Thursday, 7 September 2017

Noel Fielding's Future Bakers

I've not been an avid follower of Bake Off, but I did tune in to watch Ch4 premiere their take on the show.

I was intrigued by Noel Fielding's presenting style, he spoke in the hushed tones of a child playing hide and seek. Perhaps he wasn't actually meant to be there at all, he just wanted to quietly offer advice to people before the production team discovered him and escorted him away:

"Don't tell them you forgot to squeeze the courgettes" 

"I see you Noel, now f*** off and stop using all our squirty cream!"

I long for an alternative universe where Naboo is a judge and Bollo the gorilla is trying desperately to make a batch of chocolate mini rolls. Tony Harrison asks him how he's feeling about it, and the whole show ends with Vince Noir and Howard Moon doing a futuristic rhyme to techno music:

Future bakers
We're future bakers
Electronic cake tin
Digital oven mit
Cyborg sponge cake
Tell me what you dream of
Future bakers
Oh yeah!

Those of you who are unaware of The Mighty Boosh, feel safe in the knowledge that all of the above will be gibberish to you, but be aware, that's probably my finest work since my creative writing degree.

I had not seen much of the series before when it was delivered by the BBC, and was surprised that 'illusion cake' are two words used in conjunction

I wanted so badly not to like it, I could hear my father say: why would you want a cake in the shape of a sandwich?

My father already complains that burgers are not served in buns, because buns have currants or are topped with icing. It is an inherent need of his to voice this each time we get one.

Burgers are served in baps! He says frustratedly.

I know dad, I know.

The illusion cakes were spectacular though, when one older lady produced a cake in the shape of a watermelon, complete with red sponge and chocolate chips, I was in awe. I am too selfish to cook that way. If I had the ability to bake a watermelon, I would Instagram the shit out of it and nobody would be allowed to eat it.

I genuinely said to my partner:

"If you're an artist and you paint, or a musician and you record a song, you have an end product you get to keep. But with cooking... You work so hard and with such precision and then at the end of it all, it just gets f****** eaten!!"

In no other creative hobby does something you make literally turn to shit. So I applaud creative cooks, I thank you for your selflessness. I am your willing friend in eating all your creations, and if you fancy coming to mine for dinner, I promise it tastes better than it looks.

Talking of creative hobbies, you can probably tell I'm trying to get back into them. I've written a lot of words here, I've picked up my guitar a few times and I sing along to the radio. So while this post is particularly short (some may also say sweet), I plan to pen more ridiculousness very soon.

Until then... enjoy some sailors, the futuristic kind!

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

Donks, Air-Drumming and Construction Workers.

It's been a while blog followers (hello dad) since I posted my last piece, nearly a year in fact. I could spend this entire blog summarising the events of the last year, but I'll choose to do it in a sentence:

I sang and drank a lot.

So to the present, music has been going exceedingly well* ...

*Exceedingly well (noun): A battenberg used to collect water. 
Example: "Mr. Kipling is standing by the exceedingly well."

... and I've been in a lot of sessions with music producers. One of which is a great friend of mine now, so I do mock him constantly, usually on his posh and polite disposition. In our last session we were talking about social media, and in a slip of the tongue he mixed up his letters and said something along the lines of: 'Yes I saw that on your fitter tweed'. I commented that this sounds like a hierarchy of tweed found only in the upmarket shops where he's from
 "Well you may have a tweed jacket sir, but I know for a fact its not the latest and most sought after fitter tweed that I possess".

       While I was waiting at Reading station to be picked up for this music session, I was cornered by a man collecting for Cancer Research. He asked how old I was but discovering I was 23 and therefore not old enough to take part didn't end the conversation. He said:

"Well, can I give you my number?"

"I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend."

"Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him eh?"

For cancers sake, I hope his ability to flirt inappropriately is as masterful as his ability to collect donations. To be fair to the guy it was better than the old rotund man who simply gruffed "''ello gorgeous" at me the other day in Farringdon. A similar breed to these types have been hanging around my management's office, there is still some building work to be done on the unit and so construction workers are there most of the time. They often like to engage with us ladyfolk through wolf whistling or gruffing 'alright darlin'. This type of behaviour does intrigue me. I wonder if they think they'll find a life partner this way, if they imagine having an anniversary celebration in the future, parking up outside the building site where they first met. They'd take a blanket, sit by some rubble, stare up at the scaffolding and the stars, share a bottle of Frosty Jack and look lovingly into each others eyes. Then Dave (there's always a Dave) would say:

 "Darling, I remember when I first set my eyes on you, and I thought, I must have her, and to think, if I hadn't have shouted, "get ya tits out for the lads" that nippy Tuesday, maybe we wouldn't be 'ere now."

