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

*EXPLANATION OF UNI BUILDINGS*

(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...

WE ARE TRYING TO LEARN!!!

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,

Sheila

This blog is about gaming, my very limited knowledge of gaming (It references Halo and Mortal Kombat... just thought I'd warn you).

Last Monday I played a gig in London. I went on my own, and after sound checking sat at a table by myself. I had my phone stuck to my hand and it's screen fixed to Facebook.

However, a nice guy approached me and said:

"your voice is sik bruv, just had to tell ya!"

I'm not 100% taking the piss, it was really nice of him to come over, but whenever someone speaks to me with those sort of words, I suddenly feel like I should mimic it, and when I wisely don't, the words that do come out seem so pronounced and posh:

I probably replied with something like:

"Aw, thanks for saying so"

But in my head I heard:

"Why thank you kind sir, your compliments have been heard and are highly appreciated."

There was a bit of an awkward silence, I looked back to Facebook. No new notifications. His friend then came over and they started talking about the game Sky Rim.

My ears pricked up... I could kind of contribute to this conversation... I said:

"I was thinking of buying my boyfriend SkyRim"

He says:
"Guuuuuuuurl, if you buy him SkyRim, you gunna be single for montts, he aint gunna ave time to to see youuuu, I got tree hours sleep last night cos of dat game bruv!"

I wanted to reply:
"yea boii, you get me cos I wana treat im all nice and shiiit an I erd the gams sik but if e ain't gunna see me den nooo way blud!!"

...

I didn't reply like that, but we did get into a conversation about gaming. I realised at this point that because of my current and previous boyfriends, I actually have a small amount of knowledge about gaming.

For example... I know that at most games... I am a n00b, and therefore not 1337!

For those of you who don't understand this:

noob means you're crap

1337 i.e Leet i.e Elite, means your fecking awesome.

The word n00b brings back a memory of my first boyfriend who attempted to get me into Halo. It didn't work. I tried but I literally was one of those people who ended up staring at the floor or the ceiling (take your pick) wandering in circles and not being able to crouch jump for the life of me. This said boyfriend was so obsessed that at one fancy dress party, we spent days gluing cardboard together creating the armour of Master Chief and he modified a motorbike helmet complete with working light and switch to complete his costume.

As he was going as Master Chief... I went as Cortana.

For those of you who don't know who or what she is, Cortana is a blue hologram lady with not much left to the imagination. Google her! What I will tell you is I needed a light blue catsuit and a dark blue fabric pen and not much else!

I've never actually owned a console, the only thing I have ever owned is a gameboy advance, yet due to friends I have enjoyed Grand Theft Auto and runninng over defenseless pedestrians, I have enjoyed hitting zombies with benches in Dead Rising and recently decapitating fighters in Mortal Kombat.

All of the above makes me sound like a very violent person =/

I have come to the conclusion that if I was brought up with game consoles that I would not now have a life, but I have also realised, I think, given the chance, I'd be very good at it. For the last few months I have been in a relationship with someone who has introduced me to the wonders of the Playstation 3... I will now admit to you that the entirety of this blog has just been one massive ploy to get someone to buy me a that console, so I can continue to "FINISH HIM" with a "FATALITY" and perhaps get a "FLAWLESS VICTORY".

So please,

PLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSEEEEE!

for my sake, buy me a PS3!

Toodle Pip,

Sheila x

Brian Blessed in the Eighties, an amphibian and missing home.

At the beginning of the week, I went to Kingston-upon-Thames for a few days. I spent one of those days with a best friend of mine. She is a curly haired American with the same depressing humour as me. We've spent many hours in a coffee shop, sipping on some hot beverage discussing the following topics:

-Why skin coloured leggings exist - at all? They have no desirable or practical purpose.

- Why it seems every time we have found a quiet spot in the library, a massive group of loud, outrageous students will sit at a computer next to us and discuss how Sheniqua was waaaaaaasted last night bruv!

I actually quote this word for word from a student sitting next to me:

"Yeah that all good bruv but I'm hitting it up to second floor now innit to do maths"

Me: (silently inside)

aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!

Anyway me and my curly haired friend had decided to go to the National Archives. A place where you can view over 11 million historical documents. We had never been there before so walk through the entrance completely confused about what we are meant to do next.

We walk up to a reception desk to be served by someone I can only describe as a guy who resembled the merging of Hugh Grant and a cod. We didn't know if he was somehow beautiful or just an intimidating amphibian! He directs us to the second floor desk where we meet the next crazy National Archive resident.

At the desk were two people, on the right there was a Chinese lady who looked perfectly normal, on the left was a Man with a grey curly mullet tied into a ponytail.

We get served by him.

The room is completely silent and my friend almost whispers:

"I'd like to take out some documents please..."

He responds by talking with the volume and vigour of Brian Blessed.

"WELL IF YOU SIT AT THE COMPUTER OVER THERE..."

I was there for support really, I didn't need to view any documents and a pretty bench outside surrounded by geese, ducks and swans had my name on it. I still had my journal and pen in hand, eighties Brian Blessed turned to me and said:

"You aren't allowed pens."

I said:
"Oh I'm not taking any documents out, I'm sitting outside after this."

He responds:
"You still aren't allowed pens"

He points behind me

"There are lockers there for you to put it in"

So I have to walk over to a locker and place my journal and pen inside it for the ten minutes while my friend books her documents at the computer.

