Student life and daytime television

So it's about time I wrote another installment - I always have things floating around in my head but never seem to get the time to sit down and commit it to paper/my virtual diary. There are a couple of things I wanted to cover. Firstly, I guess I should let you know that I’ve had my first feedback session re my university progress.

Things are better than expected. I was worried I wasn’t up to scratch but without trying blow my own trumpet - more appropriately a penny whistle – I’m on for a high 2:1 which could be pushed to a first if I iron out a few tweaks. My essay work has come back with a first which I’m very pleased about and thankfully we still have another two terms before the marks start to count towards the final degree. So with a little more 'oomph' I might be able to make the grade!

It’s strange how the marks massage my little ego and make me feel like a school girl who’s just been given a gold star! I was clipping my heels and skipping down the street after my feedback. So pat on the back for me!

I am however, starting to slip deeper into student mode and although I’m still getting out of bed around 7 or 7:30am (an obscene hour for a student) and going to bed at 10pm, I seem to be getting a good healthy dose of daytime television. Of course, my fellow students know exactly where I’m coming from when I talk about “bargain hunt”, “to buy or not to buy” or "cash in the attic" but I fear it's lost on my other circle of friends.

There is a vast choice of trashy middle-aged-house-wife type programmes but I’d consider myself a fairly picky viewer, preferring to stick to the programmes that give advice about money, buying new houses or how to cook a sumptuous three course meal. I have set myself standards and will not stoop to watching Ricky Lake (amazingly still going), Divorce Court or Loose Women, however lazy I'm feeling.

Sadly, when I try to engage my hardworking, employed friends in a conversation about my day time television bingeing they usually do one of two things:
a) look at me blankly then change the subject or
b) look at me with a slight narrowing of the eyes and a curl of the lip as if to say “you disgust me you, white, couch-potato trash - how could you stoop so low” and then change subject.

In my defence these programmes are never watched with my full attention as they tend to be background noise while I potter, clean or draw. And hey, if I want slightly more erudite background noise then I listen to Radio 4.

I can't mention TV without saying that I think the BBC Breakfast News programme is dreadful. In fact, I think they should just drop the word ‘news’ completely unless one considers a 15 minute debate on ‘how to wear your scarf’ or a lenghty discussion on ‘whether fashion sneakers with wheels implanted in the heel cause your child physiological damage’ news.

I can't believe they can dedicate 15 minutes of a 'news' programme to three camp men showing you how to tie your scarf when there is a whole world of important news to broadcast. Trivial little interludes are the sort of drivel you'd expect from ITV but NOT the BBC which I..... sorry...... L pays a television license for! And why is everything dumbed down to the level of Dodo IQ? The programme is swamped with over-simplified graphs, moving charts and animated lists to ensure we understand exactly what's being said.... "Yes! I HAVE a BRAIN"!

Oh my god…. I sound like one of those crazy people who have nothing better with their time than to write to Points of View and criticise advertising and TV programmes. I’d better lay that one to rest before I start to rant about the ridiculous worldwide attention recently devoted to one particularly dreadful reality TV show. ARRRRGH ok B-R-E-A-T-H-E

A change of subject now to earning a crust! It's been ages since I've had any paid design work and I was beginning to think I was never going to get another enquiry but in the last couple of weeks I've had two!! One of the jobs I’ve got in the bag – a lot of hard work which I’m not looking forward to (on top of my Uni projects) but at least it will go towards a flashy new Apple MAC…. This is my DREAM! Well, part of my dream. The other part involves a lovely little farmhouse, chickens, ducks, two dogs, a cat, an allotment and a large studio! But that might be a few years down the line yet.

The other job is a bit iffy, I’m just waiting to hear for a full brief but it's basically three large illustrations for an interpretation panel on a nature reserve… COOLIO!

Now, I vowed I would never write another word about my rabbits in case you got the impression that I'm a 21st century Dr Doolittle but I couldn’t resist this.
Today, I went into our utility/rabbit pen/junk room and couldn’t find Clive. After much searching I heard a scrabbling noise and was shocked to find this…..(spot the Rabbit)

The Proof is in the Tail

I just thought I'd give you a real picture of "the Tail"... obviously we don't have Rosie anymore but I will hang on to this tail (perhaps put it on a keyring- not) and let her memory live on.

above: the two love-buns Flopsy (white) and Clive

Oh and here is a short video of Clive going bonkers while Flopsy tries to have a kip. Apologies to all you non animal lovers.

