Hello, sorry, I forgot to mention I was heading to the jungle for the foreseeable future. As a result, this year has a special blog all of its very own.... www.monkey-mission.blogspot.com
I have abandoned you not!
Rachel
Monday, 18 August 2008
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Now That Exams Are Over...
Having not written anything for a while, I feel a tad guilty. I appreciate that had I written anything, there is only a very slim chance that anyone would have chosen to read it anyway, and feel on balance that the lack of odd occurences during the exam period is a good enough reason to have neglected this diary until now.
Last weekend I enjoyed a trip to Cosford Airshow, and would like to briefly introduce to you the latest member of my menagerie: Hercules the fish.
I was happily perusing the hangars full of bustling aviation enthusiasts, and enjoying the sounds of the RAF band, when we recieved a phonecall from a member of the group of air cadets we were accompanying.
"No, Cadet So-and-So, we do not want a squadron goldfish..........No, I'm afraid I don't want a goldfish either.......I don't know, I'll ask...."
And so it came to be that shortly afterwards I was transporting a goldfish in a bag around Cosford Air Show.
I have to mention that I don't agree with giving animals away as pets at funfairs, but Bubbles, my other fish, has been thriving happily at home for the last 13 years or more, which is quite incredible considering the average lifespan for a fish kept in a bowl is 5-10 years. Kept in ponds or large aquaria, this figure doubles to 10-20 years. Incidentally, the oldest known goldfish lived to the ripe old age of 43, and I met the owner at a classic car rally a few years back; whether or not the goldfish was older than the car is something I've often wondered but probably will never know the answer to.
Hercules didn't get to see an awful lot of the show apart from the similarly coloured Jaguar seen in the photograph above. He was taken to the local air cadet squadron where he rested away from the bustle of the crowds and aeroplanes until the end of the day. Unfortunately things are never quite simple, and on top of the usual traumas associated with moving house and settling into a new home, poor Hercules also had to deal with a leaky bag. Thankfully, the quick reactions of members of our group meant that Herc was safely relocated to a promotional air cadet bag topped up with bottled water and balanced in the coach driver's lunchbox for the three hour journey back to Cardiff.
He now resides happily in an appropriately sized goldfish bowl and enjoys swimming and water polo.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Let It Be
"When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
-----
And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer, let it be. For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see, there will be an answer, let it be.
-----
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me, shine on till tomorrow, let it be. I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be."
In my opinion, one of the greatest songs ever written.
This latest entry is not a musical review however, so let us consider now my housemate's new friend. Well, you'd think he was a friend of hers, after-all he calls at the house on a regular basis, asking for her by name for a friendly chat. Having sucessfully avoided this happy chap for several weeks now, said housemate was most definitely cornered this morning when she opened the door to a prime example of your average neighbourhood religious salesperson.
I can't help thinking that trying to spread the word in this way is doing little more than degrade their message to the same level as that of the pizza menus left on our doormat for months on end, until a housemate/house-elf/womble tidies it away to the recycling bin. And if you think about it, that's a shame, because there's really no malice or ill-intent involved, yet they're so very, very irritating and you can't help wishing they'd leave you alone to the privacy of your own home. By all means, drop the appropriate literature through the letterbox so we can have a nosey over our cornflakes in the morning, but continual harassment is likely to not only turn people away from whichever religion/denomination/sect/cult you're trying to enourage us to join, but also any that are remotely linked, which surely defeats the point of the exercise?
It reminds me of a miserable Saturday afternoon, stood quietly in a queue outside the Brixton Academy a few years back. A determined-looking young man approached the pair of us, who were happily discussing possible songs that might be used to open the impending show, and asked us if we'd like a leaflet. From experience, taking the leaflet to later be recycled usually ends the momentary disruption to conversation, but alas, it was not to be.
