So today, after much excitement and anticipation, my iPod nano arrived. My first iPod - after swearing I would never get one because everyone had one - I am in love.
I have loved and adored my Sony Bean for 5 whole years, and I adore it still. Battery life is incredible, charging time is second to none, and it was quirky enough to be satisfactorily different. Beautiful. I bought it with my first ever wages when I was 16. Aww, nostalgia.
However, since Apple have hooked me in with the technological love of my life (MacBook), my conversion to iPods was fairly inevitable. And, oh, it's a sweet thing. So, as much as I'll miss the Bean (although, inevitably I'm keeping it so I can show the grandkids - "look children, hop off your hovercrafts for a moment and behold my first ever mp3 player. Mp3? You know, it's how we listened to music before LaserPods"), I am now very very in love.
Plugging it into my laptop became the perfect marriage of dazzling technology and it was a sight to behold. Yum.
Wednesday 18 August 2010
Tuesday 17 August 2010
Marilyn
Listen to this as you read, it'll convey the mood.
So, this is what I was listening to as I was walking down the street today. Or, rather, what I was listening to as I did my best Tyra-esque hips-swinging foot-stomping model walk down the road. It was, may I say, sublime.
Or that's what I thought. It happened to be quite a windy day today and I was wearing a dress, which meant that I had more than a slight Marilyn Monroe situation going on and had to keep hold of it to maintain any scrap of dignity. Given my generally jubilant mood I was grinning away and sashaying my way down the street without a care in the world - I giggled coquettishly as I struggled to keep my dress in place and my hair was windswept and sexy.
Or that's what I thought. I happened to catch a look at myself in an office window as I swept by. What looked - in my head - like a fresh young thing flirting with life, looking chic and waltzing her way to work, actually resembled some deranged and bedraggled dowager clutching at her petticoats and chortling madly at some imagined lover and leering wildly at passing traffic.
Of course, then I imagined how I'd blog about this tonight, so then I got the giggles even more and ended up literally cackling my way down the street to the utter bewilderment of the surrounding businessmen. Women with children were actually backing away from me.
Other than that, nothing much else to report. Bon Jovi tomorrow morning I think.
So, this is what I was listening to as I was walking down the street today. Or, rather, what I was listening to as I did my best Tyra-esque hips-swinging foot-stomping model walk down the road. It was, may I say, sublime.
Or that's what I thought. It happened to be quite a windy day today and I was wearing a dress, which meant that I had more than a slight Marilyn Monroe situation going on and had to keep hold of it to maintain any scrap of dignity. Given my generally jubilant mood I was grinning away and sashaying my way down the street without a care in the world - I giggled coquettishly as I struggled to keep my dress in place and my hair was windswept and sexy.
Or that's what I thought. I happened to catch a look at myself in an office window as I swept by. What looked - in my head - like a fresh young thing flirting with life, looking chic and waltzing her way to work, actually resembled some deranged and bedraggled dowager clutching at her petticoats and chortling madly at some imagined lover and leering wildly at passing traffic.
Of course, then I imagined how I'd blog about this tonight, so then I got the giggles even more and ended up literally cackling my way down the street to the utter bewilderment of the surrounding businessmen. Women with children were actually backing away from me.
Other than that, nothing much else to report. Bon Jovi tomorrow morning I think.
Monday 16 August 2010
pinstripes
So, for the last almost-5 weeks I've been working in an office in the business district of the city (in a very beautiful building, if I do say so myself), and I've come to a somewhat surprising realisation. I like the whole "business person" thing. Weird, eh.
Like, walking from my bus stop to the building with all the other suits in the city (not that I've been wearing anything particularly close to a business suit - hey, I'm an English student, I'm doing my best). Dunno, I just like it. I have to walk through this tunnel under a railway overpass (it's nicknamed the "Dark Arches") to get to the building, and there's just something quite nice about walking in a big line with other people - feeling kind of... Important.