Talking of poetic language. I was in with another producer working on some dance tracks. We don't like to use rhyming apps because they often come up with silly suggestions, but, alas, we were stuck, and trying to find a word for luck, so we thought, what's the worst it could come up with... well, these were some of its suggestions:

Yes it suggested...Vagina. I'm not sure how this rhyming app has ever suggested this, vagina is one of those unrhymable words, like orange or purple. I mean OK, unless you are writing a song about angina or China, then you're kind of at a loose end.... accidental pun there. I apologise for the imagery. 

I've been working on quite a few dance tracks at the moment, and I do sometimes struggle to write on something that is very much "donk" based. See below:

The above is what I imagine happened with Avicii's 'Hey Brother', a song I do really like, but I just can't help but envisage this scene where a hard core country and western band like Union Station go in to record their song, just their sweet harmonies and guitars, and a producer goes, "yeah that's banging but, where's the donk mate?" and sure enough, after some debate, they stick a donk on it and it goes into the Radio 1 chart. I have to admit though. It is sick mate.

On a completely different note. I air drummed for the first time the other night, and in front of an audience. I was down the discoteque one evening and the DJ announced that an electric drum kit was up for grabs in an air drumming competition. I, seemingly being the only woman to want to make a tit of herself, went forward for it. It was tense, there were six of us, we were required to go on to the stage in groups of three, the winners of those rounds, would then battle it out in a nail biting finale. 

I watched the first three go up. One participant instantly jumped off his seat when the music started, hitting the air wildly. He was the first to be eliminated for not adhering to the boundaries of the air drum kit. If it were real, there would been disastrous consequences, parts of drum kit would have been littered around the stage from his furious kicking and flailing. 

Before I knew it, it was my turn, but alas, one of the participants didn't show, another girl had to take his place. I was nervous, another female could be a threat, however, she decided instead of drumming, to throw her drumsticks into the crowd and dance provocatively instead. It was a bold move, but one that did not pay off. She was eliminated. I meanwhile hit my imaginary high hat and snare, head banged like a mad woman to "Fat Lip", every now and again I'd do a glorious drum solo, hitting all those toms and cymbals. I eventually won the heat.

I was ecstatic but now came the final. It was I and a long haired man, we shook each other's hands like good citizens and prepared for the air-drum of our lives. I waited for the music to start. It was Wipe Out. My feet went wild on my imaginary double bass pedal, my arms constantly hitting the toms before going to the standard snare and high hat to cymbal combo. Just when I thought I could drum no more, the music ended and there was no more I could do. The winner was decided by a crowd vote... and sadly friends... I did not win. Not for lack of passion might I add, but for not bringing enough loud friends to cheer for my cause. Do not be disheartened, for I had given the drum performance of my life, and the DJ, he had noticed. He found me at the bar, gave me what was essentially a "donk" compilation CD (win), a voucher for a free bottle of bubbly, and free entry for the next time I go. And now, just for your viewing pleasure... here I am partaking in the said activity:

And so on that note, or rather, air-thud I'll end this blog.

As my Grandad says:

Don't call me, I'll call you.

Seriously though, don't call me, I'm really not that fond of you.

All the best,


Sunday, 21 April 2013

The cleaning product guilt trip, a chorus of Polish men, and an abundance of nothing.


Reader discretion is advised if you are a parent with a grimy bathroom.
The continuation of this post may cause unending shame to those who are yet to have a toilet based epiphany regarding the well being of their children. 

With that done, I open my first blog of 2013 with a very serious message from a Toilet Duck advertisement:

"You do everything for your family



Yes, you may get your children to school on time, feed them a balanced diet, console them in times of trouble and read them their favourite bed time story... but Toilet Duck urges you to clean your fucking mess of a toilet, because no matter how much you do for your family, if you don't use their product to clean your bog so well you see the reflection of your own broken, desparing face in it, Toilet Duck cannot guarantee your child won't die at the hands of those terrifyingly abundant toilet related diseases.

I imagine scanning those leaflet holders in doctors surgeries. Somewhere among the "NHS Stop Smoking" and the "Do you know enough about your prostate?" there's just a side of A2 paper reading:


2013 continues to bring advertising companies with strange thought processes.

