This made me laugh: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/oxfordshire/6924592.stm

 

Head-spinniness seems to have followed me round today, either I've just not slept overly well for ages, or I've just been keeping busy... or maybe there's a lot to think about.  But then, there's always a lot to think about.

 

Good old BBC, I'm watching the film buttock-clenchingly entitled "Two Weeks Notice" (against my better judgement, it's just there, and so am I), and they've stuck the rogue apostrophe back in.  That makes me happy.

 

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to sleep in until ten and then spend an hour over a bacon sandwich.  Simply because.

 

Yay for lasagne and white wine and garlic bread and street lights and train tickets and mango and passionfruit and ice and straws and above all COMPANY.

From Holiday!!  Sorry for not telling you, I thought I was going to have time, but evidently I didn't.

 

Harry Potter - AWESOME!!  Ever so good, I really do salute J. K. Rowling, it's one hell of a lot to live up to, six really very good books plus legions of fans of all ages (by which I don't mean in the "fun for all the family" sense, actually all ages) trying to predict what's going to happen next - you have to admit, she did outstandingly to produce something that everyone I've asked seems to have loved, and finishes off the series tying up all appropriate loose ends, gives an outstanding and highly unpredictable finale (go on, admit it, you might have predicted some of it but definitely not all of it.  So stop being sanctimonious)... and it's also a very good book in its own right, with or without the others.  But preferably with.  So I think J. K. Rowling has quite reason to be very pleased with herself.  And one can only hope that she continues to write well, and doesn't go off on the Jacqueline Wilson route of writing good books until she gets really famous, then writing them all out again twice over.

 

On the literary front, I've also just finished "The Wrong Boy" by Willy Russell, and it's stuck itself firmly on my top ten list of books, it's well worth reading, although I wouldn't classify it (as some reviewers apparently have) as primarily a comedy.  True, it's funny, but it was evocative and clever and beautiful without being polished and unbelievable.  You've got to read it.

 

I don't know if anyone read The Independent this morning, and I know it's inclined to be somewhat biased about these things, but you can imagine my response to the headline "Heathrow puts up legal barricades to keep away protesters".  Have a look at the article:  http://news.independent.co.uk/uk/this_britain/article2809171.ece and the BBC's version: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6919085.stm and I think I shall keep the rant to your imagination.

 

Law, hmm?  Yes, I think so.  Human Rights.  Someone has to.

Yesterday's entry makes me cringe and therefore I have got rid of it.

 

I am not really that bad, it's just that my parents have been going round in circles and there's nothing like sitting in a courtroom a few seats away from one of the hardest people to figure out that I've ever come across, not knowing all the rules or etiquettes to screw your brain up properly and make you feel STUPID and UNNECESSARY.

 

Having said which, it was good.  I like this place, and I could happily make it mine, give it my all.  My most.  Some of me is reserved and always will be.

 

You know, the worst thing at the moment is that it feels like this isn't MY holiday.  I swear I've written this so many times in my diary over the last few days.  But it's not.  It's UCAS's.  It's M and D's, to an extent.  It's L's, and M's, and H's, and it's Cambridge's, and it's The Booklist's, and The Future's.  It's goal after goal after goal after goal.  My head's spinning and I can't switch off and that's wrong, that's only meant to happen during termtime.  I daresay I will get over this, give me tomorrow morning to work my head out, and i'm sure it will all be fine.  But at the moment I'm shattered.

 

There are sides to everyone, I hope, that they don't like.  Maybe I just don't see everyone else's.  But the side of me that is affected by the unmoving Vietnamese man as he realises that he is going to prison for a matter of years is tired, and another side of me that I like even less seems to be making her presence known.  At least one, however, is (blissfully) silent.

 

This should make you smile: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/6899437.stm?lsm

Attempting to change my e-mail address.  I say attempting, it's a bit of a headache at this time in the evening.  But there we go.  Add me, or whatever it is that happens now.  lead_piping_billiard_room@hotmail.co.uk

 

I'm confused.  Hugs.