"Can I ask you girls a question?" the young man enquired,
"Yeah, guess so," muttered two bored 16-year-olds,
"Have either of you ever told a lie?" he asked,
"Er, yeah, everybody has..." we replied, exchanging guilt-ridden glances,
"WELL!" he burst forth, "Well, let me show you a diagram! This is where you are now, Planet Earth." Excitedly he pointed to the middle of a now very intimidating leaflet, identical to the one offered to us earlier. Above and below our little planet were Heaven and Hell, respectively, illustrated in a dramatic way.
"You have lied. Because of this, you will be going here," the man's eyes narrowed as he pointed at the red flames of eternal damnation.
"YOU CAN BE SAVED!" he exploded, startling several baggy t-shirted teenagers nearby.
"Yes, you can be saved, but you must repent now, NOW, and vow never to lie again, do you understand?"
The glint in his eyes as he continued to tell us of our fate, and the tone of his voice, were anything but encouraging, reassuring or hopeful, as you'd like to think of an organised religion. My point being that there must be ways and means of going about these things that don't involve the semi-traumatisation of young girls on the street or hounding people in the comfort of their own homes.
Incidentally, ten minutes later we were approached by a man handing out books relating to Krishna Consciousness. We agreed to everything he said, smiled, nodded in the appropriate pauses and sent him on his way with the satisfied, but false, knowledge that we'd think about converting.
In retrospect I'd love to speak to the first young man now, and point out that it was his menacing demeanor that led to us lying to the second gentleman. Although, if presented with his questioning into our honesty now, my answer would be along the lines of:
'Yes, I have. I expect you have too. Most of us try not to, but it happens. And if what you're about to try and convince me of is really the truth, then I will discover it in my own time, and not because a scary man on the street tells me so. You're as human as I, and humans lie. If you want to convert me, your best bet is to be nice and hope we follow, or in the words of Lennon and McCartney,
whisper words of wisdom and let it be.'
Sunday, 4 May 2008
It's always when you look like Tony Blackburn that you bump into a rockstar.
It was quite possibly my last student radio show this year today! Of course, I hope to be back after jungle-time, but who can say? However, Elena and I decided that the last show should go out with a bang...afterall, the only interesting parts of the show are the bits that go wrong!
So there I was, trying out my new wig. I bought it for Helen's birthday party this evening. It's a 'Green Party', so I thought I'd twist it a bit and come as Dr Alan Statham from 'Green Wing'...if you haven't seen it, you're either too sensible or haven't lived!
Unfortunately, Elena and I decided that there was much more of a resemblence to Tony Blackburn, especially when donning the headphones to speak into the mic. And so it was, with I in my Tony Blackburn wig and Elena sporting a fluorescent green tutu, that Barry from 'The Futureheads' found us, and asked if Elena was the DJ.
'Pfft', I thought, 'Is this how one greets a great Radio 2 DJ? Radio 1, once upon a time, but probably before your time laddy...'
"No, it's her!" said Elena, pointing.
"Oh right, you just played my song..."
I decided to let his earlier slip pass over me, and invited him in for an interview. Amazingly, he accepted and came into the studio. Remembering that I was dressed as a man, I whipped off the wig, with the exclamation:
"I'm wearing a wig!"
Yes. Smooth. I'm sure Jo Whiley doesn't greet her guests dressed as a man.
The interview went very well, and I shall post a link to it when I've put it up on the internet. However, I'm currently back in the wig, coupled with a moustache, pink tights and a labcoat, so I really ought to go somewhere where there's more freaks like me, or else I'll get arrested! Laters.
So there I was, trying out my new wig. I bought it for Helen's birthday party this evening. It's a 'Green Party', so I thought I'd twist it a bit and come as Dr Alan Statham from 'Green Wing'...if you haven't seen it, you're either too sensible or haven't lived!
Unfortunately, Elena and I decided that there was much more of a resemblence to Tony Blackburn, especially when donning the headphones to speak into the mic. And so it was, with I in my Tony Blackburn wig and Elena sporting a fluorescent green tutu, that Barry from 'The Futureheads' found us, and asked if Elena was the DJ.