          In other news, a train driver travelling from London Liverpool Street to Southend Victoria, announced to myself and all the other passengers that he was no longer sexually aroused after saying we'd need to continue our journey at 20 miles an hour as he no longer had "the horn".

In actual fact it was on a snowy day in March, obviously the tiny flakes of doom had buggered up the wiring of the train and the warning horn that is sounded when the train is travelling at high speeds was now broken. It all reminded me greatly of a sketch by "Derek and Clive" aka a very inebriated Peter Sellers and Dudley Moore. If you have no idea who they are I urge you to YouTube "Derek and Clive - The Bible 1".

I get trains a lot now as I am often heading up to London for music related activities. So much so that a particular guy at the ticket office jokingly asks if my guitar has been stolen every time I don't have it with me. It's got to a point where he must have shared this with other staff members, as strangers dressed in National Rail uniforms also ask where my guitar is, I think I would attract less attention if my head was missing.

My guitar always seems to attract attention in one way or another. I had just finished a gig in London and was walking along from one underground station to the next when a group of Polish men came up behind me...

Polish Man 1: 
"Is that guitar? You play? Why not play for us yes?"

I smile politely but keep walking

"Yes it's a guitar but I can't play it right now."

Polish Man 1:
"Why not? You shy? Don't be shy."

Another man pipes up from the group and points at my feet
Polish Man 2:
"Your shoes!!"

"Sorry? Oh, you like my shoes?"

Polish Man 2: 
"I like everybody's shoes!!!"

The full chorus of Polish men:
"Yes, shoes, we love everybody's shoes."
*they laugh*

Bewildered at the how hilarious they find this, I approach a platform, the doors of a carriage are already open, they step into the same train as me, still laughing. Confused faces of typical Londoners surround me, something has disturbed the age old English tradition of keeping yourself to yourself. If you do not have access to a newspaper, book, or music listening device complete with headphones, then you must at least avoid eye contact with all the other passengers on board. It's only polite. The polish men do not know this though, and continue to say to me:

"So you will not play for us?"

I, slightly embarrassed now reply:
"No, sorry, I can't right now, getting off in a few stops time."

We reach the next stop... They ask me if I want to change my destined route to come with them.
    I reply:
"No thank you, but have a good time looking at shoes." 

I realise that nobody else on the carriage would have understood that reference and so join the tube tradition, I put headphones in my ear and block out all other noise with the sound of Newton Faulkner. 

London Liverpool Street station always gives me a sense of relief, I know it's the last train home for me. If it's light enough I always keep a look out for a certain building. Near to Harold Wood station is an office block with one word spelled out in black letters across the top

I inventively call it The Bates Building. 

As childish as it may be, I look out for this building every time, in the hope that one day a billboard will be planted on the roof with one simple word written on it:


As far as graffitti goes, that's like a black belt version of drawing something phallic on your friends notebook at school. It beats random swear words sprayed across walls, this specifically sends a message that these offices are dedicated to giving you space to grow...

OK, enough innuendo: noun (in-your-end-o).

I'll bring this post to a close by sharing this with you.... Tomorrow I am going to the theatre to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show, so I'll leave you with one of my favourite passages of speech from the show:

Dr. Frank-N-Furter:
 ...You will discover that when the mood takes me, I can be quite generous.

 I ask for nothing, master.

Dr. Frank-N-Furter: 
And you shall receive it, IN ABUNDANCE!  


Saturday, 29 December 2012

A Reasonable Amount of Lemons.

I thought I should fit in one last blog before the ending two of 2012 levels up.

 So Christmas came around and turkey slapped us in the face. I swear a few weeks ago it was October and moaning that the Christmas decorations were out before the pumpkins and now... Santa and Rudolf are dieting crazily to get over their varied diet of mince pies and hard liquor. I say that as if its normal to everyone, but maybe it was only in my household where every year Santa would want a glass of whiskey to ease his chimney journeys...  stumbling about the house with presents before a child sees Santa drunkenly snogging the face of their own mother. A nice song but that child is probably dressed festively in white in a mental institution now.

"I saw mummy kissing Santa Clause..."
"Of course you did, now take your medication like a good boy."

I've always been more of a fan of New Year than Christmas, even as a child I was a cynic. I used to get particularly irate about the song "Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer". I never thought it was enough that he got to guide Santa's sleigh, me being one of those rather lonely children, I related to the plight of Rudolf and thought he should get more of a reward than not having to see several other reindeer butts in front of him as they were whipped through the sky. It annoyed me how flippant the other reindeers were, after the approval of Santa, oh how they loved him, how gleeful they all were... Yes, if I was Rudolf, I would have gone down in history, but for the crime of mounting a number of reindeer heads on wooden boards under a banner of "whos laughing and calling names now shitheads!"

