A l'étrange?

Well, tomorrow, folks, I commence my year abroad. I'm getting pretty sick of saying where I'm going now and what I'm doing, and that it's a compulsary part of my course, but, just for you (in case you didn't know), I'm going to Rennes, in Brittany (Bretagne) tomorrow, until Christmas, and then in February, I'm going to Girona, in Catalonia (Catalunya) until July. I'm going to study in those places too. I managed to get into their versions of student accomodation too, but my hopes are low for Rennes.

Well, I'm already here. I forgot to finish this blog before I went. Here is the link : http://heeley-en-france.blogspot.com/

I really, really wish I could be somewhere else.

Well, trabajo called, and had me working at V Fest. The one that Oasis didn't pull out of. "Hurrah", I hear you cry. Oh no. This is not "hurrah"-worthy. On a burger van, next to the main stage (you may "hurrah" here) which got hammered. Ridiculous hours, for (adult) minimum wage, with staff on drugs. I just despise it. I despise everything about working there. I despise the bosses mainly. Well, just one of them. Greasy Ian. He's just a tosser. I also discovered that seeing Oasis at V the other week, makes me one of the few people present (in relation to the rest of the world) to have seen their last performance. Yay me.

This weekend also involved working at Leeds Fest. A comletely different experience to V. Totally not my cup of tea. V has something for everyone, whilst Leeds is rock. I'm not a huge fan of rock, but I can stand it. I cannot stand noise. The Horrors are a prime example of bands that just make noise. Actually dreadful. That said, I had slightly more fun working at Leeds, just because once we'd finished our shift, we wandered round, judging drunks and going on the Waltzers. I enjoyed it.

In other news, I go on my year abroad on THURSDAY! Actual 3 days away. THREE! From then, I will be transferring to my "Martin en France" blogg. Don't say I don't give you notice, people.

Mr Potter. Our new *celebrity*.

Well, these past few days have been full of many stars for me. No no, not the celestial type (that means stars in the sky, Ruth). I mean, of course, the famous type. I'm gonna be honest, it's not changed me one iota. I'm also gonna be honest about iotas. I don't know what they are, but I assume them to be a very small unit of measurement of some sort.

Anyway, anyway, anyway. On Friday, word had reached us that Stavros Flatley (one of the finalists from Britain's Got Talent) were to perform at Xscape. Naturally we were excited, cos they're fricking awesome. Well, they were. We got there relatively late, compared to all the mothers who lack jobs. We thought we'd got a reasonably reasonable place in which to see them. This was before chavs and tall people pushed in front of us. Then Davie got told off for pushing in front of some vertically challenged children and their vertically challenged mothers. He hadn't, they just couldn't see and blamed the nearest tall person. Well, one hour late, proceedings commenced with some man from Radio Aire (96.3) asking us if we were ready for Stavros Flatley. We were. Which is exactly why he sent on some bint to sing. He did this another two times before they came on. Turns out our position was poor at best. We couldn't see anything except their heads barely. They did the same routine they did on the telly, and then some bint from Calendar (ITV's local news. Ugh.) went to interview them and got them to show her their signature move. Then we left. In disgust.

Celebrity number 2. Yesterday, I had work. And, as Wakefield were playing some obscure southern team (Celtic Crusaders, I believe. Lost 21 games out of 24.) they had gotten Diversity (winners of BGT) to come and perform, and meet the kiddies. Now, I have never been so glad to be working. Maybe. I wasn't especially over excited. Like I pointed out to Jacqui, they'll have disappeared into obscurity by this time next year. Hopefully. Anyway, Mavis jumped straight in and went round them all getting their autographs. We can beat this. Well, Jacqui can. They decided they wanted some of our burgers. They are brave like that. And Jacqui, useless agency person and myself served them. Jacqui got autographs for herself, and I just got bored. I honestly didn't care. It felt weird not caring. But, as far as I'm concerned, they're not proper celebrities. If you went to see a panto, you wouldn't wait at the exit to get the autographs of the chorus, would you?

"No matter where I are, they say 'Hey, sexy'"

Oh, where to begin.

Recent points of irritation:

#1. The Sugababes.
#2. Get Sexy. [See above]
#3. Poor grammar. [See #2/title]
#4. Traffic lights.
#5. Jamie Oliver. [Constant]
#6. Railway crossings.
#7. Stavros Flatley
#8. Work.
#9. Next door.
#10. Next door's builders.
#11. The elderly.
#12. Chavs.
#13. Big Brother. [merely for existing]
#14. Primark.
#15. Parking.
#16. The Punto.
#17. The phone.

I feel I should stop now.

"Y a une capote de protection quand même! lol"

Here are a few things that are currently concerning/troubling me:

#1. The prospect of living in a foreign country, on my own, until Christmas.

#2. The prospect of being regarded as a foreigner in said foreign country.

#3. Swine flu.

#4. SARS. I just don't think we gave it enough attention!

#5. The prospect of a swine flu vaccination become globally available when I'm in France, and me not being able to have it, because I am not French.

#6. David Cameron.

#7. David Cameron winning the next election.

#8. Tuition fees rising.

#9. The problem of where to live in my final year at Lancaster.

#10. The attitude of the French towards their gardens. "An englishmans home is his castle", this clearly includes the garden. A frenchmans home must therefore be his toilet. I have witnessed a man urinating in his own garden through a friend being tagged in the same album on Facebook. Disgusted.

#11. The same album (mentioned above) also contains one frenchman being anally penetrated by another frenchman with a giant whiskey bottle. Technically the whiskey bottle is doing the anal penetration. But, this is not the point. "There's even a condom! lol". This is what today's blogg title is.

#12. My lack of Euros.

#13. My independence on my year abroad.

Accidents devastate lives.

This is according to one of those insurance adverts on daytime TV. They are right though. Only the other day, I accidentally brushed against a nettle. The events which followed are too traumatic to recount to you today. I accidentally got my car washed at a shit car-wash place. Traumatised. I accidentally fell up the stairs and got a carpet burn on my knee. My life hasn't been the same since. I think these TV "adverts" need to specify what kind of accidents devastate lives. I shall list them some options to choose from:

Accident #1: Accidentally on-purpose.

These are quite simple. "I accidentally cut her face open with a knife, cos she was bad-mouthing me", for example. Or sticking your leg out infront of someone you dislike; "Oh, I didn't see you there", when we all know you did.

Accident #2: Trivial.

These are everyday accidents. Paper cuts, walking into lamp posts, missing a step. "Argh! Bastard! Bloody paper!" Also included in this category are less everyday ones, such as brushing past nettles, being scratched by brambles or other nature related incidents. "Fucking nettles! Where's the fucking dock leaves?! What do they fucking look like?!", for example.

Accident #3: Grave.

These differ from #2 as they are more serious. They are rarer, but not as serious as #4. Examples include: missing a step, and falling down the stairs; a chair breaking; tripping on a pavement. NB: accidents in this category are most likely to qualify for annoying insurance claims.

Accident #4: Grave and deadly.

These are, as the name suggests, similar to #3 in the sense that they are grave, but differ in regards to their effect, namely their main effect is death. TV insurance companies LOVE these kinds of accidents. Not as much as they love #3.

Ouais, 'otpot.

I don't know if I've blogged about this before, quite frankly (my dear), I don't give a damn. I love it too much. I'm sure you've seen it. A lot of people have. I'm talking about Blackpool's attempt at boosting tourism, by branching out to France. Voila le link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xgxkxqqUH0&feature=related

Actually hilarious. In other, French related, news, I found old letters from my exchange partner from my first ever French exchange. From my first year of French, way back in year 8. Unfortunately, I don't have what I assume to be my piss-poor attempts at French, but I do have their attempts at English, and funnier still, my mother's attempt at French. I shall put them below.
Letter #1

Anthony PRINCE
fait le 6th January 2002
Hello Martin
I'm twelve. My Birthday is a eight july. I live in Semusac. I've got green eye, and brown hairs and short. I've got a one Brother. His name is Jonathan. He is seventeen. He has got blue eye and blond hair. I've got one dog. I haven't got computer but I sometime a bike. I like petanque and watching télevision. I like laugh and marrant. good-bye

friend Anthony

I feel bad for mocking his level of English, but I'm sure he'd do the same now, as I imagine his english to be much better.... I like "I sometime a bike".

Letter #2.

Hello Martin

I'm anthony. I had a letter. I fine than you. The France is a beautiful country. We are going to the "Ile d'Aix). In London, we went to museum of synse. I was encounscious. Do you like a dogs?
I have got a big dog but he is beautiful, clever but very old we play to the playstation. bring the code for GTA and bring crash bash please

Good at the familly

Anthony
PRINCE

They are a special bunch.

And now, the piéce de résistance. The following is something my mother (somehow) prepared in case she had to ring Anthony's house whilst I was in France. I find it funnier than you probably will.


Bonjour Je suis ^Karen la mere
Martin.
Je voudrais parler Martin.
Merci.

I'm pleased with her attempt. But it should read "Bonjour, je suis Karen, la mere(with a back accent on the first e) DE Martin. Je voudrais parler A(accent)/avec Martin." Silly things, but it's chuckle-able...

Drunks.

It was Saturday. I know this, cos on Saturday evening Katie, Ruth and myself (I know I'm meant to be last in that list, but I'm unsure what to do if there is more than one person. I went alphabetical. Let's hope I'm right...) went to a random pub somewhere between (not beterrn as I tried writing) Pontefract and Ferrybridge. I think Ferrybridge must be a new place to you blogg readers. My dad works there, at a powerstation. I have actually no idea what he does there, but he has reassured me that he is no Homer Simpson. Anyway, it was for a group called Tragical History Tour, who played (I wanted to write plaid... What is wrong with me?!) Beatles songs. If you didn't know, I fricking love the Beatles. Not as much as I love Muse, obv, but they are quite high up my list. Anyway, they were most good, I was impressed, and barely drunk. Ruth was quite tipsy. On 4 pints. She should be ashamed. We went to say farewell to her friend (not fried), who with her two other friends had gotten through 5 bottles of wine between them. This is quite a feat (feet?) bloggettes. She was incredibly drunk, and declaring her love for Ruth and Katie, and myself who she had just met. Drunken love, you understand: "I fucking love these two." etc etc. This got me thinking, what are the kinds of drunk?

Drunk #1: Happy.

These kind of drunks are just generally happy. One of the best kind of drunks. Superceded only by #2. Characteristics involve general declarations of love: e.g. "I fucking love you" "Aren't you lovely?". Their happiness spreads (usually) to others. Best enjoyed: in a club environment. Least enjoyed: never.

