once my dad famoussly got drunk while watching eurovision, and decided the irish were elvish. if thats true, then this is one fucked up elf. i mean, what the smeg?
I cant wait till tomorrow. Its old boys, so everyone is coming back. All my friends from the last three and a half years are going to be here for a weekend of partying and mayhem. I can’t wait to see them: Emma is already here, and I saw her briefly on Tuesday, but we need a good catch up. Charlotte of course, the prospect of whose arrival has me squealing in anticipation. The inimitable Steve, harbinger of jollity, thief of leftovers. Becs, scott, and ness. Chris, who I really ought to catch up with. Oh, there are too many people I cant wait to see. It feels like Christmas eve – I just hope I can get to sleep okay, as I’m going to need my energy.
Now that my patents are home, and no burglar is going to read this and infer that the Goodsell family house is empty, I can freely admit I’ve now been at uni for my longest stretch ever. Its been five or six weeks since I’ve been home, and that was just for one night, making it just one night at home since Christmas. I’m quite proud of myself. The boy who once cried at the prospect of staying one night in resi seems long gone.
Mind you, I did feel a few pangs of homesickness last week, but I think that was stress more than anything. My thesis is, by and large, going well: I think I have about 24000 out of 30000 words, so I need to get on with my conclusion. Thing is, I sit down to write and no conclusion comes. It’s frustrating. I’m also waiting for feedback on the last 6500 I did, which makes me nervous. Thus, having worked hard all term, I think I better let my thesis rest a bit. Given that it’s old boys this weekend, I’ll let my thesis rest till Monday, by which time I should have the feedback I need.
There’s something happening here this weekend and the one after. I’m looking forward to both old boys and my birthday bash. Yet I must admit I’m beginning to long for the simple life back at my parents.
I’m not posting a long blog tonight for there’s a poetry slam on in the bar. Last night they had a jazz concert there so we’re currently being spoiled. Before heading out, I’ll just welcome my parents home from their trip to south America. I hadn’t mentioned they were away before for fear of posing a security threat. Sounds like they had a great time.
Also, today marks my little brother’s twenty-second birthday. Happy birthday Luke. Hope you have a great night.
Now for the poetry.
Sometime in about 1975 a young man called Simon – if memory serves – was attending university in Southampton. At that time, he was sharing a house with a young, impressionable student called Mary. Mary was a good cook, but it was Simon who taught Mary a rather unusual recipe for spaghetti bolognaise. She adopted it, and would later cook it for her husband, whom she also met in Southampton, and later her sons. In time, they would all cook it their selves, and thus the recipe would live on.
All save the middlemost, for whom cooking, let us say, would be a highly dangerous activity. Yet, thirty two years after it’s creation, roughly the same recipe was cooked at a university, by another Mary. For the middlemost son was cunning at instruction: he remembered his mother’s recipe, and, unable to cook it himself for fear of fire, calamity and explosion, he was able to instruct his friend about making the recipe. And thus it was, in the early spring of 2008. that same spaghetti bolognaise was made anew, and eaten again in halls, just as it was upon it’s creation.
Last night definitely needed to happen, I think. I’ve been at university solidly now for about four or five weeks, and I’m getting fed up of canteen food and ready meals,. It’s not that I’m a culinary snob: I just like good food which isn’t covered in grease once in a while. So, on Friday I asked jen if we could go to the plough; she agreed – I think she was as bored as I am with Wes food. She said she was skint, but I said I’d pay for her and Maria to eat on my card. It’s worth it – trust me.
In the end, five of us went. Stephen, from the states, and Jen’s boyfriend, Chris, tagged along too. The more the merrier I say. I think we all had a good time: I ordered the steak and ale pie, and got a Cabernet Sauvignon to share.. both were, I think, good choices – Maria seemed to like the wine, and became even more talkative than usual.
We spent the evening chatting. After we’d finished, we went to meet rosie in the Mere, where they serve real ale. Needless to say, I’m glad I was being pushed in my manial chair. Jen helped me get to bed at about eleven, tired, but happy.
My trip back from Crewe to alsager in my chair last January is rather famous around here. Charlotte regularly refers to it, for example, when she wants to remind me how stupid I can be at times. Yes, looking back, it was stupid – and fucking scary. But that 6 miles is nothing, it seems, compared with the trip one 24 year old plans: Jeffrey Preston is determined to ride his electric wheelchair from London, Canada, to Ottawa in 40 days this spring. He’s making the 650-km trek to raise awareness of the inadequate conditions of Ontario’s transportation systems for disabled people. its rather cool, if you ask me. Mind you, I must say I’m too busy (and scared of big lorries) to make any such trips.
According to the ouch messageboards, there are to be a series of shorts from aardman called creature discomforts, featuring disabled characters. I viewed them online last night – nothing special, just a set of monologues by pieces of plasticine. Frankly, I feel pretty low today, so this is sort of more my cup of tea atm.
I came across this last night while I was getting ready to go out. It is, you must admit, very cute. I better not say anything about it because I’d like you all to get the revelatory bit at the end. Mind you, I must say it’s like watching two little hyperactive daleks. I think it’s very cool indeed
Its been another good day. Okay, so I haven’t written anything towards my thesis, but this morning, pretty much on a whim, I decided to go see Alan. I’d sent him some stuff on Friday and I wanted his feedback. Alan was in his office when I got there, just finishing talking to another student. Although he hadn’t read the stuff I’d sent him, he was very encouraging. I have about 24000 words of a 30000 word thesis, suggesting my first draft should be finished soon. Then editing. Alan’s encouraging words were: ‘piece of piss’. I hope so.
After that, being in Crewe, I scooted over to south Cheshire college, popped in on Jane etc. to a certain extent, jenny Harris and Jane Higgins started all this: they were the ones who first mooted the idea of me going to university: before Jane posed the question ‘ why haven’t you gone to university yet?’ I hadn’t even thought it a possibility. They started me along that path. Indeed, they were the ones who introduced me to Esther, who is now one of my best friends and most valued comrades. I therefore decided to ask them out to lunch or dinner – I know a top notch Indian restaurant in the village me and Charlie went to once. Shouldn’t be too hard to arrange.
Being in a good mood, I headed into town to look for films and clothes, found nothing, and came home. I got back here about three, watched a film, and then went to meet jen in the wes for dinner. And to top it off, I kind of just saw a lunar eclipse. All in all, a top day.