'Pfft', I thought, 'Is this how one greets a great Radio 2 DJ? Radio 1, once upon a time, but probably before your time laddy...'
"No, it's her!" said Elena, pointing.
"Oh right, you just played my song..."
I decided to let his earlier slip pass over me, and invited him in for an interview. Amazingly, he accepted and came into the studio. Remembering that I was dressed as a man, I whipped off the wig, with the exclamation:
"I'm wearing a wig!"
Yes. Smooth. I'm sure Jo Whiley doesn't greet her guests dressed as a man.
The interview went very well, and I shall post a link to it when I've put it up on the internet. However, I'm currently back in the wig, coupled with a moustache, pink tights and a labcoat, so I really ought to go somewhere where there's more freaks like me, or else I'll get arrested! Laters.
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
This Morning I Woke Up in a Tent.
Nothing would be at all surprising about waking up to the sound of raindrops pattering down onto synthetic canvas if one was expecting to be camping. Such situations would perhaps be a family holiday, a Duke of Edinburgh Expedition or maybe a trip to Devon with old school friends. Confusingly, this morning I didn't think I was participating in any of the above activities. Therefore I naturally assumed that I was, of course, in Madagascar. Yes, that must be it. Having lived in my tent for three months, I could imagine it before even opening my eyes. My tent and I were probably parked alongside a pool at the foot of a towering cliff, surrounded by spiky trees and with Ring-tailed lemurs (Lemur catta) scrabbling about for their breakfast before the heat of the day kicks in.
Hang on, the heat of the day? It's bloody freezing, that can't be right.
Ah, so I'm probably further north. Perhaps I'm confused, I'm obviously travelling with Issy before heading home, maybe in Ambalavao. I don't want to go home yet, I miss everyone in Fort Dauphin already.
No wait, this still can't be right because I know what happens today...if I'm in Madagascar and I'm this cold, then this must be the last night we spent in tents before succumbing to Hotelys. But if I'm where I think I am, then how do I know this is the last night I spend in a tent?
*Sigh*, I'm going to have to open my eyes.
On looking around my one-and-a-half-man, pocket-sized tent I see my duvet, pillow, alarm clock and torch crammed in around me. Having firmly established that I did not lug a double duvet around Madagascar for three months, I must be....in Cardiff.
Thankfully I've now filled in all the pieces, and they create a picture something like this:
> Arrive home from a night out at the Union, everyone's tired except for Rachel.
> Rachel decides to sit in the garden for a spot of star-gazing.
> Rachel decides it's quite cold, and so goes to bed.
> Rachel has a ground-breaking idea. 'The garden was cold. My bed is warm. I'd rather be in the garden. Let's take the bed into the garden.'
And so it came to be that there is a tent fully erected in the back garden of a house on Mackintosh Place, complete with guy-ropes properly adjusted, pegs tapped in nice and firmly, and the porch pulled out to deflect the rain from the inner-sheet.
I feel must add that I had a very nice sleep, and that my tent is very appreciative of the unexpected use!
Hang on, the heat of the day? It's bloody freezing, that can't be right.
Ah, so I'm probably further north. Perhaps I'm confused, I'm obviously travelling with Issy before heading home, maybe in Ambalavao. I don't want to go home yet, I miss everyone in Fort Dauphin already.
No wait, this still can't be right because I know what happens today...if I'm in Madagascar and I'm this cold, then this must be the last night we spent in tents before succumbing to Hotelys. But if I'm where I think I am, then how do I know this is the last night I spend in a tent?
*Sigh*, I'm going to have to open my eyes.
On looking around my one-and-a-half-man, pocket-sized tent I see my duvet, pillow, alarm clock and torch crammed in around me. Having firmly established that I did not lug a double duvet around Madagascar for three months, I must be....in Cardiff.