Drunk #2: Funny.

These kind of drunks are the best kind of drunks. Pretty much the same as #1, except with humourous antics. Best enjoyed: when sober. Least enjoyed: when #3.

Drunk #3: Angsty.

One of the worst kind of drunks to be with and to be. To avoid this state of inebriation, avoid drinking whilst slightly down. Other methods to avoid this state involve #1 or #2. Various degrees of #3 involve "I have to go home now" at midnight to the worst kind, the "I'm fine" with a fake smile. I personally like to think I have perfected this art. Best enjoyed: never. Least enjoyed: when with others.

Drunk #4: Angry.

An equally unejoyable drunk to be with. Differs from #5 as lacks violence. Generally angry, mostly at drink-spillers, queuers (people who queue, not queers, silly), and anyone and everyone. Best enjoyed: when there are others to block them out. Least enjoyed: most occasions.

Drunk #5: Violent.

One of the most unejoyable drunks to be around. Differs from #4 due to addition of violence. Level of violence can vary from not very (i.e. pushing, shoving etc) to very (full blown fights). Best enjoyed: never. Least enjoyed: all occasions.

Drunk #6: Comatose.

These are an odd kind of drunk. Often found at house parties, as opposed to in public, they still occasionally make it into public. Known most for just sitting there, apparently asleep. For the record, they are not in a coma, they are more than likely asleep. Or dead. More commonly the former. Provide entertainment for those not comatose. Entertainment usually involves permanent markers and/or a cup of cold tea. Best enjoyed: house parties. Least enjoyed: clubs/bars.

Drunk #7: Collapsible.

Anyone who says that they have never been a collapsible drunk, is a liar. This generally involves falling over anyone and anything. Collapsible drunks have two forms: violent (which often involves attempting to hit something and falling on the floor) and happy/funny (which often involves falling on the floor, and realising minutes later "I'm sat on the floor, aren't I? How did this happen?". This is followed by much laughter, and possible reoccurence of the incident). Best enjoyed: at the end of a night. Least enjoyed: by the sober.

Now, I cited "loud" as a style of drunk, but I think this comes under #1/#2. I think these are the basic types of drunks. Any more suggestions, let me know :D

Argh! It burns! It burns!

Well, I'm nearly caught up blogging. Thankfully. Last Friday I went to Whitby (pronounced Wit-bay if you are of the French persuasion...). It was most pleasant. Ridiculously sunny. More importantly, my car managed to make it there in one piece. And we beat Kathy's (sat-nav) original estimated time by about 20minutes. 'Hurrah', I hear you cry. Oh, no. This naturally meant that on top of being naturally early (force of habit), I was even earlier. Combined with Katie's lateness, and traffic encountered by Katie, this meant I had a good 45minutes waiting in my car. As I hadn't expected it to be a sunny day (they are so rare in summer in Britain), I had no suncream on my bare arms. They burned. Over the course of the day, two wet bums, and much sunburn later, the day ended. Not for good, you understand. Not in an apocalyptical way, we just went home. Whitby is nice, but it would have been much nicer if we hadn't sat and ate our fish and chips on the wet part of the beach. As a result of such foolishness, we had to endure wet bums for the rest of the day. It was most unpleasant. Over the course of the day, my face burnt too. For the first time. Ever. I never burn. EVER.

The following day, perhaps, I got bored, and decided to get my car washed. In fact, it was Sunday. Or maybe not. I really cannot remember. Anyway, I took it to one of these places that charge a fiver for a wash and for painting your wheels black, you know the sort. Actually, if you don't know the sort, where have you been? There are loads everywhere nowadays. I know of at least 4 within 3 miles of my house. Anyway, anyway, anyway, I took it to the one on Parkside. Obviously, this means nothing to you, unless you is local. Either way. It was all looking good and professional, despite the lack of english spoke there. Just a series of gestures followed by "here, please?" and "five, please". Anyway, anyway, anyway, I was quite impressed initially. I got a free smelly in my car. You know the kind, the kind that smell of "strawberry". The smell you know to be strawberry, even though it smells nothing at all like real strawberry. Upon further inspection later on, and when I say "further inspection", I mean looking at it, I noticed that they had failed to wipe of various bits of bird shit. Actually not amused. Naturally, I did nothing about it, but still. Later that day, me and Ruth tried to find somewhere to go walkies. We settled on the Old Coach Road near us. It's an old road, from a long time ago, and it goes through fields. It's about 3 miles round trip. If that. The first stretch was fine, nice normal farm public path. The second stretch was proper country lane. Muddy, and nettle-y. I wouldn't have minded so much if it had been brambles, but I fucking hate nettles. Naturally I was in piss-poor shoes and shorts, so the mud was a challenge, and in the art of avoiding nettles, I am now an expert.

Dysgu'r diwylliannol o Gymru gan Martin: Gwlad o Dduw (ac y Wlad o Ddefaid a Glaw)

Don't be alarmed, I've not gone crazy and just typed any old tripe as my blogg title. It's welsh. Hence the excessive amount of consonants. And y's. They do like their y's, don't they? All being well, it says "Martin's cultural learning in Wales: land of God (and the land of sheep and rain)". Fingers crossed. I asked a real welsh person how to say it(hence the 'Land of God'.) Well, not say it. As an Englishman (Actual fact. Quite Yorkshireish, and Sunderlandish so far. That's another story...), I lack the glands to produce enough spit to aid me in my speaking of such a lovely language which pronounces every single letter. Except Ll. And oe. These are pronounced respectively as "hiss" and "oi". That's not pronouncing every single letter. LIES! The same applies to the French actually.

"Yoo eengleesh, wiz yur seelee silen' lettairs. We pronarnce evuree lettair in Frarnce."

Whatever. Let me tell you something, France: je joue is pronounced, zje zjou. You ignore the poor 'e'. And, Ils jouent is pronounced exactly the same. This is the same for every single verb ending for 'they'. It must get pretty sad being a 3rd person plural conjugation.

So yes, back to my cultural findings from Wales. They are bilingual. I discovered this when I passed the "Croeso i Gymru" sign. Then began the barrage of lovely english names forcibly 'Welshed-up'. I cannot think of any examples of the top of my head. But there were lots. Another example of said bilingualism, for the whole 16.5% of speakers of the language within Wales, was to be found in Tesco. Yes, Tesco is bilingual in Wales. They don't wish you "goodbye", they wish you "pob hwyl". You don't buy lemonade there, you buy lemonêd. Instead of bread, you buy bara. Where the large potato section is in an English Tesco, you find a ridiculously disproportioned leek section.

Having said that, I saw not one sheep. I was a little disappointed to be honest. But, the rain held true, and helped my experience retain the true Welsh feel. I like Wales. Honestly.

Martin's return to trabajo

Another chapter in the 'catch-up' series. Last week at some point, technically the week before acually, I was rung by Jacqui asking if I wanted to work the weekend. Instinct said yes. All plans were put on hold. My works clothes were dug out, and trousers were checked to see they still fit. They did not. I had to make do with one pair, so it was all good. Then was the inevitable return to trabajo. Nice to be greeted with a pissing dog upon arriving at "base". Stupid Jan. There have been ever so slight changes at base, notices saying who is legally allowed to drive the forklifts, the locking of the dry stores, to stop people stealing etc etc. Nothing major. It disappointed me alot actually that nothing had changed barely. Ian is still as Ian as ever.

Then came actual work. They have put some sort of fancy picture on the front of the burger vans, to make them look nice. They don't. They look stupid. There is still a piss poor array of equipment on them, and the stock is still cheap-ass shit. Someone asked us if our sausages were pork. I lied. "Of course they are". Well, it wasn't a big lie. They're mostly pork. Like 20%. 20% chicken, and something percent beef. The rest, well I don't know. But university has instilled in me something that I like to call "standards". This means I won't touch our food. Except our chips. They're scrummy.

Actually, here is a link to "cafes2go"'s website. It's all lies. http://www.vivacafes.co.uk/ And here is a picture of a unit that we no longer own. It's not me working on it, thankfully. [It didn't seem to work. I'm sure you can find it on the website...]

My favourite part of the website. Health and Safety. It's just one big "lols". This is it:
"All " Cafes 2 Go " units are purpose built and are certified to comply with all current statutory gas and electric regulations


Records are kept daily for temperature controlled cooking and display temperatures to ensure food safety and hygiene



All staff undertake regular training on hygiene, health and safety and customer care.
Our food suppliers are selected from a reputable mix of local, national and multi-national companies to provide top quality produce at a competetive price


All our premises, food and bar units are regularly inspected by Wakefields Health and Safety Authority.
All Certificates for Health & Safety, Insurance and Public Liability etc are available for inspection and copies are available upon request."

A night of skank

Well, another belatened (I don't even know if that is a word. It's pronounced be-late-n'd if that helps with pronunciation) blogg. We went to Pontefract last Tuesday, with the sole purpose of getting drunk, or at least that was my purpose. Clare was driving, so her purpose was mostly not to get molested by drunks. I'm pretty sure that she succeeded. If you've never been on a night out in fair Pontefract (Ponte Carlo to the locals, pronounced like Monte Carlo, but with a P. If you're interested, Feverly Hills and Cas Vegas also exist...) it is quite an experience. Imagine the skankiest place that you can think of. Times that by about 50, throw in a couple of over 40s, and under 16s, and that's pretty much it. Having said that, the drink was cheap, and the music was acceptable. I made every effort not to touch anyone or any surfaces. Especially the walls. Oh, Christ, the smell. Mostly sweat, with the occasional whiff of piss. So, that is a typical Yorkshire night out. Skank.

Martin's cultural learnings in the South of England, aka the Sarf.

Well, today we drove to a mystical place called Ruislip (prounounced Rye-Slip) to see the Grand High Wrinklie, also known as Old Gran (my great-gran). It took 4 hours to get there. No, actually it took 6. I can't count. We took 'the scenic route' there. As usual. Always with the scenic route. From about Milton Keynes, things became humourous. People started saying things funny. Water becomes "waw-uh". I forget what else. I became suspicious of everyone. Especially the elderly. They seemed most likely to wield knives. We stopped at a Little Chef. I'll be honest; it was awful. There was a garage attached to it, which said "Bonjour" on it. I assumed that this was a nod at their nearest international neighbours, the French, who are at least 200miles away. It makes me wonder, do they have "Och aye the noo" on petrol stations up in the North East? Or, something crazy and Norwegian. Most odd. It was just generically boring.

