One more day

Berries in Frost

One of several fantastic wire sculptures over looking
Lac Leman (Geneva)

Christmas has passed and I only have one day left in the bosom of my family. We've been slothfully but pleasurably inactive over the last couple of weeks. A typical day would be little more than moving from the warmth of our beds to the breakfast table, to the sofa in front of the fire with a good book, back to the table for a hearty lunch, to the sofa for games, tea and nibbles, to the dinner table for leftovers and finally cradling our paunches, to the sofa again to veg in front of a movie (regardless of quality) before retiring to bed. Phew it makes me feel lethargic just writing it.

Ok, we did sprinkle the weeks with a couple of small walks to prevent our joints from seizing up completely... oh and a bout of last minute shopping to spend some vouchers before they expired. But generally, if it wasn't our table we were munching at or our sofa we were sprawled across, it was someone else's.

Charles doing and impression of
Mr Napkin head (relevant to anyone who's
watched Holiday)

Of course, January 2007 will start with a concerted effort to get back into the gym regime that was abandoned somewhere around the time I started university. L and I are aiming to make some changes to our physique in preparation for my Brother's wedding in May. We have 5 whole months to transform so how hard can it be?? Yes, you've heard it all before, but surely THIS time.

I should mention that I'm also a bridesmaid at 'The' wedding so unless I want to be remembered as 'the wobbly one bringing up the rear', I have to do something!!! All the fondues, mince pies, roast dinners, cold chicken sandwiches, curries, cheeses, chocolates, bottles of wine, biscuits, crepes and ice cream have merrily clung to my waist line in the last 10 days. So hear my war cry "BE GONE OH POISONOUS PLEASURES - no longer shall you seduce my gorged mid rift!"

I was actually supposed to be jetting home yesterday but couldn't face the return to the UK. The comfortable isolation of this village helps to rest the mind and clease the soul. Plus, L is 'on nights' and most of my friends are celebrating New Year with family or on hot, sunny islands. I think I made the decision to change my plans with one hour to spare and was quite relieved that it only cost 6 pounds for the privilege.

I'm glad I stayed. We saw the sun for the first time in a week today! Boy was that a welcome relief! My parents house is not far from Lake Geneva, at the base of the Jura mountains so it's often shrouded in thick fog during the winter. The last few days have been dull and grey with cold hard frosts but there's still no sign of snow. This is usually the weekend that most French people set off for their first ski of the season but unless they're heading for the highest peaks, they'll be terribly disappointed.

A good view of the mist in the valley

Hard Frost

Dad and I did make it to the piste at the invitation of my cousin and his family on holiday in Le Gets. However, the snow was so poor, only one icey, gritty slope was open. I quickly passed up the offer to snowboard for fear my coccyx would not survive.

Anyway, I've had a thoroughly enjoyable Christmas and feel a little guilty that L has been working her little socks off at the hospital. Not only is she 'on nights' for the New Year but she had her nose to the Grindstone over Christmas too - these doctors EH!

Christmas Cheer

I’m here in France avec mes parents with only three days to go until Xmas! It has been interesting trying to shop for pressies with a student budget. No matter what your parents say, you can’t turn up empty handed and sit around a bare tree base on Christmas morning. Even if your present is little more than a few hand made cookies or some poorly sewn cushions, the gesture still has to be made. I didn’t do either but I did make an effort.

Unlike some people, I actually enjoy Christmas shopping. I love to take my time sauntering around the shops, eager to see what useless inventions they’re selling as the next MUST HAVE! The first things that spring to mind are tongs for rescuing toast from the toaster without electrocuting yourself. Sorry L, I know they were just a stocking filler but I had to mention them! I’ve survived the last 29 years spearing lost toast with a fork so why would I need tongs now? AH HAA, I get it! Once I hit thirty I’ll start to get frail and uncoordinated so they’ll definitely come in handy! Thanks for thinking of me.

Anyway, this year, shopping was frustrating – my jolly spree was downgraded to trudging around the shops, picking up the gifts I’d like to buy, checking the price tags then replacing them on the shelf! Alas the self heating slippers were not meant for dad this year.

The general feeling of melancholy was exacerbated by the hoards of people pushing and shoving through the stores to get to the novelty gifts like the electric nose hair plucker or the game of chocolate Table Top Twister! I hardly had a moment to commiserate with an interesting gift I couldn’t afford before I was swept helplessly along in the rush.

Where do these crowds come from? Every inch of Nottingham over the last few weeks has been crammed with shoppers. Even getting a cup of coffee is impossible without fighting off a flock of hot, harassed looking ladies with fists full of bags.

I’m sure this frantic last minute shopping frenzy is purely a British phenomenon. I assume this because I’ve just spent the last three hours in a mall (in Switzerland) that was positively dead by comparison. There are only two more shopping days left! In the UK the frenzy would be reaching a crescendo by now. Unlike their British counterparts, the Swiss and the French seemed relaxed and cheery as they float between shops. So, either everything in Switzerland is far too expensive (quite possible) or everyone is terribly organized and finished their shopping two months ago.

Whatever the case my shopping is complete whilst mum is still writing lists and worrying about last minute gifts. My brother arrives tonight – thankfully he didn’t fly as I hear Heathrow is cancelling flights left, right and centre because of the fog… ha hah it sounds like that 1980’s movie…. THE FOG! With the tag line ‘What you can't see won't hurt you... it'll kill you!’