Thankfully I've now filled in all the pieces, and they create a picture something like this:
> Arrive home from a night out at the Union, everyone's tired except for Rachel.
> Rachel decides to sit in the garden for a spot of star-gazing.
> Rachel decides it's quite cold, and so goes to bed.
> Rachel has a ground-breaking idea. 'The garden was cold. My bed is warm. I'd rather be in the garden. Let's take the bed into the garden.'
And so it came to be that there is a tent fully erected in the back garden of a house on Mackintosh Place, complete with guy-ropes properly adjusted, pegs tapped in nice and firmly, and the porch pulled out to deflect the rain from the inner-sheet.
I feel must add that I had a very nice sleep, and that my tent is very appreciative of the unexpected use!
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Clowns, Mimes and Predictive Text Messaging
Thursday night saw a neon-nu-rave-style birthday party. Fancy dress is always welcomed, so out came the glowsticks and off we adventured to a less-than-usual haunt for us, venturing into the hard house beats of CYNT for the evening.
What we hadn't expected, was to be the only three people in the club on arrival, or to be followed shortly by two dozen people dressed in exceptionally creepy clown and mime costumes! Being surrounded by double-faced, white-masked oddities doing the 'robot' is something I shall not forget for a long time! (Incidentally, the nu-ravers did appear an hour or two later!)
My other, very exciting, discovery of the weekend has been that Sony Ericsson phones keep a list stored of all the words you add to the predictive text dictionary! This was discovered whilst on the train, sat opposite a woman with a peculiar fascination with garden gnomes. My list of words, leaving out names of friends, is as follows:
What we hadn't expected, was to be the only three people in the club on arrival, or to be followed shortly by two dozen people dressed in exceptionally creepy clown and mime costumes! Being surrounded by double-faced, white-masked oddities doing the 'robot' is something I shall not forget for a long time! (Incidentally, the nu-ravers did appear an hour or two later!)
My other, very exciting, discovery of the weekend has been that Sony Ericsson phones keep a list stored of all the words you add to the predictive text dictionary! This was discovered whilst on the train, sat opposite a woman with a peculiar fascination with garden gnomes. My list of words, leaving out names of friends, is as follows:- Cardiff
- Aardvark
- Chippy
- Bitch
- Bonkers
- Buffalo
- Attenborough
- CUTV
- Eek
- Dorchester
- Heck
- HENSON
- Incase
- GOT
- Greenwing
- Grr
- Grrr
- IT
- Kaffuffle
- Jeopardise
- Llamas
- Mackintosh
- Ninja
- Okeydokez
- Olga
- Muppet
- Penguin
- Phew
- Plonker
- Smithereens
- Polychaete
- Soundcheck
- Spiffing
- Squished
- Uppage
- Wareham
- YAY
- YIPPEE
- Wombat
- Womble
- Xpress
Thursday, 24 April 2008
How to Pass 32 Minutes at the Bar
We went out for St George's Day. It had to be done, despite half of the group being of non-English origin, and really not caring about dragon-slaying folklore!
Having established that every normal pub was jam-packed with football fans, we swiftly adjusted our plans to head for the arty haunt that is Milgi's. This was most enjoyable, and only mildly tainted by the video footage of an intimidating looking female stuffing her mouth full of cake and drinking milk through a straw attached to cups taped to her breasts. Each to their very little own...
...anyway, we ended up in town, where it took me thirty minutes to get served in Lloyd's, which I passed in the following way:
Minutes 0-5: Happily waiting my turn.
Minutes 6-10: Feeling slightly thirsty, but appreciative of staff trying to serve lots of people. Start to read the labels on the bottles behind the bar.
Minutes 11-13: Having finished reading the labels on the bottles, move on to counting the number of people at the bar. Now only one person from the bar, so thankful that it's nearly my turn.
Minutes 14-15: Music has changed from preferred cheese to mainstream chav. Start to feel a little irritated, but allow a smaller person to be served first. It's nearly my turn anyway.