And the bizarre thing is that it's not something I've ever imagined myself doing. The image of my future life in my head involves graduating uni, stumbling into some delightfully creative and bohemian job - probably through sheer chance - then meeting a nice chap who finds me charming and my love of old tobacco tins and teacups endearing, he'll propose to me in a creative way using an unusual and interesting engagement ring, we'll have a wedding with a red velvet cake then live together in a house with mismatching crockery and shelves and shelves of space for our books and films. We'll scrape together enough money to live on and we'll have flowers in milk bottles on our mantlepiece. And that's my plan so far really.
So this is why I was surprised to find that I liked feeling all businessy. It's not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but just for this short while it's felt good to feel that I can do something. All the worries about the recession, and lack of graduate jobs, and student debt, and my non-vocational degree, have made me worry a little that maybe it doesn't happen that way. Maybe I won't just fall into something I can imagine doing for the rest of my life. Maybe I won't meet a bloke who loves Withnail and I as much as me. Maybe we really will have to scrape enough money together to live on, and perhaps there won't be as many books and films as I imagine. Maybe.
This sounds miserable, but really it's been reassuring these past few weeks. It's made me think, yeah, even if it doesn't go exactly as planned, even if all these things don't fall into place, even if we have to build our bookshelves one year at a time, maybe it'll be ok. Because here I am, working in the last job in the world I could ever have imagined myself doing (hopeless with numbers as I am), and I've enjoyed it.
It's made me feel hopeful. As though as much as I think I know my plans, and as much as I imagine it all out in my head, maybe things won't work out as I thought. They might even be better.
Like, walking from my bus stop to the building with all the other suits in the city (not that I've been wearing anything particularly close to a business suit - hey, I'm an English student, I'm doing my best). Dunno, I just like it. I have to walk through this tunnel under a railway overpass (it's nicknamed the "Dark Arches") to get to the building, and there's just something quite nice about walking in a big line with other people - feeling kind of... Important.
And the bizarre thing is that it's not something I've ever imagined myself doing. The image of my future life in my head involves graduating uni, stumbling into some delightfully creative and bohemian job - probably through sheer chance - then meeting a nice chap who finds me charming and my love of old tobacco tins and teacups endearing, he'll propose to me in a creative way using an unusual and interesting engagement ring, we'll have a wedding with a red velvet cake then live together in a house with mismatching crockery and shelves and shelves of space for our books and films. We'll scrape together enough money to live on and we'll have flowers in milk bottles on our mantlepiece. And that's my plan so far really.
So this is why I was surprised to find that I liked feeling all businessy. It's not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but just for this short while it's felt good to feel that I can do something. All the worries about the recession, and lack of graduate jobs, and student debt, and my non-vocational degree, have made me worry a little that maybe it doesn't happen that way. Maybe I won't just fall into something I can imagine doing for the rest of my life. Maybe I won't meet a bloke who loves Withnail and I as much as me. Maybe we really will have to scrape enough money together to live on, and perhaps there won't be as many books and films as I imagine. Maybe.
This sounds miserable, but really it's been reassuring these past few weeks. It's made me think, yeah, even if it doesn't go exactly as planned, even if all these things don't fall into place, even if we have to build our bookshelves one year at a time, maybe it'll be ok. Because here I am, working in the last job in the world I could ever have imagined myself doing (hopeless with numbers as I am), and I've enjoyed it.
It's made me feel hopeful. As though as much as I think I know my plans, and as much as I imagine it all out in my head, maybe things won't work out as I thought. They might even be better.
Sunday 15 August 2010
al fresco pet pedicures
Good grief, 3 posts in the last two days - the lass must be serious. Yes indeed, dear readers, I am sallying forth as I mean to go on. After my shockingly disparate blog presence I consider it a matter of duty and pride to up the ante on the ol' literary input. It always takes a little while to get back into blog-mode after being away, but I genuinely love it and want to get back in the habit.
Ok, so today started with my usual awakening - not from the infamous Mickey Mouse - but from my pet cat, Daisy. Every morning she considers it her duty to sandpaper-lick my face/fingers/elbow with her oh-so-cute-but-not-at-4:30-in-the-morning tongue, and maows pathetically (not a misspelling - that is exactly the disgruntled noise that she makes. Every morning...). I then heave myself out of bed, and semi-consciously stumble downstairs to let her out.