I have to answer that riddle, don't I?  Okay, quick recap:

 

Cat's comments make me laugh :) you may not want to ask, my dear, but undoubtedly at some point you will.  And then I will be even more amused.

 

Dad got back from Warwick today, doing stuff at the university, and he says it's beautiful.  I had a sudden urge to just walk out of the room.  Numbers don't make up for everything.  (Especially not scary Team Maths numbers, as I found out today - NEVER, EVER go to Maths workshop.  It is Informal.  That is reason enough.)

 

The title refers to this, which I found on someone else's blog and while being very stereotypical and what have you, yes yes I know, it made me laugh.  So I'm sharing the laugh because I have been a boring and downright depressing little bitch today.  So here you go (spelling/punctuation duly changed - we don't want our standards dropping TOO far, do we?).

 

 

Men's rules for women.  (The first rule is that all men's rules are #1 priority on any list)

 

1.  Men are NOT mind readers.

1.  Learn to work the toilet seat.  You're a big girl.

1.  Sunday sports. It's like the full moon or the changing of the tides. Let it be.

1.  Shopping is NOT a sport.  And no, we are never going to think of it that way.

1.  Crying is blackmail.

1.  Ask for what you want.  Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work!  Strong hints do not work!  Obvious hints do not work!  Just say it!

1.  Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

1.  Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do.  Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

1.  A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

1. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument.  In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

1. If you won't dress like the Victoria's Secret girls, don't expect us to act like soap opera guys.

1.  If you think you're fat, you probably are.  Don't ask us.

1. If  something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of them makes you sad or angry, then we meant the other one.

1. You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done.  Not both.  If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

1.  Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

1.  Christopher Columbus didn't need directions and neither do we.

1.  All men see in 16 colours, just like Windows default settings.  Peach for example is not a colour, it is a fruit and i have no clue what a mauve is.

1.  If it itches, it will be scratched.  To not do so goes against the very nature of Darwin's theory.

1. If we ask what is wrong and you  say "nothing," we will act like nothing's wrong.  We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle, besides we know you will bring it up again later.

1. If you ask a question you don't want an answer to, expect an answer you don't want to  hear.

1. When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...  Really.

1.  Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss such topics as hockey, the shotgun formation or any womans boobies.

1. You have enough clothes.

1. You have too many shoes.

Well, life in the rut goes on, and a kick up the backside this morning from one I'll actually listen to saying uh, actually, you're being a melodarmatic arse and if you carry on like this nobody is going to listen to you anyway.  So, as a result of this, I skipped Maths to be a bit more sociable, actually finished that Economics essay that was due in last week (I'm sorry, I was taking the piss with it fairly majorly, it's basically 750 words of utter shite, quote: "This being said, there are several assumptions that need to be made about comparative advantage, even in this example.  First of all, there is the assumption that all goods are homogenous, that is, that there is only one type of pillowcase and one type of cheese – Alice does not have a preference for mild Cheddar and Bob does not have an irrational addiction to Brie."  Can't wait to see what Simon gives me as a mark...)

 

This means, having handed in English this morning, that I no longer have any late or overdue work unfinished, and also that I can spend tomorrow concentrating unreservedly on Maths coursework - of course, they've shut the library now, the bastards, so this is going to be a bit more difficult than I had anticipated.  Ah well, I shall manage, I did well enough with Performance Studies and I left that later than I've left this.  I mean, I've actually TRIED with this.  I suppose I can't complain.

 

I've started a newspaper scrapbook of anything I find relevant or interesting or... anything that grabs my attention, really.  Something else to say I've done over the summer, a way of keeping track of what's going on, and remembering.  I'll find it useful soon.

