the Queen

So, I'm the only single in the house, and I have a bowl of berry yoghurt to keep that niggly I-know-I-have-Haribo-in-my-cupboard-but-will-feel-guilty-if-I-eat-them feeling at bay, so I thought I'd write something here.

Nothing too exciting has happened today - I've been revising for my exam on Saturday (yes, Saturday - the ultimate in exam cruelty...), and in the afternoon I watched the Queen's speech.

I adore that woman. She is eighty-four years old - an age when, frankly, most people settle down to some well-earned knitted socks and a footstool. But not the Queen. Oh no, she soldiers on like a stoic matriarch, untiring and unflinching.

Watching her speech today became a strange mingling of old and new. All the gilt and pomp and circumstance and strange traditions (like slamming the door of the House of Commons in the face of the poor chap known as the Black Rod) are there alongside all the film cameras and yobbish MPs. Seeing the Queen sitting on her huge gold throne wearing the Imperial State Crown and talking about carbon emissions and super-fast broadband made for an interesting picture I thought.

And I get fed up of people going on about how stupid and unnecessary the monarchy is. I think having the monarchy - and all associated ceremony - is a brilliant part of our heritage and history, and makes me feel so proud to be British. I love that no matter how fast politics and technology might progress we still have those centuries-old traditions woven into the background. It's one of the things that other countries admire us for. As a nation we know how to put on a good formal show (marching bands and the like), and they're often imitated by other countries - though without the same pizzazz, although I do say so myself.

People complain about how much money we pay in taxes to fund the monarchy, but it actually costs only 50p per person, per year. Now, to me, that seems a small price to pay. I have far more issue with the money our government seems to be spewing into developing nuclear weapons than the little we contribute towards huge events like today.

Literally, for less than the cost of a first class stamp we can have little slices of history delivered right to our doorsteps, in HD surround sound, and a dose of national pride to boot. Surely that's a bargain worth shouting about?

un autre

Did another vlog, this time about the new Robin Hood film. Two vlogs in three days? I'm just enjoying my new editing software too much :)
Also wanted to share this tasty picture:

This is my red velvet cake no. 2 in the making. I didn't have my cake tins here in Newcastle so I split the mixture between a couple of loaf tins - our red velvet loaves were demolished in about two days between four hungry housemates. A job well done :) 

seduced by a big, shiny, Apple

New vlog - finally! Woot woot. Me waxing lyrical about the glorious Apple shop in Newcastle. Have a look-sie if you have a minute.

in the milk bottle

on my desk. Something pretty to look at amidst essay-writing.

poor lad

To counter the hideous hideousness of seeing Gordon Brown walking his family out of 10 Downing Street, I made a cheesecake last night.

And it took the edge off.

British people.

We're hilarious. 

As a race, a rule seems to have emerged among us over time that means we're not allowed to talk on public transport. Even when you're not in the quiet carriage on the train, you find yourself giving foul glares to the bloke on his phone at the end of the carriage going on and on and on about what he's having for tea that night. Mate, we don't care that you're having peas with it. Honestly. 

It's the one time we're even close to being rude, in our thoroughly British way of course. Lot's of huffing and puffing and bustling around. 

But I do think the silence rule has gone a bit too far. It means that if you ever are sat next to anyone and you attempt to start conversation in a friendly and neighbourly way, the recipient looks at you as though you are: a) a stalker, or b) about to axe them. 

I mean, I was on the train yesterday on the way back to Newcastle and I was at a table seat with two other people (which is difficult enough, what with the under-the-table foot-placement politics and all...), but then the train jolted forwards and someone's lunch from the overhead locker came flying out and hurtled down on top of us. And even as I made a timid "ooh" as a bottle of Sprite came plummeting down and cracked me soundly on the head, not a word. The bloke next to me calmly retrieved the sandwich from his crotch and put it on the table. Not a single word.

Good grief.

I can't vote.

Well, that would be the case if I wasn't going home this evening.

Turns out that, even though I sent my form off on time, I'm not registered here in Newcastle as well as in Leeds. Ach! So, after a brief conversation with a severely brusque woman on the phone at Newcastle Council, it became apparent that there was "nothing we can do two days before the election" (i.e. "what do you expect me to do, you stupid, disorganised girl"). So, I've decided to go home today so I can vote tomorrow.

Why bother? Well because, cheesy as it sounds, women in the past went through a tad more than an inconvenient train journey in order to give me the privilege. So, off I shall go back to Leeds - which actually will be lovely because I can see my family - and off to the polling booth tomorrow to put a big fat cross in the box. And I shall relish the thought of women in 18th century outfits grinning as I take the pen in my hand.

the joy of enchiladas

Who knew?! How have I lived this long without trying them?!

Sure, I've had fajitas, but these are like fajitas and then some. They're like juiced-up fajitas drizzled in sunshine. I think they may become a regular in the goshkate household. Cannot fail to be a winner.

here comes the sun (please)

I am waiting for the summer, patiently. Despite being a self-confessed autumn-girl, I have to admit summer seems to be holding back a little this year.

I find myself looking wistfully out of the window, and holding my breath as I open the curtain every morning. Will there be blue skies? We've had some sunny days of late, and it's been gorgeous.

It's just one of those things - you don't realise what a difference the weather makes, until the sun is blazing and you're walking along with an inexplicable grin on your face.

It's in that in-between stage - too cool to wear flip flops, too warm to wear tights. That first brave day when I decide that it's time to bare my legs to the world is yet to come. I'll keep you posted.