There's a reason I've been away for so long - no internet connection in the new attic until today. Surprisingly, I haven't gone totally mad without one - and, indeed, I've done much more interesting and useful things, like painting.
18 April 2006
27 December 2005
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife
Hurrah! Ophelia's quite excited, as Desdemona and Demetrius are getting married!!!
More importantly, Ophelia gets to be a bridesmaid, and is thus important enough to talk about herself in the third person.
While celebrating, Ophelia also debates the conundrum of what to wear to Jamie's New Year party....
More importantly, Ophelia gets to be a bridesmaid, and is thus important enough to talk about herself in the third person.
While celebrating, Ophelia also debates the conundrum of what to wear to Jamie's New Year party....
11 December 2005
Happy 50th Post!
Less than a week before the gruesome twosome move out. Changes are afoot. Mother spent the entirety of last week nagging me about sorting out removal men, which I did yesterday. Spent twenty minutes arranging things with the amusingly named duet of PJ and Raja for next Monday. A week, and then no more Obnoxious Flatemate EVER. Wonderful.
Fled the flat at half past midday to find coffee and hunt out a present for Jamie. Bought Michel Thomas's Spanish course, too, as I'm back on interpreting duty in July in Barcelona with the band. Learning the language from scratch sounds a bit dire, but it's a lot better than being nurse and thus responsible for vomit and sanitary towels. Last year in Italy, we had a steady procession of at least four girls who hadn't come prepared and one boy with a nose bleed that lasted the whole journey from London to Lake Garda.
Rather pleased that Pullo and Vorenus in Rome turn out to be real. Was re-reading Colleen McCullough's books and came across them unexpectedly, then looked up the right bit in De Bello Gallico. It's V.44, if you're interested. They're in the wrong legion.
Fled the flat at half past midday to find coffee and hunt out a present for Jamie. Bought Michel Thomas's Spanish course, too, as I'm back on interpreting duty in July in Barcelona with the band. Learning the language from scratch sounds a bit dire, but it's a lot better than being nurse and thus responsible for vomit and sanitary towels. Last year in Italy, we had a steady procession of at least four girls who hadn't come prepared and one boy with a nose bleed that lasted the whole journey from London to Lake Garda.
Rather pleased that Pullo and Vorenus in Rome turn out to be real. Was re-reading Colleen McCullough's books and came across them unexpectedly, then looked up the right bit in De Bello Gallico. It's V.44, if you're interested. They're in the wrong legion.
28 November 2005
A two-pronged plug is a very odd thing
Hmm. It seems Jamie has found the entrance to my lair.
I'd like to say that I did know you had tonsilitis, but only after that post, if you recall. And no, this wasn't meant to be secret, it's just you don't use msn, so it never came up in conversation.
Blurgh. Three year 8 groups tomorrow. Ugh.
I'd like to say that I did know you had tonsilitis, but only after that post, if you recall. And no, this wasn't meant to be secret, it's just you don't use msn, so it never came up in conversation.
Blurgh. Three year 8 groups tomorrow. Ugh.
27 November 2005
Have gifted myself some lovely, fluffy socks from Gap. One of the things in which one can find true joy is a pair of comfy socks. Or three, in various colours of stripe. I have a theory about feet and hands: if you keep them the right temperature, everything else will follow. It takes longest to get blood to them, so, theoretically, if they're right, everything before them has to have been right. A slightly tautological argument, but thus it stands. Hence, if you're too hot in bed and you stick your feet out, it solves the problem. I have terrible trouble with sleeping bags: I can't roll the bottom up under my feet, so they get cold and I can't sleep properly.
Fled from flat to shop with H and discuss Desdemona's terrifying dress sense (tee hee). Since S is still under house arrest, Des, it's going to have to be you who gets married next. We've got it all planned out - that and H's dream house complete with stripper barracks and boudoir (which she pronounces quite strangely).
Everyone is going out with Dutchmen. R (can't remember whether I've mentioned her. Trainee Accountant) shagged one last the night before last (6'4") and Jamie announced that one of our mutual friends was out on a date with another one last night (height as yet unrevealed). Bah. I want one. Failing that, a Roboraptor.
