Today I had an official duvet day. Yes. Except, I pretty much stayed in bed (fully clothed, mind, i'm not that lazy!) so it was more like a...bed day. Hmm. I was working, I just woke up with a stinky stinky cold and rubbish headache. Lameage.
It's ok, I read a fair bit of Accordion Crimes (not really into it yet, but we English students press on!), watched Shadowlands and helped Benny revise some more. Hilarious consequences yet again; Can anyone decipher quite what I was thinking when I sent her away to her exam remembering, 'Rhino Candy Bins?' Yeah, it was funny, but you prolly had to be there.
The result of this was her hasty escape to Sweden; land of blondes and Ikea. And Abba. We remaining Safari girls who can't be galavanting off to foreign lands went to CU. (I'd had a nap, it's ok my headache had its butt kicked by pills, thanks for asking.) It was really good tonight. No compromise. Community. Power of the Gospel. Suffering & Seeking Oppurtunities. Sweet!
Somehow I ended the evening by having a picnic with friends in my room. Excellence. Can't be beaten. Now I'm going to bed...again.
Later days! xx
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Today's 2 minute blog...
I made lemon drizzle cake...
Had a long-awaited chat with my sister via the telephone...
Wrote some things in a notebook.
It will be tomorrow by the time I have posted this blog.
xx
Had a long-awaited chat with my sister via the telephone...
Wrote some things in a notebook.
It will be tomorrow by the time I have posted this blog.
xx
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Today; Immunology. Tomorrow; The World!
Today I helped Emma, housemate the Physiologist, to revise for her exam. Oh, boy.
But aren't you an English student?! I hear you cry. Yes, yes I am. I am also now the proud owner of this shiny new idea: It's much better to revise with a complete idiot; it makes you feel more betterer.
Somewhere in between autoimmune disease, cell death as a result of neglect (which I handily pointed out was just like dogs at Christmastime) and Grave's Disease, I developed an overwhelming respect for Benny. And for any science/medicine student. I mean, those revision notes were just pages of long, long words and seemingly randomly thrown together letters and numbers.That stuff is like a whole different language. Th'amazing!
Obviously my revision technique (complete and utter ignorance) helped a great deal, because apparently the exam went rather well. I feel pleased as puncheon. I learned new stuff.
While I was in the mood for conquering the known world with my new found 'i can do anything if i blag it' outlook, I wrote me a new song on the keyboard and plucked a recipe out of thin air* and cooked it. Said meal is bubbling away in a casserole dish as I type, and it smells gooood. Hmm.
Today; cookery, songwriting and immunology. Tomorrow; THE WORLD!
*Obviously recipes do not hang in mid air unless you are in some kind of place with zero gravity. That said, when a particularly good recipe tickles the taste buds, it does tend to follow you around like a mystical cloud, calling in an eerie, high voice, 'Go on, cook me, you won't regret it!' And, yes, I have had a glass of wine.
But aren't you an English student?! I hear you cry. Yes, yes I am. I am also now the proud owner of this shiny new idea: It's much better to revise with a complete idiot; it makes you feel more betterer.
Somewhere in between autoimmune disease, cell death as a result of neglect (which I handily pointed out was just like dogs at Christmastime) and Grave's Disease, I developed an overwhelming respect for Benny. And for any science/medicine student. I mean, those revision notes were just pages of long, long words and seemingly randomly thrown together letters and numbers.That stuff is like a whole different language. Th'amazing!
Obviously my revision technique (complete and utter ignorance) helped a great deal, because apparently the exam went rather well. I feel pleased as puncheon. I learned new stuff.
While I was in the mood for conquering the known world with my new found 'i can do anything if i blag it' outlook, I wrote me a new song on the keyboard and plucked a recipe out of thin air* and cooked it. Said meal is bubbling away in a casserole dish as I type, and it smells gooood. Hmm.
Today; cookery, songwriting and immunology. Tomorrow; THE WORLD!
*Obviously recipes do not hang in mid air unless you are in some kind of place with zero gravity. That said, when a particularly good recipe tickles the taste buds, it does tend to follow you around like a mystical cloud, calling in an eerie, high voice, 'Go on, cook me, you won't regret it!' And, yes, I have had a glass of wine.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
It's Saturday. I'm in love.
I am in love with many things at the moment.
