and discussed Catholicism. As you do. There was a feast of raw cookie dough, which probably undid any of the good I'd done munching on organic, low fat rice cakes all week.
On Friday I had my first seminar of 2014. (Let's all sit around and argue about whether or not Emily Dickinson was just an overrated maniac.) Last term I had to take a compulsory module, which was horrendous. They don't count it as compulsory because they give you the choice of 3: bad, worse, and one so awful I'd rather sit in a room with Sylvia Plath for 12 hours, discussing the joys of life.
But this term I'm studying Gothic Evolutions. It's all things dark and creepy and I have somehow regressed to my 10 year old nerdy self, hauled up with a pile of books in my room and eager to do my homework. I'm also doing my dissertation this term, which is about as terrifying as Gothic Evolutions is interesting. I somehow have to force 8,000 words out of my brain and onto paper in the form of an intellectual discussion on something that the university library shelves would suggest no one has ever written on. There's a whole separate library dedicated to law, but try and find a book about the Antebellum South and you'll quickly find you're out of luck.
On Friday night Kirsty, Clare and I went to Bella Italia, where I convinced myself that opting for a low-fat main course justified me getting garlic bread, 2 cocktails and an enormous slab of cake. I must admit though, even I thought I was pushing the calorie intake boundaries a bit when I went out for dinner again last night to celebrate our house-mate's birthday. For the first time in my life I was genuinely considering opting for a salad until we got to Urban Burger, where the only thing on the menu is...burgers. That said, I have spent the majority of the week unable to negotiate stairs because I've been trying to stick to my new workout DVD, which has left me with little use of my thighs and a constant aching in my bum. I intend to write a post about it when the 30 day challenge is over. That way, if I can finally fit into my Daisy Dukes by the end I can recommend it as a miracle DVD and if not at least people can look at the pictures I've been taking as I progress, and laugh at how big my butt looks.
In other news regarding this mundane old week, I've finally gotten around to listening to Britney Spears' new album, Britney Jean. It seemed only right that I should have it for Christmas seeing as I have all the others and regularly insist on listening to Hit Me Baby One More Time on full blast in my car. But even I, blindly dedicated fan that I am, can't get on board with this weird new accent she keeps putting on. If Dick Van Dyke ever taught us anything it's that the Americans should leave the British accent well alone.
Then Kirsty introduced me to Secrets of the Living Dolls, which she found on 4od. It basically follows the lives of men who like to dress up...not as women exactly, but plastic dolls. It's apparently becoming the new big thing, which I find slightly concerning. It's not that I necessarily object to people dressing how they want, but instead of make up they wear rubber masks and, being personally terrified of masks, I don't feel I can entirely get on board with the idea of masked men in body suits casually roaming the aisles of Tesco. I had to sleep with a night light after I watched it. But for those of you like Kirsty and myself who love a ridiculous Channel 4 'documentary', this one is...an eye opener.
And now we've come full circle. It's Sunday afternoon and I'm back in the library, trying to find anything vaguely related to Gone with the Wind. I'm just hoping next week is a bit more lively or you'll just have to put up with another post about the mundane goings on of my boring week. Fingers crossed, eh?
But this term I'm studying Gothic Evolutions. It's all things dark and creepy and I have somehow regressed to my 10 year old nerdy self, hauled up with a pile of books in my room and eager to do my homework. I'm also doing my dissertation this term, which is about as terrifying as Gothic Evolutions is interesting. I somehow have to force 8,000 words out of my brain and onto paper in the form of an intellectual discussion on something that the university library shelves would suggest no one has ever written on. There's a whole separate library dedicated to law, but try and find a book about the Antebellum South and you'll quickly find you're out of luck.
On Friday night Kirsty, Clare and I went to Bella Italia, where I convinced myself that opting for a low-fat main course justified me getting garlic bread, 2 cocktails and an enormous slab of cake. I must admit though, even I thought I was pushing the calorie intake boundaries a bit when I went out for dinner again last night to celebrate our house-mate's birthday. For the first time in my life I was genuinely considering opting for a salad until we got to Urban Burger, where the only thing on the menu is...burgers. That said, I have spent the majority of the week unable to negotiate stairs because I've been trying to stick to my new workout DVD, which has left me with little use of my thighs and a constant aching in my bum. I intend to write a post about it when the 30 day challenge is over. That way, if I can finally fit into my Daisy Dukes by the end I can recommend it as a miracle DVD and if not at least people can look at the pictures I've been taking as I progress, and laugh at how big my butt looks.
In other news regarding this mundane old week, I've finally gotten around to listening to Britney Spears' new album, Britney Jean. It seemed only right that I should have it for Christmas seeing as I have all the others and regularly insist on listening to Hit Me Baby One More Time on full blast in my car. But even I, blindly dedicated fan that I am, can't get on board with this weird new accent she keeps putting on. If Dick Van Dyke ever taught us anything it's that the Americans should leave the British accent well alone.
Then Kirsty introduced me to Secrets of the Living Dolls, which she found on 4od. It basically follows the lives of men who like to dress up...not as women exactly, but plastic dolls. It's apparently becoming the new big thing, which I find slightly concerning. It's not that I necessarily object to people dressing how they want, but instead of make up they wear rubber masks and, being personally terrified of masks, I don't feel I can entirely get on board with the idea of masked men in body suits casually roaming the aisles of Tesco. I had to sleep with a night light after I watched it. But for those of you like Kirsty and myself who love a ridiculous Channel 4 'documentary', this one is...an eye opener.
And now we've come full circle. It's Sunday afternoon and I'm back in the library, trying to find anything vaguely related to Gone with the Wind. I'm just hoping next week is a bit more lively or you'll just have to put up with another post about the mundane goings on of my boring week. Fingers crossed, eh?
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