Mills & Boone, Bunnies and Tails

It had been a long treacherous drive. The temperature outside hovered around zero whilst snow flakes danced in the orange glow of the street lamp. She'd waited a long time to meet someone who could whisk her off her feet, someone who could make her heart whole. She turned to face him.

He was dark and handsome, small but perfectly formed. He had an air of nonchalance about him which unnerved her. She took a few paces back.

As he stepped towards her he could feel his pulse rise. She was beautiful! Her soft milky body sent shivers down his spine. He sensed she was afraid but reached for her anyway. Something stirred deep down in his soul.... he wanted her!

OK enough with the Mills and Boone - its RABBITS I'm on about here.

The last couple of weeks have been a roller coaster ride of bunny emotions and owner trauma. We've had Flopsy almost 8 months now and everything we read suggest that all rabbits should have companionship (preferably another rabbit). We do give her lots of attention but as much as we try, it's difficult to lick a rabbit's ear in quite the same way as another rabbit could. So we decided to get her a friend from the RSPCA.

On adoption day, L refused to come along for fear she would be tempted to rescue ALL the stray animals. Actually, I this was a cleverly constructed excuse to avoid being manipulated into adopting a puppy or a kitten at the same time. So, on my own, I stroked several abandoned rabbits in my quest to find Flops a suitable companion. I found RALPH!

The RSPCA are quite strict about adoption. I had to fill out reams of paper work and undergo a home check to ensure we were responsible owners. During the home visit, Flopsy presented herself well giving the inspector a look-at-me-I'm-so-adorable-and-I'm-obviously-well-looked-after pose. So thankfully, we passed the check with flying colours. The whole process took over a week by which time I was oozing with excitement about bringing Ralph home.

Well, we had Ralph for just over a week and I followed all the guidance about introducing them slowly. I had to keep them apart (via a cage) but allow them to be within close proximity so they could get used to the company. The house became a circus, juggling two rabbits to ensure both of them had plenty of run-around time. Flops was noticeably put out by the situation. She normally has the run of the house but during this time, she kept going off in huff, anywhere that was away from the little black furball.

After four days, there were still no signs of friendship- Flopsy scrabbled at Ralph's cage like a demon possessed and Ralph responded with similar aggression. The rabbit forums assured me "everything would be ok" and to "persist with the process". I was dubious, but knew it could take several weeks.

One day I left them alone in the kitchen, separated by a six foot wire frame. I'd been gone a couple of hours but on my return I noticed things didn't look right.

There were piles of fluff everywhere. When I inspected further, it was obvious an aggressive fight had occurred. One or the other had pulled the frame aside to create a hole just big enough for Ralph (quite small) to squeeze through (Flopsy, taking after her owners, is a little on the chunky side so could never make the great escape). Ralph had ventured into Flopsy's territory and suffered the consequences.

The scene resembled a post apocalyptic pillow fight, yet the two rabbits were in their respective areas looking fairly subdued. So, I set about cleaning up the mess and considered knitting a rabbit fur jumper from the remains. Then, to my horror, I found RALPH'S TAIL!!!! The WHOLE TAIL! RALPH WAS TAILLESS! not a rabbit's foot, A RABBIT's TAIL! small and black and fluffy - OH MY GOD! NOOOOOOO

Ralph was rushed to the Vet's to have the damage assessed - it was nothing short of horrid. His tail had been skinned and all that was left was a bloody stump which had to be amputated.

When I recovered from the news of the amputation, I was bowled over by two more bombshells a) the cost and b) RALPH was a GIRL- the RSPCA made a mistake!!!

No wonder they didn't get on. Every single piece of advice given to me before adopting our new rabbit included "don't put two females together". Poor Ralph/Rosie would had to spend the night at the vets and endure one week of oral antibiotics! Awwww poor little thing - as soon as she was better we took her back to the RSPCA.

Sad story isn't it, but have no fear everyone... three nights ago, Flopsy, L and I met a Bunny Rescue lady in a car park on the M1 (not by accident, the meeting was arranged). She brought two little boys, Clive and Dooley to meet Flops and under the cover of darkness, we bundled them into the back of her car and let Flopsy decide who she liked best.

Clive it was and since then its been a hassle free introduction. Contrary warnings about females becoming aggressive and territorial, Flops has been more than welcoming. I can just imagine her hopping around the house saying in a posh voice "now this is the living room where you can relax in front of the fire and munch on carrot whilst being groomed - just make yourself at home darling".