So the year is almost over and 2006 was the last full year as a twenty something! I’m acutely aware that I only have three months left before I need to start applying the Revitalift eye cream, thinking about botox and generally make arrangements for the downward spiral into decrepitude.

Alright! Alright! Calm down boys and girls – I know most of my friends have already made the transition and yes, I know it’s not that bad! So why does society make us believe that the big three ‘o’ should sound more like the BIG THREE OOOOOHHHH!!? By now, according to the rules of society, I should have a career, a house, a marriage and possibly children on the way. Well I can certainly tick off one of those things, namely the house!

The marriage? Hmm…after seven and half years my relationship certainly feels like a marriage. And as for the career, well you already know that the last one went out with the 2006 trash and now I’m scouring the shelves for a brand spanking new one! The course, I might add, is going well. I had a rather hectic last few days when four projects and an essay had to be handed in but surprisingly, this time round, meeting deadlines and writing essays has been sans hair loss, palpitations and general paralysis.

Hang on, where was I… ah yes Children. Well that would be great but for the moment, without a career, and therefore the income and because the next two years are dedicated to student life, they’ll have to wait. Anyway, I don’t need to worry about kids until I’m approaching my 35^th birthday (the point at which your reproductive organs start to falter – delicately pointed out by L) and I’m not prepared to contemplate that yet.

Anyway I think I have ranted enough. I'm not actually this bad in real life... or am I? Well, I hope it won’t be so long until the next instalment but just in case, Merry Christmas everyone and have a Happy NEW YEAR!

hangin' out wid da kids!!

Last night was the graphic desgin party in town. It took me a good chunk of the day to decide whether I was going to go. I was bombarded with horribly adult dilemmas such as, can I really have a night out on a weekday; I need at least 8 hours sleep so I can function properly in the morning; I should be saving my money and gosh 'Town' seems horribly far away (15mins by bus)'.

L convinced me that it was a good way to get to know my peers so I set about putting my glad rags on. It didn't take long to reach the 'OH MY GOD' I have nothing to wear' crisis mode. How can we have three cupboards full of clothes and NOTHING to wear??!

A full hour of stomping around the house huffing and puffing because nothing in the cupboards says 'hey, I'm a designer, I'm cool and I fit in with the crowd even though I'm 11 years older than most of you and officially the granny of the class'! ... Can clothes actually say all that?... I'm sure they can but unfortunately the most my clothes can muster is a feeble 'help! I'm a fashion disaster'. Even the temporary blue hair dye, which a week ago had been my half hearted attempt to look slightly less ordinary was starting to fade into a lovely snot green. It was the proverbial icing on my very own burnt cake!

Several pairs of trousers and 20 tops later I resigned myself to jeans and a nondescript top - woo hoo!

It was L who drove me to the venue wearing pyjamas 'because they're comfortable, I can't be bothered to change and I'm not getting out of the car'. We argued most of the way because I ruined her evening by making her drive into town, get diverted as far away from said bar as possible (via the one way system) and hit every red light on the way. I despair! Every Day we are a little closer to becoming the couple from One Foot in the Grave with L taking on the roll of Victor Meldrew.

Then I spent the first 30mins in the trendy bar on my own, trying to look like I wasn't alone, friendless and unfashionably early... (I'm learning). Needless to say, it eventually turned into a fun evening... I now have a sore throat from shouting over the loud musica nd my ears are still ringing. Tell me, how can one have a good, hearty conversation and get to know people with such LOUD music???!

It is 10:48am, I have a horrendous hangover - the first in a long, long time and I've only had 6hrs sleep ... But it was worth it and now I know a handful of the design student clones. I say clones, because many of the boys have the same quirky, spiked hairdos with a scarf tied jauntily around their necks and the retro golfing jumper... yes, I did say golfing jumper. Don't you know they are IN?

I will now commit to memory via this blog, that I have met Nick, Phil, Graham, Tim, Steve, Paul, Lee, Will and a girl called Amy! Not bad recall for someone with a pounding head, ringing ears, a swimming stomach and bleary eyes! The joys of student life.

Its been a while

Gosh! time seems to move on quite swiftly - since I've left work I haven't had a moment to sit down and write any blogs... well I wrote this one on the 12th but didn't get round to posting it until now. So here you go...

Its raining hard today…On wet days it always makes me smile at the umbrella acrobatics and duels that take place in the crowded streets. A friend once said to me “save space, get rid of umbrellas” and she’d be right. On rainy days, on a busy pavement, there isn’t enough room for everyone AND their umbrella. The speed at which reach destination is greatly reduced on wet days because you have to go into battle with those giant, eye poking, block-out-the-light, space guzzling golf brollies. It should be compulsory for golf brollie owners to share some of the space in a similar fashion to car sharing. It would certainly save a few eyes, and make way for smaller less intrusive umbrellas.

It’s great fun to watch the brollie battles as two on coming people realise there isn’t enough room to brush past each other so they do a little jig raising their umbrella high above their head or tilting it to one side. Of course, the ‘side tilt’ is a dangerous manoeuvre as you can easily become entangled with another unsuspecting brollie carrier or worse, gouge a hole in the head a person who’s forgotten their umbrella at home.

Some people have the most folorn looking umbrellas you’ve ever seen, with bent or broken struts that hang down at a jaunty angle, funnelling torrents torrents of water on to the owner’s shoulder or more likely, the shoulder of someone else. And then there people who use the teeny, tiny umbrellas that just about keep the top of your head dry. What is the point of those?? (my friend, the one who doesn't agree with umbrellas, has one of these) One’s toupee might stay dry but the other 98% of the body is soaked down to the bone! If you are thinking of buying one of these, let me give you some advice - save your coins and by a shower cap, it works just as well.

