All entries for November 2004
November 28, 2004
I'm back at the parents house now till (literally) the new year. My plan as it stands is to return to Warwick (well Leamington as that's where I live) on the first day of that intriguing looking year we could very call 2005. But for now I'm here due to Royal Mail.
"Why?" I don't hear you cry. Well, thing is, when I applied for a xmas job sorting mail for our letter handling masters I told them I could start work on 5th December. Obviously they interpreted this as "I can start work on 29th November despite it not finishing university till the 3rd December". Whe I pointed out this discrepency they said "either you start on 29th Nov or we can't guarantee you any shifts". No shifts=no money and no money=living on a diet of Tesco's value rice. Yuck.
So I'm at the parents house, in a hometown which is never silent due to the constant roar of the M6 nearby (plans to extend the M6 would involve it eating part of the town… good), in county (Cheshire) which, if it were a colour, would be beige. It's cold and rainy and I'm relying on trains which is not a popular subject in my world. So how to keep in touch with my friends at Warwick and elsewhere? So many methods, all of which are flawed.
Talk In Person
I like this. You can really communicate with a person who's right in front of you. Pity that there's a grand total of two of my friends within easy reach here. Apparently one was down from Durham uni this weekend. So I went round to see her… and missed her by minutes. Damn.
Use The Phone
The house phone is broken. My mobile contract lets me call people after 7pm and at weekends, i.e. exactly the time periods my friends are too busy (drunk) to hold conversations that go anything other than;
Me: What you up to?
Friend: There was absinthe... muffled fumbling... Hang on... Tuneless rendition of 'Santa Cruz' by the Thrills starts up in background
Me: 'Santa Cruz'? Very good, that's like my name.
Friend: Whoah, Boz wants to talk but she's gone.
Me: Are you drunk?
Friend: sound of phone getting dropped into the toilet.
I do this anyway. RSI in my right thumb is a certainty.
How do you know if your mates are drunk? Simple, check their MSN spelling, the better it is the more drunk they are.
Short and sweet. If they are as long as this blog entry then no one reads them. And they are long. As is this entry.
Although no one reads this except Cara. Hello Cara. How's work? Found any nice new chemicals today? Me neither. Still Welsh? I'm still Anglo-Irish… cool, anyway, gotta go now as I'm very very thirsty for some reason.
November 16, 2004
Sabbs stripping to the point were I can now utter the sentence "I've seen Andy Cox's cock and so have 2000 other people". Some of those people were bidding money for the privilege. There are gonna be a few people tomorrow waking up the realisation that they've bought Kat Stark and are now gonna have to feed her and look after her and give her cigarettes and stuff.
My housemates wanted to buy Carly Braddock but i) They are useless and do useless things like crash into Porshes and rack up repair bills and have no money, and ii) I worked with her at Easter so it could be a bit weird if random work person who you don't really know except as 'That Useless Girl At Work' (my housemates' uselessness is more contagious than mumps) buys you. Even if you did flash your tits at us.
We have also located Housemate:Katie after she popped out for a quick chat with someone. Three days ago. And, in what may or may not be a coincidence (but which probably is a coincidence) my knee is now sufficiently not swollen for me to think it's a good idea to play football again. Leicester De Montfort on Wednesday. One of their deadly weapons is their striker Siobhan Donohoe, whose sister Niamh is one of our strikers. Apparently the secret is to pull her hair extentions. You never get this in mens' football… or do you?
November 12, 2004
5) The Heating
I set the timer. It ignores the timer. I turn up my radiator. My radiator demands bleeding. I bleed it. The heating ignores the timer so it was pointless bleeding the radiator. I go and have a shower. The water goes hot. Then cold. The really hot.Tthey are working together, I can only assume the water has been bitching about me behind my back to the heating. Why won't it talk to me? I'm an open person, I just want us both to be happy, I never thought it would be like this. Good thing I'm single really.