Clive is still settling in and is already litter trained but he has an unfortunate rabbit-lust for Flopsy. I think she was hoping for some gentle head licking and some warm snuggles but the little guy is mad for it! Apparently, according to the forums, he's just 'asserting' himself... For Flopsy's sake I hope he calms down - she is looking a little harassed and now sits cleverly with her rear end against a wall or other immovable object.

So people, you may not be rabbit lovers or should I say lovers of rabbits.... actually lets just say you might not appreciate rabbits as pets, so I apologise for this post. I must sound like a complete weirdo - probably worse than a dog lover - but I do think there's a moral to this story somewhere. Let me think... or maybe you could suggest one!

Ciao for now

Geeks and Consumerism

I've been back at University for a week now and we're already in the thick of a new project. On our first day back we were asked to agree or disagree with a manifesto stating our skills should be used for the greater good i.e. to promote social justice, sustainable development, environmental awareness etc. An interesting project which has lead me to read a couple of books on the conflict designers have with earning a wage and being ethical.

It's difficult to decide whether you accept a briefcase full of cash to design an advert for Nescafe or turn your back on it because you don't agree with their ethics. Not that I've ever had to make that sort of decision - most of my freelance work has been for small organisations doing good work. But if I did have to make a choice, it would certainly be tough.

In an ideal world I definitely agree with the manifesto but sometimes we need to compromise. As far as I can, I will certainly look to work for organisations with a sustainable outlook and an environmentally conscious foundation... perhaps WWF or Greenpeace?

In a world where we are bombarded with adverts everywhere we go, it is hard to avoid being swept along by consumerism. For instance, since starting university I've tried only to buy the bare essentials; food, books, art materials, and petrol (when I don't get the bus). But last week while I was trying to replace some holey jeans in M&S (note I was not buying a trendy label), I suddenly found myself amongst hoards of women pushing and shoving in an "Everything for £1 SALE".

I didn't really need anything but my pulse started to race and I broke out in a sweat thinking "I could buy 10 items of clothes for £10!!!!" I was right in there squeezing past the elbows, and trolleys laden with clothes, getting progressively hotter in the mission to find something a) in my size and b) suitable to wear in public. It was only 9.15am but in the 15 minutes I was there, the crowd grew and grew. The sound of hundreds of hangers scraping against rails must have called out to any woman passing the store - music to their ears. I can't help being reminded of the Pied Piper and the rats!

There is something truly amazing about women in a sale - red faced and disappearing behind the mountain of clothes over one arm"oooh Tracy I've got a whole season's worth of clothes and I've only spent £11" , "Hey Chloe - I've wanted these for ages and LOOK they're just a POUND!!!" My question is, what sort of initial mark-up must M&S have had to still make a profit selling things for £1?

In all honesty there really wasn't anything worth buying there. Even in my coffin I wouldn't be seen wearing some of the garish outfits on offer. I did snag a couple of pairs of trousers, which I'm not sure I'll ever wear but hey, it only cost me £2!!!! Consumerism at its worst and I won't dare to discuss the sweatshops... the miles travelled and the fuel consumed... the pollution, the packaging.... just so we can say we've got a BARGAIN!

So there you go, now I have to come up with a design that comments on this ! Not an easy one.

I had another age/trend dilemma last Thursday. It was P***ing down with rain so I took out my anorak (quite nice - Berghaus), picked up an umbrella and set off for Uni. You older, wiser folk might say to yourself "she's a sensible girl". But not long ago, I asked one of my student friends why he'd rather get soaked than wear a waterproof? His response was "Are you MAD? be seen in Public with an anorak?". At the time I didn't respond but made a mental note: Waterproof obviously = Geek.

So on the bus I started to consider whether I should actually wear the waterproof once I was reached the University premises. One more look at the torrential downpour and I decided to suss out the scene on arrival. 20 minutes later, on campus: Lo! Hundreds of students walking in the rain and not a waterproof in sight! The were all soaked to the bone with hoodies pulled over their heads in a vain attempt to keep their hair dry.

For a millisecond I considered taking my coat off then I thought - WHAT AM I DOING!? Its ludicrous to wander around in the rain with no form of protection for the sake of the trend! God is looking down on you, shaking his rain maker and laughing!

DAMN you fashion victims! Embrace your inner GEEK!

To top it off I wore my rucksack with BOTH straps on my shoulders because you know what? It's much more comfortable when you have a bag full of books and they were designed to be worn that way. So all you students with back problems and lop-sided shoulders... it's because you let TREND conquer PRACTICALITY!

Anyway, enough said... could someone please tell me whether I'm using the apostrophe in the right place when I write "it's" or "its"?

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…