Did you know that the umbrella was originally designed to shade people from the sun over 4000 years ago! And the word ‘umbrella’ comes from the Latin word ‘umbra’ meaning shade or shadow… now how’s that for a bit of trivia?!

So I suppose I should briefly mention that its my first week at Uni and it’s running relatively smoothly – Freshers week was last week but I avoided the traffic light parties, the excessive drinking and all related activities. I did make and effort to go to the Freshers Fayre to see what free goodies were to be had and came home with a ton of useless flyers, a spatula, a teaspoon and a small pouch to put your old chewed gum in instead of spitting it onto the side walk. I thought this was an amazing piece of ingenuity but I’ll leave that subject for another time.

I have also discovered why most mature students sit at the front. This is something I used to ridicule when I was a student (the first time round). But now I know…we mature students WANT to hear what’s being said. Unlike the kids, who spend all their time gossiping about who fancies who and how hung over they are, we actually want to pay attention. In my first lecture, I had to steel myself from giving them a stern telling off From now on, I’ll sit near the front. There’s not much else to report as we are easing into things pretty slowly. Our first project is based on mapping and I’ve just spent the last hour highlighting bits chewing gum on the pavement….

Ladies with Bifocals and Cows with Bells

I’ve just spent a week in France with the parentals! It was a fairly relaxing week… I guess helping mum to decide on what colour to paint the new bathroom and tromping around every bathroom store known to the French and Swiss people (they live near Geneva) for a suitable mirror is somewhat more relaxing than thinking about my own household issues!

I took part in the obligatory "meet my mum’s friends parade" - members of the United Nations Women’s Guild no less – which is always something I detest in theory but in practice it is never as bad. I brace myself for the introduction; practice my smile, my handshake and my most charming “it’s a pleasure to meet you”. I’m then likely to be lavished with kisses, two if it’s a French friend or three if it’s a Swiss friend, and plenty of ‘OH its wonderful to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you’. .. to which my response is
“oooh I do hope its ALL good ha ha ha”

On this particular occasion I met two lovely ladies who managed to coerce me into attending the weekly UNWG hiking group which my mother runs. “It would be lovely to have you along, it’s an easy 3 hour hike this week, hurrah”

Well, the UNWG is primarily made up of over 60’s with a handful of ladies who are on the approach. It was insightful to say the least – adorned with bifocals, large print maps, walking sticks, first aid kits, medicines for cramp and most importantly a variety of edible goodies (for energy) we set off up a mountain. It was slow, steady progress…plenty of stops to catch your breath or to wait for the less energetic members of the group to catch up. Stop for a banana break here, a dried fruit break there, stop to search for a pair of lost glasses, someone quips ‘are we going the right way?’, stop to consider the direction. We double back on ourselves, “where’s so and so?”, stop to wait for her to catch up… it goes on and 3 hours turns into 6!

The walk was pretty tough and the descent in my mind was particularly treacherous. At half their age, I was struggling with sore knees, unsuitable footwear and keeping upright. I couldn’t bear to watch as some ladies teetered dangerously close to the edge of a steep drop. Every time I heard the sound of sliding gravel under foot I half expected to have my feet whipped out from under me in a ball of bifocals, rucksacks and dried fruit, then plunge to my death. But thankfully there were only a few wet bottoms and no major incidents. Unfortunately, the weather was pretty grim with heavy mist and drizzle so I can’t regale you with stories of awe inspiring vistas.

Nevertheless, it was an interesting insight into my mum’s generation! There was lots of raucous laughter (which hindered the wildlife spotting) and plenty of debate about how girls these days wore G-strings, memory loss, which part of the body is malfunctioning and whether it was good or bad to be offered a seat on the bus. My interpretation of the offer or don’t offer scenario is:

If a lady is in a good mood its bad – “how dare someone assume I’m not young enough or healthy enough to stand on my own two feet”. BUT, if a lady is carrying lots of heavy bags, feeling tired and grouchy then a nice, pre warmed seat is welcomed.

The week was good fun and was rounded off with a visit from L who was suffering from a raging cold and had just finished a week nights at the hospital. On arrival, hardly two words were exchanged before she slinked off for a cat nap and some well deserved rest.

The next morning we were up early to engage in all things Swiss. Des Alpes is an annual festival where the cows are herded down from the mountains for the winter but not before they are made to look utterly ridiculous. Christmas trees covered in paper flowers are tied to their heads and huge bells slung around their necks before they are paraded down the streets crammed with spectators. There are mountain dogs pulling milk floats, alp horns, yoddlers and St. Bernards carrying barrels of whisky around their neck - it’s a bizarre site and this photo doesn’t do it justice:

Sadism or earning your cookie?

So this is it... not sure what I was expecting but I don't really have any strong feelings about my last day! When I left my previous job, I was a bit choked up. I knew I'd miss my friends, the gossip sessions, the fun and the drawing competitions (obviously not the work) but here, I've met a couple of nice people but there isn't really anyone who'd make it on my 'top-ten-to-invite-to-dinner' list or even my 'how's-about-a-coffee-over-lunch' list... ok maybe one or two at most.

Yesterday, I got collared for a farewell presentation. I really didn't see it coming so was fairly shocked when the entire open plan office gathered around to watch me squirm in hot embarrassment. If you know me, you probably know that on occasion, I quite like basking in the limelight but only when I expect it!