. . . . . .

I digress, so now the festive period is over and it is on to the New Year. The first ever blog I posted was about the New Year, I remember saying what a great year 2011 had been. So how does 2012 compare?

It was been much more of a mixture I have to say:

1) I graduated from University, walking out of the venue to "We Are the Champions" being played over the speakers (nice touch Kingston). 

2) After a break up, I re-integrated with friends I never should have left and started attending the legendary Wednesday mid-week pub. (If you can't reach me on a Wednesday past 8... Go to The Elms, I'll be there somewhere).

4) I went to Amsterdam, where a friend and I introduced cheesy chips to the chef of our hotel and two Danish boys, who incidentally kicked our butts at pool. I also realised how lucky I am while I was there. (Forgot that for a while since coming back)

5) I got a job, then they relocated... so lost the job, I signed on, got told I had another job by a manager of a cafe, I signed off, manager tells me I don't actually have the job, sign on again, start volunteering, get a call about an interview, go to the interview, don't get the job... so currently, continuing to volunteer. Which - to actually break my cynicism for a moment - is so rewarding and enjoyable and has renewed my faith in people being decent :)

6) And lastly... I've started to make music a feasible career path... and it is an unbelievably amazing feeling ^_^

Sooo... all in all it has been an interesting year, but I think I prefer interesting to "happy", gives me things to write about, and sing about, so lemon trees should throw the occasional offspring at me from time to time... its good for me.

So to  2013... I wish for a reasonable amount of lemons.

Have a good one cynicisers.


Monday, 1 October 2012

John West, single life and those bitches that be crazy.

It has once again been a while since I have written words which follow each other to create sentences  (hopefully witty ones).

Since my last blog, you should be glad to know I have managed to stay alive and successfully age. I am now the grand age of 22.

With an extra year of experiences, my cynicism has also increased.

For example... TV adverts. I am unemployed now so watch a lot of crap TV, with crap TV comes crap adverts.

One advert that has annoyed me, I only saw today...

It is a John West advert that states if you type the code on the top of the tin into their website, then you can see exactly where that fish was taken from.

The factor that annoyed me most about this was the fact that fisherman have many other more important things to concentrate on. Its' a pretty damn dangerous job, and I would think the last thing on their minds would be to tag all these flippin' fish (no pun intended) with individual tin codes.

I scoffed at the advert thinking that nobody would bother doing this anyway, most peoples concerns when buying tinned fish is not, where the fish came from, but to where it is going, which is from the tin and inside their mouths. However, when trying to research this little paragraph of cynicism, I attempted to go on the John West website, to which I am getting the message "Problem loading page". I can only assume this is due to the sheer mighty volume of people now trying to locate the original place of their fish. So my sincerest of apologies goes out to Mr. West. Sorry dude.

I think perhaps it is only fair the fish get something similar. They can be given codes by wildlife  conservationists, these codes link to the location of different fishing boats, and when they come near, the fish can swim the hell out of there and instead have salmon chanted evenings. BA DUM DUM CHA! Yay for puns.

Another annoying advert is at the courtesy of Debenhams.

A woman clad in Debenhams sale clothing, leaves what I assume is the previously stated shop with a friend. The woman pauses, and to her total non surprise, a cute man with a two seater bicycle has been waiting for her. He smiles at her in that "I own a two seater bicycle, hop on cutie" kind of way. The woman dressed in new bought clothing, (I presume with the tags still attached in case the man found her to look cheap and nasty) then waves to her friend and rejects her for the indie boy with an extra bicycle seat.

If the incentive of the advert is to make women think that if they walk out wearing their sale catalogue, cute guys will wait outside with various method of transport that couples can use, then fair enough. When I next  come out of Debenhams I expect a cute guy wearing the top end of a two person horse costume to smile at me subtly, wanting me to be his other half, in both meanings.

Talking about attracting the opposite sex, something else that has changed in real life and in the Facebook world, is my relationship status.

"Sheila Lord is now single."

I think there should be multiple versions of this status for the various types of reactions people receive or want from it.

"So and so is now single - and no, she doesn't want to talk about it, so leave her the fuck alone until she emerges from her duvet cave."

