My lovely cake-baking seestah 

Busy, busy, busy...

It has been over a week since I last posted on here. In the past week I have achieved the following:

1. My humdinger of an essay on marriage and divorce in Paradise Lost (I could possibly be the first student to cite a link between Milton and Wendy Cope... and it may well backfire!)

2. Discovered my love for lumberjack shirts and Log Cabin Monthly.

3. Um... that's about it, really. Apart from a lovely visit from my lovely younger sister at the weekend, when she made me a chocolate cake and brought me a hamper of sisterly love, containing BOOZE and CONFECTIONARY ITEMS!

Just over 2 weeks left until the end of term. Don't know where all the time goes (to the bar! to the bar!) but I'm really looking forward to spending the Easter holiday here in Cambridge. I plan to spend a lot of time by the river watching silly tourists fall off their punts. Term ends on 18 March and I shall be foot-loose and fancy free for 6 weeks - all visitors welcome!

Beach at Hunstanton 

These boots were made for walking...

I went for a walk along the Norfolk coastal path with a bunch of people from Wolfson today. When we signed up, we were told we would walk come rain or shine - however, they forgot to mention the hail, snow and strong winds. The weather was unbelievably bad but it was an amazingly beautiful walk - the snow and the sand being blown along the beach looked like a layer of smoke on the ground, there were patches of brilliantly blue sky - and a rainbow - among the black clouds, the sea was wonderfully rough and the Norfolk skyline was as beautiful as ever. All very dramatic and the day was made all the more memorable for the hardships we endured on our long and arduous journey to the pub for lunch ;-) I love beaches and coastal villages out of season, especially when they are being battered by the elements like they were today. God has stopped hitting me with sticks and has started giving me friendly waves instead - which is nice!! Am rather in love with life today.

We heard you were naked - can we come in?

So, typical night at the Wolfson bar last night. Had a few glasses of wine, and came home at midnight. BUT - on the way back, walked past a room where people were pretty naked and dancing and singing very loudly to Madonna (Like a Prayer). So I went back to the club room and gathered a posse together and we sprinted back and crashed the party (to the evident disappointment of some of the girls there - but in all fairness we did take 5 men with us). We knocked on the door and when someone answered Simone said "Hi, we heard you were dancing around naked. Can we come in?". Good line, no? How could they refuse?

So, there is life at Wolfson.

And, for the record, all the people were fully clothed by the time we returned so now everyone thinks I was making up the bit about them being naked.

PS

The 10 mile run was a roaring success. It was a gorgeous day - beautiful blue sky and bright sunshine in one direction and black clouds in the other - and we ran across the fields and through the woods to Byron's pool. Ran with Joe and Ulrich and chatted all the way and came back feeling full of endorphins. The ultimate cure for ILA? Maybe I should have gone yesterday too!

Running = fab!

Hugh, Brian, Terry and Marianne at Ambassador's Christmas Party 

Involuntary Life Analysis : a cruel affliction

I have been suffering intermittent bouts of ILA since dreaming last week that God dangled me by the scruff of the neck out of a lift shaft miles up in the sky and told me to Mend My Ways. I don't think I'm necessarily a bad person - I'm just a bit crap sometimes, but crap doesn't really equate to evil (does it? does it?). But as undeserved as the divine dangling may have been, the ILA continues. It is manifesting itself in strange ways: I'm really missing Hugh (although I know it wasn't meant to be and our relationship had been unhappy for a very long time). What I would really like today is one of his hugs (the sort that I would have to stand on a chair for, or risk being totally crushed in his embrace!). So in Hugh's honour, here is "Coat" by Vicky Feaver, which goes to prove we girlies are rather conflicted beings at the best of times!

Coat

Sometimes I have wanted
To throw you off
Like a heavy coat.
Sometimes I have said;
you would not let me breathe or move.
But now that I am free
To choose light clothes
Or none at all. I feel the cold
And all the time I think
How warm it used to be.

How Things Are Part II

1. Randy Englishwomen = 1 (me)
2. Renaissance drama = prolific, confusing and giving me grief
3. Half marathon training = ask me this afternoon, after 10 mile run with Hares & Hounds
4. Massage course = getting there. Can now do hands ,arms, legs and feet
5. J = rather gorgeous
6. These boots = made for walking

The Groovy Gang

From the left: Joseph, Simone, Virgina, Me, Sophie and John on the beach
at Southwold, December 04

Practical Criticism

Our practical criticism supervisor tells us sometimes it's best not to have any contextual information about a poem when we first read it so that we start with no pre-conceived ideas. However, for the following poem, my readership may wish to know that 'Belinda' (real name changed to protect the not-so-innocent) is 'allegedly' a fellow-student, who often criticises Simone's essays.... she is also very pale and we have started to wonder if she really exists, as it has suddenly struck us both that nobody has ever acknowledged her existence in our presence. What we have created here is an 'ironnet': a new form of sonnet embracing irony at its core:

The Belinda Conspiracy or The Non-Existent Critic

In the blink of an eye, you are gone, Belinda
In the blink of an eye, you are gone.
Too pale to discover you're created as 'other'
With a plait in your hair and your sighs of despair,
With your Renaissance song, you are gone.
Do you really exist? Did you really get pissed?
Where were you September the fifth?
With your face as white as a moon-lit night
Don't you ever just wonder 'what if'?
In the blink of an eye you are gone, Belinda
With your literary insights and your critical bitch fights
One blink of an eye and you're gone.
It really won't be long, Belinda...
One blink of an eye - so long.

Sexy Lecturer - no chance !

So, there we all are, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our Renaissance literature lecturer. He walks up to the podium, looks down at the sea of admiring faces, points at the window and says "Was that criminology building there last week?"

I think: if he doesn't notice a huge almighty salmon-pink criminology building, what chance do I have?

Burns Night - oh dear!

On Friday we had a formal hall followed by cailidh in honour of Burns night. The evening started nicely enough but quickly descended into drunken chaos on the dance floor as we attempted to strip the willows with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. The result is that several people at this college - many of whom I had considered my friends - have now vowed never to dance with me again, and some of them have gone so far as to vow never to be seen in public with me again. It's really quite upsetting! We didn't finish the festivities until 5.30 am and I have a blurry memory of my outrageous behaviour. Naughty, naughty evil twin! Why oh why does she always do this to me?