(I also understand that today I did not go to the South, I started this nearly a fortnight ago. I thought I had better publish it. Soz 'ard)

Why would I want to get into Dame Judi Dench's pants?!

Well, things have been uneventful of late. Again. Having said that, I have sent off 3 old phones to envirophone.com, so that they send me some monies back. Admittedly, it'll only be about £50, but still, that's £50 more than I have.

On Friday, my sister and I did something most odd. We baked together. Well, I baked more, but she did stuff. Like cutting the butter into cubes, and putting the flour away. We made scones and then we made cornflake buns with sultanas in. I've not had a cornflake bun yet, but the scones are actually delicious.

Tomorrow involves an epic trek to London and back, well to Ruislip to be precise, to see my gran. Mum thinks my gran doesn't have long left (she is 93!), and as such we should all go visit her. I'm not complaining, I'm just preparing for the "oooh look at that fat!" from her. Ahh, the elderly.

Marticito: nm a tiny Martin.

Well, my love for Spanish has been rekindled recently. I watched .rec, a Spanish horror film. It is actually amazing. It is filmed in the same style as the Blair Witch Project, but is about an apartment block that is cordoned off by the government cos of a virus outbreak. It's actually amazing. And, I got alot out of it language-wise. All is good :)

In other news, I returned to fair Lancaster on Sunday, for the anniversary of Tom-wa's birth. It was most pleasant. We watched a film about an elderly Elvis stopping an evil Egyptian mummy that was sucking people's souls out through their anus'. It was surprisingly good. I helped Holly attempt to sort their old house out too, which was bad. It felt really sad leaving Lancaster, again. Having said that, I have attempted to organise a Lancaster going-out party.

Not alot has happened recently, mostly taxiing the mother and sister around to various places. The nail place. Xscape. The hair place. Xscape. The hospital. Xscape. Getting annoyed of it now. We (that is to say Becca, Clare, Ruth, Craig and myself) went to see "The Proposal" the other day. It was classic rom-com. The premise is simple: Sandra Bullock needs to mary Ryan Reynolds to stay in the country (like America would deport a Canadian). They go to his parents house. Hilarity ensues. What do we think happens? Rom-com law specifically states that they must fall in love. And, they do. It's all very generic. Personally, I think that the audience laughed more than the film was worth, and some people (*coughs* Craig and Clare) cried more than it was worth. But, it was still a pleasant-enough film.

The parents went away somewhere yesterday. My dad was going to see trains, and thought he'd drag the mother along. She doesn't know what she's let herself in for. As such, today's plan is to make scones, and to attempt to make some clusters (cornflakes and raisins coated in chocolate), with the sister. After we have been to the supermarché, obviously. That is all for now. I think. I don't know anymore.

Je suis en panne.

My car is broken. I don't know what is wrong with it. I just know that it refuses to start. It has plenty of petrol in it, so it's not that. It's not the battery either as the lights still light up. It just won't start, so my suspicions lead me to believe that it is the ignition. Update: my dad checked it, and he says it's the battery. I was wrong.

I got another email from the delightful "Gwenaelle" today. It seems there will be a "godfather scheme" whilst in Rennes. It's called "parrainage", which is the godfather scheme. I have been assigned 'Laura Floch' as my "parrain", which I looked up. It means "godfather". I will be a "filleul", which means "godson". There really is something wrong with France.

Snape, Snape, Severus Snape.

Well, my Harry Potter crusade reached a climax today as I went to see it in the cinema. I was looking forward to it, and I don't quite feel that it was as good as I expected. Having said that, I have resumed my crusade against the books, and am currently storming my way through book five. The film misses alot out, but the fifth film is good.

Tomorrow it is my sister's "graduation". I shall explain this. In my old school, which is technically my sister's current school, at the end of each year, there is a "graduation" ceremony in which they hand out certificates to everyone based on a. how many merits they have got during the year; b. how well you've done in specific subjects. They also announce the "head boy" and "head girl" of the year group. My sister won it last year. So, as well as beating me in all her predicted grades, and all her actual grades, she is getting "head girl". I wanted "head boy" as a child, but never got it. Great. She is also singing a song. God knows how it gonna go, they have 10 forms to get through in 2 hours. It's gonna be a long afternoon, on uncomfy seats. Great.

No será un sin-hogar!

Well, yesterday was fun. Jessica and I went to Cannon Hall Farm. We were going to go to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, but we got there, and it was a. full of children, b. full of the elderly and c. the carpark was full. So, we trundled off to Cannon Hall Farm. It is just a farm. With a stately-home attatched. Having said that, it was quite exciting. We paid our money, got our sticker (which wasn't of the pig, like it used to be as a child) and our animal feed. Cows. Cows are actually evil. As a child, you learn to never feed them again. "Mummy? Can I feed the cows?" you ask, as your hand is stretched out, ignoring the warning your mother is about to give. As she goes "Don't feed the cows, they have long tongues", you learn this for yourself. So much slaver. Naturally, I just settled on stroking the cows, something they hate, and as such, try to lick you with their massive cow tongues. We moved on to donkeys. Donkeys are lovely, and don't try to bite your fingers off as they eat the peculiar feed in your hand. Unlike some animals, namely goats. Twice I was bitten by bastard goats. Having said that, there were some really cute baby goats (we called them 'goatlings'), that Jess and I wanted to steal.

Today, I found out that I have got a place in 'una residencia' in Girona. This is good, but I'm unsure if it is cheap. I forget. Rebecca will know...

Traffic Wardens, Liquorice and Windmills.

Well, today I had my first run-in (ever) with a traffic warden. At first I just thought it was an unusually short man with some sort of device, then I realised it must have been "Casual Monday" as he was a traffic warden. In shorts. I hope it absolutely buckets it down today. In Pontefract. I was dropping the mother off at the bus station so she could renew my sisters bus pass. After what I imagine to be 3minutes and 31 seconds, the warden came up to the window to remind me that I had 1mintue and 29 seconds remaining. At which I pointed out that my mother was on crutches. He then saw her emerging from the bus station, and fucked off. The woman is a legend. She scares traffic wardens away. Even 'casual' ones.

Yesterday was the epic Liquorice Festival in Pontefract. Epic is not the right word. I think the word I'm looking for is... shit. Yes. Shit is just the right word. I had never been to the Liquorice Festival before, and I can see why. It was just a series of stalls selling either liquorice, liquorice parafernalia (sp.) or crafty shit. Plus, for some unknown reason, there was an african choir thing on a stage. I'm unsure what they had to do with proceedings, but people clapped when they finished a song, so I assume people liked them. Or hated them, and were clapping them because they had finished. Either way.

The evening brought with it a trip to the cinema. Being 20, I now have lots of choices over what film I go to see. In fact, I can see anything I like. Having said that, we went to see Bruno. It was rather gay. In fact, there was more nakedness than Borat. But, it was funny nonetheless. Windmills, in the title of today's blogg, refers to Bruno. If you see it, you will understand.

Ps. Who put down "boring" in the boxes the other day? hmmmm?

WTF?!

The trip to take my sister to her dance class was most odd. As usual, we got held up at the railway cross in' Lane. Waiting for the train to come, as per, took forever. When it passed, and the barrier lifted, a flood of men in pink came cycling through. I say flood, I mean 5. Me and my sister both chuckled, confusedly, and assumed that it must have been either the Tour de Featherstone, or Featherstone Gay Pride. Perhaps a mix of both. Either way, it explained the abating mob at the bottom of' Lane; complete with pitchforks and flaming torches. It was most odd.

Change is in order

Well, in case you haven't noticed, I have reformatted my blogg slightly. It looks more brown, and there are some odd boxes at the bottom of each entry. I think you should use them. I don't know why you should, but you should.

Do it!

In other news, it was the finale of Torchwood last night. It was actually TOO grim for my liking. Normally, I love grim episodes of Torchwood/Doctor Who, the ones where you spend time thinking "how will we get out of this one?!". But, this was too grim. There were several really sad, verge-of-tears, moments (as if the death of Ianto wasn't enough [on that point, join the group on Facebook: "Bring Ianto back you fools!"]). The ending wasn't very satisfactory. Too many people died, and it was just depressing. Having said that, it was most satisfactory when the Prime Minister got his comeuppance. Bastard.

The number of orange people in Featherstone is on the rise. Well, only mariginally. I wonder if there's a disease that makes you go orange; like jaundice, but orange, not yellow. Hmmm. Most disturbingly, I have seen an orange man around Featherstone. I think it's a man anyway. It's most androgenous.

Lols.

Every now and then, I stumble upon a humourous article which belittles our nearest European neighbours. Today is one of those days. I have copied and pasted it below. It's from the BBC. I hope this doesn't infringe copyright laws.

'Rude' French are worst tourists

The French are seen by hoteliers as the world's worst tourists
French tourists are the worst in the world, coming across as penny-pinching, rude and terrible at languages, according to a new survey.

The study by travel company Expedia asked 4,500 hotels worldwide to rank tourists on their behaviour.

Japanese tourists - seen as clean and tidy, polite, quiet and uncomplaining - came top for the third year running.

French travellers made amends on elegance - classed third - as well as for their discretion and cleanliness.

But the French were the least ready to try a new language, unlike US tourists who were most likely to swallow their pride and order a pizza, baguette or a paella in the local lingo.


WORLD'S BEST TOURISTS
Japan
Britain
Canada
Germany
Switzerland
Holland
Australia
Sweden
USA
Denmark
Source:Expedia.co.uk
US tourists also got top marks for generosity, as the biggest spenders and tippers.

But they fell short on other counts as the least tidy, the loudest, the worst complainers and the worst dressed.

Britons came second for their overall behaviour, politeness, quietness and even elegance - second for dress sense only to the Italians.

But in Europe, the British were seen by the hoteliers as the worst behaved.

Jonathan Cudworth, the head of product marketing at Expedia.co.uk, said: "Being voted the worst tourists in the world by our closest neighbours highlights the fact that the 'Brits Abroad' moniker is a label we still haven't managed to shrug off.


The Japanese came top for their politeness and cleanliness
"While we are in second place in the global best-tourist rankings, we clearly have a job to do to convince our European counterparts and those at home that we can be better behaved on holiday."

The model Japanese were followed by Canadians as the least likely to whinge when a trip goes wrong.

France's rivals for the world's "worst tourist" tag, Spaniards and Greeks, came near the bottom of the pack in almost every category.



http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/8143780.stm - that's where I got it from :D

Mr Desponsey-Smythe?