"So and so is now single. - she wants all her friends to leave various comments asking if she is OK so she can outpour all her emotions in one giant comment"

"So and so is now single. - and is now looking for a quickie which she think will resolve her problems but will ultimately make her feel worse. So and so is probably aware of this."

"So and so is now single - one of her besties needs to buy wine and pizza and come round and bitch with her about men, make her laugh when she is crying and make her eat Ben and Jerry's, meanwhile making the predictable joke they are the only two men she will ever ever need ."

I would have chosen the last status option :)

Break ups suck but single life, once adjusted, really is quite freeing, I realised I haven't been properly single in a long while and it's actually nice concentrating on myself for once. Due to single life I have found the following has happened...

Here are things I find myself doing more:

- Talking to myself
- Talking to others
- Talking to others about how all men suck

 (Now by all men, I don't mean "all men", because most of my best friends are men, but a certain percentage of men are douches, as are women... but I shall be addressing that in more detail later)

- Actively trying to look like some sort of attractive being
- Watching more of Dave before bed (the channel, not a man who lives opposite leaving his curtains slightly ajar)
- Actually going out and actively finding things I have not yet done. I recently paid my first ever visit to London Zoo and am soon to be flying out on my first ever trip to Amsterdam!

On the contrary, here are the things I find myself doing less:

- Ignoring my friends... sad fact of life is when I am in a relationship, I don't see my friends as much as I should.
- Playing Mortal Kombat, something that upsets me greatly
- Being paranoid of my actions as a girl, and in conjunction with that...
- Being an emotional wreck...

(here comes the bit about woman douches...)

I am a woman, it is therefore programmed into me to read into every little thing a guy I like does...

I, as hopefully an advanced 2.0 make of woman, tries to recognise the instabilities of my stupidly wired brain... it looks similar to those activity tables you used to find in doctor receptions. Google it. You'll agree.

While I am able to recognise the crazyness of my reactions, it does not mean I hold the ability to stop it.

For example:

 ... when a fat stranger falls over, my brain recognises I should not laugh until the said person is out of ear shot, still, something in my brain makes me erupt with laughter when they are directly in front of me, face first on the pavement. You try to control it, however, fucked up doctor receptionist toy brain won't have any of that... You're laughing at a fat guy while they're down... blocking the rest of your destined walk.

So yeah, I may recognise I am being an irrational, "Heeeere's Johhny" type of woman, axeing my way through any kind of rationality door... I however can't often stop it, or admit it. Deal with it...Thanks.

So... now we have established that bitches be crazy and certain 2012 adverts annoy me... I shall leave you until my next out pour, which will probably be next year.

Toodle pip cynicisers! x

Thursday, 14 June 2012

Life: Level Two

So I finished university.

I wrote a tonne of words...
about various different subjects...
for three years...

Soon I'll get a small piece of paper...
with considerably less words written on it...
It may as well be reduced to the following:

Dear Sheila,

This piece of paper confirms you are ready. Ready to do what people were already doing three years ago, people who did not go to university.
We wish you well and hope you enjoyed your time with us.

Kingston University

So it seems once I get this piece of paper dressed in a cape and hat, I shall be ready for Life: Level Two.

I have already started walking hand in hand with with the Mario brothers, jumping over turtle shells and looking for those floating stars that give a shit load of energy. In their absence I have been drinking lucozade.

I have actually been less of a bum than I thought. I did download theme hospital and play it solidly for two weeks. I was important in that virtual world. I was the savior of many people with bloated heads and long tongues. I was given several hospitals to run due to my brilliant reputation and skill. I had a huge sense of achievement, that is until I would close the game down, remember I was under the same duvet I woke up under and still in my pajamas.

It was time to get a job.

So now I work in customer services selling sunglasses. You are introduced to a variant of different personalities when in this field. Some people e-mail you pictures of their self admittedly large heads and ask what would best suit them. Some people wait until you've placed their order, taken payment and then ask "These are genuine, right?" ... I am tempted to reply... "Oh sorry, no this particular pair you have chosen I got from the market next door."

It's alright though this working malarkey. Weekends are something I look forward to now rather than just being two extra days in which to watch Scrubs. Something that has come with this job is getting up early enough for the breakfast news.

I never paid that much attention to the news, but recently I've been enlightened on many different topics. One such being, that the hose pipe ban may be lifted, this is due to the fact officials are finally realising England is actually a very wet place. I watched this morning as a young boy stood knee deep in water, unconvincingly lying that he was disappointed he could not go to school.

