Scandawegians

This evening I babysat for a Swedish family that has just arrived in Cambridge. The 3 year old girl, who was up for a good hour after her parents left, does not yet speak any English. Half way through her bedtime story (Noddy, in English), she took the book off me, and started to scold me in Swedish. I have no idea what she was saying to me. I looked at her in a slightly confused manner, and she simply rolled her eyes and gave me the book back so that I could continue. Being humoured by a 3 year old is slightly disconcerting. I earned £16. How life has changed in the past year or two!

Miss X: The Saga Continues

Mr X (see earlier post) also blind-copied Miss X an e-mail he had sent his family, explaining their break-up, and I think that you, dear readers, deserve to be copied in too:

Hi mum, sisters and brother,

I've recently needed some time for myself, but don't worry, I'm fine.

Miss x and I have noticed that we don't have enough in common for a
relationship and for that reason have split up, though we get on as well
as before.

I think that I'm not the type for a perfect relationship because I can't
fulfill the ideal of a normal relationship.  I will probably continue to
have open relationships, ie not just one woman and so not someone I can
introduce to the family.

Your
Pioneer
Son, brother

Being Boring

The only way I can think of following up the previous post is with the following poem from Wendy Cope:

Being Boring

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say
Except that the garden is growing.
I had a slight cold but it's better today.
I'm content with the way things are going.
Yes, he is the same as he usually is,
Still eating and sleeping and snoring.
I get on with my work. He gets on with his.
I know this is all very boring.

There was drama enough in my turbulent past:
Tears and passion-I've used up a tankful.
No news is good news, and long may it last,
If nothing much happens, I'm thankful.
A happier cabbage you never did see,
My vegetable spirits are soaring.
If you're after excitement, steer well clear of me.
I want to go on being boring.

I don't go to parties. Well, what are they for,
If you don't need to find a new lover?
You drink and you listen and drink a bit more
And you take the next day to recover.
Someone to stay home with was all my desire
And, now that I've found a safe mooring,
I've just one ambition in life: I aspire
To go on and on being boring.

Meanwhile, back in Switzerland...

I received a fantastic e-mail this morning, which I feel honour-bound to share with my readers. Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent:

Dear Becky

I'd like to share miss x's experience with you.  Miss x, who wishes to
remain anonymous, was going out with a man in switzerland.  All seemed
well, though she was surprised one day to walk into his bedroom and find
him with four women and a whip.  However, he explained his devotion to s
& m, showed her the manacles on his wall, mentioned his black box
containing his paraphanalia, confessed to being in a club for people
with similar interests and finally told her about his domina, who has
her own studio and whose fulltime job is selling luxury watches for
cartier.  He had to visit his domina once a month, he said, or else he
became unproductive, which for a swiss person is worse than death.

Miss x was not enthusiastic, but accepted it, as he was otherwise very
caring.  She was even less happy with his interest in class a drugs.
However, problems really arose when he became manipualtive and
difficult.  She ended it gently, explaining that their worlds were too
far apart, but that she'd like to stay friends.  He accepted it,
regretting only that she had not been meaner to him in bed.

A civilised swiss break up, so imagine her surprise when she received
the email below:

Hi miss x,

I don't want to keep the second possibility from you, which I didn't
mention yesterday.  I think it is fair if I share my thoughts with you.
I would like to introduce you to the world of s & m as a slave.  We can
discover new psychological and physical limits together.  How far we
would go would depend on you. Let me know what you think.

With best wishes,

X

Miss X has declined his kind offer, as she is a slave only to shoes.

Imaginary Lectures

I got up very early this morning to go to a 9 am lecture that doesn't, in fact, start until week 5. The coldest and foggiest day of the year, and I'm up and wandering the streets in a confused and dazed manner - needlessly, when I could have still been in bed sipping hot beverages! Why me?

A Year of Blogging

Lent term has started, which means I've been blogging for a year now. So, what has changed since then? I feel another list coming on...:

1. Nicola Front Bottom (my inspiration for starting the blog in the first place!) completed her round-the-world trip, managing to avoid the tsunami despite being at a beach resort in Thailand at the time (thankfully on the side of the country that the tsunami missed). She is now an auntie. And living in Brighton. And I'm glad to have her back in the country!

2. I have finally settled down to academic life. I can now go to the University Library all by myself: something I never would have imagined possible a year ago! (Seriously, it's a scary and confusing place!) Not so much hair-pulling over essays these days.

3. I have now completely abandoned any vague plans of going back to the Foreign Office. I plan to either become an academic or a best-selling novelist, or both. This is the life for me!

4. The most obvious (and best) change of all: I never would have imagined for a second this time in 2005 that a year later I would be living with James. Most of my friends reading this know how sickeningly happy I am, so I shall leave it at that!

One observation from my year of blogging: my two most regular readers are Sophie's friend, Martin, whom I've never met (apart from seeing him for a split second as I ran past him in the crowd when I did the London marathon in 2004), and the person I live with. It's a funny old life!

The Joy of Running

I've been living a very sober existence recently: the fact that I work on Saturdays and do my long run on Sundays means that the traditional weekend drinking evenings are now strangers to me. It has been some time since I have been inebriated at a Wolfson party, and, believe me, it is a completely different experience when you're sober. I find myself watching people's dancing with confused fascination: the mixture of ages and nationalities at this college makes for an interesting time on the dance floor. James described the dancing mode of one student perfectly: she danced like a nerd who had inadvertently taken esctasy for the first time. Scary stuff, but highly watchable.