Today, I took the mother to the hospital. It wasn't just any old hospital, oh no, it was a 'private hospital'. After a short journey to Methley (no, it's not full of Meth addicts. Well, not many), and a brief drive up a country lane, we arrived at the tiny hospital. It, naturally, was full of posh cars with private number plates. We proceded into the building, where it was just like a doctor's surgery. The only difference, and this is key, is that it was full of the upper middle-class. People with double-barrel surnames with accents that clearly weren't local. And an American enquiring how long we'd had private hospitals. Me and mother got glares, as we had accents. Surprisingly, she got seen on time, and we were in and out within half an hour. When I had my pot on my leg, I waited 2 hours before I got seen to have it taken off, then had to wait some time afterwards to see the doctor to check my knee, then had to hobble up to physio (and it's quite a trek at Pinders) to book an appointment. At this point I was told they'd ring me to make an appointment. I was most unimpressed.

Well, that has been my day so far. Perhaps I shall go out this evening. I am unsure yet. We shall see. If I do, it will be to Pontefract, and I may not return alive.

*Warning: contains Torchwood spoilers*

Well, today I have read Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (Or Sorcerer's if you're stupid and can't comprehend what a philosopher is) Stone. All of it. I'm rather proud. Now I'm watching Psychoville. Something which is amazingly surreal. I strongly recommend it.

Also, IANTO IS DEAD! :( The bastard writers of Torchwood deemed it good TV to kill him off :( *Laments*

Bonfire anyone?

Well, as luck would have it, I managed to pass all my exams! 70 in Catalan (I expected nothing less), 66 in Euro (the one where I made up several lies about pensions and farming) 53 in 'The Roland' (honestly, I'm surprised it was that high) and 62 in French politics (another surprise.) This means: NO RESITS! And no excess work in the holidays! More importantly, this means I can burn all my revision notes! I shall ask the wrinkles if I can have a bonfire tonight. If I can't, I'll find someone to let me have a bonfire at theirs! (I'm sure that that "theirs" necessitates an apostrophe)

Back to Harry Potter now :D

Judgement day...

... has been postponed.

Today is results day. No, no, not my HIV results (that was a joke by the way, I haven't had HIV tests), my exam results. Or rather, today would be results day, had student registry not decided to sneakily change the date to tomorrow, and not tell anyone about this. As I write this, it has just gone 8am. I got up 20 minutes ago. I'm most unimpressed. I was dreaming about getting them. Finding out I'd even got some 80s. I don't know how on earth I'd realistically get 80s, but nonetheless. It was most disordered actually, it just said "French : 80". I don't even know how that would work. Catalan wasn't even there.

I'm unsure if I blogged about our neighbours the other night, but I shall do so again. They have been arguing again. "I'm fucking sick of you", to be precise. It's all very exciting. They have been at this for months, ever since they moved in. Mother informs me they got married a few months ago. God knows why. They clearly never have any sex, and are always arguing. Oh, the 'no sex' theory, is basically that they're not getting any, so they both throw themselves into working on the garden. Pressure-washing their drive at 10 o'clock at night. Sweeping dirt onto our tiny little path. Losers.

Rumour has it, that it's just Student Registry cocking up. Results are today after all. We shall see.

Ya gotta squeeze ev'ry penny...

When did American stop speaking recognisable English? I mean, take for example today's blogg title: when did "ya" replace "you"; when did "gotta" replace "have to"; and when did America start using pennies? At least let us keep our precious pennies.

Recently I've not been up to much... My level of poverty has become so great that I have finally got round to putting my bags of money into the bank. Silly
Natwest thought it a good idea to give me a credit card too. Morons. I have become my mother's taxi. Taxiing her to everywhere. The hairdressers/nail salon mainly. And her 'friends'.

I have lacked the urge to blogg recently. I don't know why. I still lack a job, so my day generally involves nothing. Watching 'Teachers' on DVD. It started off quite poor, but it improves. And is most humourous. I am also reading "The Long Walk" by a Polish man who escaped a Soviet labour camp. It's surprisingly good. I'm only reading it because Grampi told me to read it.

Yesterday was Michael Jackson's 'memorial service'. I won't lie: it was boring. Just people saying generically nice things, not mentioning the whole kiddy-fiddling incident (except one woman who reminded everyone of the whole 'innocent until proven guilty' thing). There was the odd song. It was most odd. Apparently they are introducing a bill to make him live forever. Or something like that. I just remember the woman going "for ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever."

In other news, Rennes have finally updated me on the 'accomodation' issue. It seems I shall not be homeless in Rennes. I will however, lack a 'chambre rénovée' and will be in a normal €127/month room, which is 3x3 big. I don't even know how big that is. I did some research and apparently my 'building' has access to a 'laverie' (laundrette) and a vending machine, amongst other amazing things. So, it seems that '5 Rue du Maine' will be my new home as of September. :) Je suis excited :)

Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.

Well, today it has rained. Finally. But, now I miss the sun. I miss waking up on a morning and groaning because it's sunny. Again. I miss the stifling heat. But, I suppose I can't complain. It's clearing the air, and soon we'll be able to enjoy heat without humidity. And maybe, soon, sheep will fly.

Today, for those not in the know, is Friday. On my street, this means something suspicious happens. Number 8 receives alot of visitors. Visitors who park in neighbours driveways. It's most peculiar (Julia). I personally think it's some sort of Jehovah's thing, or some religious cult. My dad says it's just some old woman who cuts other old women's hair. Dad is probably right. Still, we can hope. One just pulled up, and parked in the middle of the road. Well, not in the middle of the road, but not mounting the kerb. It was lazy parking. I judged.

Yesterday, I got bored, so I asked Ruth if she fancied a trip to a park or something. It was agreed that we'd go to Pugney's, but then we decided to go to Bretton Hall Country Park, or the Yorkshire Sculpture Park as it's otherwise known. It was most pleasant, if incredibly hot.

My plan for today was to go to York, and to see Catherine and Davie, and to go to the Jorvik Viking Centre. Alas, my father has gone off for the day, and someone has to stay at home to look after Karen. Typical.

No puedo suportarlo!

Well, home has been most eventful so far. Eventful insofar as that nothing of any great importance has happened. Well, I have finally watched the fifth Harry Potter film. I was actually quite impressed, simply for Imelda Staunton's portrayal of Umbridge.

We appear to be in the midst of a heatwave. I have reduced myself to wearing as little clothes as is accepted by society (as it happens, it's just shorts and t-shirts), and sitting with the (incredibly noisy) fan on full. Moving creates problems. Any movement that is too strenuous leads to excessive sweating, so I have given up movement altogether, and only move for essential movements.

In other, terrible, terrible, news, I have discovered that after a few days complacently thinking "hurrah! my hayfever has gone! Yorkshire has cured me!", my hayfever has returned. Either that or I have Swine Flu (I think that's what the current flu is...)

I went to see Ice Age 3D last night. The film was good. I quite liked the film. What I didn't like was the fact that it cost £6.80 to go and see it in 3D. It didn't really play to the fact that it was in 3D. There was little screen-jumping. I was let-down. But, having said that, I spent a pleasant evening catching up with people, which was good.

In other news (again), gay sex has been decriminalised in India. After we set up the law that criminalised it 148years ago. Huzzah!

Over-surprised guy!

Well, this shall be my first blogg of the summer. I have returned home, thus making it officially the holidays.

The past few days have been really weird. Frantically cleaning the house, so LUSU don't fine us. I dared to move the fridge. I regretted it soon after doing it. I don't know what it was, but I'm pretty sure it was alive. 5 bin bags, and 3 full recycling boxes later it was complete. My car was crammed full of my stuff, full of stuff I'm pretty sure I didn't bring with me in September.

I'm pretty sure I've ranted about this before, but I don't care. It's enraging. What is so hard about indicating? On the motorway home, I began to wonder how long people have not been indicating. It's just so enraging when people drift in and out of lanes. Argh! It's not rocket science! Or, maybe it is.

Anyway, the crusade against my home-room continues...

I suppose...

I suppose I should mention something about Wacko dying. Okay, so he had some good music, but he was a weirdo. He will be just like Elvis. Now, Elvis is a legend, but I imagine at the time he was on drugs, and there was scandal surrounding him etc... In about 10 years time, people will have forgotten that Wacko touched kids (allegedly) and that he held his child over a balcony. In the distant future, people will even have forgotten that he used to be black. Probably.

Michael Jackson is died!

Well, bloguettes, I feel I should blogg. I've neglected blogging lately, but unfortunately, it's not been for bigger and better things. I returned home yesterday, to pick up my car, and then return to Lancaster today. As such, I have been exploring the local area with my brum brum. I have been to a mysterious place called "Glasson Dock". Which is just a docks. But it is pleasant.

The mother is in pot, after her endoscopy on her ankle. Someone gave her a bell. I'm all for helping, but she knows when to ring it, just so it annoys me. Just as I'm finishing a chapter: "Martin, come and put my shoe on. I need to go toilet." "Fetch me a cuppa". She insists on getting dressed, even though she just sits in bed all day. She might as well stay in her nighty. She says its so she feels like she's done something. Tut.

Tuesday was Extrav, which for those not in the know, was "Bowland Children's TV" themed. I, naturally, went as Noddy. I shall be modest: my outfit kicked ass. I made the hat out of felt and a bell, and I made his neckerchief out of 3 dusters sewn together. Seriously, kicked ass. The night wasn't too bad. I expected more, but it was fine as it was. It was a nice way to end Second Year. I leave Lancaster 'til Final Year on Sunday. *sobs*

Mi piacionno i tavoli.

For those not in the know (Woaaaah. Déjà vu!) that means "I like tables".

Last night I decided that enough was enough, and that the living room needed cleaning. It was actually the worst it's been. Ever. I managed to fill a bin bag of rubbish, and the recycling in the front room (think of the penguins!) was quite hefty too. I washed up the pots in the kitchen (also alot of them too). Alas, no vacuuming was done, as, well, it was late, and I couldn't be bothered. I'll do it later.

I have had another day, well morning, of Italian, and it's still pretty awesome. Mi piace la grammatica :)

And now I shall read "The Observer". Ciao!

You english, you always do this....

Well, it is day three of my Italian course, and still the love hasn't died. We're doing grammar and all sorts, so it's keeping me happy :) The numbers are slowly dwindling, as one dropped out last Saturday, and now one hasn't turned up today because they are ill. Another one isn't coming back tomorrow, so that will leave us with 4, if the one who didn't turn up today, doesn't turn up again tomorrow.