Hmm. Listening to the Goblet of Fire soundtrack. Jarvis Cocker seems to have rhymed "spectre" with "out to getcha". That's been a hum of mine since I was 8. I've always thought it was crap, but never been able to eradicate it from my memory. Apparently I'm a songwriting genius after all.
Fled from flat to shop with H and discuss Desdemona's terrifying dress sense (tee hee). Since S is still under house arrest, Des, it's going to have to be you who gets married next. We've got it all planned out - that and H's dream house complete with stripper barracks and boudoir (which she pronounces quite strangely).
Everyone is going out with Dutchmen. R (can't remember whether I've mentioned her. Trainee Accountant) shagged one last the night before last (6'4") and Jamie announced that one of our mutual friends was out on a date with another one last night (height as yet unrevealed). Bah. I want one. Failing that, a Roboraptor.
Hmm. Listening to the Goblet of Fire soundtrack. Jarvis Cocker seems to have rhymed "spectre" with "out to getcha". That's been a hum of mine since I was 8. I've always thought it was crap, but never been able to eradicate it from my memory. Apparently I'm a songwriting genius after all.
26 November 2005
Gotta love painters of chubby women
Reubens definitely had better taste than most men of today. That's all I'm saying. Every single woman he painted definitely has a less than svelte midriff.
Having posted my gown to my jolly pal in Plymouth (she gets to wear it for her school awards thingy - pah), I thought I'd go and see about the only major exhibition left in London that I haven't seen. I've taken to doing this on a Saturday, to get out of the vicinity of the fuckwit. Said Obnoxious Flatmate and I seem to have come to an unspoken understanding - literally. We simply pretend we're invisible to each other. The exhibition was pretty good.
On the way, went on a Christmas present research mission. Mother's pestering me and threatening to ring at seven tomorrow morning if I don't come up with some ideas. I'm thinking a Nintendo DS... to make up for that Gameboy I never had. :p
Having posted my gown to my jolly pal in Plymouth (she gets to wear it for her school awards thingy - pah), I thought I'd go and see about the only major exhibition left in London that I haven't seen. I've taken to doing this on a Saturday, to get out of the vicinity of the fuckwit. Said Obnoxious Flatmate and I seem to have come to an unspoken understanding - literally. We simply pretend we're invisible to each other. The exhibition was pretty good.
On the way, went on a Christmas present research mission. Mother's pestering me and threatening to ring at seven tomorrow morning if I don't come up with some ideas. I'm thinking a Nintendo DS... to make up for that Gameboy I never had. :p
20 November 2005
Prospect of Tranquility
A descision has been made. The Gruesome Twosome are moving out on the 18th of December. Now, since we all have to hand in our keys together, that means I am too. Thus, dear readers, that means we have less than a month left in each others' (not sure about that apostrophe) company. I've managed not to exchange a single word with Obnoxious Flatmate all week, which has improved our relationship immeasurably.
Isn't Goblet of Fire awesome? The acting has improved, the CGI is spectacular, and Alan Rickman looked like he was wearing Armani. Felt a bit cheated by the brevity of certain bits, such as the World Cup, but in general, pleased with the film. Shame they skipped the blasting of the rose bushes, though. Much funnier than the previous three, also.
Jamie has a sore throat, despite which he manages to moan about it quite manfully, i.e. a lot. Kept him company yesterday while he sat on the sofa ensconced in a duvet and blanket watching crappy TMF number ones.
Just had coffee with H. Apparently S's father and brother have found out about her secret boyfriend and put her under house arrest so that she can't see him. Her mum's in Sri Lanka sorting out a bloke for her middle sister, and won't be back for a couple of weeks, so S is housebound in the company of two hurt, suspicious men. Said boyfriend, as I think I've said before, is actually eminently suitable - it's not like he's a non-Tamil unemployed guitarist or something. However, the menfolk remain as yet unconvinced that he isn't just after a visa. Very Jane Austen.
Desdemona has far more fun than me. It's not fair. All I have to look forward to is the year 11s going on study leave at the end of this week.
Bah.
Isn't Goblet of Fire awesome? The acting has improved, the CGI is spectacular, and Alan Rickman looked like he was wearing Armani. Felt a bit cheated by the brevity of certain bits, such as the World Cup, but in general, pleased with the film. Shame they skipped the blasting of the rose bushes, though. Much funnier than the previous three, also.