6) The Living Room
It is eating my pens and then spitting them back out just as I finally convince someone else to help me look for my pens therefore making me look like an idiot. This used to happen when I lived with my parents as well…
7) The Oven
Me: Lunchtime "I want to cook this chicken pizza, it says on the box 11 minutes in a fan assisted oven. You are a fan assisted oven so I shall return in 11 minutes."
Oven: "F*@k off!"
11 minues later
Me: "Where is my pizza? What is this smouldering lump of charcoal doing where I left my pizza? Eh? Eh? Eh?"
Oven: "F$%k off!"
Me: "I want to cook this chicken kiev for 22 minutes but first I must heat you up to 200C or gas mark 6."
Oven: Belches out a huge cloud of acrid black smoke which stings my eyes and throat before setting off all the fire alarms in the house
Me: "Dammit, it is only by chance that I grew tall enough to be able to turn off those fire alarms and open the kitchen window. What would happen if it were my much shorter housemate Housemate:Katie?"
Oven: "F^&k her and F@#k you!"
Me: "You're rather rude aren't you?"
Oven: "I hate being an oven, I want to be a ninja."
Me: "Not you as well…
1) The Washing Machine.
It went beserk and spat water everywhere last Friday. Since then it has sat there malevolently, rumbling occasionally if I have the audacity to walk into the kitchen. I ran out of clean trousers yesterday. The socks will go tomorrow. By Sunday I will have no knickers or warm jumpers. Eventually I will have to wear ingenious home-made contraptions consisting of bras and teeshirts.
Or I will carry my clothes up to Tachbrook Road and stand there until someone leaves their front door unlocked so I can use their washing machine. I did ask Niamh if I could use hers but she was last seen screeching off into the distance in the direction of the pub so she is unlikely to be sober enough to help until Sunday. By which time I'll be bra/tee shirt girl.
Maybe I should just break into her house anyway…
2) The Water.
The water in the air doesn't like me. It holds me responsible for the washing machine spitting it out. We also call it "damp" which I think upsets it. Either way it is doing terrible things to my cold raddled lungs.
Also the water in the pipes doesn't like me. It splutters and makes pipes groan and then, in the shower, it goes from being nicely lukewarm to being scaulding like the fiery hands of hell in seconds and then back again.
The water oozing out the fridge seems fairly ambivilent about me.
3) The Wiring For The Computer Network
I keep tripping over it. Even when I'm nowhere near it. I also blame it for the LAN card (internet connecty thing) on my laptop breaking meaning I am typing this from Housemate:Els's computer. She's out at the mo so she doesn't know I've been downloading dozens of pictures of Transport Secretary Alastair Darling MP onto her computer. Look at the eyebrows on that! No seriously, look at them! They follow you around the room and everything! Cool… ahem.
But only cos I threw out that bacterial colony she was growing in the fridge. On a piece of ham. Which she sent me out to buy four weeks ago. It was a health hazard honest. It's not that I was jealous cos the bacteria I was growing on a piece of cheese were lame by comparison.
I think there are other household things which don't like me but it's late, the damp is hurting lungs and I need sleep.
The quality of posts on this blog has been lame recently hasn't it? I knew I should have just said something controversial about gay lefty pikey homophobic Christian chav Conservatives who ride bikes and vote in America for monkey boy.
Follow the herd? Baa baa fecking black sheep…
November 05, 2004
I got home from annoying Niamh at work (serves her right for working in a bar) to find Housemate:Mike in an entertaining but worrying situation. Basically the washing machine has gone mental.
The Kitchen is flooded.
There are towels everywhere from where we tried to mop it up.
We can't stop it.
There's so much water.
HELP HELP HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!?!?!?!
The physios at the Cryfield Pavillion are a fantastic bunch. They are almost too good for their own, erm, good. Basically they don't seem to want to just treat the injury you come in with, that would be too easy, after all you are telling them the symptons so there's none of that guessing fun. Instead they go and find other issues.
Think I'm joking? Nope.
Case study no.1
A friend of mine, who will remain anonymous, injured her hamstring and had to go to the physio. Whilst her symptons were very obvious, the physio decided that he wanted to find something else. And he did.