Well, in other news, I went to Manchester yesterday, with Lauren. It was the biggest shock of my life. Like Durham. I spent the day going "I cannot believe how NICE it is here!" We paid £18 for 2 mains and 2 puddings, plus unlimited drinks in Frankie and Benny's, and £3 in "Urbis" to go into an exhibition about video games, in which we got to play on video games! It was an actual steal! Then, in "Urbis" we also saw some Modern Art. I'll be honest, it was fucking weird. But, it was free. So all is good. Having said that, we also saw some amazing art, which was photos from obscure places around Manchester: of the sewers, from a balcony etc. Just really awesome. The wheel was also quite good. Considering. Primark = actually huge! There could have been a nuclear war whilst we were inside, and we'd have been nonethewiser. Having said that, people who reserve seats on trains ruined the day. And a small child who came round Costa Coffee, an actual inside begger, begging for money. I didn't feel bad that I turned her away, cos I thought her rude. They do it abroad, but I was just shocked to see it happen in my own country.

I went on a rather impromptu campus bar crawl last night. Mainly for the badges. I got them all. Sono cool.

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do

Well, these past few days have been a bit hit and miss. I really haven't been that bothered to blog lately. As such, you're gonna be lucky if you get one every other day.

On tuesday it was the anniversary of Jessica's day of birth. She turned the big 20, joining the rest of us. As one would expect, we all went to the park dressed up at 3pm. I had been attacked with some facepaint and had become a cat, koala, panda and finally a skeleton. Infact, I was a Mexican skeleton. It was most pleasant. We played ball-in-a-cup (Mexico's favourite toy for over 340 years!) and "bunnies" and wink-murder. Me and ruth were killed off more than everyone else. Not amused.

Wednesday involved returning to Leeds to meet Laura, who I've not seen in a while. It involved a trip to Primark, in which I bought many things. Bugger. Then, as it was raining and Primark had given me only a paper bag, I had to purchase a rucksack in which to put my purchases from Primark. Then, of course, it stopped raining.

Today was equally nothingy, as it merely involved a trip to campus (which lasted no more than 10minutes) for LUSU housing to write down our estimated usage, according to our bills. I'm pretty sure they wrote it off the wrong bill. Idiots.

P.s.

I also finished Angels and Demons. The film was NOTHING like the book. So now I've started on A Clockwork Orange. It might as well be in Dutch.

"Che lavoro fai?" or How I grew to detest Cineworld.

Well, today has been another morning of Italian. I have to say, despite everyone constantly whittering, mainly because I imagine it's their way of learning, I'm really enjoying it. I can now ask people what they work as "Che cosa fai?/Che lavoro fai?" And ask where they work "dove lavori?". Admittedly, most of the people in the class are retired, so this topic became quite exhaustive after 10 minutes. However, "sono studente e lavoro in la universita". Okay, so that sentence lacked a few accents, but the point still remains. We also learned verbs today. It made me happy. Lavoro, lavori, lavora, lavoriamo, lavorata, lavorano. Pride. :D

If I didn't mention before, I applied for a job at Cineworld the other day. Well, Friday night to be precise. Below is their response:-

Dear Martin,

Re: Multifunctional Staff Member

Thank you for your interest in the above vacancy with Cineworld Cinemas.

We have reviewed your application and unfortunately, you have not been selected to attend an interview on this occasion.

We would like to take this opportunity to thank you for the time and effort that you have put into your application.

We wish you all the best in your future endeavours.

Kind Regards,


Recruitment Team
Cineworld Cinemas

*Please do not reply to this email as we will be unable to view your response.

Bastards.

Di dov'è Lei?

Well, recently has been a bit busy. Well, not that busy. I learnt alot about France (not to wear a skirt, or make eye-contact) and about Spain too (if I don't have ID on me at all times, I will probably be arrested). I learnt that I can last until about 3 o'clock without food. I learnt I'm actually quite kick-ass at Spanish (I got an 80 in my speaking, and 68 in my CCP (1000 words of pure Spanish)). I also learnt that I'm not that bad at French either (I got my highest French mark to date! A 70!) And now, to fill the empty void left by completed forms, and stuff-to-do, I have started learning Italian. I have spent the morning learning Italian in a class with an average age of about 50. And that's being kind. They all seem nice enough though, so I can't complain. Plus, I actually don't mind that I've been learning since half past 9 this morning. It's, dare I say it, fun.

I have it again tomorrow, and then I dunno what to do with myself in the week. I fear it will just be drinking. Oh well.

Damn you, Tom Hanks!

Well, I have been busy lately, and my laptop has persisted in it's one-machine crusade against my existence. Well, not against my existence. It still hates me, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Anyway, yesterday I finished reading "The Suspicions of Mr Whicher". It was good, and I won't spoil it and say "whodunnit", but I will say that the eponymous Mr Whicher was right. I have now moved on to reading "Angels and Demons". I have spent the entire book, well the 37 chapters I've read this morning, picking fault at what the movie left out. I also cannot help but read the entire thing in the voice of Tom Hanks. It is most annoying! Damn Hollywood!

This week has been "Year Abroad Week". So far, I have learnt to avoid saunas in Germany, and to be analytical with my journal. I spent most of Monday bored shitless in seminars about dissertations and YA Projects. As I'm doing neither, I thought it all pretty pointless, but obligatory. 2h45 later, after an hour and a bit on footnoting, half an hour on something that I forget but whose general message was "The Internet is EVIL!", I was informed that it was all "optional". OPTIONAL! Not amused in the slightest. Yesterday was marginally better. Not. I spent most of the morning weeping "I just want my free monies". Today is all about French and Spanish bureaucracy. Bureaucracy is one of my most hated words as a language student. The 'eau' sound that is so prevalent in Bureau is lost in bureaucracy. This, I see no point in it. I do wish English would stop stealing French words and beating them beyond recognition. Beaulieu is another example. It is a place in the South. Pronounced "Bewley".

Back in the USSR.

Well, I'm back in fair Lancaster. Although, it's not very fair. It's cold and windy. Although, touch-wood, not raining. Yet. I came back last night cos Jen asked me if I wanted to go out. And I said yes. I'm sure that "Yes Man" has had quite a substantial subconscious effect on me. I also told a man the time when he asked, although it was one of the biggest challenges of the night. In the sense that I couldn't tell the time. It was a complicated time: 10.35. Still.

C'est si belle, la lune...

Seriously, I had a revelation a few weeks back about how easy it is to make rhymes in foreign. Obviously, now I come to tell you all about it, I can't think of anything decent. But still. The point stands.

These past few days have gone so quickly. I had my spanish speaking the other day (I refuse to call it oral, simply because of the giggles that generally ensue), my epic last exam, or 231 as it's known to us - something about French politics. This last exam day involved general group panicking with Becca and Charlotte, and then a final panic after the exam trying to sort out all my coursework to hand in. Palarver is the word.

But, all is good, I got home. I got on trains with leg room, and didn't have to sit next to anyone, which is the way I like it. There was a snoring lady on my train from Manchester, and she was sat next to a man who was getting off before her. Unfortunately, the man was sat by the window, so after establishing 'no, I probably can't traverse her' he politely shook her to wake her up. It was funny. So naturally, I returned home to find that my room had become somewhat of a storeroom, with 2 dining room chairs stored there. Now, for those of you not in the know, there is barely room to swing a bee in my room, let alone a cat, so these chairs made it nigh on impossible to swing anything smaller than a bee. An ant, let's say.

Yesterday, well, last night mainly, we went to a restaurant called "Bella Roma", and in true style, there was a real Italian to greet you as you walked in. However, he had clearly lived in Yorkshire quite a while as he had developed a somewhat interesting mix of the Yorkshire dialect and his heavy native Italian accent. He's been on 'Deal or No Deal?', don't you know. There was a picture of him with Noel and everything. In true 'birthday meal' style, my mother had arranged for a cake (no less than a quality Sainsbury's cake) to be brought with coffee. So I had to find room after an epic meal of both a starter and a pudding either side of the main, for a cappuccino and tiny Ammarretto biscuit. Plus the cake. God, I hate ammarretto. It's just so marzipan-y. Ugh. But, my grandad responded to the cake with the typical 'You crafty thing, you Karen!'. Not so much as fake shock, more embarrassment. He got a kiss off one of the waitresses, so he seemed content.

I have also finished 'Yes Man' by Danny Wallace. I recommend it. It's funny and thinkative.

What the hell?!

Well, yesterday, me and Katie went to the beach, again. We purchased a barbecue and a knife (something Katie needed ID for cos she didn't look 24...). It was most fun. Until we ventured out to the sea. The tide was out. Like, really far out. So we ventured towards it, abandoning our stuff. After finally getting past the rocks and shit, we got out to the boggy sand. Which was a bit like mud, and very sinky. It hurt the arches of my feets. Once I got the sea, I thought I'd put my flip flops back on. I regretted it as soon as I put them in the sea. I nearly lost them! To some minging black tar thing. Needless to say, I shan't be venturing out that far again. Ever. Aside from that, I tanned, so all is good.

Today, I have been revising since 9, with Becca and Charlotte, ready for my final exam today! Well, final until resits no doubt. And then I am returning to the Shire for the weekend, as it is my Grandad's 80th birthday. We are going for a meal to an Italian restaurant, I think, plus on Friday I get to go to the cinema (not for my Grandad's 80th). So all is good.

Anywho, wish me luck!

Ugh. National Economic Planning.

I am currently, well not currently 'cos I'm currently blogging, revising for my next and final exam. i'll be honest, it's no more exciting than the one I had last week, but it's marginally more interesting. I'm currently revising "planning frameworks". I'm unsure what this is, which is why I should revise it. I want to be in the suuuuuun!

And there endeth my annual paddle...

In light of the recent bout of AMAZING weather, Katie and I went to Heysham (pronounced hee-sham). Despite nearly ending up on a ferry to the Isle of Man (thankfully we didn't), we finally ended up at the beach. It was sooooo warm, and sunny, and nice! I decided to paddle, and despite nearly losing my flip flops (it's that sunny, I've brought the flip flips out!) and falling over almost, it was amazing! There were odd patches of warmth, and cold-th. I have also finished "Mother Tongue" and am onto "Yes Man" by Danny Wallace. I am not feeling inspired though. Still a funny read though, so all is good.

Time for Britain's Got Talent now... Tchus!