After this wacky day at The National Archives, I wander around London and remember truly how much I've missed it. I go to the V & A museum and view an exhibition on post modernism, then next stop St. James Park. It was already dark so I could only make out the silhouettes of ducks while I walked through. I hear Big Ben strike six times, walk through Parliament Square, see the Millennium Wheel in the distance and cross the road towards it. I take this picture and sit by the river.

In front of me the wheel turns peacefully, some boats sail past, behind me Embankment Station bustles and cars are tooting, their engines in overdrive. It feels like I'm in two different places at once.

When I came back to Essex a few days later, I didn't actually feel that bad. I'd started to miss home which on most counts doesn't happen, normally by the time the train has reached Stratford I start to see the familiar Essex stereotypes and want to turn back around, but it was sunny, and I was actually looking forward to stepping off the train at Southend Victoria.

London only stays appealing to me because I don't drown myself in it, because I was not brought up there, because it is so different from Southend-on-sea.

But sometimes, although I don't often admit it, it's fun to come back to a town where 'the nutter on the bus' will sit next to me, where it is normal to see a preaching christian, surrounded by emo's at the top of the high street and a clown overdue for retirement in the middle. Southend is crazy but full of character, and I wouldn't be this cynical or even be able to write this blog without those sorts of things.

Quite a sentimental ending I suppose...

Right I'm off to town to buy and then eat my weight in chocolate!

Toodle Pip!

x

It is 2012... so I've been told.

Word on the street is that 2011 is so last year. It has been status galore with dedications to an amazing 2011 (me included) or the alternative "do one 2011". People have been standing in doorways, checking their watches and tutting while 2011 packs his lonely bags, and before he's even had a chance to watch Jools Holland bust out a piano solo, 2012 has face palmed 2011, sat down on his couch, hand in pants with a bag of nachos with an arm round 2011's better half.

2012 shouts:

''get a beer love, the fireworks are about to start"

2011 leaves in the pouring rain while All by Myself plays softly in the background.

"...When I was young,

I never needed anyone..."

I did watch the fireworks as it goes and watched as millions of pounds burst into flames and smoke! I think a better start to the year would have been putting that money into something that actually counts. Here goes a "world peace" speech but as pretty as they were that money could have been put to much better use. For example, it could have gone to Davina's charity for the Ch4 Mash Up's Million Pound Drop. Her final question was:

"Which age group had the most babies in 2010, 29 and under or 30 and over"

Davina's remaining £50,000 pounds went down the 30 and over shoot as she ignored Jeremy Kyle's famous words of advice to every male aged 29 and under...

"YOU SHOULD HAVE PUT SOMETHING ON THE END OF IT!!"

I also watched the new live TV show The Bank Job, where George Lamb gets a buff looking man to put those muscles to good use by opening tiny boxes containing various amounts of cash. I'm not sure what the purpose of it being live or set in a real bank was. It wasn't realistic really, there was not a long queue of people looking at a screen waiting for the pre-recorded voice of "Window number 7 please" to speak, and no old dear staring blankly at envelopes only to find she's forgotten who the letter was for.

Back to New Year...another aspect of the New Year is the resolutions...

I don't think I've ever made one, not because I don't believe I can't improve but because it's effort thinking of any particular thing to do. In all honesty I have no preconceptions of what I think 2012 will hold, for now I shall simply try my best in what is a very unpredictable world.

I shall return shortly with a new blog but right now 2012 is demanding a six pack of beer for his back to back Top Gear episodes.

Untill next time...

Toodle Pip x

And it begins...

I've decided to start a blog, not to contribute any great knowledge to the world but because I enjoy writing and cynicism. They seem to be key ingredients for blog writing.

I am currently home for the university holidays and not going back for a month. One reason I'm creating this blog is due to that old rascal boredom. He often creeps up on me, actually screw that, he normally rugby tackles me to the ground, sits me on the sofa and then places my laptop into my hands. He forces me to play the 8 Ball Pool internet game or look at online comics. When I find one funny I look up to share it and find nobody else is in. I'll then tell one variety of cuddly toy that is sat beside me that "My parents will be home soon!"

Cue looking at the clock...

"only a few hours before Eastenders" I'll proclaim

"but what do I do after that?" I ask myself

"AND WHAT DO I DO IF IT'S A WEDNESDAY!"

PURE PANIC!

Why?

...

Because Wednesday is the day both Eastenders and Coronation Street are not scheduled on television! That is an hour of a day I otherwise would not have to fill.

I do try and be proactive, I look at volunteering vacancies about or other creative writing projects, I PROMISE I don't sit in my pajamas all day like a vegetable to find myself agreeing with Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women. BTW those women should not be loose, replace the first letter of loose with an 'N' and we're getting somewhere.

So, basically this blog is to try and entertain myself and hopefully others while I figure out what to do with days before starting back at university.

Of course when I've started back at university this blog will be full of rants how I have no free time, how I'm having to catch up on Eastenders on ipayer because I spent twelve hours straight on an English Lit essay. An essay where I've read none of the books for it and am relying on summaries and the satanic Wikipedia to get me 2.1 degree.

I shall end this blog with a cheerful anonymous quote I found amusing...

"Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die."

Until next time...

Sheila Lord