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A Ramble

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Warning: This post was published more than 13 years ago.

I keep old posts on the site because sometimes it's interesting to read old content. Not everything that is old is bad. Also, I think people might be interested to track how my views have changed over time: for example, how my strident teenage views have mellowed and matured!

But given the age of this post, please bear in mind:

  • My views might have changed in the 13 years since I wrote this post.
  • This post might use language in ways which I would now consider inappropriate or offensive.
  • Factual information might be outdated.
  • Links might be broken; embedded material might not appear properly.

Many thanks for your understanding.

It seems like a while since I last posted, so it’s time for a good old ramble, methinks.

It surprises me that so few students drink. Before I went to uni, I thought that everybody drank, a thought reinforced by Freshers’ Week (generally organised by those who spend their lives in the union bar). But actually, having done a kind of straw poll recently, at least a good third of people at uni are teetotal, and another good third drink only very occassionally (like me). Of my fairly close friends, two are teetotal, three drink occassionally and in moderate amounts and one drinks occassionally but more often than most of us (but she’s an army girl, so I suspose it’s to be expected).

The aforementioned Army Girl (given our love of acronyms on the LBSC, let’s call her AG) wants to take me parachute jumping next year, which should be fantastic – I’ve always wanted to throw myself out of a plane. It was on my ’99 Things’ list.

I’m currently on Happy Holidays, but have to return to uni for most of this week to do some bits and pieces, which include attending an Anger Management course on Tuesday afternoon. I’m not really the ‘angry type’, though, so I think they’ll have to antagonise me a fair amount before I have anything to learn how to manage. Having said that, after a four hour Bank Holiday train ride, I might be ready to kill someone. It’s also going to be mildly depressing returning to uni when everyone else is at home, as it’ll probably be only me and the security guard (who thinks I’m completely insane, by the way) left there.

I am now trying to find a job for the summer, which is a mindnumbingly depressing task. I’m trying for something in the medical sector first of all, if I don’t have any luck there then I’ll have to move on to something else, I suspose, and I’m fairly worried that I might end up in retail again. And given that I draw that line at hardware stores, anything that deals with food (restaurants, supermarkets, ice-cream shops, etc), animals or children, or any kind of superstore, my options are going to be fairly limited. Maybe I should just become a fantastically famous TV star, renowned for my wit, good looks and honesty.

American Idol has finished, and Fantasia won. She was undoubtedly the best singer, but definitely not my kind of music unfortunately. She has a raspy, Macy-Gray-esque tone to her voice, which clearly many people think is great, but drives me to distraction.

And talking of driving, I have a car. Woo hoo. Luckily, it’s automatic so I won’t have to get used to using gears again – my mum’s car, which I have been borrowing, is automatic, so I haven’t driven in a manual since I passed my test. A apparently unique side-effect of me driving is that I sing while I do it. I never, but NEVER, sing, EXCEPT when I’m driving. I never notice I’m doing it, but then with my driving skill, I don’t notice a lot. Certainly not the white lines in car parks. I park like a woman. There, I’ve said it.

Shaving Foam – why the hell does anybody use it? I haven’t for a long time, as I use oil instead. I’d never really thought much of it until somebody asked me what the oil in my bathroom was for (bear in mind that it does say Shaving Oil on the bottle), and didn’t realise that it was available. Fair play, she also thought I used an electric razer, which I do from time-to-time, but wasn’t it fairly obvious? Or was it some sort of sexual cue that I missed? Or was she just trying to imply that I needed a shave?

Anyway, back to my point about foam. It’s messy, comes in impracticly large cans, gets absolutely everywhere, is stupidly overpriced and probably bad for your skin (though I’m actually just making that last point up, as I have no idea whether or not it is). So that’s the foam rant over.

Finance rant: I still don’t understand why everybody wants to give me money…except Barclays. Perhaps they’re just tight. Or perhaps they actually expect me to ask them to give me extra cash, rather than me just expecting to get it.