Minute 16: Have just been pushed infront of by a large, pretty, blonde girl. Find small amount of comfort in the fact that she appears to be as bright as the broken lightbulb in our hall.
Minutes 17-18: Strange, middle-aged, European man has just reached out from behind me and grabbed the guy at the bar's backside, before continuing conversation in what appears to be Polish, with his suited colleague. Man at bar gives me dirty look. Not of the friendly variety.
Minute 19: Blonde girl from Minute 16 has just spilt one of her eight drinks all over my arm in trying to carry all eight away at once. Note previous comment about lightbulbs.
Minute 20: Older, Polish freak has just repeated previous action, with the result that man at bar got stroppy and switched places with his mate, who feels it necessary to spend Minutes 21 and 22 making fun of the guilty-looking, thirsty, tramp-like object that is me.
Minutes 21-22: Am trying to avoid hearing the victim and friend muttering about the bottom-grabbing-girl stood behind them.
Minute 23: Polish man has noticed my discomfort at the situation, and says the following, to one can only assume make me feel better, "It is okay. That man can only dream of a lady you like to grab his arse. It is normal for only the elephants to grab his arse. Yes? Yes?" He then guffaws uncontrollably, sporadically slapping my back. Everybody at the bar now associates me with strange, Polish man. The bartender chooses to ignore me and move on to the two beautiful girls who've apparently teleported to the front of the queue.
Minute 24: They are playing that song that I can't make out the words to, with the really nasal sounding singer. I think it's number 4 in the singles chart at the moment. Am annoyed that I can remember its chart position and not who sang it.
Minutes 25-27: Have given up hope on ever being served, but have exact change ready just incase. Have exchanged all silver coins for the correct complement of coppers. Find small amount of satisfaction that I've got rid of some 2ps.
Minute 28: There is hope. The two men to my left have taken their drinks and left me a space. I take the space, but drop a 2 pence piece in the process.
Minute 29: Have to recount my silver coins, as 2p is nowhere to be seen. Miss my turn whilst searching for 2p.
Minute 30: Bartender asks how he can help. Girl with ridiculously pointless top interjects. Apparently she's been there for at least ten minutes. Bartender apologises to girl and takes her order of 12 drinks, before heading off to throw his sponge at another employee, resulting in two less possible people to take my order.
Minute 32: I buy a rum and coke, returning to a table of people who ask what I've been doing for all this time. Am grumpy.
The rum wasn't even that good. Grumble.
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Conversations by a Water Cooler
Biologists tend to get themselves a bad name. Granted, we don't suffer the same degree of stereoptyping as the average chemist or physicist, and we'd probably get away scott-free if it wasn't for people like those sat by the water cooler in the refectory. However when you overhear snippets of conversation like this as you stop at the hydration facilities for a cup of H20, you have to wonder...
"I just don't know how to tell him. It's a difficult situation. The thing is I'm going to have to say something, it's driving me mad," desperately explained the young woman.
"Well, I know it's a bit awkward, but if that's how you feel, you have to let him know!" suggested the concerned-looking male friend.
"I know, I know," she sighed, with her head in her hands, "you're right, I can't keep this inside."
"He'll understand, these sort of things happen when you start crossing wild-type Drosophila with the white-eyed mutants..."
Fruit flies?! They were talking about fruit flies, over lunch, as if they were discussing a marital breakdown or a case of ever-burning-unrequited-adoration!
I'll just be getting back to my report on the affect of light intensity on Pisum sativum then - the forefront of scientific research in the 21st century. Or I could watch another episode of Friends...
"I just don't know how to tell him. It's a difficult situation. The thing is I'm going to have to say something, it's driving me mad," desperately explained the young woman.
"Well, I know it's a bit awkward, but if that's how you feel, you have to let him know!" suggested the concerned-looking male friend.
"I know, I know," she sighed, with her head in her hands, "you're right, I can't keep this inside."
