English

Ok, so Facebook has - once again - changed its layout. Or, rather, the layout of our profiles. Now, I think Facebook is great (despite the somewhat sinister The Social Network...) and I've been a relatively avid user since I was persuaded to join when I was 17 (ish).

I do actually quite like the new profile layout, although I don't like the fact that the "education and work" section comes before the "about me" section (it smacks a little of LinkedIn and smug middle class-ness. But anyway...), but I do like the little row of pictures and details under our names (because, in my smug middle class-ness, I rather like having my university course and languages that I speak under there...).

But it was when I was filling in my "languages" section that I came across that ubiquitous linguistic loophole: "English English." That's right. I was able to choose between speaking "American English" or "English English." Is this really what it's come to?!

Now, I do concede that there are some inevitable (if incorrect... *gasp* that's right, I said it) differences in the spellings of perfectly commonplace words such as "colour" and "recognise" that Americans seem to have adopted, but surely - surely - we're still speaking the same language?!

Granted, at times, the Americans may seem mumbling and lolling in their speech, but surely we can sweep those differences aside and say, definitively, that "Yes, brothers, we are united in our speech of one common and glorious language."

Either that, or I'll just refuse to put "English English" under my name on my profile.

Disclaimer: You Americans are lovely really. I love your trilling, honeyed voices.

giddy

So, that festive spirit I was talking about? Well, it's well and truly hit. Seriously, thinking about Christmas-related joys has had me scrunching my toes with glee for days.

So, we decorated our (somewhat bijoux) Christmas tree the other day - in a much similar vein to last year, but with the promise of additions - and we've got a house Secret Santa on the go. Tonight is the English Department Christmas Party, and one of my tutors said she'd be bringing mince pies to our seminar next week (softening the potential blow of getting our marked essays back...). I am literally so excited!

I had my first mince pie of the year on Sunday night at my church's first carol service of the season - there was a brass quintet! I have truly regressed back to the mentality of a child; all thought of social etiquette went hurtling out of the window at the sound of "Hark The Herald" and I whooped and clapped at their instrumental encores as we were munching mince pies. And there's more.

The snow. Oh, the snow.

We've had pretty much continual snow for over a week - I'm talking icicles over a metre long, snow drifts up to my thighs, -17 degrees C, the whole caboodle. It's bloomin mint! Even in my little studenty house where I can see my breath in my bedroom, I'm loving the snow. And that in turn has made me fall in love with the North East even more. When the snow hits London, virtually everything stops. When the snow hits the North East, they send men out with shovels in front of the buses to keep them running. Well, almost.

I just love the hardiness of the North Easterners - and I think it's catching. I find myself going out without a coat, going barefoot in the snow to take the bins out, and climbing over next door's wall to get out of my house because my gate is blocked with snow. There's a spirit of "let's just get on with it", and man it's refreshing.

So, here I am in our little winter wonderland - with numb toes but aching for Christmas.

wedding

First of all - a pair of police officers just rode by my window on horseback. How weird! I love that, policemen on horses - such a quaint gesture to a bygone age. Maybe that's all we'll be seeing, what with the new budget cuts: policemen having to give up their comfy Vauxhall Astras and strapping on their saddles instead, shrieking "yee ha" as they gallop down the streets after the local teenage scallies. I quite like that image.

Secondly, congrats to William and Kate! About time too. I watched the post-announcement interview when I heard, and it made for an interesting watch. They seem happy enough so I'm pleased for them, but I do feel sorry for that poor girl. All the Diana-related questioning will be endless, what with the ring and all.

The interviewer himself hardly held back, saying stuff like: "Obviously Lady Diana was a real icon and an inspirational figure; does that intimidate you at all? Is that something you think about?" What on earth is the poor lass supposed to say to that?! "Erm, no, actually, I never think about my future husband's dead mother, and I'm a heartless bint." Or, alternatively, "Yes, I think about it all the time. In fact, I cower and tremble at her very name and fear I'll never be the style icon and philanthropist that everyone persists in reminding me that she was."

Good grief. So the little thing was left floundering around knee-deep in "erm"s and "obviously"s, until looking helplessly at her chap before he, jedi-like, raised a hand and said: "There's no pressure there."

