Results!

I got a 2:1, including a first on the paper that I thought I had failed. I'm relieved. And I celebrated with a bit too much champagne last night, courtesy of Michael Lonsdale. Am so sleepy...

New English Vocab

New words we have invented that we want to see in the OED in a year's time. Spread the word(s)!

Thwang: the stringy bits on a banana. Everyone! Take your bananas back to Sainsbury's, demand to see the Manager and complain that there is far too much thwang on them and that you want your money back!

Ginch: a lady's "downstairs" or "under-carriage". Best not to show this to the Sainsbury's Manager though...

More Balls!

I'm too tired to add individual commentary to the photos but the Wolfson Ball was great fun - dodgems, chocolate fountain, fizzy pop, cailidh, cheesey disco and, for the first time ever, breakfast followed by 6 am survivors' photo. I've effectively given myself jet lag, and am still recovering!

For Cambridge peeps, the rest of the photos are on Facebook.

I'm now on a de-tox diet!

Balls!

Thanks to Nicola F-B, here are some photos of the Jesus ball, starting with a photo of us in the extraordinarily long queue to get in.

Note that whilst Julie and I look sulky, Nicola looks sultry. I believe that if one is expected to queue for so long, one should be provided with champagne and that my sulking was therefore justified. I know my rights!





But, fear not, dear readers! Once we actually got into the ball, the champagne was plentiful. One was able to help oneself to limitless bottles, and one certainly did.

What I don't have a photo of is our behaviour on the dance floor later on, when I looked around and realised that Julie, Virginia, Nicola and myself looked like the drunken aunties at a wedding. And poor James was left to chaperone us. Poor, poor James.


His facial expressions says it all (as does mine, although, in all fairness, it was 3.30 am and I am an old lady!).

And last but not least, here is a gorgeous photo of Nicola on the Mound of Glory:

Will someone PLEASE think of the Irish!

The Irish have departed. It all feels like a bit of a dream. I'm dazed and confused and have a craving for all foodstuffs high in saturated fat. I've just eaten a bag of kettle crisps and hummous and am still craving snacks. I even went to the Wolfson Tutorial garden party hoping for the usual canapees of deep fried stuff, but we arrived 30 minutes late and all the food had already been scoffed. There's students for you.

I'm still awaiting photographic evidence of the ball so shall blog some of the more serene moments of the Irish visit... starting with the punting, which looked a bit like this:

The punting was preceded by the college garden party, which we unwittingly gate-crashed, as it was only supposed to be for college staff (hence the garden party for students today), which looked rather like this:

The reason Julie was so delighted to be confronted by wine and a brass band at the college garden party was because, only the evening before, she had partied like this:

The reason Julie got rather tipsy was that there were many glasses left on our table with different levels of wine left in them. As we all know, Julie is a very tidy person (and not a raving alcoholic) who thus felt-honour bound to tidy up the whole mess by drinking what remained. Not the wisest move, given the cheapness and nastiness of the Wolfson house white, but you have to admire her dedication.

I'll leave the story of Jesus to another time, when I have photographic evidence to back up my allegations. But, needless to say, a potential disaster involving huge loss of life was narrowly avoided, enemies became friends, friends became enemies and we all lived happily, if slightly groggily, ever after.

House Doctors

It has all been happening. We had 3 days staying with Megan helping her to de-clutter her house. James had to dispose of his first dead chicken and we also managed to lose the hamster. But apart from that, it was a roaring success. We should have taken before and after photos. We had two scorching days while we were busy cleaning, and then on the third day, when rAndy and Nicole came to join us for a trip to the seaside, it rained. But we had a trip to the pier, amusements, fish and chips and a walk on the beach regardless.

And now we have the calm before the storm. The Irish gang arrives later today. There are garden parties galore this weekend (tomorrow is Suicide Sunday), the boat club party in college tonight and the Jesus May Ball on Monday. My poor, poor liver!

ONE NIIIIIIIL TO THE INGERLUND!

Time for me to start being a football hooligan once more - today was England's first match in the World Cup. The only problem with watching it in my own country is finding somewhere with the same atmosphere and camaraderie as a British pub or Embassy bar overseas. As much as I often loathed the Pickwick Pub in Berne (scene of many a horribly drunken evening), it was a great place to watch the World Cup or European championships - friendly crowd, jugs of beer, lots of singing, laughter and inevitable tears! We convinced all the Swiss England fans (and, believe me, there are a surprising number of them) that the songs we invented were part of normal England repertoire - the sight of about 50 Swiss people holding their right shoe in the air and earnestly singing "Right shoooooe for the Ingerlund, right shooooe!" was something to behold! Not quite the same watching it at college, where about 10% of the crowd actually want England to win, nor was it the same watching it on the big screens in Parkers Piece (maingly because we couldn't see anything). The quest to find a non-chav pub with a big screen will start when I return from Norfolk mid-week.

Altogether now: Right shooooe, for the Ingerlund, right shooooooe!

Let the holidays commence...

My final exam was on Monday - it was a fecking disaster and will probably make the examiner break down into tears but WHO CARES? I'm now on holiday for 4 months!

We started the holidays in style by going straight from the disastrous exam to Oxford to stay with Glen. James got to practise his lecturing techniques in Glen's office. His notes will no doubt still be up on the board when Glen's students come for their next tax law supervision.

We went to formal hall. Because Glen is a frightfully important person we got to eat at high table. And it really is a high table, allowing one to look down on all the students below, who are served a completely different menu without the fine wines and silver service (ghastly, darlings, ghastly!).

Glen's college is where the Harry Potter films were filmed, hence the high table is where Dumbledore and co sat. I was two seats to the left of Dumbledore. As I didn't get in there early enough to take my own photo, and one is certainly not permitted to whip one's camera out during dinner, I have poached Nicole's photo of the hall:
It were right lovely, it were!

Now I'm back in Cambridge, wandering around aimlessly now that I have no academic work to do. I think I may have to teach myself to drink alcohol again as I have been an incredibly cheap date recently. The Red Bull may once again become my second home, especially on sunny afternoons. And I've got holidays to plan, my sister's house to de-clutter, a dreamy boyfriend to dote upon, some flab to run off and friends to catch up with. I shall leave you with this photo of Glen's college. When I grow up, I want to Glen's job, with his office and his dining rights!