My friend was delighted by the revelation that her arse muscles were not properly developed. This only involved a minor amount of arse groping on the part of the physio and my friend now has an exercise program designed to improve her arse. Take that Kylie!
Case study no.2
Me. Yeah, I crocked my knee by falling on it badly during a 5-a-side game for the Tardan Stallions on the lovely Woowoo astroturf. And then I crocked it a bit more whilst playing for the Warwick Women's Football 2nds. Ouch!
So the physio took a look and decided several things:
1) My right knee was a bit bashed up and needed to be rested.
2) My left knee is also in a bad way. There's bruising from where it was stamped on last weekend, grazing from skidding on astroturf, swelling from a bee sting (from August), scarring from an accident in the Stoke on Trent branch of River Island and it clicks.
3) My thighs rule.
Seriously, he spent 5 minutes talking about my knee and nearly 20 minutes in praise of my thigh muscles which are apparently very strong and well developed!?! So I came away with a list of exercises for my thighs and my knee is now feeling a bit neglected.
So feel free to get injured but remember that you will get a totally different diagnosis to the one you thought you were going to get.
November 02, 2004
How to spend your Halloween if your idea of normality has been abducted by the cast of 'Maid Marian and Her Merry Men', rescued by the rock group Muse then forced to take a degree in Creative Writing and Cardboard Studies at Warwick University. Whilst wearing a hat that's one size too small.
Halloween started, as these things tend to, with me at a party in Coventry that I only went to because the clocks were going back. Confused? Yeah, me too. It makes more sense if I tell you that I had to get up at 9am to walk a mile and a half to the football ground where Leamington Lions FC had decided to experiment with an 11am kickoff. The clocks going back left a little more time for me purge my lungs of the ridiculously smoky environment I had been in.
In Ireland smoking in places of work is illegal and I love it there. Even my cousins who all smoke love it as well. Let's introduce it here.
In the end I made it 3/4 of the way there before a teammate in a car (thanks Jenny) took pity on me and gave a lift the rest of the way there… Where Birmingham Uni (possibly the only team in Birmingham whose main aim is football and not kicking lumps out of us) decided to hammer us 5–0. I was sat on the sideline for a good 80 minutes watching all of this, which was played out on the astroturf ptich as the 'grass' pitch was somewhat boggy. In the same way Russia is somewhat big. In the end, just to give me a reason to have been up at 11am, I got on for the last 10 minutes or so which was enough time to:
1) Keep a clean sheet.
2) Make one unnecessarily overdramatic save.
3) Have my kneecap stamped on, stud first. It's bruising up a multicoloured treat. This could be why my mum has never seen me play any sport, ever, and refuses to watch me play even now ("It's a rough game" "Mum, I'm nearly 6 inches taller than the average woman and I weigh nearly 10 stone, I'm the one people get roughed up by!")
Dragging myelf back from this, and still coughing like a maniac, I went home and settled down to do some work. Like I am doing now. I have 6000 words and a week and a half to write them y'know. Damn.
Anyway we made a house decision to have takeaway curry for tea. Actually it wasn't a house decision, more a case of five out of six of us decided to have curry which is about as high a ratio as we can hope to achieve as we've only had the six of us in the same room at the same time on three occasions since July. Housemate:Dan suggested it and Housemate:Katie thought it was a great idea dn the others were roped in and then there was a brief flurry of people calling shotgun about not calling the curryhouse. So I had to do it. Why do we fear the telephone? Who knows? Sounds like another blog entry to me… So I made our curry orders and we all ate too much but only Housemate:Dan ate it all and so we piled the leftovers up on one plate and decided that we would dispose of it by giving it to any trick or treaters…
And then cos it was Halloween, we went to get a film to watch. Cue 40 miuntes in the Leamington Blockbusters as we realised that all the good films were gone except the ones we had already seen. In the end we got something crap which we then didn't watch. 'House of 1000 Corpses' anyone?
There were no trick or treaters in the end. It's not the best story I'll ever tell but then when was the last time I told a good story? I should probably do some essay at some stage…