Small Thoughts About The World At Large

Lacking...

2006-01-21T19:24:00.000Z

I've not written anything in here in ages. That's because I've not written anything I would consider worth reading in ages. I've no time and equally no inspiration for my writing, hence a total lack of new stories. Bleugh.

Longing for the Darkness

2005-05-05T12:46:00.000Z

Sometimes it hits me at my desk. When I'm at work I can feel it coming, creeping upon me slowly, taking over my head from within. It's best when it comes then, I can take a deep breath and drink of water and I can't even cry. If it's worse I can walk slowly to the loo and sit for a while by myself until it passes. It has to pass at work, I have no choice but to leave the tiny cell and return to the world outside, smiling at others as I pass and pretending I'm nothing new.

Sometimes it's there in the mornings holding me in my bed. I can't move, can't twitch, can barely even think. I stay there waiting until it's gone. It never makes me late, I can't let that happen, but it comes close. I miss breakfast or a shower and make up the time. I even set my alarm clock early, just in case.

I hate it worst when it comes on weekends. I can't leave the house, I have nothing I can do. It pushes me down towards the floor and if I'm lucky I make it to the bed. I prefer the darkness and heat of the bedclothes to the harsh cold and the rocking of the floor. The closeness of the bed stops me breathing which makes me move and stretch, uncurling. There's nothing on the floor, only the slow gentle rock of tears.

I don't remember a time when it wasn't there. I know they exist but the memories are blank. I can't imagine how it feels to be free but still I long for when I was. I know it will come again, that I will once more be normal. I have to believe that it shouldn't be like this, that some people never feel it. I cling on to the happiness of others who don't wish for the darkness.

I've given up trying at the doctors. They don't help. They give me things to make me feel ashamed, like I'm ill and should be cured by their remedies. And when I'm not they send me to others who scratch their heads and say here, take more. It still doesn't work. I know I'm the only cure, and one day I'll understand how easy it is to shake my head and say no. I won't let it make me cry.

The only time I'm safe is when I'm sleeping. It can't find me there it can't reach me in my dreams. There are times when I long for the night, and worse times when I long for much more. It scares me where my longings might take me if I let them but there are things that keep me here, people that won't let me leave. Sometimes it's enough to make me scream I want to leave so badly, but I wait for the night and sleep takes my pain away. Tomorrow is always a new chance, a new hope. It might not be there tomorrow.

There are other times when it's just too late. When I get home tired and sleepy and collapse in front of the television. When I sit in front of the glowing screen and can't move, can't rise, just watch the pictures flow. I don't eat, don't read, don't call my friends. Don't go out and don't want to stay in. But I do and the night comes.

I long for the release of sleep but it eludes me. I need escape from my conscious mind but my friend the darkness betrays me. Sleep doesn't come and I toss and turn restless and awake, longing for the stillness and another way out. It's nights like this that staying is hardest. One day will come with a night such as tonight and it will overtake me. I'll know it and I'll know that even a sunset won't save me.

Writers Block?

2005-05-03T12:37:00.000Z

The last post was the first one that I had written in a couple of months. For a while I have found it difficult to write. I had plenty of ideas but no motivation to use them, I would sit at the computer wanting to write something and just not know how to put it into words. Or I'd go surfing somewhere else, "I'll start when I've just done this email". Sometimes I would write the beginning of a story and then stop and delete the whole thing, then shut the window in disgust.

I've mentioned before that I have a Livejournal and I've still been posting there, it's just the fiction I like to post over here that has stopped. I've still missed it though. I found a Livejournal community, "Cues" which gives a line or an idea every week and then people post their work based on that weeks theme. The previous entry here was done for that and posted there also, the cue was "A place nobody goes anymore". I'll be using more ideas from there, the next 2 will be "Another sunset can't save you now" and "The King of May" which I'll also post here.

It's nice to be writing again, I might not do the cue every week, but I hope it will help me get back into the habit of it and help me to start writing things on my own again. They will be as posted to LJ, so first drafts in a time limit, still should be fun.

Detachment

2005-02-18T16:14:00.000Z

Edinburgh on a sunny day, there are few places I would rather be. On this particular sunny day, I was taking a bus along Prince's Street just before lunch. I was looking out of the window and across the road to the shops on the other side, watching the little people scurrying in and out and around and lazily enjoying the warm spot on my seat. We trundled along slowly past traffic lights and bus stops, you never really get much past 15mph on this road.

So we were going quite slowly when we past the people clustered in a group crouching in the middle of the road on the other side. I could see a shape covered in a blanket and found myself looking harder to try and see what was happening. I could see a pair of legs stick out, capped with a pair of high heeled boots. I assumed it was a woman and looked away, my curiosity fulfilled.

As we pulled up to the next lights, I could hear the soft sound of sirens coming in from a distance, gradually getting louder and louder. I thought how they would be for the accident I had just seen, and guessed it must have happened sooner than I'd thought. And I wondered why I didn't feel more. We never do though, do we? The cars will all slow down to watch the crash, but who will even remember it happened unless they recall how they were late home that day?

I found myself wondering who the woman was, whether she had finished her shopping and was on her way home, or maybe if she had only just started. I'll probably never even know her name, after all, it won't be in the papers tomorrow. The bus carried on, and people went about their daily lives, but then, what else can we do? It seems harsh and callous to feel nothing, to not be moved, but how can we care when we don't know who we are caring for?

But I guess that's just the way life is, we meander along in our own little worlds, occasionally crossing over or intermingling with the little worlds of others. Some times they affect us, sometimes they don't. This time I was affected enough to write. It was going to be a short story, but turned into more of a thought for the day, dramatisation just seemed inappropriate.