Somebody stopped me in the street the other day, offering me something or other to do with the British Heart Foundation, thinking I was over 25. If I look over 25, then I must be doing something drastically wrong. Perhaps this year has been more stressful that it seemed. Even one of the girls I’m moving in with thought I was 22 or 23. I’m beginning to think I should get the Oil of Ulay out or something. I’ll be a qualified doctor by them time I’m 25, and I’m not there yet (quite).

I was offered a sexual activity the other day (by text message) that I didn’t understand. Now I thought I was relatively well informed on such matters, but I had to consult Google for a translation. I don’t remember what the word was, but the rough translation was outdoor swinging. Another Google search later, and I think the word might have been ‘Dogging’. So there you are, now you know.

There was a plan in the pipeline for me and some of my friends to go on a weekender to Dublin, but I think it might have kind of been cancelled, which is depressing. Maybe I should go on an LBSC Tour instead, visiting everyone who posts. But then that’s probably not a good idea, I don’t think my posts on here really paint a very good picture of me. I think there’s a fair chance people would actively avoid me, of course. Or if I visited JRC first, he’d probably hold me hostage Avid Merrion style for the Weekend.

I have become a Tea Freak. I always used to mock people like me, who had more than one kind of tea. And yet I have boxes of Whittard of Chelsea Breakfast Tea, TeaDirect Tea (the cheap stuff I give to other people – cruel, but at least I’m honest), and three kinds of Tetley Plus (which sounds like a street name for a method of taking drugs, though is actually a range of Tetley tea with stuff added – which, thinking about it, still sounds like a method of taking drugs, but I think you get the picture). The worrying thing is, I can actually TASTE the difference between all five kinds.

I would say I’d redesigned my website, but that’s taking it a bit far. It’s more of a ‘tweak’, really, implementing CSS rather than using HTML tables for layouts. Though the change does mean that the site changes its look much more significantly throughout the day, from Breakfast’s yellow scheme (5am-10am) to the Late version (10pm-5am), which is very dark. And of course the normal version (10am-10pm), which is the same light blue as always.

Vodafone are feeling generous lately. I phoned them to ask if I could change my tarriff, because my line rental includes very few text messages and I wanted more. And the lovely person said she’d just add 50 more a month on for free. So that made me happy.

I’m always surprised by how many people tell me I look good in a shirt. Are they intentionally implying that I look like a slob the rest of the time? I admit that I do, wearing (as ever) jeans and a fleece almost every day. My wardrobe has very little variation. Maybe I should wear shirts more often. Or maybe I should start wearing my suit more.

My only problem is that I don’t like wearing a tie. Or more specifically, I don’t think I own any ties that particularly suit me. And yet everyone says they DO suit me. This is why my clothes shopping always has to be done in the prescence of a woman (though I suspose a gay guy would do just as nicely).

I don’t think disabled people should be allowed to park on double-yellow lines. They are generally there for safety so why should people be allowed to park on them (the lines, not the cripples)? Surely this just creates a dangerous situation for everyone else! I also object to them being given free parking – I think that they should have to make a standard contribution, even if it is less than other people because it takes them longer to get their shopping done, for example. It annoys me when non-disabled people park in disabled parking spaces at supermarkets, though.

It also annoys me when people drive practically in my boot, because I’m not breaking the speed limit. I’m not a perfect driver, and speed limits are far from perfect, but that’s no reason to exceed them. Exceed the limit and you get a fine. As I’ve said before, and I’ll say it again, people complain when they’re caught a little over the speed limit, yet no-one has sympathy with those caught a little over the drink-drive limit.

Which brings us seamlessly back to the fact that fewer people that I had assumed drink alcohol actually do so. It really couldn’t have finished up better if I’d planned it.

Originally posted on The LBSC

This 96th post was filed under: Headliner.






More posts worth reading

What I’ve been reading this month (published 3rd September 2017)

What I’ve been reading this month (published 5th August 2017)

What I’ve been reading this month (published 10th July 2017)

Sir Trev ‘scoops’ Bush interview (published 30th June 2005)

Diary for 18th October 2008 (published 18th October 2008)

Hasta la vista, Longhorn (published 22nd July 2005)

The tragic death of Rose Tombe (published 3rd May 2007)


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