Jamie has a sore throat, despite which he manages to moan about it quite manfully, i.e. a lot. Kept him company yesterday while he sat on the sofa ensconced in a duvet and blanket watching crappy TMF number ones.
Just had coffee with H. Apparently S's father and brother have found out about her secret boyfriend and put her under house arrest so that she can't see him. Her mum's in Sri Lanka sorting out a bloke for her middle sister, and won't be back for a couple of weeks, so S is housebound in the company of two hurt, suspicious men. Said boyfriend, as I think I've said before, is actually eminently suitable - it's not like he's a non-Tamil unemployed guitarist or something. However, the menfolk remain as yet unconvinced that he isn't just after a visa. Very Jane Austen.
Desdemona has far more fun than me. It's not fair. All I have to look forward to is the year 11s going on study leave at the end of this week.
Bah.
12 November 2005
3-2
Watching the game against Argentina. Bloody hell.
Now why couldn't they have done that in the last World Cup?
Now why couldn't they have done that in the last World Cup?
Make the brushstrokes go away...
Saturday seems to have been designated art and chillaxing day. I usually creep out of the flat at about 11, trying for as little interaction with the gruesome twosome as possible - managed no speech at all today. Glorious feeling of freedom hits me as I walk up and down the hill to Costa, where I avoid ex-Year 11s and buy a small vanilla latte. I used to get an almond croissant as well, but the combination of those two and trains doesn't always turn out well. First sip of coffee produces an almost post-orgasmic glow. I try to speak to people as little as possible.
When I was at university, I craved company all the time. Couldn't stand to spend more than an hour on my own. Never would've imagined desperately needing a day out of contact with anyone. The longest conversation I've had today was with the woman who entered my membership details into the Tate computer.
The Degas etc exhibition was very good. Much more satisfying than Munch at the Royal Academy. Going round to Jamie's tomorrow for lunch and an Almodovar film about bondage.
When I was at university, I craved company all the time. Couldn't stand to spend more than an hour on my own. Never would've imagined desperately needing a day out of contact with anyone. The longest conversation I've had today was with the woman who entered my membership details into the Tate computer.
The Degas etc exhibition was very good. Much more satisfying than Munch at the Royal Academy. Going round to Jamie's tomorrow for lunch and an Almodovar film about bondage.
05 November 2005
Six Weeks til the End of Term
Fairly banal week. The problem with teaching is that one feels the grind of doing the same thing at the same time every week more profoundly, methinks. Happily, the schedule changes every year.
Highlight of the week was the first episode of Rome. Apparently my head of department recommended this to Year 9 (13 year olds)... oh dear. What struck me most, unexpectedly, was the opening credits - no blaring trumpets and creatively animated Pompeian graffiti. All the more excellent for not being anticipated. Accuracy's generally good, other than shifting the death of Caesar's daughter back two years. I loathe Octavian (should really be called Octavius at this stage, but I'll let that go), so well done Max Pirkis for making him seem an utter tosser. Raaah. Having Mr Collins (David Bamber) play Cicero was a stroke of masterful genius. The two characters are very similar, which I'd not considered before: sycophantic, yet self-important. Perfect.
One of my form has invented a religion: Ishism. We've decided that we'll all espouse this and its principle creed of having as many relgious holidays as possible. I'm going to Oxford to see Helen and watch fireworks tomorrow. In the rain. And I've left my umbrella at school.
Ungh.
Highlight of the week was the first episode of Rome. Apparently my head of department recommended this to Year 9 (13 year olds)... oh dear. What struck me most, unexpectedly, was the opening credits - no blaring trumpets and creatively animated Pompeian graffiti. All the more excellent for not being anticipated. Accuracy's generally good, other than shifting the death of Caesar's daughter back two years. I loathe Octavian (should really be called Octavius at this stage, but I'll let that go), so well done Max Pirkis for making him seem an utter tosser. Raaah. Having Mr Collins (David Bamber) play Cicero was a stroke of masterful genius. The two characters are very similar, which I'd not considered before: sycophantic, yet self-important. Perfect.