A female news reporter nodded sympathetically to the boys fibs, afterwards she paused, and then smiled.

The camera zoomed out to show the reporter with wellies up to her knees. Something blue came into shot while she said "Well, we have a surprise for you..."

From round the corner two burly men on a blue canoe rowed in.

"There you go, you can now go to school, what do you think of that?"

A shocked and not too pleased young boy, was then shuffled on to the boat before being rowed away by two men who look like they should have sunk it already.

On the upside I'm sure the boy would have got a glowing attendance report, on the down side, I believe the headmaster was too busy skinny dipping with dolphins to give a shit about that.

Anyway, times are a changing, I'm working the 9 - 5, ain't it a way to make a living!

But thankfully Dolly, I am getting by, It is not all taking and no giving...

But I have still lost my mind...

Though, wouldn't life would be far more boring if I found it.

Toodle Pip!

Friday, 24 February 2012

long time no cynicism...

Hard to believe my last blog was over a month ago now, how have you all coped? I do apologise but I'm afraid that is the cost of doing a degree. I lie, it's actually £30,000 of debt but I'll save that blog for when univeristy is over, I'm unemployed and watching re-runs of everything on Dave from morning til night. I'm a glass half empty kind of girl.

So I'm back at Univeristy and feel I should share a few of my experiences since returning.

1) The Elevator.

There are five floors in the main building so of course we have elevators, however, there is an unwritten rule that if your lecture is on the first or second floor, you should take a hike and go up the stairs... this is mostly because it makes a lot of fecking sense. I have encountered it many times, "idiot student" disobeying this rule and pressing the dreaded floor 1 or 2. The atmosphere changes when this happens. It's normally less than cosy anyway, we are all squeezed in so tightly, that under the right circumstances we can all merge and resemble an uglier Jabba the Hutt, this Jabba however holds a can of red bull and a packet of Pro-Plus.

Last week I get in the lift, the doors are about to close, when a girl, a generic "idiot student", gets in at the last minute and presses floor 1. We all look at each other with a vengeful rage in our eyes, but we refrain from chaining the precious princess and forcing her to be our slave.

"Idiot student" gets out at floor 1 to the tuts and evil eyes of the rest of us, but when the doors shut again, the lift doesn't move. We all stare at each other awkwardly hoping the lift hasn't broken down, we press all the buttons a few times to no avail. Awkward laughter prevails, suddenly the door opens up again, another person gets in... and presses floor 2. Thankfully the lift works as normal, but this isn't the end of the story. In the short time we were stranded on floor 1 I noticed something that I had forgotten about. While looking at other flustered students pressing all available buttons, I noticed the brand name of our elevators. With no word of a lie... that name is...

Schindlers Lifts.

I was smiling inside so much at this that "Idiot Student" number two did not get evils from me, I cannot speak for the rest of Jabba though.

2) The Fire Alarm

We have fire alarms, they are annoying in their own right, however, what makes it worse is the last few have rang while I've been in the library cafe, not during a lecture I dislike. There is a routine after hearing the fire alarm which is as follows:

- Ignore it and hope it stops
- Look around at your fellow peers, all who look as lost as you do
- Murmur to yourself or a friend something like "is this for real?"
- Have some sort of authoritative figure confirm it is for real
- pack your stuff up slowly and make your way outside to a court yard

(Between the library and the main building is a court yard,
an open air part where we congregate when a fire alarm persists)

What normally happens now is students cluster in this area waiting for the noise to stop. One particular time, my friend and I had been chatting over a coffee in the library, and had decided we wanted muffins, as soon as we went to make this thought a reality, the fire alarm had started and we had been forced out of place of education. For those of you who watch YouTube, it was like the Univeristy of Lincoln, my friend and I both shouting...


After reaching the courtyard and being thoroughly annoyed we could not get a chocolate muffin, our eyes fell upon a small lady guarding two double doors. These double doors are just one of three entrances back into the library. This small lady stands in front of these doors, with a determined look, hands on hips with a face that says

"You've got another thing coming bitches if you want to come through these doors and study"

I had a sudden rush of wanting to charge at her, but resisted. Eventually the fire men came and confirmed that all along it was a false alarm. The angry lady moves from her spot and my friend and I manage to get back to the library cafe. After all of this, they didn't have any chocolate muffins.

Anyway... It's dawning on me slowly I have three months at most left at university, and despite the fire alarms and inappropriately named lifts, I'm really going to miss it.

So there's nothing left to do but enjoy every last minute of it.

Toodle Pip,