In my last job I'd anticipated a gathering having seen fellow 'jumpers' (i.e. people who jump ship, not the woollen things) subjected to various forms of farewell torture including bad poetry, songs and speeches which barely reflect the employee or the work they did.

It seems such a strange ritual to me, why do hoards of people gather to bid you farewell when you've never exchanged more than a 'good morning' or an 'excuse me' in the elevator? I suppose having been on the otherside, there's some sadistic enjoyment to be had from anticipating how uncomfortable one can get when the cry of 'SPEECH' is thrown to the departee then thanking your luck stars you're not in their shoes. Either that or by participating, you can feel comfortable in the knowledge that you've earned an iced doughnut or choc chip cookie from the table of farewell goodies that the leaver is obliged to buy for everyone.

Oh I'm sooo cynical! How is it I've managed to become a grumpy old woman 30years before my time!

But back to my goodbye gathering - they were lucky to corner me at all because just moments before I had been marching towards the door. One of my colleagues practically rugby tackled me to the floor on the pretence that my manager needed to have a word!

I don't remember much about the speech except the odd 'thank you' about my recycling efforts and some sarcastic comment about my mathematical abilities (or lack of)! You'll be excited to hear the office collection was spent on an ant farm, a marble frog paper weight, some paint-your-own ginger bread men and £20! ...hmm an interesting array of gifts... They obviously took no notice of my plea for a golden light switch engraved with 'Turn it Off' . Ah well, this weekend, I'll be off hunting for a queen ant to kick start my ant farm!!

Ray Charles Impersonation

Is it cruel to dress up your rabbit for a few laughs?

Last Monday Morning (this is a grumble)

Its my final Monday Morning as a full time environmentalist! I should be joyous but nothing is different today and I've just had the usual Monday morning rant about the utter the lack of response from our Estates and Resources team to get some recycling issue sorted out. My blood pressure is raised, and I have an incredible urge to throw something or crush someone's head under a big rock

My anger is partly fuelled by the fact that I gave the University an extra 2 weeks notice in my resignation letter hoping they'd use the time wisely and replace me as quickly as possible. My direct line management signed off the job description/person specs etc within the first two weeks and since then, the paperwork has been sitting on the desk of some puffed up, power hungry, tie-too-tight, lazy, S.O.B member of management. 6 WEEKS they've had to advertise this, SIX WHOLE WEEKS!!! and nothing! no movement! Zip, Zero, Zilch!

The culprit is the very same guy who said "this institution needs to keep the momentum going -it is an important time for the environment". My suspicion is that he'll put it off for as long as possible so he can hang on to some extra cash. It took them FOUR YEARS to replace the last environmental officer with me!

In the meantime, all the projects I've been working on will be put on hold, no-one will care, no-one will chase them up and I am SOOOOOOO MAD!!!!!!! I shouldn't care but I do - it's all been a complete waste of time and I have a good mind to tell them what I think. They are all IDIOTS and the planet will never change because of people like them! As you can imagine THIS is one of the main reasons for leaving it all behind...the feet-draggers! The environment is never a top priority... there is always something more important to sort out...

Since my rant I've been pondering one thing. When I'm a student again, will I still get Monday Morning Blues?

Change of Heart

In my quest to find out about the defense mechanisms of slugs, I came across lots and lots of research papers on Sea Slugs. I now want to withdraw my comment about slugs belonging in God's reject bin. This is a sweeping generalisation and the reject bin should just be open for the common garden slug.

Sea Slugs are WICKED! have a look on here:
http://www.hawaiisfishes.com/inverts/slugs/neatslugs.htm

I also found an interesting website by someone who has come up with the terrifying idea of flying slugs! Check out his website which discusses how flying slugs would affect the economy, technology and religion.... http://www.belch.com/?page_id=26

Slug Wars

Urrrrgh SLUGS!!!

When God (I use this term loosely) was creating the Universe, were these hideous, slimy creatures meant for the reject bin (along with cockroaches) but didn’t quite make it?

Don’t get me wrong, I love most of God’s creations including those weird looking axolotls you find in the depths of secret caves (basically albino salamander/newt type things). BUT SLUGS…bleurgh! They don’t even have the decency, like snails, to cover up their modesty. At least snails keep the majority of their mucusy foot inside a pretty shell!

Our garden seems to be undergoing some sort of slug exodus and their destination is OUR KITCHEN!!! They leave their ‘trail-making’ for the dead of night when they must gather together: “Right boys! Do your worst! No straight lines, just meander – make as much mess as you can!”

They might as well get a crayon out and start scribbling on the walls and all over the pots and pans. They’re sneaky too, managing to bypass the slug powder I regularly put out, probably using a series of ropes and pulleys – if only I could find out how they are getting in?

Anyway, last night I heard a blood curdling scream from the kitchen and fearing L had just chopped a finger off making dinner, I rushed downstairs to face the mutilation. In fact, I found L hopping around the kitchen, pointing frantically and shouting ‘get them out, get them out… I’ll do anything’ (anything? – I made a mental note)

There, squelching around on one of the cooker hobs, in a pool of glistening mucus, were two fat slugs! YUCK yuck yuck! After letting out a couple of my own screeches of disgust, I went to war armed with a piece of tissue!

I don’t know much about the physiology of slugs but one of these guys had a cunning weapon up his sleeve (or sock seeing as they don't have arms)! As I scooped it up in the tissue, it proceeded to squirt an arc of what I can only assume was slug pee at me! I’ve never seen that before! GROSS!