A few hours later I got up feeling slightly more human (slightly) and went to the kitchen for my restorative Weetabix. Today I was helping my Mum with the kids at church; one of our planned activities (and I'm now not sure how we came up with this idea) was to make chocolate bugs with the children - in a gesture towards cooking but without having to brave the hazardous e. coli-zone that is the kitchen at my church. My church, I should explain, is held in a local community centre, so we don't actually own the building. It's a nice set-up, but it does mean that we have to share the building with all the youth offender/ASBO kids/behavioural disorder groups that meet there during the week. All great stuff, but inevitably the kitchen has now begun to resemble what I imagine the scene a few minutes after the events at Chernobyl. You get a general feel for the building when you take a moment to more closely examine the posters and notices that adorn its walls - among them the bomb discovery protocol, a how-to-avoid-loan-sharks warning, and a text-this-number-if-you-know-someone-carrying-a-knife police appeal. Mhm, you get the idea.
So, basically, these chocolate bugs that we were preparing were made out of milk chocolate and white chocolate with a few good dollops of golden syrup to make them stick into a kind of chocolate dough. The picture in the Usborne children's recipe book looked pretty and simple enough, but turns out that what is essentially solid glucose turns children not into angelic darlings joyfully forming wings for their confectionary bugs using the helpful cocktail sticks provided for the purpose, but into minions of the apocalypse bent on wreaking havoc and destruction amidst much shrieking and chaos.
The afternoon was decidedly more relaxing, involving little more that sitting out in the sun in the garden and making my way through almost the entirety of hayleyghoover's blog. That's right kids, the girl is a legend. This blissful occupation was interrupted (it just took me about three attempts to spellinteruppted interruppted interrupted. Shocking.) momentarily for a brief interlude where I had to help my Mum cut the cats' claws. Straightforward as this may sound, let me tell you - hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? No fury like a cat cajoled, more like.
Needless to say they didn't take kindly to being accosted in their casual promenade around the garden, and were even less impressed when they saw we were wielding a pair of nail clippers. Ye-es. Not impressed. I was the designated cat-restrainer for the proceedings, and I was cooing and chirping in all manner of soothing and encouraging ways, but to little avail. When we'd finished they flounced off disgustedly, appalled that we could ever subject them to such indignity.
Anyway, bedtime now - need to be up early to make my sarnies for work tomorrow. Off to take Mickey's battery out.
Ok, so today started with my usual awakening - not from the infamous Mickey Mouse - but from my pet cat, Daisy. Every morning she considers it her duty to sandpaper-lick my face/fingers/elbow with her oh-so-cute-but-not-at-4:30-in-the-morning tongue, and maows pathetically (not a misspelling - that is exactly the disgruntled noise that she makes. Every morning...). I then heave myself out of bed, and semi-consciously stumble downstairs to let her out.
A few hours later I got up feeling slightly more human (slightly) and went to the kitchen for my restorative Weetabix. Today I was helping my Mum with the kids at church; one of our planned activities (and I'm now not sure how we came up with this idea) was to make chocolate bugs with the children - in a gesture towards cooking but without having to brave the hazardous e. coli-zone that is the kitchen at my church. My church, I should explain, is held in a local community centre, so we don't actually own the building. It's a nice set-up, but it does mean that we have to share the building with all the youth offender/ASBO kids/behavioural disorder groups that meet there during the week. All great stuff, but inevitably the kitchen has now begun to resemble what I imagine the scene a few minutes after the events at Chernobyl. You get a general feel for the building when you take a moment to more closely examine the posters and notices that adorn its walls - among them the bomb discovery protocol, a how-to-avoid-loan-sharks warning, and a text-this-number-if-you-know-someone-carrying-a-knife police appeal. Mhm, you get the idea.