One of my form has invented a religion: Ishism. We've decided that we'll all espouse this and its principle creed of having as many relgious holidays as possible. I'm going to Oxford to see Helen and watch fireworks tomorrow. In the rain. And I've left my umbrella at school.
Ungh.
Well, this is depressing...
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  6.1 |
| Mind: |  6.6 |
| Body: |  5 |
| Spirit: | 6 |
| Friends/Family: | 5.6 |
| Love: |  0 |
| Finance: |  7.7 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
30 October 2005
Renewing the Flatemate cull call
Grumph. Came back from the flicks to find all my marking had been moved and put in one pile. Obnoxious Flatmate wasn't even sitting on the sofa where it'd been. Removed self crossly to room for two hours to work and listen to Robbie.
Pause. Relax. Less than two months left with the annoying buggers. Interestingly, they've managed to create enough mess for an army in the kitchen since they arrived back from Ross-on-Wye while I was out. Not that this is hypocritical or anything. No, siree (and other cowboy exclamations).
Stephen very good on Jonathan Ross last night - oddly put on with Jade Goody, whose way of describing a Brazilian wax is "waxing the lala". Didn't really say anything new, although we did learn the name of his nephew in the 'book/cool' anecdote. He managed to get one over on JR by overpowering him with his own use of compound words. I do miss his glasses, though.
Went to see Zorro on own. A small boy called Sam sat next to me and seemed to like the explosions a lot. Quite sweet. Massively broody at the moment (don't laugh, D.). Must stop planning baby names that go with Lyull's surname. Symptom of insanity and posessiveness. Arrhgh. Turning into Bridget Jones.
Had an ache in the left side of my chest since about lunchtime. Ow. Hurray, however, because the clocks go back tonight and I have an extra hour in bed in the morning.
Pause. Relax. Less than two months left with the annoying buggers. Interestingly, they've managed to create enough mess for an army in the kitchen since they arrived back from Ross-on-Wye while I was out. Not that this is hypocritical or anything. No, siree (and other cowboy exclamations).
Stephen very good on Jonathan Ross last night - oddly put on with Jade Goody, whose way of describing a Brazilian wax is "waxing the lala". Didn't really say anything new, although we did learn the name of his nephew in the 'book/cool' anecdote. He managed to get one over on JR by overpowering him with his own use of compound words. I do miss his glasses, though.
Went to see Zorro on own. A small boy called Sam sat next to me and seemed to like the explosions a lot. Quite sweet. Massively broody at the moment (don't laugh, D.). Must stop planning baby names that go with Lyull's surname. Symptom of insanity and posessiveness. Arrhgh. Turning into Bridget Jones.
Had an ache in the left side of my chest since about lunchtime. Ow. Hurray, however, because the clocks go back tonight and I have an extra hour in bed in the morning.
28 October 2005
Buried in magazines
Was led astray by the free posters in this month's Empire. No idea what Walk the Line's about, but the black, yellow, orange and red poster is very cool. Oh - apparently Johnny Cash. Nope, still none the wiser.
Nothing much to report today. Met H in Harrow. She's spent £3000 on braces, which I'd consider a bit superfluous - and not entirely sensible, given she's going into teaching. Went on a total Fry bender on the net last night, meaning that I didn't go to bed till half one, so didn't get up till eleven. Bit tired as a result.
Thinking of moving to Finchley Road, if I can get through to the rentals guy, who never seems to be at his desk. Wrote Lyull's card. It's a little more risque than usual...
Nothing much to report today. Met H in Harrow. She's spent £3000 on braces, which I'd consider a bit superfluous - and not entirely sensible, given she's going into teaching. Went on a total Fry bender on the net last night, meaning that I didn't go to bed till half one, so didn't get up till eleven. Bit tired as a result.
Thinking of moving to Finchley Road, if I can get through to the rentals guy, who never seems to be at his desk. Wrote Lyull's card. It's a little more risque than usual...
27 October 2005
Ophelia's Attic...or Luxury Apartment?
News on the accomodation front. Came back to the flat this morning to find Sane Flatmate bewailing the 'bad' news: our landlady has written to say we have to move out by the 31st of December.