I’m sure slugs are mutating and plotting to take over the world. For instance, have you ever noticed that slug slime seems to be getting thicker and more toxic over the years. If you’ve ever had the misfortune of getting slug juice on your fingers it seems to bind to your skin - not even fairy liquid and a scrubbing brush can remove it.

However, I was lucky this time. The slug pee missed me by inches and I kept my fingers free of slug slime. These two P.O.Ws ended their lives speeding towards the sewers on a wave of toilet water – Another small victory for human kind, but the battle rages on.

The choice of a foraging bird...

With only 10 days left in full time employment, I'’ve recently had one of the most successful meetings I'’ve had in the entire two years I'’ve been here! I sat at a table with 6 other people, proposing a new scheme for the university and not one person threw up a single barrier!! They ALL agreed! Its extraordinary!

Most meetings I go to end up with so many sighs, head shakes, tuts and reasons not to do something that regularly come away ready to launch myself off the nearest cliff….lateral thought process... the closest cliff around here must be...ooooh um? in Skegness? Does Skegness have cliffs or is it just ferris wheels and bumper cars?

Well, whatever the case, I almost fell off my chair at the amazing amount of positivity and at times like these I think to myself 'sheesh! what am I doing?' Maybe I should stay and make sure all these people keep their promises! It's a major step for the university and it's horrible leaving something behind thatÂ’s actually a giant leap forward.

Should I be giving up a job that is making a positive contribution to the world for purely self indulgent, reasons? Should I endure 30+ years chipping away at the proverbial brick wall for a moment like this no matter how few and far between they are?

...I'’m thinking again…

Maybe it'’s like foraging birds/animals that have to choose between
a) easily accessible food with little calorific return so they need to eat more or
b) harder to reach food, high in energy and rich in essential stuff
Actually, that'’s probably a dumb analysis…the decision has been made and if all goes according to plan, I'll earn more and have much better overall job satisfaction (I hope)

So, just to put you in the picture, I have been trying for some time to get the university to start using recycled paper as the standard stock. We order over 150 tonnes of paper annually - this is probably a conservative estimate - so think how many trees and how much energy we'’d save buying recycled! Until now, we'’ve had several unsuccessful meetings on this topic and a lot of people are still under the impression that recycled paper is inferior. Its not, it used to be, but its come on leaps and bounds! In bulk orders, there isn't even a cost issue unless of course you are buying 100% recycled.

Anyway, without boring you to tears, they have agreed to trial recycled paper over three months in a WHOLE building! Wow!!! If it'’s successful then thereÂ's no reason not to role it out to the rest of the uni.

Now, if I seem a little over excited about something which on the face of it is just a trial, then I have to explain that it's like pulling teeth to get ANYONE to do ANYTHING around here. THIS is like moving mountains. I also suspect no one will remember it was me that pushed for this so I though't I'd record it in my blog! While I'm blowing my own trumpet, I also want to take credit for pushing forward an energy management strategy which miraculously started to take off today too...10 days is all I have! Some jobs are pretty darn thankless and I think more people should get credit for the time and dedication they put into their work.

I'd like a golden light switch or recycling bin commemorating my time here which says "for the girl who switched off" or "Amy's Bin here". However, nowadays you have to stick at a job for 40 years or more just so you can get a gold watch or an extra day holiday so I don't hold out much hope.

Well, only time will tell if this was the right decision... eek!

See our Bog Blog

If you haven't already heard me ranting about the standard of toilets, then visit

http://raisethebogstandard.blogspot.com/

Bag Battles

Do you ever find yourself drowning in plastic bags? Plastic bags are EVIIIIIL! They don’t biodegrade, they consume valuable resources in their production and when they are’nt dumped in landfill they litter the streets, cling to trees, float around in ponds or take up space in the cupboard under the sink!

Did you know that in the UK, supermarkets give away 17.5 billion bags every year? That’s 290 bags for every person in the UK, EVERY YEAR! No wonder we’re swamped!

L and I have been trying very hard to cut down on the number of plastic bags we use and, as part of our mini campaign to ‘BAG IT’, we are perpetually buying reusable bags!

We’ve got jute bags, hemp bags, cloth bags, Sainsbury’s fold away bags, Tesco’s Bags for Life, you name it, we’ve probably got it!... and yet how often do we find ourselves in the supermarket, about to checkout, totally and utterly Bagless!?

I often have irritating exchanges with sales people when I tell them, as they are reaching for a bag (often 10 times larger than the item it will carry), I don’t need a bag. They usually stop in mid-bagging flow and look at me as if to say “What the? Huh? Why? Are you sure?”, then I have to repeat myself explaining I’m trying to ‘cut down’.

More often than not I get my way but there’s always one who will argue that I do, in fact, need a bag because how else will I carry what I’ve purchased? “Ahem! What are these two, flexible, dangly things attached to my shoulders?”

The other day I came across a bit of a bright spark, this was the conversation:
Me: “I don’t need a bag thanks”
Checkout girl: “Sorry?”
Me a little louder and more forceful: “I don’t NEED a bag thank you – the box has a handle” NB: its important to try and remain calm and polite
Checkout girl:
Me: “NO BAG PLEEEASE”
Checkout girl: “ok I’ll just tie a bag around the handle”
Me: I sigh, internalise my abusive comment and walk out of the shop with a plastic bag tied around the handle of my box!

