Archive | August, 2010

Sherlock Knows

11 Aug

A brief lesson in grammar from my favourite incarnation of Sherlock Holmes.  General population of Doncaster please take note.


Check in/Check up

10 Aug

Veteran readers of my blog (all three of you) will be familiar with the museum volunteer work I have been doing over the summer holiday.  After a long weekend in Mike’s home-town of Beverley, spent eating, drinking wine and watching Mad Men, my shift helping out with Egyptian afternoon came as rather a shock to my lethargic system. It was BUSY. And there was paint. After three hours of running around like a maniac, I was beginning to wish it had been me that had drawn the short straw and been the one who got mummified. At least that would have only required lying in a box.  I don’t mean to sound like a grouch though, I really do enjoy it, just not the fact that I am totally ready for bed at half past six.

After a rather too hasty cycle home (my poor, unprepared thighs…), I had barely sat down to my salad sandwich and copy of The Times before my mum made me take my cat to see the vet.  I have posted a photo of my cat on here before,  but because he is pretty much my favourite living creature, I am going to post another one.

If you don't like him, then I don't like you.

Normally, I would let my parents take him for his cat check ups.  But apparently my hypochondria does not limit itself to my own well-being any more, as I had, with the help of Google, convinced myself my beloved Sam had either cat AIDS (bad) or Cat Leukaemia (really bad), due to some discolouring in his eyes.  According to my somewhat bemused vet, this is merely a sign of getting old, which is something I did not see on any of the cat pervert forums I was reading when I made my extreme diagnosis.  Maybe I should apply this discovery to my own anxious symptom Googling, and realise that these people are also freaks who think they have diseases, so it is probably not in my best interests to listen to them.  Anyway, my cat lives to see another day, which pleases me greatly, because a life without him occasionally biting my dad seems like a far more depressing one.

Speaking of Beverley, albeit much earlier in this post, I picked up such a wonderful magazine while I was there.  I had never heard of it before, but it is apparently onto its second edition, and is created in London.  It is called Oh Comely, and the closest equivalent to it, that I can think of, is the American fashion magazine Lula.  I really recommend looking at the website as it has a lot of information about the magazine, links to their Facebook and Twitter accounts, and a blog that is far more interesting, and far more regularly updated, than mine.

I apologise for that terrible photograph, but I blame the limitations of my camera phone.  As if the simple cover wasn’t appealing enough, the writing reads: ‘We planted a garden, baked some white chocolate and peanut butter cookies, found the best views of the city, weaved a rosette from ribbons and photographed some pretty clothes.‘  How these people found a list of my favourite things I don’t know, but I am more than delighted that they did.  The idea behind Oh Comely, is that it is ‘a magazine for curious people.  People who can’t look at an object without wondering about the people who made it, why they made it, and what their lives were like.’ These are certainly notions I can get behind, particularly when they feature my favourite violin-touting musician Owen Pallett, and an article on how to learn to love tomatoes (not something I have struggled with).  I don’t know how much success I am going to have in tracking down the next issue what with my North Eastern existence, so am considering losing my magazine subscription virginity for a very worthy cause.  My grandma used to get me CosmoGirl when I was 14, but I’m not sure that really counts…

Last but not least, I came online today to find that this here blog had been discovered by the nice folk of the Newcastle University Alumni Association, who had tweeted about me and featured me on their facebook page, all because of my polo shirt modelling a few weeks ago.  Obviously I went bright red, but was secretly thrilled with my new found internet fame.  I will bring a batch of chocolate concrete to your office any time!

This week, I love…

5 Aug

… Julianne Moore in Boogie Nights.

(All images found on Google Images, I wish I owned them, but I don’t.)

Late ’70s porn has never looked so good.

The time plus eight

4 Aug

For the last two days I have been working at my local museum, assisting the education officers with their summer events for children.  Amongst other tasks like handing out worksheets, my main job has been to adorn small children with Roman costumes, whilst desperately trying not to touch any bit of them in case I get taken to prison.  This has been, overall, a great success, first and foremost, because kids love costumes and their parents had joygasms seeing their dear offspring in helmets and armour.  I have heard the expression ‘Mummy’s little soldier’ more times than I would care to recall.  HOWEVER, I know very little about the Romans.  This wasn’t an issue in general, as I would say the words fort and battle and most people at least pretended to be impressed, but one or two small boys had been reading their Horrible Histories books a little too closely for my liking, and saw straight through my bluffing.  After some sceptical looks and a few too many questions, I managed to play my trump card (‘Did you know the Romans called this armour lorica segmentata? SEGMENTED ARMOUR!!’) and grab their mums to take photos, but it was touch and go for a while.  Next week: Eygptians.  I am definitely scheduling in a Wikipedia session or two before hand to avoid humiliation in front of the under-tens becoming a weekly occurrence.

Being at the museum has proved a nice distraction from missing my friend Steph too badly.  She has a blog, which you can find here, that she is keeping about her time in Japan.  The internet and the prospect of letter writing are presently keeping me satisfied, but I find myself adding eight hours to the time here several times a day to think about what she might be doing.  Despite having more to do than normal, this song has been cropping up in my consciousness rather more often than I would like:

Fortunately, before my head needs to get too acquainted with the inside of an oven, I have a few jaunts planned in the near future, including a visit to one of my favourite local-ish attractions, Yorkshire Sculpture Park , a trip to see Mike in Beverley, and finally, an eagerly anticipated long weekend in my relatively new flat in Newcastle.   I have pretended to be a proper grown up for a while, and have arranged for Virgin to come out and connect me to the internet when I get there, for I fear disastrous consequences if I was ever to be left to my own devices in an internet/tvless flat for more than a few hours.  I might, God forbid, have to leave it to seek entertainment.

I had toyed with taking this rusting delight up on the train with me, but I think, as I’ll realistically need to take up a suitcase, it may be wholly ill advised.

I have just realised how obvious it is which wheel I have cleaned properly… I got tired after one!  I also made the mistake of taking the chain off to clean all the gunk out of the gears and the other parts that I don’t know the names of, which resulted in an only moderately clean bike, and a very dirty, tearful me, being handed a pot of Swarfega (one of my childhood fears) by my dad before I was allowed to come anywhere near the house.  Needless to say, this bike is definitely a work in progress.  But I love it dearly, despite all the abuse I face from small boys on cool bikes when I ride it around Doncaster.  I just need a basket and some road confidence and I should be sorted for a quick commute into university each day next year.

To conclude this rather information-heavy post, this is a link to my favourite new Arcade Fire song, Sprawl II (Mountains beyond mountains).  As my friend Katherine rightly noted, it sounds like Arcade Fire meets Heart of Glass, which cannot possibly be a bad thing. The peanut butter/jam combo of music, some might say.