Oh, Calamity!

Well, these past few days have been quite epic. I have seen Star Trek, Coraline, fell (not feel as I previously typed) up the stairs, been to A&E, and bought Flight of the Conchords.

The other evening, we went to see Star Trek. It was actually the single most exciting film I have watched in well over a year. Everything was going fine. We'd gotten tickets, and were going up the stairs. Guess who managed to fall up at least 3 steps? On the harsh corners of the stairs I knocked my knee. It hurt like hell, but I thought nothing of it, and enjoyed the awesomeness of Star Trek. I thought all was well, I went to walk down the stairs and it really hurt. I got home, had a look, and there was a huge bump on it. This scared me (having had problems with my knees before), so I rang NHS Direct, and after giving them lots of information, I got put through to a nurse, and asked the same questions. In the end, she recommended I go get it checked. So, Katie took me to A&E and Naomi came in with me. What a fucking palarver. After an hour of waiting, I got to see triage, who then told me the doctor wouldn't be long. An hour later, and with no sign of a doctor, I got bored. Also, my lump had gone down, so I figured it wasn't my knee cap. I discharged myself. And all is good now.

Coraline, is so scary! For a kids film it is utterly petrifying! They had buttons for eyes! BUTTONS!

Also, as today is now Friday, it is so sunny! And actually warm! Heat! I decided against bringing a jacket out!

So many lies...

Well, the exam went as terribly as planned. I managed to make up so many lies about pension policy in France and about French agriculture, but I think I managed to pass. Just. It was all terribly boring in the exam. Invigilators kept disappearing, and reading the exam papers, as is tradition. I got incredibly bored. We had to write double spaced, or "on each second line" as the weird woman said, who didn't understand I wanted to rip the cover off with the questions on, so I didn't have to keep flicking to the back. She had to get back up from Birgit. Thankfully, Birgit knew what was going on. I swear they let morons work for DELC.

Also, today we went to "Wibbly Wobblies" for luncheon. It was nice, if a little pricey. I was also disappointed by the "blackcurrant" ice cream Katie bought me. It was just vanilla, with a hunt of purple. Not a patch on Italian gelati. God, I miss gelati.

Not my soul! Anything but my soul!

Well, today is judgement day. I shan't capitalise it, as it's not THE Judgement Day. It's my own personal judgement day, in which I have to face the epic Euro200 exam. The one exam that I've actually thought it will be a miracle if I can pass. It just doesn't make sense. Any of it. I'd rather the exam were in French. Or Swedish. Or Afrikaans. I could answer it better. I shall blogg later. Now, I must weep.

A day of tea, Muse and Pflegeversicherung

Today, I decided against going to the library to revise. Mainly, because I like having a soul, and the library cannot have mine. I have done some revision at home, but it has been halted, due to Birgit's incessant usage of silly German words. I mean Pflegeversicherung, Mitbestimmunsgesetz, and Betriebsverfassungsgesetz are all silly, silly words. I did make a rather marvellous blogg, giving you all a brief history of Germany since 1871, but then, my laptop froze, as per, so I started again. Wikipedia it if you're that bothered.

And now, I must return to my Sozialleistungsquote, or Social Expenditure Rate. No, it's no clearer to me in English either.

Make. It. Stop.

Today, I have done 3 hours of solid revision for my Euro200 module. It is just so boring. I have made a list (4 pages long, no less) of terms to look up, or "unknowns" as I have called them. I am currently on term 5 of about 30. It is so boring. Never again will I have a need to know that Social Market Economy in German is Soziale Markwirtschaft. Tonight is Britain's Got Talent and Domino's time. Thankfully. I hope Katie has wine for us to drink, whilst we most definitely do not discuss the text.

My sock also returned. I am content.

Ode to sock

Well, today people, is a very sad day indeed. For the first time ever, I have lost a sock whilst doing the laundry. I have no idea where it could be. It can only be in the corner where I dump dirty clothes to be u, or in the washing machine. Or en-route to the washing machine. I have conducted a thorough search of all 3 possible places, and nothing has been found. Iceland's Eurovision song (mentioned in the previous blogg) has new meaning. Alas stripey light blue sock, I knew yee well. That was pretty bad, and I apologise.

In other news, I watched Burn After Reading today. I was so let down it was unbelievable. I don't recommend it at all. It wasn't even part of the "it's so bad, you have to watch it" category. It was just bad. AVOID.

A tale of lost lottery tickets, "Spanalan" and Tom Hanks

Today has been a mixed one. I started the day waking up to my alarm clock, which was put on snooze several times, until I decided that I should really get up and practise my Catalan presentation. I say practise, I mean just saying it over and over again hoping it sinks in. I then proceeded to campus, picked up my Euro200 texts (I will comment on these when I start to work on them on Thursday no doubt), and went to sit in one of the DELC kitchens amb la Katie. Cristina passed us and wished us "Que vagi bé", meaning "all the best" (or to grammar nazis like myself, 'That it goes well'). This was confusing, as Cristina taught us Spanish last year, and hearing her speak in Catalan was just odd. I had been pre-warned to not look at Fred when I went in, so this I did. First, I had to read out my library card, which they had on a piece of paper, for 'anonymity', even though they could tell it was me by my voice. Then proceeded, seeing Fred out of the corner of my eye, looking grumpy and writing things down. I assumed he did this for everyone else. Well, I hope he did. Everything went well, until I left and said 'Adios' instead of 'Adéu'. So close.

I have been Eurovisioning alot today. I have realised the meaning behind the lyrics of Iceland's entry. She lost her lottery ticket. "Is it true? Is it over? Did I throw it awaaaaay? Was it you? Did you tell me, you would never leave me this way?" Clearly refering to her losing her ticket, struggling to cope with it, and blaming whoever 'you' is, who then proceeds to leave her.

I also went to watch Angels and Demons today. Apart from Tom Hanks not being right for Robert Langdon, the film was quite flawed. Victor Victoria, or whatever her name was, was a poor actress, and it changed a key element in the plot, in that the 4th cardinal survived and became el Papa. Stupid Ron Howard.

My, anything to avoid revision!

Me and Naomi today have emailed the BNP. Below is the email we sent, followed by our suggestion to 'Genius'. Enjoy.

To whom it may concern,

we recently received your helpful and informative leaflet illustrating the British National Party's (BNP) beliefs and politics. Not only was it informative, but also entertaining. We do feel we should highlight some innaccuracies in your facts, however.

Firstly, we commend you for your presentation in this leaflet, but the fact that you seem to think that the entire population of Turkey, plus a few million extra (CIA World Fact book, or Wikipedia. My little sister could find that out, and she's 6) are going to "swamp britain" seems unrealistic and sensationalist. This would leave Turkey desolate. Would this give property developpers a new oppurtunity? To buy and develop the country of Turkey? Also, if they do 'swamp' Britain, why don't we just move there: a. it's warmer, b. it's cheaper. Think of the advantages! We propose a time-share scheme with the country of Turkey.

We are also intrigued by your use of various military 'victories' in your 'slogan' "Because WE'VE earned the right!". It cites Trafalgar, The Somme, Dunkirk, D-Day and The Falklands. A few things here. Trafalgar, we shall let you have, that was indeed a victory, over our now ally, the French. The Somme, is a victory in the sense that it wiped out almost an entire generation of our young men, only to advance a few metres, leaving France scarred with the blood of our troops for decades to come. Dunkirk, for those not in the know, was an actual retreat. A bit like Vietnam. The Falklands, really? REALLY?

Let us move on to the European Union. Or the 'Common Market' as some of your voters like to call it. It's not really that bad of a concept. It provides support to our country. I accept that France get much more than their fair share of the CAP subsiduaries, but, aside from that, what bad has the EU really caused Britain? Immigration is a natural part of a country's growth. Our country is steeped in immigration, providing a fertile place for different ideas to merge and blossom, creating the Britain we know today.

"It's not racist to oppose mass immigration and political correctness" Have you not seen Hairspray?! Or, are there too many 'negros' in it for your liking? We would like to draw attention to the fact that every person on your leaflet is white. Have you considered branching out? Appealing to those immigrants who have lived in our country for generations?

We suggest you change BNP to stand for Bullsh*t, No Tolerance, and Poor grasp on reality.

Hopefully, you will consider what we have said, and we thankyou for taking the time to read our suggestions.

Yours sincerly,

(Interracial hugs and kisses)

Martin and Naomi

P.s. The muslim turks send their love x

Solution for immigration: Immigration is a widely debated topic; we suggest a time-share between countries that allows whole countries to swap for the summer, hence giving immigrants a chance to properly experience britain. for example, Turkey; they come over here while we take advantage of their sunshine, and they make the most of the British experience. Freaky Friday, but with countries

Possible swaps: America and Iran; Wales and Argentina; Scotland and Kenya; Australia and Antarctica; China and Greenland; Not only could this bond nations as it basically involves a giant mass holiday away, but also would allow different countries to properly understand the other's culture, issues and way of life. Also, this would be a big boost for tourism everywhere. Novelty mug sales would go through the roof!

Apparently...

I am these things, according to a quiz on Facebook. I say quiz. It simply involved clicking which month you were born in. These are January traits.


Ambitious and serious - I suppose
Loves to teach and be taught - Little bit.
Always looking at people's flaws and weaknesses - Hah. Yes.
Likes to criticize - Duh.
Hardworking and productive - Varies
Smart, neat and organized - Neat and Organised = YES!
Sensitive and has deep thoughts - Sometimes
Knows how to make others happy - I do?
Quiet unless excited or tensed - Perhaps
Rather reserved - Maybe?
Highly attentive - Have they ever sat through a Zaddy seminar? You cannot be attentive in them...
Resistant to illnesses but prone to colds - YES!
Romantic but has difficulties expressing love - yes?
Loves children - NO!
Homely person - I prefer the term 'domestic'
Loyal
Needs to improve social abilities - Yes.
Easily jealous - Yep.

When I was Miss Baltimore Craaaaaabs

What does that even mean? I'm not doubting the awesome-ness of Hairspray, but I mean the title of Michelle Pfeiffer in this is dubious. I actually properly watched the film yesterday, after previously making do with a series of unrelated clips on youtube. It is actually an amazingly amazing film. Casual racism, and fattism set to a backdrop of musical interludes. "I wish every day were Negro Day."

Not alot has happened recently. Except avoidance of revision.

Even though it hurts...