Turned on the soundtrack to 10 Things I Hate About You and secretly did a happy dance up and down the kitchen.
This does, of course, mean that I'm going to be spending the rest of the weekend flat-hunting, and probably ending up moving in horrendous weather and paying loads in rent, for I vow never to share again (forsooth). However, if this means I never have to hear Obnoxious Flatmate sing Tequila Sunrise ever again, the endeavour will be worthwhile.
New template doesn't seem to have a links section. Once I work out how to put on in the html, you'll all be reconnected to the world, so don't moan, Desdemona!
Turned on the soundtrack to 10 Things I Hate About You and secretly did a happy dance up and down the kitchen.
This does, of course, mean that I'm going to be spending the rest of the weekend flat-hunting, and probably ending up moving in horrendous weather and paying loads in rent, for I vow never to share again (forsooth). However, if this means I never have to hear Obnoxious Flatmate sing Tequila Sunrise ever again, the endeavour will be worthwhile.
New template doesn't seem to have a links section. Once I work out how to put on in the html, you'll all be reconnected to the world, so don't moan, Desdemona!
26 October 2005
Ophelia dissolves into a puddle
Gorgeous day.
Met Jamie for lunch. Felt very important asking reception to summon him. By this point I'd already bought The Ode Less Travelled and vowed to buy a new Moleskine to practise writing iambic pentameters. TOLT turns out to be a textbook for writing poetry in proper forms, which is something I've always wanted to be able to do. The actual writing of poetry wasn't something I was ever taught. Stephen's entirely right to say that learning something artistic requires structure and proper terminology. Otherwise you end up with the poetic equivalent of Pollock.
Running with the theme of art, I went to see the Munch exhibition at the Royal Academy, which was rather dissatisfying. Not the state of the exhibition itself, which was wide-ranging within its theme and extensive, but the artist and his technique. I can't muster up respect for artists who paint in a way even I could manage. I admire Vermeer and artists like him, because they replicate reality with minutely accurate skill. That's something I don't seem to be able to do very often, so I enjoy seeing it. So that started me thinking about what qualifies art, which was touched upon later by...
The divine Stephen Fry. Who was on fine form on the subject of poetry at the Institute, be-cardiganed and be-bow-tied. Hmm. Word invention not going well. He rattled through the rationale for writing a book on writing poetry, which is basically the same as the intro to the book, and read from the sections on ballad and villanelle. Usual hilarity, including necessary condemnation of the French and certain newspapers, e.g. "We must all blame something. Sometimes we must give a name to our pain - hypothetically, let's make it the Daily Mail", which was much approved of. Brilliantly Stephanic explanation of the basic use of language to represent something we can't see: "If you say bounce, I don't think of...clitoris - sorry (slight embarrassment at mental processes)" I think his definition of art, which was in response to a question, ammounted to an expression of feeling, of which we are all capable - essentially, it's something that makes us feel like we're human.
Queued up afterwards to get TOLT signed on the verge of fainting from nervousness. The comparison between chocolate and poetry was made manifest by a chap walking up the queue with tin of Roses. Yum. In front of me were a trio of German-speakers, to whom Stephen gamely tried to speak in German. I think he's reasonably competent, but they reverted to English, so it didn't get complicated enough to judge properly. Got the book and my ticket scribbled all over. Noted to SF that his revealed interest in poetry cast a new light on the Hippopotamus, which I'd (ironically) considered his least autobiographical novel. Went away very happy and with a grin that lasted all the way home and beyond.
Go and get the book. Read the book. Read the amusing bio on the back of the dustjacket. Oh, and those of you who've seen the preview clips of this week's QI, fear not - the centre parting isn't permanent. The specs, however, seem to have vanished.
Met Jamie for lunch. Felt very important asking reception to summon him. By this point I'd already bought The Ode Less Travelled and vowed to buy a new Moleskine to practise writing iambic pentameters. TOLT turns out to be a textbook for writing poetry in proper forms, which is something I've always wanted to be able to do. The actual writing of poetry wasn't something I was ever taught. Stephen's entirely right to say that learning something artistic requires structure and proper terminology. Otherwise you end up with the poetic equivalent of Pollock.