And finally, just to drive the point home home, I wanted to tell you about my trip to Boots yesterday:

Before I reached the checkout, I conceded that I’d have to have a plastic bag because yet again I’d forgotten my cloth one. So as the lady starts to bag, I offer my credit card and realise she’s reaching for another bag!!!!! WHAT!!!?

I raise my hand in a STOP! DON’T DO IT! motion and half shout “I don’t NEED another bag”
“Its ok” she says, “they aren’t very good”
“That’s alright” I say, “I’ll carry them under my arm” (they were photo albums)

“No, they really aren’t very good bags, I’ll just….”
And before I could scream “BAGGIN HELL, you STUPID old BAG!” she’d whipped another bag on!

DOUBLE BAGGING! Oh the CRIME! Does anyone else feel this way or is it just the environmentalist in me?

Guinness, Shamrocks and Leprechauns

We've just returned from Dublin where we had a short break before I’m officially a poor student (only 15 more days to go by the way!).

On landing at Dublin airport, we overheard two small boys talking excitedly:
“Are we in Ireland yet?” asked one
“No, we’re getting a car in Dublin then driving to Ireland” replied the other! Ah bless their little cotton socks!

So Ireland isn’t hugely different from England except of course for the Irish accent, the higher incidence of ginger haired people, and the quite conservative, Catholic outlook on life.
We stayed with some friends who very kindly put up with our intrusion and I have to say ‘intrusion’ because, until this weekend, we hadn’t realised quite how tidy and orderly they were.

Their cleanliness went far beyond the realms of just good housekeeping… there wasn’t a speck of dust in sight, not a thing out of place, not a single sign of habitation! It was like one of those posh shops which make you feel uncomfortable for touching the clothes they're trying to sell you because they're too neatly folded and stacked. In fact, if we hadn’t known any better, we might have thought we’d walked into a show home when we arrived.

Whilst we were very grateful for the accommodation we certainly felt like hideous lumps of messy chaos in such clinical order. The worst part was using the kitchen. The pressure of making breakfast or helping to prepare dinner was extremely stressful.

We were terrified of making a splash or a spill, or defiling the pure black work top with food of any sort. Basically any type of cooking related activity was almost as nerve wracking as disarming an unexploded mine. My heart skipped a beat, and I broke out in a cold sweat if the used t-bag I was carrying to the bin, dripped onto the large, cream floor tiles. L (as my other half will now be known) reckoned it was sterile enough to conduct open heart surgery – I think I’d have to agree.

Crumbs were wiped up (with a pristine cloth) before they had a chance to roll off your piece of toast, bounce from counter to the floor and shimmy into a gap between the fridge and the cupboard where the likes of old onion peel or a dried lentil might hide in a normal kitchen! It would be far easier to eat out at night or just not eat at all in order to keep the kitchen clean and the stress levels down.

But despite this, we were fed, the bed was comfortable, we had clean, fresh towels, nice company and there were no noisy youths shouting on the street during the night (like we have at home). We even converted the bedroom into our own little haven of clutter and mess!

Over the week, we only did a couple of the typically touristy things like visit Neolithic Tombs, the Guinness Brewery, and Temple Bar. We’d been sauntering around Temple Bar for sometime before I said to L ‘so where’s this bar?’ thinking we were going to a famous Irish pub. Durrrrh! – incase you don’t know Temple bar is just a trendy part of Dublin!

We managed two mammoth walks (Ok! mammoth for me). One was a lovely 10km hike along the coastal path between two small towns and the other was a fantastic 9km hike along the hills overlooking a grand lake (Glendalough). We had a very steep climb to the top but it was worth the view and I couldn’t help bursting into a rendition of ‘The Sound of Music’ when we reached the top.


The scenery was reminiscent of the Yorkshire Dales crossed with the Lake District - quite beautiful when it wasn't shrouded in black rain clouds! I was of course very enthusiastic about photographing the herds of deer and the wild goats whilst L trudged behind holding the lenses and pointing out potential compositions.



All in all it was a good trip and I’m sure there’s much more to explore… perhaps on our return!

Journeys to work

I sold my car about a year ago – to save money but also to be more environmentally friendly! For the last year I’ve made my way to work, either by bus, train, walking or on the odd occasion, cycling and generally, I quite enjoy the short commute. It certainly beats sitting in a traffic jam or having to leave home an extra hour early so I can guarantee getting a space in the staff car park.

Most days I have my METRO newspaper handed to me as I leave the train, I occasionally buy a coffee, usually a tall-skinny-latte-with-an-extra-shot and if the reception is good I listen to radio 4 for a bit of culture and watch the same people going about their morning routine.

It’s true, we are creatures of habit and I just love watching people on their way to work. For example, there’s a man with a strange growth in the groin region, who has lop-sided walk because he has to put all his effort into swinging his leg and the balloon sized growth forward as he walks. He usually stops for a coffee and a paper and I think he works for the Council…

There’s also a lady with a gammy eye that points in an unusual direction who always has a small cappuccino, a croissant, reads the paper and listens to her i-pod, before carrying on with her day. She’s on first name terms with the staff at the coffee place and I’m intrigued to find out where she works. Maybe when I’m a student I’ll follow her.

My worst journeys are almost always on the bus which is usually crammed with people. 7 out of 10 times there’s a drunk man who hasn’t washed for an eternity, a mother with 8 kids all of who don’t know the meaning of ‘SHUDUP YA LIL' S***!’ and someone having a very loud conversation on their mobile.