I am especially in love with the amazing truth that God keeps in touch with me even though I am completely lame at staying in touch with Him.
I love the fact that I am not yet worried about my exam on Monday. (Count 'em...one.) It's actually quite important, but this is yet to bother me.
I am [even more] in love with music. Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. was absolutely amazing! Seriously, what a great gig to start the year with! Sam Duckworth - hero. As a result of this merriment, I am now even more excited about going to see Switchfoot and then Mutemath. These are two bands who will be responsible for a lot of face-melting, to coin a 'Ned Schneebly' phrase, and probably even more tingly-on-your-neck-ridiculously-joyful feelings! Oh man.
Inspired by all of the above, I'm going to dust off my guitar and my keyboard, and start to write songs again. Yes. Right after this essay is done, and the exam is just a distant memory. So...about 5pm on Monday!
Bx
I am especially in love with the amazing truth that God keeps in touch with me even though I am completely lame at staying in touch with Him.
I love the fact that I am not yet worried about my exam on Monday. (Count 'em...one.) It's actually quite important, but this is yet to bother me.
I am [even more] in love with music. Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. was absolutely amazing! Seriously, what a great gig to start the year with! Sam Duckworth - hero. As a result of this merriment, I am now even more excited about going to see Switchfoot and then Mutemath. These are two bands who will be responsible for a lot of face-melting, to coin a 'Ned Schneebly' phrase, and probably even more tingly-on-your-neck-ridiculously-joyful feelings! Oh man.
Inspired by all of the above, I'm going to dust off my guitar and my keyboard, and start to write songs again. Yes. Right after this essay is done, and the exam is just a distant memory. So...about 5pm on Monday!
Bx
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Where We're All Headed...
When we're old - I mean, when our generation is old - what will we be like? Will we wear pink rinse in our hair and opaque tights on our spindly legs? Will we trundle to the shops with a trolley and reminisce about the good old days, when young men worked hard and young women behaved like women. Will we speak loudly, walk slowly, shop frugally, think deeply and act elderly?
Or, will we listen to rock music, stay up 'til 2am, and prowl the streets looking for a fight? Picture the scene; an intimidating group of adolescents lingers around the co-op at night, spitting on the pavement and hurling fistfuls and mouthfuls of abuse at every passer-by. The girls strut around, pouting through a mask of 3-inch-thick make up. The boys roll back and forth on their bikes, caps tilted on an angle and hands firmly in pockets. What on earth will these people be like when they are elderly. I can't imagine them as sweet little ladies and gents. Can you?
What I mean is, do the floral wallpapers, lace curtains and funny habits come as standard when you reach 'old age' or do old people live like that because that's what they grew up with? If the latter is the case then I may well be an 80yr old with postcards plastered on my walls, a stash of chocolate in a drawer and a never ending supply of music. I'll spend some days moping in bed, wishing i'd 'done it differently' and other days wearing an endless grin and relishing in fresh air, new faces and every little thing. I'll pull funny faces and do silly voices. I'll watch movies in marathons accompanied only by some good friends and a bottle of wine.
There's a poem about this. I just remembered it. It's by Jenny Joseph. It goes like this.
Wonderful. Case closed.
Or, will we listen to rock music, stay up 'til 2am, and prowl the streets looking for a fight? Picture the scene; an intimidating group of adolescents lingers around the co-op at night, spitting on the pavement and hurling fistfuls and mouthfuls of abuse at every passer-by. The girls strut around, pouting through a mask of 3-inch-thick make up. The boys roll back and forth on their bikes, caps tilted on an angle and hands firmly in pockets. What on earth will these people be like when they are elderly. I can't imagine them as sweet little ladies and gents. Can you?
What I mean is, do the floral wallpapers, lace curtains and funny habits come as standard when you reach 'old age' or do old people live like that because that's what they grew up with? If the latter is the case then I may well be an 80yr old with postcards plastered on my walls, a stash of chocolate in a drawer and a never ending supply of music. I'll spend some days moping in bed, wishing i'd 'done it differently' and other days wearing an endless grin and relishing in fresh air, new faces and every little thing. I'll pull funny faces and do silly voices. I'll watch movies in marathons accompanied only by some good friends and a bottle of wine.
There's a poem about this. I just remembered it. It's by Jenny Joseph. It goes like this.
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Wonderful. Case closed.
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