So, basically, these chocolate bugs that we were preparing were made out of milk chocolate and white chocolate with a few good dollops of golden syrup to make them stick into a kind of chocolate dough. The picture in the Usborne children's recipe book looked pretty and simple enough, but turns out that what is essentially solid glucose turns children not into angelic darlings joyfully forming wings for their confectionary bugs using the helpful cocktail sticks provided for the purpose, but into minions of the apocalypse bent on wreaking havoc and destruction amidst much shrieking and chaos.
The afternoon was decidedly more relaxing, involving little more that sitting out in the sun in the garden and making my way through almost the entirety of hayleyghoover's blog. That's right kids, the girl is a legend. This blissful occupation was interrupted (it just took me about three attempts to spell
Needless to say they didn't take kindly to being accosted in their casual promenade around the garden, and were even less impressed when they saw we were wielding a pair of nail clippers. Ye-es. Not impressed. I was the designated cat-restrainer for the proceedings, and I was cooing and chirping in all manner of soothing and encouraging ways, but to little avail. When we'd finished they flounced off disgustedly, appalled that we could ever subject them to such indignity.
Anyway, bedtime now - need to be up early to make my sarnies for work tomorrow. Off to take Mickey's battery out.
Saturday 14 August 2010
Mickey stupid Mouse
I think I'm becoming an obsessive. Honestly. I'm sat here quite innocently reading some of Blogger's most excellent material, and all I can hear is tick tick tick tick tick.
My clocks are driving me crazy.
OK, I just re-read over that and realised how utterly bizarre that sounded. Thing is, I have two clocks in my room - the clock on my wall (which is a loud clicker anyway), and the Mickey Mouse alarm clock circa 1993 that I now no longer use but don't have the heart to throw out. Basically, somehow between 1993 and now, the second hand of the alarm clock has bended slightly, which means that whenever it gets to the minute hand it has to work harder to push past it, so suddenly clicks really LOUDLY.
It gets itself all worked up into an irritating little crescendo once every minute, and it's driving me insane. Thing is, I know how stupid it is to get annoyed at something so pointless and - let's face it - not that intrusive, but I can't help it. Once I hear it click, I know it's there, and I can't think of anything else - not even the brilliance that is the aforementioned hayleyghoover. And that's annoying.
So I find myself gradually getting more and more annoyed at the stupid wretched mouse and his stupid clicking second hand that I end up taking a herculean leap from my bed over to the alarm clock, wrenching open it's little door and flinging the battery away.
Peace at last. That is until the morning, when I go over to the alarm clock looking so tragic and pillaged and lying on its side that I feel sorry for it and inevitably put its battery back in. I need to get a grip.
My clocks are driving me crazy.
OK, I just re-read over that and realised how utterly bizarre that sounded. Thing is, I have two clocks in my room - the clock on my wall (which is a loud clicker anyway), and the Mickey Mouse alarm clock circa 1993 that I now no longer use but don't have the heart to throw out. Basically, somehow between 1993 and now, the second hand of the alarm clock has bended slightly, which means that whenever it gets to the minute hand it has to work harder to push past it, so suddenly clicks really LOUDLY.
It gets itself all worked up into an irritating little crescendo once every minute, and it's driving me insane. Thing is, I know how stupid it is to get annoyed at something so pointless and - let's face it - not that intrusive, but I can't help it. Once I hear it click, I know it's there, and I can't think of anything else - not even the brilliance that is the aforementioned hayleyghoover. And that's annoying.
So I find myself gradually getting more and more annoyed at the stupid wretched mouse and his stupid clicking second hand that I end up taking a herculean leap from my bed over to the alarm clock, wrenching open it's little door and flinging the battery away.
Peace at last. That is until the morning, when I go over to the alarm clock looking so tragic and pillaged and lying on its side that I feel sorry for it and inevitably put its battery back in. I need to get a grip.
les laveurs de vitres
As I speak, I'm sat cowering in the corner of my bedroom with the blinds drawn as tight as they'll go lest the window cleaner cops an eyefull of me in my Primark pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt from Prague that says "Czech me out!". There aren't many things that make me jumpy in my own house, but the unmistakable and unsolicited rattle and clang of the dreaded ladders being propped up against my wall is sure to do it - it has me scuttling away from all sources of daylight like a startled earwig.