I’m usually quite tolerant on the bus but with the added irritation of a bad driver who swings around corners, accelerating in short sharp bursts, throwing the passengers forwards and backwards in unison, my stress levels can reach boiling point.

It never ceases to annoy me when the conductor drives off before the frail, old lady, with a walking stick and hunchback can sit down. I regularly find myself holding my breath, poised on the edge of my seat, ready to catch a falling granny (wonder woman style) then sighing with relief when she finally sits down.

And do you know what? No matter how queasy I feel or how fast my heart is pumping from screeching around the roundabout on two wheels, I always say ‘Thank You’! How English! and How Polite!

BUFF or BULGE

Now, I’m not obese but I admit I’m not my ‘ideal’ weight. So what is the ideal weight? Women are always striving to be thinner no matter what size they actually are.

There’s a rake thin girl at work who looks like she’d snap if she had to carry anything other than her own body weight plus a very small handbag yet she still thinks she needs to lose the pounds. And no she’s not anorexic, she’s just like every other woman who looks at herself in the mirror and thinks ‘with a handful off here and a pinch off there I’d look much better’.

I put my battle with the bulge down to boredom at work and general inactivity. Our bodies were not designed to sit at a desk, in front of a computer for 8-9 hours a day with no physical exercise apart from the occasional bicep curl when answering the phone or a good jaw stretch during a gossip session around the kettle.

I once measured how many steps I did in the average day. Bearing in mind the recommended number of steps (to ensure general fitness) is 10,000, I was surprised to find over a 12 hour period, even with a 15 minute walk to and from the train station, I could only manage 9,000!

Only 9,000! Even with my regular ‘I’m-so-bored-so-I’ll-waste-time-going-to-the-toilet’ trips and a 30 minute lunchtime saunter around the shops I can only clock up NINE THOUSAND! A snail could do more than that and they only have one foot! By comparison my other half managed to clock up 9,000 steps in a morning at the hospital – I guess its dashing between all the emergencies "he’s crashing – Resus! STAT”

Sooo to combat this downward spiral into a lifestyle more sedentary than a rock, I joined a gym. In the last five weeks I have been jogging, pumping, cycling, bouncing, stepping, pulling, pushing and crunching at least three times a week. The main goal is to lose weight but I’d also like to be fit enough to climb the stairs at work without hyperventilating.

Until now, I thought I was doing pretty well but it would seem in the last 4 days I’ve managed to gain 3lbs! Where did it come from? How could this happen?? Has someone secretly been sowing bags of sugar onto my thighs without my knowledge?

After this discovery, I came into work with a mood blacker than an inkwell in a dark room and whinged to my collegues. To give them credit, they tried to cheer me up with sympathetic comments like ‘muscle weighs more than fat’ and ‘ don’t worry its probably water retention’. HAH! WHATEVER! I don’t think I'm carrying around 3lbs of water and I certainly don’t think I’m buff so either my scales are faulty or I’m just FAT!

I think I’ll be hitting the gym tonight for a bit more pumping and bouncing…

Baby Talk

My friend and I have decided to attempt writing a children’s book… let me rephrase that… she is going to write it and I’m going to illustrate it.

I suppose this is another of my harebrained ideas but there’s certainly potential to see this through to completion. We’re lucky to have a useful contact who works in the children section of a large publishing company. We hope the tips and advice will put us in good stead to become then next Sisters Grimm!

And of course my friend has a 17 month old baby so the market research side is pretty well covered. We spent a good portion of the weekend flicking through children’s books, reading to the baby and each other, testing rhymes and story lines, and discussing books my friend likes vs. the books her baby likes.

Babies and their parents are always great fun to watch, all you need is a box of popcorn, a soda and ‘TA DA’, you have a whole day of entertainment in 3-D! At 17 months, my friends’ baby is a great babbler and has a pretty good grip on the words Mummy and Daddy. Her parents however, swear she has a much larger vocabulary but to the untrained ear it is difficult to distinguish between ‘cat’ and ‘dog’. We were, of course, very lucky to have her parents there to interpret for us –she’s very advanced you know:

Dadadaaaadddaada waaahah eeeeee = daddy look at the beautiful golden retriever over there
ababadabada, = I'm really looking forward to a our trip to Abu Dhabi in December
idddty dididdi mummy = I would love a large plate of your delicious, home-made roast dinner mummy

I was extremely lucky to be the first person to hear her say ‘Zebra’ - she did say it! And to prove it, I made her say it over and over again like a parrot. I’m going to teach her to say ‘Uzbekistan next time I visit!

Elephants in Disguise

I’ve been wanting to share this with the world since the beginning of 2005. In the good ol’ days, in my last job, where there was a real feeling of camaraderie, I used to arrange small scale art competitions.

The rules were simple, I’d suggest a theme, then, armed with a mouse and Microsoft paint (only) the entrants would draw pictures to be judged by an independent panel of judges.

The crucial part was the use of Microsoft paint. Any self respecting designer would banish this dreadful software to a far corner of the earth where it would live out the rest of its days in a bamboo cage subjected to regular intervals of Chinese water torcher. Incidentally, it is the same place where Comic Sans (the font) and really bad clip-art should be sent.

Anyhoo, back to the art competitions, and there have been several. Themes have ranged from Hamsters to Easter and Rudolph to Elephants in Disguise. It’s quite entertaining seeing the level of competitiveness between the ‘artists’ but it’s equally entertaining to see the level of skill! So here are just a couple of images from the ‘Elephants in Disguise’ competition.