Running with the theme of art, I went to see the Munch exhibition at the Royal Academy, which was rather dissatisfying. Not the state of the exhibition itself, which was wide-ranging within its theme and extensive, but the artist and his technique. I can't muster up respect for artists who paint in a way even I could manage. I admire Vermeer and artists like him, because they replicate reality with minutely accurate skill. That's something I don't seem to be able to do very often, so I enjoy seeing it. So that started me thinking about what qualifies art, which was touched upon later by...
The divine Stephen Fry. Who was on fine form on the subject of poetry at the Institute, be-cardiganed and be-bow-tied. Hmm. Word invention not going well. He rattled through the rationale for writing a book on writing poetry, which is basically the same as the intro to the book, and read from the sections on ballad and villanelle. Usual hilarity, including necessary condemnation of the French and certain newspapers, e.g. "We must all blame something. Sometimes we must give a name to our pain - hypothetically, let's make it the Daily Mail", which was much approved of. Brilliantly Stephanic explanation of the basic use of language to represent something we can't see: "If you say bounce, I don't think of...clitoris - sorry (slight embarrassment at mental processes)" I think his definition of art, which was in response to a question, ammounted to an expression of feeling, of which we are all capable - essentially, it's something that makes us feel like we're human.
Queued up afterwards to get TOLT signed on the verge of fainting from nervousness. The comparison between chocolate and poetry was made manifest by a chap walking up the queue with tin of Roses. Yum. In front of me were a trio of German-speakers, to whom Stephen gamely tried to speak in German. I think he's reasonably competent, but they reverted to English, so it didn't get complicated enough to judge properly. Got the book and my ticket scribbled all over. Noted to SF that his revealed interest in poetry cast a new light on the Hippopotamus, which I'd (ironically) considered his least autobiographical novel. Went away very happy and with a grin that lasted all the way home and beyond.
Go and get the book. Read the book. Read the amusing bio on the back of the dustjacket. Oh, and those of you who've seen the preview clips of this week's QI, fear not - the centre parting isn't permanent. The specs, however, seem to have vanished.
24 October 2005
Pea Brain
Obnoxious Flatemate's quote of the day:
(Upon watching University Challenge) "Hey, these questions are quite hard..."
Uh huh.
(Upon watching University Challenge) "Hey, these questions are quite hard..."
Uh huh.
The ode to happiness
Very excited, as I'm going to hear Stephen Fry talk about his new book on poetry ('The Ode Less Travelled') tomorrow at the Institute of Education. Jamie didn't want to come. Don't understand his lack of interest. Must think of something more interesting to say in the signing queue this time. Asking about pens didn't really reach the required standard of interestingness last time. Oo - didn't realise it was out already: http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/009179661X/qid=1130173716/sr=8-1/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i1_xgl/202-6784694-8896654
Will have to buy one to take with me.
Am back from the grim north, obviously.
Will have to buy one to take with me.
Am back from the grim north, obviously.
23 October 2005
The Rival
D has set up her own blog from darkest Nottingham. She claims this is to disprove everything I say about her (she wasn't keen on the Parisian schoolgirl comparison).
Yeah, well you might like it. Or you might have taste.
Nurrr.
Yeah, well you might like it. Or you might have taste.
Nurrr.
On old age and publishing
In Nottingham with D. This is, in fact, D's laptop.
We ventured into the student bar last night. Utterly overwhelmed by how young all the freshers were. I teach kids who look older than them. Coming to the sad conclusion that I've finally grown out of university.
Was reading the various educational articles in the Times this morning in Beeston (which, amusingly, has as its principle attraction a statue of a beehive and a beekeeper). Astonished and confounded to find used 'curriculums' instead of 'curricula' and two occurrences of GSCEs instead of GCSEs - both in articles on the state of education.
O tempora, o mores.
We ventured into the student bar last night. Utterly overwhelmed by how young all the freshers were. I teach kids who look older than them. Coming to the sad conclusion that I've finally grown out of university.
Was reading the various educational articles in the Times this morning in Beeston (which, amusingly, has as its principle attraction a statue of a beehive and a beekeeper). Astonished and confounded to find used 'curriculums' instead of 'curricula' and two occurrences of GSCEs instead of GCSEs - both in articles on the state of education.
O tempora, o mores.
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