Still, everyone loves a royal wedding, eh? And it didn't go unnoticed that this wedding has been announced right in the midst of the recession, remarkably similarly to Charles and Diana's in the last big economic crisis. What with that and the Olympics in two successive years and the inevitable tourist inundation which will ensue, ol' Wills might drag us out of the drudge of the credit crunch yet. Bravo to that!

tomorrow

Firstly, I love this:

Secondly, man I'm excited!

Basically, tomorrow I'm off to London at 4:00 in the morning to attend this protest. I. Am. So. Excited.

Coming to uni, I was expecting there to be loads of protests - students up in arms at the injustices of the world, in an idealistically Les Miserables kind of way. It was something I was really looking forward to: joining the ranks of thousands of other students in an attempt to shake things up.

Yet, amidst the sea of seemingly apathetic rahs and disillusioned socialists there seemed to be a distinct lack of passion about, well, anything really. But now, in my last year at uni, I have my opportunity! In a final hurrah for my university experience, I'm going to join thousands of other students in an attempt to defend the right for my little brother to have the same opportunities I did.

For those unacquainted with the changes to be made to higher education funding in England, here's a (very) brief summary:

• Our government has taken the cap off university tuition fees - basically meaning universities can now charge anything up to £9000 a year for the benefit of attending their institution. A levy (tax) will be put in place for fees of over £6000 (last I heard), but to be honest I don't think that'll put the higher-end unis off.
• Funding for those courses which the government deems not "essential" (mainly humanities courses, like mine, such as English, History, languages that are not "strategically economically advantageous", Geography - all that kind of thing) will be cut the most severely - with government money being focused more on courses such as medicine and engineering.

Basically, the whole thing is a sham. It's outrageous. Now, I do know that compared with places like the States we still pay relatively little for university, but to suggest that students in a couple of years' time (my little brother included) will have to leave university with debts of up to £30, 000 (when our parents could attend for nothing) is scandalous.

Rant over.

So, that is why I'm off to London with a few of my coursemates and hundreds of other Newcastle students (and thousands of others from across the country) to march in front of Parliament and through central London.

Will it make a difference? Probably not. But, man, I'm buzzing for it.

recap

Oh hello blog, you lovely thing. It's been a while.

Well, now that I'm back home after almost 3 weeks without internet I thought I'd tell you just what I've been doing in the mean time. It has been a good 3 weeks!

Ok, first week I was on a barge on the Oxfordshire canal, which was bea-utiful. We became expert storm-dodgers and, if I do say so myself, I was soon steering the boat like a pro, even in the pouring rain:

An amusing incident on the barge: I was steering fairly early in the morning and looking like a real bargee, when I looked to my feet and saw the hatch down to the engine, and noticed a small brass sign next to it explaining what it was. Now, for my somewhat immature mind, this sign turned out to be more than I could bear to keep to myself. I called to my brother at the front of the barge: "Oi Tom, there's a funny sign on the barge!" He asked me what it said, and I bellowed out over the noise of the engine: "It says FUEL COCK BELOW!" Then fell about in helpless hysterics. It wasn't until cruel coincidence caused me to turn round that I saw the old bloke on the tow path that was out walking his dog, looking at me in surprised amusement and pity as I rolled about the deck cackling like a schoolgirl. I was so embarrassed that, naturally, I went and hid in the toilet for the next half hour.

So, the week after the barge we went to stay in a cottage in Dorset (in Lulworth Cove, if you're interested). The weather was much better that week, and we went on plenty of day trips to explore everything around. One of the highlights of the week was when we went sea kayaking - it was incredible! I would so recommend it if you haven't done it before. Tom and I shared a kayak, and we were crashing through waves and dodging in and out of rocks and caves - whistling the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack, naturally.

Another highlight was our trip to Lulworth Castle for the annual jousting festival - where I learned that not only do I need a boyfriend, but he must be of the armour-wearing "I-shall-win-this-tournament-for-your-honour" type.