Well, we are living, at present, in an era in which I've not consciously lived in for some time. I am talking of course about Eurovision success! Having been out the night before, I had every intention of not drinking whilst watching Eurovision. As soon as Lithuania came on, I changed my mind. 2 bottles of wine, 173 points, and man in a green catsuit later, the excitement hit! We finished fifth! Actual fifth! And not last! Of course, one must feel sorry for the Ukrainian woman. She remortgaged her flat to afford her hamster wheels and future romans. I was unsure about Graham Norton's commentary at first, but as the alcohol started flowing, his commentary got much more Graham-esque. Comments about the Michelle McManus woman from Malta never having met a Malteser she didn't like. Harsh.


And now, today shall be spent in the library, trying to upload pictures onto facebook, cos my laptop hates me. Ugh.

He's got chips in his pocket!!

Well, what has been happening since the last time I blogged? Not alot is the short answer. I had my Catalan exam yesterday, all 3h15 of it, even though I was finished after 2 hours. It wasn't bad, althought apparently Catalan don't like to spell things how they say them. Great (!)

[Minutes pass. Eurovision interupts.]

I'm not watching it on the telly, I'm youtube-ing the songs I liked. Cos I'm that cool. I really love Eurovision. It's so tacky, and we never win, but I have been watching the semi-finals. I like to see who is going to beat us.

What else has happened? Erm... I had my French speaking this morning. Was okay, surprisingly. I rang Orange to set up my account again. After speaking to a lovely man in Bombay, and being interluded by Circus and Human by Britney Spears and The Killers respectively, I managed to set up £15 a month with unlimited texts. I'm content. Bye bye O2! And then I went to look at somewhere to live in my final year. It was amazing. Everything I wanted. But. I just didn't feel it. Maybe It'll grow on me the more I think about it. Maybe.

I also want a travelator like Greece's Eurovision entry has.

Je bored.

Everyone loves a bit of Franglais. "Je bored" is a perfect example of such rich linguistical language. Naturally, the only people to hate Franglais are the French. It is their duty to crusade against all non-Frenchness, and kill it, making sure it can never again return to life. Ever.

I am bored, and procrastinating, so I am blogging. I am currently in a windowless prison, somewhere in a building in which "Science" *shudders* is taught. I fear the men will come for me soon, to cart me away, beat me up a bit, and dump me on DELC's loving doorstep saying "...and don't let us catch you hear again, you dirty linguist!" I signed up for a beginners, and I mean ultra beginners, German course earlier. £52! for 4 whole days! It's alot, but I hope to gain alot from the experience, and add a non-latin language to my repertoire of languages. And perhaps I shall continue it in France, well, in Rennes, and become a linguistic God. But. Freud says I am past the language learning age. So I am a bit screwed. Oh well. I'll prove that nutter wrong.

I'm not looking forward to Catalan tomorrow. I have made my tiny postcards of Catalan. But not enough. I'll do some more tonight, so I feel like I've done something. Then, like most days, I will proceed in taking over the world.

Hah. I was gonna finish blogging then, but it reminded me of Bosnia & Herzegovina's Eurovision entry. It was all a bit Soviet. There was a man singing in Bosnian (perhaps, or maybe Herzegovinian), and there were women in white soviet-esque hats, and playing drums... We expected the doors to seal, the lights go out, followed by the sound of a single shot being fired, shortly followed by cries of "He is dead! The President is dead! Long live the Leader!". Or, failing that, a flag to drapse down, the Bosnia-Herzegovinian flag, with a 40foot high portrait of their leader, with a soviet-style salute given. Alas, it did not. But I'm sure they got through, somehow, despite being shit. But not as shit as Armenia. Oh God, that was bad.

It's just so camp!

Well, last night, for those not in the know, was the first semi-final of Eurovision. Oh, Eurovision. It's got me through many tough times. The first entrant that was on was Montengro (who are still kicking themselves over their split with Serbia after Serbia's win in 2007). It was a woman singing, and a man dancing. You have honestly never seen such hypnotic hips. He served no purpose, and we suspect he was the only gay man in Montenegro. Afterwards we felt a sudden urge to vote for Montenegro. There were some odd ones: FYRM was a bit Macedonian Jonas Brothers; Sweden was a bit pop-opera, or popera if you will; Belarus, and infact most other entrants, were very sexually ambiguous. Alot of men in dresses methinks.

Today I came to revise in the library, for my Catalan exam tomorrow (3h15 long! A new record!), and just felt no motivation at all. I will finish my cards later, but I seriously, just cannot be bothered at all. No és bo. Or bé. Or bona. Or bon. Noone knows. I also did some research for my French speaking on Friday, and found out that to go to Eurockéenes, for a weekend camping ticket it costs €85 or something ridiculously cheap like that. Kicks V Fest and its 'bargain' £145 weekend camping out of the water. Where France lose though is on cinema prices: €9 was the cheapest adult price i saw. €9! Daylight robbery!

Can I go to the toilet please?

[Well, today was a bit non-descript. I went to the library nice and early, and settled in, deep in the heart of the place, near Russian, French and English Lit. There were windows, so it wasn't all bad. Plus, Lauren turned up, so I wasn't busy despairing alone. ] I blogged that the other day, then got bored and gave up.

Today, I had my first exam of the year. Proper exam, not class test. In the great hall, with clocks and everything. I was number 26. 6 years older than myself. 2 hours is a long time. Well, this is what you think before, when you're outside, fighting your way past the rabble of English Lit. students who want their numbers. We won in the end. We all got ours, and they were still coming in late after we were well seated. Then a man suddenly announced "It's twenty to. Start." I expected our instructions to be read out or something. This was not the case. Despite all this kerfuffle, the exam paper wasn't actually too bad. It was nicer than I expected, and I wrote things. Then, about half an hour into it, I was hit by an urge to pee. I figured "it'll pass! and I'll wait til the end". This was not the case. I found myself one of many people who had made the decision to go for a pee, escorted. It felt weird. I thought it would clear my mind, and make me work better. It did not. The urge to pee was replaced by singing in my head. The Spanish eurovision entry I believe.

But all is good. I am now free of the Roland and Zaddy forever. Or at least until resit time.

Also: Happy 100th blogg to me!

Ugh. I shan't be here much longer.

I blogg in fear. Fear that my laptop will not last the length of the blogg. Recently it has decided to only last for 20 minute periods (10 minute if not plugged in), then it dies. It's most irritating. For this reason, and the fact that of late I haven't felt a huge urge to blog, I have not blogged in a few days. Not alot has really happened. I spent all of Wednesday in the library doing my Cross Cultural Essay, and only got 600 or so words done. Then, in the evening I finished it. It is now handed in, so all is good. Also good is my Portfolio Essay. I got 70 :D Ruth got 80. Putting us all to shame. Again. But, I shan't deny her it, she's ruddy good at Spanish.

Today, Katie persuaded me to go to Preston, 'cos she needed a bag. So, as such, needed to go to Primark. There is something about Preston that I just don't like. I can't quite place what, as it's not that bad. It's just a bit grim. Katie got her bag, so all is good.

I also had my last Epic seminar today, with the Zaddster, who Ruth informs me is not of this country. No 'Zaddy's have been born in this country. It seems our inkling's about her being born in somewhere that doesn't exist anymore, like Ceylon or Swaziland, are somewhat well-founded. I feel almost, not quite confident, or optimistic, but somewhat less scared about this exam.

Why IS Piers Morgan?!

Eee when I were a lad.

This is Yorkshire-speak for 'Eeee when I was a lad'. Clearly the simple conjugation of 'to be' has not quite been grasped in my home county. Anyway, I feel some sort of nostalgia towards the 1930s today, since being told that that current recession *yawns* could be worse than that following the Wall Street Crash (or the WSC to those who did Modern World History at GCSE. Acronyms were all we had.) I don't know how bad the 'bust' period hit the UK in the 30s, but it hit America pretty hard. They had to come up with so many acronyms, or Alphabet Agencies, to try and sort things out. Well, Roosevelt did. TVA - Tennessee Valley Authority. That is the only one i remember. Keddie would be ashamed. But yes, Roosevelt did some good, and actually did something. As much as I hate egg-man and his merry band of upper-class twits (all of whom have won the prestigious 'Upper Class Twit of the Year Award' at least once in their pitiful lives) I fear it will be they who sort us out in this recession. Hopefully once they're done, Vince Cable and his merry band of fence-sitters will swoop in and make everything a bit more fun.

Anyway. Yesterday was Cinco de Mayo. I think I already explained, it's just another French defeat celebration day.Happy days. So Katie dragged me to Aldi, and ASDA, for Tequila and whatever else she bought yesterday. Oooh. I bought a box of wine from Aldi. "Badger's Creek." It looks so bad.However, Katie made Quesadillas (pronounced 'kesadiyas') and Fajitas (pronounced Fahitas) (not to be confused with pajita, which means straw... so I'm told.). They were really yummy. They actually were.

So, now my day will consist of returning to the library when it opens in 9 minutes, and working like mad on my Cross-Cultural Project. Bad times.

Trapped in a Box.

Well, a whole 16 minutes ago I logged onto this wonderous computer. 9 minutes ago, it finally decided to log me on. I hate library computers. I intend to do work so I can go and celebrate 'Cinco de Mayo' this evening. Not, as I thought, Mexican Independence Day. Just a day when the Mexicans celebrate defeating the French. It seems that everyone has had a go at the French. Anywho, I got to the library early, I was sat on the bus thinking 'I do hope it's open'. This is my life. I do however have a can of Relentless cleverly concealed in a bottle of Ribena. I say cleverly concealed, I just drank the Ribena, and poured the Relentless in.

Yesterday was poo. It rained. It was freezing. I got 40-42 on an essay. An all-time low. However, I had answered the wrong question. So, to say I passed on an essay that I didn't answer, I'm quite impressed. Catalan was erm... it's usual rushed self. I'm starting to tire of Catalan, although it is still my 'foreign language of choice' when talking to myself in foreign. I'm honestly not crazy. Okay. Maybe a little. But still.

Què et passa pel cap?

This is Facebook's Catalan version of the 'What's on your mind?' bit of Facebook. It used to be 'Que estas fent ara mateix?', which I much prefered. Something else I dislike about Catalan Facebook is that it's very rude. It assumes I like being 'tutoyer'd'. For those non-Francophones, this is the informal form of addressing to someone. For those people who think they are clever when they use 'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?', this uses the polite form, or indeed the 'you plural' form. So they are either asking someone politely to sleep with them, or asking alot of people to have an orgy with them. Anyway, French Facebook asks you everything in the 'vous' form, known as 'to vouvoyer', whilst Catalan asks everything in the Catalan equivalent of the 'tu' form. I just found it quite rude.