"He'll understand, these sort of things happen when you start crossing wild-type Drosophila with the white-eyed mutants..."
Fruit flies?! They were talking about fruit flies, over lunch, as if they were discussing a marital breakdown or a case of ever-burning-unrequited-adoration!
I'll just be getting back to my report on the affect of light intensity on Pisum sativum then - the forefront of scientific research in the 21st century. Or I could watch another episode of Friends...
Sunday, 20 April 2008
The things people do on a pavement.
There are pros and cons to having a room at the front of this house. Surprisingly the main advantage and disadvantge are one and the same thing: that if someone wants to stop for a rest, 99.9% of the time it's right outside my window.
Maybe there's some kind of force field that attracts people to the lamp post in front of this desk, maybe it's purely by chance, or maybe they know they might be featured in this little write-up, but whatever the reason I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that the weirdest characters in Cardiff congregate outside my bedroom.
To illustrate my point, I'd like to introduce you to three of the characters who've loitered a couple of feet away from me in the last 24 hours, completely oblivious to my observation.
1. The man with the jacket.
I'm quite fond of the road we live on, but there's really nothing all that special about it. There's certainly no reason I can think of to walk up and down it all day, which is what jacket-man and his girlfriend have spent their Sunday doing. Several times today, a man with an exceptionally nice jacket (comfy-looking and black with three 'sergeant' chevrons embroidered on the shoulders) has stopped outside my window. Once, to light a cigarette, a second time to take a phone call, and a third to have an argument with the girl. None of these things are at all out of the ordinary, but why stop outside this house every time?
2. The man with the take-away down his trousers.
What do you do when you visit the take-away, and they give you two paper bags to carry home?
My first thought would be to carry one bag in each hand, or alternatively, place both packets into a carrier bag of some description.
Not so for one man who chose to rearrange his shopping outside my window. This particular man chose to grip one bag in his teeth, so as to use his free hand to adjust his Daz-white vertical cap, before taking the other bag of food, pulling out the back of his perfectly ironed Adidas trousers, placing the bag inside the back of his trousers, pulling the Reebok hoody down over the odd-looking bulge, removing the other bag from his teeth, spitting on the pavement and sauntering off to wherever one heads to with a carton of chow mein down one's trousers.
3. The lady who fired her toddler from the pushchair.
Okay, so technically this one was yesterday, but I thought she was worth a mention. Now, I'm not a parent, so maybe I shouldn't judge, but I've had a bit of experience controlling unruly shopping trolleys, go-karts and those fun, wheely things that stand in the corner of the gym at school holding the crash mats. I therefore find it hard to believe that directing a pushchair seating one sleeping toddler can be that much of a challenge. The only explanation I can find for this lady completely losing control of the pushchair so that it rolled off the pavement and catapulted her two-year old into the road is the fact that she was trying to smoke, eat a cornish pasty, hold a phone conversation and shout at a startled looking teenager on the other side of the road at the same time. Maybe they had a point when they took that lady to court for eating an apple at the wheel a while back...
Of course, there are people stopping for various reasons all day, every day, but to list them all would be to get even less work done, and the oddities of Cardiff have already left me with over a thousand words to write before the morning comes.
As a final note for tonight, I'd like to present the award for 'Weekly Weirdo' to the man who stopped to ask my housemate and his girlfriend if they use the same conditioner. I suppose someone has to wonder these things!
Maybe there's some kind of force field that attracts people to the lamp post in front of this desk, maybe it's purely by chance, or maybe they know they might be featured in this little write-up, but whatever the reason I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that the weirdest characters in Cardiff congregate outside my bedroom.
To illustrate my point, I'd like to introduce you to three of the characters who've loitered a couple of feet away from me in the last 24 hours, completely oblivious to my observation.