James is working in the Porters' Lodge today. I have been working on my portfolio of essays, and am about to go on a 6 mile run. I also have three scarves to knit (they are in popular demand: the one I knitted for Will has been heartlessly stolen by his flatmate - and Will did not make this up so that he didn't have to wear it: his flatmate came into the shop wearing it last week - and Simon has asked me to knit one for his girlfriend. Virginia and Lauri want one too: I'm having trouble keeping up - there are certain drawbacks to being so talented!).

Is James Really Australian?

I'm beginning to wonder. Look at the evidence:

- I've never seen him wear a hat with corks on
- He never turns to me in the morning and says "G'day"
- He never refers to me as a Sheila
- He never spontaneously sings "Tie my kangeroo down, sport"
- He doesn't drink XXXX, and apparently Australians don't give a four x about any other kind of beer
- To my knowledge, he's never once wrestled a crocodile.

Why would someone go around pretending to be Australian when they are quiet clearly not? Well, I'm on to him - oh yes, I'm on to him alright!

Becky is a VERY Brave Girl!

I had to have a blood test today. James came with me, under strict instructions to grab my ankles if I made a run for it while we were in the waiting room. I tried several times; he restrained me.

I told the nurse I was a fainter (just what they all like to hear, I'm sure). What I didn't tell her, however, was that I tend to laugh hysterically when I'm nervous or in pain. It came as something of a shock to her while she was repeatedly trying to find an accessible vein in my right arm and I ended up crying because I was laughing so much. She then had to try on my left arm instead. As I was starting to giggle again, James was stood out of her view, mouthing to me "underpants, Becky, underpants!". It's one of his many tactics for calming me down when I'm having one of my irrational panic attacks: to think of him dancing around in his pants. He even did an underpant dance for me before we left so that the vision was fresh in my memory. Well, it worked. She got her blood. And soon, I will get cake: James is in town buying me some right now, because I'm a very brave girl! He really is my favourite boyfriend in the world, ever.

All better now, chicken!

I have recovered from my bout of bird flu. James continues to give me sponge baths regardless.

Our 6 week Christmas break is drawing to a close: all the undergraduates are gradually returning to college, and lectures start again on Thursday. I managed to finish the first draft of my dissertation (and am waiting to hear what my supervisor thinks of it - eek!) and am now trying to get on with the reading for next term (Bleak House at the moment - yaaaawn) and with my portfolio of essays. James is busy applying for research fellowships and lectureships: all very grown up stuff.

And I'm still knitting in every spare moment. I am working on a bobble hat at the moment. And I'm going to make James wear it when it's completed. That'll teach him.

My Daddy

It was probably around 1987 when Blackadder II hit TV screens in England, and the following conversation took place between Edmond Blackadder, Percy and Baldrick:

Baldrick: It has vanished, my Lord.

Percy: Vanished ... like an old, oak table!

Blackadder: Vanished, Percy, not varnished...

Percy: Pardon me, lord, but my uncle had an old oak table. And that vanished. Twas on the night of the great Stepney fire, and on that very same night, all his belongings vanished too. So did he, in fact. Twas a most perplexing mystery!

Fastforward to 2005 and look what I find at my parents' house:

Dad had to decant some varnish for Sophie to use on the few home-made Christmas presents that she didn't set fire to. For him, varnish and old oak tables have been inextricably linked since that fateful Blackadder episode. Bless!

Ich bin kein Berliner!

We were supposed to leave for a four day trip to Berlin this morning, but owing to an evil virus (cold symptoms, sore throat, nasty cough), we had to cancel. Luckily for us, I accidentally bought travel insurance when I bought the tickets, so hopefully we'll get some money back.

Pros and cons of being ill:

Pro: James brings me endless supplies of hot beverages

Con: James's constant offers of sponge baths

Pro: Being poorly gives me plenty of time to work on my knitting. One scarf is being produced approximately every 2 hours. So far, I have made scarves for James, Will, Mike and Ryan, and I'm half way through one for myself. Nicki and Glen are next on the list. All reasonable applications will be considered!

Con: James is already trying to arrange my funeral. This morning he told me he that instead of having me buried, he would leave me on the roof of S block so that the crows could peck at my corpse, "according to my wishes". It's the small things like this that have made Sophie ask me to promise her that I will never chuck James, because, and I quote "He has the potential to get really, really scary". I can't see it personally; I just think he's really, really lovely! And, besides, he does give a very good sponge bath...

See?

OCD

Sorry, I really don't have time to blog at the moment as I'm far too busy with my knitting.

2006

Last night we temporarily escaped the tiny Wolfson NYE party so that we were outside on our own for the strike of midnight. There were stars and fireworks. And Marlboro Lights. And for the first New Year's Eve in many years, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

My New Year's resolutions are few and simple:

1. To do more knitting
2. To eat more taboule
3. To learn how to pole dance.

Apparently, you should never make negative resolutions, such as giving up smoking, cutting down on drinking etc. I learned this from Sophie, who is wise beyond her years and who, last year, set herself one goal - to eat more rocket - which she achieved. Well done, her.

I also think one of the resolutions should be left unachieved at the end of the year too, otherwise I risk becoming smug...