Yesterday's happiness waned a bit last night, so I decided to find Eurovision songs. I actually quite like Spain's entry. Mainly because I can understand most of the Spanish. What is concerning me is: 'Quiero clavarte mi cruz', which I think means 'I want to lock you in my cross'. Now, we all assume Spain are quite Catholic, but who knew they were all about the crucifying.

I have taken to eating fruit recently. Recently means, as of yesterday. I purchased some raspberries from ASDA, and some 'Cripps Pink' apples, thinking they were like the nice Pink Ladies, but cheaper. This was a lie. They're not nice, but at the same time, they're edible. So I shall cope. Also not nice from ASDA, Yum Yums. I was let down. They were not as nice as Sainsbury's superior Yum Yums.

Oh, look! Her legs have grown back!

Well, last night was a jolly good night out, for Jen's 21st birthday. I got through a whole bottle of Martini Rosso. Neat. Before we even left the house. Yet, I still managed to stagger about town, and drink more whilst out. It was a marvellous night. Seriously, it was that good, that I have had to unearth forgotten adjectives to describe its greatness.

Anyway, today was mostly spent going 'ughhhh'. [Oh, Martin, it's all falling to pieces - Interjects Katie] Slight hangover, followed by an unexpected feeling of happiness. So, all is good. Plus, Katie has her car now, and we went to Morecambe. And sat on the beach. Not the cockle-pickers beach. The safe, non-sinky-sand beach. It was good, and sunny. If a tad chilly. Then went t'Asda, and spent alot of money, on stuff I didn't really need. Again. It is a place of evil. Or as someone recently put it, 'the bar in Star Wars'. From the first film. The proper first film, not the fake 'prequel'.

And, 'We teach people to finger knit'. On that note, I shall take my leave.

"I'm sick of this dress, and these Jimmy Choo's"

I actually really, REALLY, hate this song. Apart from the fact that it is shit, it will now hold a very special place of hatred in my heart, for it was the song that was on the radio as the dentist gave me my first fillings today. Surprisingly the giant metal needle (it really was huge) didn't hurt that much. Just like a normal injection. It must just be my painful memory of the one I had in the roof of my mouth (or 'pallet' as dentist folk call it). But yes, apart from feeling like my mouth was drooping and I kept slavering out of the side of it for the next couple of hours, all is okay. Apart from the minor twang of pain I'm feeling around that area. Nothing Martini cannot solve.

This brings me onto the topic of my sisters orthodontist. She goes to a different one I went to. It is really weird. All the chairs are in the same room, not facing each other, my sister assures me, and so all the relatives of their children can see other children in pain. It is a poor design. That and 'S Club 7' were playing in the background (Don't Stop Moving, I believe). Sinister, or what? Another thing which made me chuckle there, was that I saw this woman who was the spitting image of Margaret from The Apprentice (You know, the one who came up with the Cassandra analogy). It was odd.

Today, I, oh God, it's terrible just even telling you about it, got the train back from the Shire to Lancastria. It was fine, if a little busy, and then this woman, named Maria, sat next to me. I spent the first 15 minutes of the train journey thinking "oh God, please get off. Stop talking on your phone." Then she stopped talking on her phone. And talked to me. To be fair, I was totally wrong about her, she was a lovely woman who gave me some good advice. Wether I take on her advice is a different matter, but we shall see. I liked her box analogy. We work in boxes, we go home in our little boxes, we live in our little boxes. All about boxes. They work like bubbles, but are boxes, and fit together a bit better.

Well, that is all yogur-readers! Fare well!

I see you shiver with antici...pation.

Well, today I returned home. This is as I have the dentist tomorrow. Naturally, this is the lesser of two evils. If I wasn't going to the dentist, I would have to endure another hour of Zaddy and her precious epic. I am not looking forward to having to have two fillings though. I realised I'm gonna need injections to numb me gums :(

However, on the train back, I listened to the Rocky Horror soundtrack, and naturally had to once again fight the urge to Time Warp on the train. I also found myself wondering 'Where does water come from?'. Not in the sense of 'the sea', but I mean drinking water. Do they have huge buckets collecting rain? Or a filter over rivers? I also found myself wondering 'What were sheep like before we domesticated them?' I mean, were they just roaming around hunting small rabbits? Were they a threat to humans? I feel I should wikipedia this.

When I finally arrived back to Wakefield, the words 'The Gods of fate have once again pissed in my direction.' crossed my mind. I managed to get the Free City Bus from the train station to the bus station. So did three annoying chavs. There is something about swearing in public that is just vulgar. The chavs then proceded to get on the same bus as me to home. Thankfully they got off. What else mad me chuckle was back in Lancaster, apart from the orange fire engines, at bus stops they have directions for people on how to catch a bus. This explains why so many people struggle to hail a bus. However, the same can be said of Yorkshire, with its lack of instructions. So many people just stand there looking grumpy because the bus just drove past them...

Would you kiss a pig?

Well. Another thing we can't eat, or infact go near. Pigs. SARS meant we couldn't go near Asia. Bird Flu had us all afraid of coughing swans in Scotland. And now pigs. Me and Naomi were discussing what this all means. We deduced that pigs are probably one of the better animals to kiss. I'm unsure how we arrived at that conclusion, but we discredited many other animals before coming to this conclusion. You'll be pleased to know that the 'Taddies' received a proper burial. So I'm told anyway. It was a rainy funeral, with umbrellas and dressing gowns worn by those who attended. It was a solemn day, but now they are at peace. *sobs*.

Terratrèmol! Terremoto! Tremblement de terre! Earthquake! Erdbeben!

Well, today has certainly been eventful. I was sat in the library, still in shock at the terrible, TERRIBLE, French speaking topic options, when all of a sudden I heard a noise, followed by a slight shake of the building. Instinct told me 'Oh. Someone has probably fallen off their chair upstairs.' This was not true. Shortly afterwards, various people's facebook status' (statii?) were mentioning an earthquake. Various responses included: "I thought it was upstairs slamming a door." "I thought it was upstairs, falling down." "I thought it was that cock behind me knocking my chair. Again."

Les têtards sont morts. Vivent les têtards.

For those not in the know, a têtard is a tadpole in French. Naomi brought back some tadpoles, and they have been happily swimming around in their fishbowl for nearly a fortnight now. Well, they had been. This morning I entered the lounge to find an empty, but slightly cloudy bowl. It seems they just weren't ready for the meat that had been dangling in there previously. The empty bowl was in fact full of the tadpoles. They had just sank. It was like a tadpole massacre.

In other news, I am now searching for French stereotypes. It is fun :D

Why do you hate us so, DELC?

Why do you hate us so, DELC?
Well, I was going to blogg about how I saw two policecars and a policevan whizz by my bus stop this morning, only to end up at what looked like a robbing in Scotforth. It looked quite dull.

This was until I opened the LUVLE (Lancaster University Virtual Learning Environment, maybe), and discovered the topics for our French oral 'assignment' (It's a coursework, not an exam... apparently. Despite it being a one-on-one with the EVIL lectrice, in her office). Seriously, I actually think they want us to fail. It was like opening an exam to learn that everything that you bothered to revise, is useless, as none of the questions are on that topic. Below are the questions. Perhaps with translations:

1. Qu’est-ce qu’un Français ? (What is a French?)

2. L’enseignement ne dure que quelques années ; l’éducation ne

finit jamais. (Teaching only lasts a few years; education never ends.)

3. La crise financière a été un appel à la réalité. (The financial crisis was a call to/from reality. - Allo? Réalité?- )

4. Le régime n’est pas une question de santé, c’est une question de mode. (Diets aren't a question of health, they're a question of style.)

5. La valeur d’un footballeur ou d’une chanteuse contre celle d’un médecin ou d’un enseignant? (The value of a footballer or a singer against that of a doctor or teacher? -That's not even a question. Stupid DELC.)

6. La religion : origine des malheurs du monde. (Religion: origin of bad times in the World)

7. « Il ne vaut plus la peine d’aller au théâtre, au cinéma ou à un

concert. On peut bien rester chez soi avec ses DVDs et CDs » (It's not worth going to the theatre, cinema or a concert. You can stay at home with your DVDs and CDs)

8. Tout est pour le mieux dans le meilleur des mondes possibles. (Mystery Question.)


So, now you know, just how harsh DELC are. I'm drawn to number 7 and number 1. But I'm being marked by a French, so maybe she will mark me down if I don't get it right.

My revision will now be sidetracked while I prepare for Frog.

No pengi, sisplau.

For all you non-Catalanophones (or perhaps Catalaphones), that means 'Don't hang up, please.' [Pronounced No pen-gee, sizplough]. We learnt Catalan phone etiquette today. Do not answer with 'Rebecca McGeoghan'. Or the name of a company, unless it actually is the company.

I also endured a 'Zaddy' seminar. If I had been blogging before Christmas, the blogg would have mostly consisted of her quotes, and gripes about her, and her silly, silly, silly module. I expected her to run right up until the hour, instead of the usual finishing 10 minutes to, but she surpassed herself, and went on until 1.30. In the end I apparently slammed down my pen and said, rather loudly, "I need to go, Zaddy!". It was stroppy, or so I'm told. I had really had enough. What's important is that it saved us all from any more of that miserable old wench. I just wanted my essay back. And got none of it. We have to go see her, and endure a one-on-one, in HALF HOUR slots. I mean, how bad were our essays, that they merited half-hour slots?!

As if 'Zaddy's Words of Action' during the seminar weren't bad enough. I shall share them with you:

• Firstly: Read the *whispers* damn *unwhispers* question.
• Make quite sure that you understand exactly what the *whispers* damn *unwhispers* question means. CONTEXT!
• Secondly, (yes, she said secondly thirdly), plan your answer! -This is all advice based on our essay questions. They must have been bad-
• Secondly, (yes, again) know your text before you go into the exam!
• Make sure every point is adequetly documented. -Do we attach articles supporting our argument?-
• 'Ooh. Flood.'
• Oh. Alzheimers'
• 'Splendid Wench'
• Who are you again? Yes, you? Hmmm. You look like the Porter. ARE you the Porter?
• I know you. You're the Heeley.

Okay, so the last five were quotes. But still, the woman is clearly mental. Rant over.

New funny Catalan word. Haig. (pronounced hadge, like Maig, Faig and Vaig).