Needless to say, the baddie knight ("Lord Odious", as it happened) was my favourite, and - I am ashamed to say - without any other appropriate favour to give him (women used to give knights handkerchiefs and things to show their favour during the jousts) I was seriously considering removing my bra to give him in a moment of madness, but it seems a young girl beat me to the underwear offering:

She was on her dad's shoulders next to us and told him she wanted to give him her spare pair of knickers. On ascertaining that it was in fact the baddie that she wanted to favour, he said amusingly: "I'm not sure if I approve of this!" 

The final highlight, was the Anniversary of the Battle of Britain Air Show in Duxford. Man, I have never seen anything like it. So many World War II planes - they had sixteen Spitfires flying together! And I'm no fighter plane expert but I'm told that's rather a big deal. Of course, the Red Arrows are always a big hit with me.

So, this brings us on to this week, where I have been at Forum 2010, organised by UCCF (the national organisation of Christian Unions in universities). It was one of the most incredible weeks ever, honestly. The teaching was fantastic (click here to listen to any of them - Graham Daniels' talk was particularly brilliant) and we all learned to much and got really fired up for going back to uni and organising our CU freshers events. I nearly lost my voice from all the singing we did! Picture it: pitch black outside - no clouds but loads of stars, a huge marquee and a thousand students belting it out so that you can hardly hear your own voice. So good. So so good!

So, here I am - complete with a host of new books from Forum, a miniature model of a Red Arrow plane, and flip flop tan lines. It's been a mint few weeks!

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?

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.

and a lovely Easter

This Easter I went to my favourite place in the world, with some of my favourite people and - as expected - it was lovely.

Video to follow on YouTube but won't be until my laptop's working again.

Monday's Faces

On the back:

 My father:- Robt Maughan.
Photograph taken Llandudno
Summer 1922 'Craig-y-Don Hotel.'
Dad had just returned from London, having
played bowles for England
against the Australians.

our visitor

I had forgotten to post about the familiar face I saw on Northumberland Street on Friday.

It was extraordinary. I cried, of course. She had come to officially open the Great North Museum, and I think she visited Princess Eugenie too.

It was honestly so strange, she's such a familiar face but seeing her in person was quite surreal - and very unexpected!

ach

Fairly uninspired of late, it has to be said.

Possibly due to the fact that whenever I do anything that isn't tackling my essay I can't help but feel as though I should be tackling my essay.

Still, tomorrow is Bonfire Night: bangers and mash all round and a nice helping of spectacular fireworks should get the creative juices flowing.

Here are a couple of moments from last year:

somers town

A brilliant film, completely lovely. Directed by Shane Meadows (of "This is England" fame) and so delicate.

Let's hear it for British film.

last night

I fell in love with Newcastle again. Me and a couple of friends wandered through Chinatown to get some spring rolls, then down to the quayside to The Red House - my favourite pub ever.

Newcastle at night, I just love it all: Grey Street with its curved buildings and the Theatre Royal, the cobbly streets as you get closer to the quayside, the Geordies dressed to the nines on their way out, the little lights along the river, the queues by Monument to get into the clubs, the nine-things-to-do-in-Newcastle benches.

What a place - what a home.

hello autumn

It's finally arrived - my favourite season.

Today was the first time I felt that frosty bite in the air: the merest hint of the chill to come. I couldn't quite see my breath in the air, but I know it'll happen soon.

Of course, with the beginning of autumn comes the annual 'coat decision'. To wear, or not to wear? I have managed to acquire a rather marvellous silk-scarf-and-tweed-coat ensemble which makes me feel really rather Withnailian and wonderful, and I'm just aching to wear it. I attempted it the other day - but I don't think my heart was really in it. The coat seemed to be wearing me, rather than the other way round, and I couldn't help but notice the large numbers of people donned in t-shirts walking the streets.

It was one of those odd days where clothes are concerned, the type when the general population can't seem to make up its mind. The kind when if you leave the house in anything less than a winter coat you feel underdressed, but wearing one makes you feel foolishly prepared for Arctic conditions and invariably results in the carrying of said coat.

Still, autumn is definitely approaching - the trees are looking progressively self-consciously ill-clothed and a chill is in the air. My foppish coat beckons... Huzzah!