 

There are a few things left for me to worry about, then.  Cambridge, which is eternal and unending - if I don't get in, I'm taking a gap year and trying again and that is final.  Unless LSE is better than it looks. (I am fairly positively assured that UCL isn't, it's the decapitated stuffed bloke in the entrance hall, I think, apart from anything else, plus I was there last October and it looked a bit grey.)  The self-esteem has taken a plummet this week, I've screwed up on several major counts plus the weather is awful which doesn't help and I'm TENSE again for no real reason - can't sleep well (yes I know I'm up at 11pm, it's my own fault, but that's a result not a reason) plus I keep thinking about everything I'm doing in the next few weeks and it's interesting but so so busy and at some point in the next not so long I need to buy myself a swimming costume and I'm dreading it.  It's like how I look is something personal that even I don't like looking at up and down objectively.  I feel pale and grey and spotty and scaly and generally a bit wobbly - people assure me I'm not wobbly but, well, four out of five...

 

Posted (by someone else) on Perplexus today:

 

 

 

 

Answer next post; if anyone gets it before then, I'm interested to know how long it took (and if you beat four minutes, as taken by yours truly).

 

Oh, and one other thing:  "Cheaper By The Dozen", while still not exactly nearing classic, is a better film than I gave it credit for.  That is all.

Hilaire Belloc's, to be precise.  I just found the lines:

 

 

and you know occasionally things seem so close to the truth that it makes you laugh?  (It's from "The Llama", part of "More Beasts for Worse Children") and then I found the joy that is "The Microbe" and decided you really couldn't go without it.  So here it is.

 

 

 

I'm afraid you will have to imagine the wonderful illustrations.

 

Five roses, a LOT of shoes and an accusation.  In descending order.  About the latter, I quite understand and in fact vehemently agree with you, as you well know, so please leave the thought police alone because it is petty and neither of us sinks to that level.

I'm not going to manage this summer.  I'm really not.  It's not her - she's alright, at least her explosions are controlled (by her, at least) - it's HIM.  She's not the bitch, he is.  And I'm not going to manage that long.

 

I'm going to have to stay out of the house, as much as I possibly can.  That'll make it worse.  That's the difficulty.

 

For one thing, they're not FUCKING strict, okay, stop telling people that.  Seriously.  That's not how it is.

 

There are politics.

 

You see, I've seen, now, what it's like to be somewhere else.  I keep imagining... what I'd do if I walked out now.  I don't know.  I suppose... I'd have to do the next year of college.  They'd help me out.  A little.  I'm almost sure of it.  And maybe I'd be eligible for EMA, now the main breadwinner in my household wouldn't be in my household.  I've seen places for rent in Winchester.  Maybe it'd have to be that.  For the time being.  I don't know about next term, I have vague ideas about renting... or... I don't know, moving.

 

But it's not going to happen, anyway.

The applicant is a hard-working, well-meaning girl, five foot five and a half and wearing glasses - the sort with plastic frames that became fashionable recently and allowed her to feel better about herself for once than round-ish wire frames had done.  She has good grades, and her teachers, for the most part, think well of her.  Her tactic, should she admit to having one, is hard work for a few months until she can get away with the excuses it has afforded her.  Not that she doesn't work after that, just that she has to enjoy it to bother with it.  She is organised, and her sense of humour is such that she smiles when she hears someone tell her she's organised because she only fails to hand in work out of choice.

 

As far as interests are concerned, she has many, but unless you're interested in the ailing plotlines of an inexperienced storyteller, or else the intricacies of algebra or, indeed, whatever happens to make political headlines that week, you're unlikely to care that much.  She is a perfectionist, above most things, so don't worry about her handing in badly spelt or punctuated work.  It is a matter of personal pride that her grammar, amongst other things, is immaculate.

 

She tries to understand what people are thinking, maybe because she believes it gives her some kind of advantage.  But then, it doesn't, because she isn't particularly good at it, at least, not where it matters.  Sometimes she is clumsy and loses her keys for weeks on end, sometimes she tidies incessantly.  Work is not her life, but business - being busy - is.

 

She doesn't like being told to smile or how to think or what to feel because suddenly it makes everything seem harder.

 

She is thick-skinned, more so than you realise.  Or, at least, she likes to think so.  It makes her feel stronger.

 

She second-guesses herself constantly.