Chavant

Ele Salvador Dali - Winner

Between the Buses

Ele at the seaside - you really need to see this full scale

Roll on University

Since handing in my resignation, my time at work has seemed a little pointless. There are now approximately 147 hours left at this computer in this hot, open plan office. All my motivation is slowly seeping away through these horrible blue carpet tiles, into the concrete floor, down 3 levels of unsued building space and away in into the bowels of the earth.

The left side of my brain is saying ' oi! when can we get a move on with the creativity thang' and the right side is saying 'I'm fed up of waste legislation and energy strategies so when can we we have a break?' Effectivley both are saying 'I can't wait for the next 21 days to be over' - that's when I finish up and prepare myself for the joys of education.

Its also raining today and that just adds to my melancholy mood - there seems little point in starting any new projects and everything else is bubbling along without the need for my intereference. My work diary for the next 21 days is empty, no meetings, no conferences, no report writing - nada, zip, zero, zilch - just mindless I'm-actually-doing-work-but-not-really type activities. Tip tapping on the computer, making endless cups of coffee, internet surfing, emailing, the occasional spurt of text messaging, countless trips to toilet spurred on by the coffee and of course blogging.

To pass the time this morning I engaged my workmates in a conversation about colloquial words and phrases. Interestingly, most of them are rude so I'll refrain from putting them on my blog but there were one or two that made me laugh and a few that could be good cartoon material.

I've listed some of my favourites, but I'm hesitant to say these are just Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire sayings, they could just be general Northernisms. Wherever they're from, I definately hadn't heard any of them until I'd moved to the area and most of them I hadn't heard until I started working in this office.

Some of my favourites are:

"I could eat a horse box between two bread vans" = I'm hungry
"I could eat a scabby dog" = also means I'm hungry
"I'm spitting feathers" = I'm thirsty
"He couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo" = pertaining to England's performance in the football
"I've had a roggie" = I've had a haircut
"Are you mashin' " = are you making a cup of tea?
"I'm mardy" = I'm in a bad mood
"duck" = a general term of endearment like mate or friend,

My partner is a doctor and its common practice for doctors to get a list of local words or phrases used by patients. Of course if you're a foriegn doctor or not au fait with the lingo, it makes diagnosis easier to know that 'gut rot' means tummy ache or that 'a pain in my lug holes' means I have ear ache.

so anyway, now I only have 146 hours and 15 minutes left to waste...

Monsters from Socks

I never knew it could be so therapeutic to sit, sewing little creatures out of socks after a long day at work!

I bought my other half a book for Christmas ('05) called 'Sock Monsters' but its not until now that we've opened it with the intention of being creative. I can't remember who the book is by, but I found this website http://www.stupidcreatures.com/gallery.html which gives you an idea of the variety of monsters that can evolve from manky, old, worn socks! We do seem to have a large number of old socks or socks who've lost their life long partners but, if you're like me, you'll get really excited and rush out to buy the craziest socks you can find at the cheapest prices... Woolworths has done me proud!

I've spent the last two days covered in bits of thread and sock oddments, irresponsibly putting my freelance work to one side for several hours of crafty fun!
So, here are a couple of my sock monsters - the picture quality is a little poor but that's because I used my phone.

Short rant - Shaving Closer

At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old woman - is it just me or is there something ridiculous about Gillette's new 5-blade Razor!!? Apparently it shaves 30% closer than the last Mach 3, which in my eyes does legs very well! I mean, THIRTY percent closer!? I just don't understand! My legs are as smooth as a baby's bum with the Mach 3 and if the shave got any closer I'd be walking around with exposed muscle.

Marketing is an extraordinary thing - take for instance babies nappies! Every so often you get a new type of diaper that helps your child walk better or crawl better while sucking it dry. They pull up and down, you can go swimming in them, mop the floor effciently... what happened to good ol' fashioned fold-and-fix-with-a pin diapers? Anyway, if parents aren't careful, by process of osmosis, they will have a prune crawling around their living room instead of a child.

And interestingly the slogan is always 'The Best EVER' - so the last 'best' wasn't 'best' at all?? I suppose this is the sort of thing I'll have to deal with when I'm a fully fledged designer working for a big corporation. I'll be employed to come up with witty ways of selling a product that nobody really needs because the last one worked perfectly well. I suspect by the time I graduate, Gillette will probably be marketing the MACH 10-Blade with the slogan 'Close to the Bone'.

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In the beginning...

Just two weeks ago I handed in my resignation after making the decision to return to University as a Mature Student! Now I'm counting down the days before my life changes and I start out on a different path, to a different career and a whole new me!

For those of you who've ever had to decide whether to give up the security and comfort of full time employment or face the 'unknown' as a poor, beans-on-toast-eating student then I tip my hat to you. It certainly isn't easy! BUT I'VE DONE IT - ARRRRRRRRRRGH!!!

I can, without a doubt, say this has been one of the most difficult decisions I've ever had to make, and if it hadn't been for my long suffering other half, the advice of caring friends and family then this choice could never have been made.

Now, I'm sure there are much bigger, more difficult decisions to be made by other people, in other places with far worse consequences e.g. Blair and Bush sendin' us to war but sorry, this is about ME ... me and my decisions, me and my worries, me and my journey.... This is all starting to sound rather egotistical!

Anyway, what better way to let your thoughts take shape than by writing it all down and, hey, if you're going to write it down, why not let everyone else (and his dog) see it.