Seriously though, they hold our privacy in the palm of their hand. All our weird little when-no-one-else-is-in-the-house habits (mine's singing along - loudly, with actions - to karaoke songs from YouTube...) and little quirks are laid out utterly bare for them to see.
You suddenly feel on show, like you have to look busy, interesting and attractive - quite habitually living out your trendy and exciting little life. You give your bedroom a quick once-over, make sure there is nothing incriminating or embarrassing lying about. No knickers that didn't quite make it to the laundry basket, or Twilight soundtracks piled next to your CD player (who, me?).
It's the fact that you don't know when they're coming! You could, quite innocently, be making a quick post-shower naked dash from the bathroom to your bedroom (you might even be stomping an America's Next Top Model-esque "signature walk"... Maybe...) when, suddenly, there's Dave on the ladders, sheepishly waving outside the window.
Anyway, a quick look out of my window has assured me that he has, in fact, gone. So, I can retreat back onto my bed - in full and proud view of the window. Until next time, when we'll go through the whole rigmarole again.
You know what I'm talking about, right? Maybe it's just me...
Seriously though, they hold our privacy in the palm of their hand. All our weird little when-no-one-else-is-in-the-house habits (mine's singing along - loudly, with actions - to karaoke songs from YouTube...) and little quirks are laid out utterly bare for them to see.
You suddenly feel on show, like you have to look busy, interesting and attractive - quite habitually living out your trendy and exciting little life. You give your bedroom a quick once-over, make sure there is nothing incriminating or embarrassing lying about. No knickers that didn't quite make it to the laundry basket, or Twilight soundtracks piled next to your CD player (who, me?).
It's the fact that you don't know when they're coming! You could, quite innocently, be making a quick post-shower naked dash from the bathroom to your bedroom (you might even be stomping an America's Next Top Model-esque "signature walk"... Maybe...) when, suddenly, there's Dave on the ladders, sheepishly waving outside the window.
Anyway, a quick look out of my window has assured me that he has, in fact, gone. So, I can retreat back onto my bed - in full and proud view of the window. Until next time, when we'll go through the whole rigmarole again.
You know what I'm talking about, right? Maybe it's just me...
Thursday 5 August 2010
excuses excuses
OK, yes yes, I know. Utterly feeble blog-presence of late. OK fine, virtually nil presence. Yeah I know, trying to fob you off with little YouTube video summaries was a fail.
HOWEVER! I do have a fairly (fairly...) reasonable excuse. Drumroll please...
I have a job! Oh yes, that's right - job search was not completely fruitless after all! For the last 2-and-a-bit weeks I've been working at a chartered accountant's. Oh yes, it is exactly as grown up as it sounds.
Of course, truth is I know zilch about bloomin accounting, but thankfully they're all very friendly and sympathetic towards the numerically-illiterate and have given me nice wordy things to do. AND they're wanting to do pretty much a full corporate re-brand and hopefully I'm going to be involved in that. Which is, needless to say, excessively exciting :)
So, in short, everything's rather sunny at the moment. And as if things weren't going well enough, I'm off to see Eclipse tomorrow night (*cough*...). Perhaps won't be the visual feast that was Inception, but... well, you know.
HOWEVER! I do have a fairly (fairly...) reasonable excuse. Drumroll please...
I have a job! Oh yes, that's right - job search was not completely fruitless after all! For the last 2-and-a-bit weeks I've been working at a chartered accountant's. Oh yes, it is exactly as grown up as it sounds.
Of course, truth is I know zilch about bloomin accounting, but thankfully they're all very friendly and sympathetic towards the numerically-illiterate and have given me nice wordy things to do. AND they're wanting to do pretty much a full corporate re-brand and hopefully I'm going to be involved in that. Which is, needless to say, excessively exciting :)
So, in short, everything's rather sunny at the moment. And as if things weren't going well enough, I'm off to see Eclipse tomorrow night (*cough*...). Perhaps won't be the visual feast that was Inception, but... well, you know.
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