1. The man with the jacket.
I'm quite fond of the road we live on, but there's really nothing all that special about it. There's certainly no reason I can think of to walk up and down it all day, which is what jacket-man and his girlfriend have spent their Sunday doing. Several times today, a man with an exceptionally nice jacket (comfy-looking and black with three 'sergeant' chevrons embroidered on the shoulders) has stopped outside my window. Once, to light a cigarette, a second time to take a phone call, and a third to have an argument with the girl. None of these things are at all out of the ordinary, but why stop outside this house every time?
2. The man with the take-away down his trousers.
What do you do when you visit the take-away, and they give you two paper bags to carry home?
My first thought would be to carry one bag in each hand, or alternatively, place both packets into a carrier bag of some description.
Not so for one man who chose to rearrange his shopping outside my window. This particular man chose to grip one bag in his teeth, so as to use his free hand to adjust his Daz-white vertical cap, before taking the other bag of food, pulling out the back of his perfectly ironed Adidas trousers, placing the bag inside the back of his trousers, pulling the Reebok hoody down over the odd-looking bulge, removing the other bag from his teeth, spitting on the pavement and sauntering off to wherever one heads to with a carton of chow mein down one's trousers.
3. The lady who fired her toddler from the pushchair.
Okay, so technically this one was yesterday, but I thought she was worth a mention. Now, I'm not a parent, so maybe I shouldn't judge, but I've had a bit of experience controlling unruly shopping trolleys, go-karts and those fun, wheely things that stand in the corner of the gym at school holding the crash mats. I therefore find it hard to believe that directing a pushchair seating one sleeping toddler can be that much of a challenge. The only explanation I can find for this lady completely losing control of the pushchair so that it rolled off the pavement and catapulted her two-year old into the road is the fact that she was trying to smoke, eat a cornish pasty, hold a phone conversation and shout at a startled looking teenager on the other side of the road at the same time. Maybe they had a point when they took that lady to court for eating an apple at the wheel a while back...
Of course, there are people stopping for various reasons all day, every day, but to list them all would be to get even less work done, and the oddities of Cardiff have already left me with over a thousand words to write before the morning comes.
As a final note for tonight, I'd like to present the award for 'Weekly Weirdo' to the man who stopped to ask my housemate and his girlfriend if they use the same conditioner. I suppose someone has to wonder these things!
Saturday, 19 April 2008
Rainy Saturday
It's just another rainy Saturday here in Cardiff. It's easy to complain about the weather, especially as it usually waits until you've optimistically left the house in 3/4 length trousers and flip-flops, walked just too far to run back and change your attire without missing a lecture, and opens its miserable floodgates. Today, I can be thankful that I clocked the weather conditions before deciding whether a trip to the library was in order or not, and decided against it.
So I've spent the day wishing I'd got up that bit earlier and cracked on with the coursework, and consequently wasting even more time than usual. I have, however, sent 3 emails, written a letter, re-shuffled my lecture notes, got locked out of my university e-mail account, drawn up a budget for the rest of the year and taken a trip to my most hated supermarket. I made a point of buying the fruit and veg from the greengrocer's shop next door, and feel triumphant in finding British apples, carrots and potatoes - No unecessary foodmiles for Rachel! (Hides the rest of the shopping).
Approximate time spent looking at pictures of the jungle: 30 minutes
Approximate productive jungle planning time: 1 minute - I read the advised kit-list for the seventh time.
So I've spent the day wishing I'd got up that bit earlier and cracked on with the coursework, and consequently wasting even more time than usual. I have, however, sent 3 emails, written a letter, re-shuffled my lecture notes, got locked out of my university e-mail account, drawn up a budget for the rest of the year and taken a trip to my most hated supermarket. I made a point of buying the fruit and veg from the greengrocer's shop next door, and feel triumphant in finding British apples, carrots and potatoes - No unecessary foodmiles for Rachel! (Hides the rest of the shopping).
Approximate time spent looking at pictures of the jungle: 30 minutes
Approximate productive jungle planning time: 1 minute - I read the advised kit-list for the seventh time.
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