A Rather Nice Surprise

2005-02-05T21:45:00.000Z

At the end of my first year of University, I rather foolishly made the comment
"Oh I've always wanted a tattoo" after seeing a friends. This invariably results in being dragged off down to a tattoo parlour to look at some potential designs. While I didn't see anything I liked, I did come up with an idea. I wanted a dragon, but I thought that it could be disguised as a Rose. The petals would be flames coming from the dragon’s mouth, and the leaves would be the dragons wings, with his body and tail winding down into the stalk.

Claire was something of an artist, and drew out a picture of how she visualised my idea, and it was fantastic. I ummed and erred a little more, before she threatened that if I didn't get it, she would. So I made an appointment and she came with me to hold my hand. It was done in 2 sessions, and while the first didn't hurt too much, more tickled, the second was the most painful experience I had ever had. It was the end of term, and I was going home, so they fitted me in after it had healed, but whilst it was still a little tender. At one point I ran off to the loo, and when I emerged a glove covered in green ink was put up next to my face, and everyone agreed how the colour was almost the same. I was perhaps a little greener.

I've had it for six years now, it's on my lower left back so I don't see it much. I realised that I can't even remember exactly what it looks like, so I asked a friend to take a photo of it for me. It came out well, so I decided to post it on the web. I thought it would be a good idea to link to the place where I got it done, if they had a website. So a quick Google later, and I had found a page for Spacey's Bizarre Ink. I had a quick look around whilst I was there, and in the pictorials section of the gallery is the photograph that they took just after it was finished.

I have to say, I was really rather chuffed about this. They have won many awards over the years and are a very successful parlour - they just moved to bigger and nicer premises last year, so to have my tattoo chosen to go with their best work on the website is really fantastic. It's definitely worth going to have a peek, as some of the work is really amazing, and the cover-ups are quite amusing. Here is the photo that was taken for me yesterday, slightly different from the one over on the other website, but you can tell it's me - the freckles are all in the same places!

A more recent photograph

Holy Grail, or Holy Bloodlines?

2005-02-04T09:55:00.000Z

I've been watching a Channel 4 documentary about Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code, and the theories it sets out about the Holy Grail really being not a cup, but the descendants of Jesus Christ. I was mainly watching it because I have read the book, and was intrigued that some people would take the ideas presented in a work of fiction to be credible. That, and it was presented by Tony Robinson, who Rocks.

He systematically works through all the claims and theories presented in the book, slowly wearing them down by simple historical facts and figures in a fascinating piece of research into the Holy Grail legends. I've always loved the tales of King Arthur, I'll read anything that I can get my hands on about them and of course, with the Holy Grail being the highlight of the stories, it's always fascinated me too.

The thing I most enjoyed about this programme is the same thing that makes the grail legends so compelling. It gives a wonderful insight into human obsessions. The grail legends are about seemingly fruitless quests that are fueled by a passionate belief in a mysterious and powerful object, and this programme was no different. Here we are searching for evidence of the theories behind the book and the ideas it portrays, it is not a cup we search for, but a truth.

Tony Robinson brings a lightness to the documentary which is refreshing in a programme delving into a very complex topic, potentially threatening the whole framework of the modern church which is extremely powerful in today's society. However he still takes his subject matter seriously at every stage, for each part of the novel that he shows false, he doesn't let it biase his research into the next, taking every claim as something to be researched fully on it's own merits.

So I stayed attached to the screen, pausing only for the adverts, until the very end. I have recorded this to video or any one who has missed it and would like to see it. I would heartily recommend reading the book, it wasn't particularly well written, in fact I was quite disappointed by what promised to be an exciting cryptography thriller in the style of Indiana Jones with Maths. But I thoroughly enjoyed seeing it ripped apart by Tony Robinson, which more than made up for the slight sense of feeling ripped of that I felt after reading it. Well, that and the nodding Jesus doll he had in his car.

A Hot Summers Day

2005-02-03T11:11:00.000Z

It was a hot summer’s day, nearing the end of August. There was no wind, not even a breeze, and I felt as if the air around me had come straight from an oven. My shirt was sticking to my back, and my skirt was no protection from the blistering heat of the bench I was sitting on. A small bluebottle droned around my head, dodging my useless swipes and persistently flying in its endless circle. I wiped my forehead in a futile attempt to somehow clean away the sweat gathering there, dripping down my skin like honey. I imagined that the flowers were starting to droop, and a young couple out for a stroll looked as if they might to wilt as well.

I leaned back lazily onto the bench feeling my eyes starting to close, when I was rudely interrupted by the penetrating sound of the bells of Westminster Abbey striking three o’clock. A red faced man walked past, closely followed by a small panting dog. I noticed how much the dog resembled his owner, short with a rounded waist and a fat, jolly face. They looked tired from the heat and walked along slowly, dragging their feet almost perfectly synchronised. I saw the man collapse onto the next bench and his dog fell beside him in a panting heap.

I pulled a small lump of sandwich out of its paper wrapper and began to munch sleepily. The cheese stuck in my teeth unpleasantly and it tasted foul, so I took out my apple and bit into it deeply, the sweet, succulent juices refreshing my tongue, and trickling down my throat in a delightful manner.

I watched dreamily as a tall man walked past, dressed in an expensive looking suit and a tasteless red tie. He sat on the bench next to the man with the dog who promptly left. As I watched, the man with the tie picked up something from the floor, pocketed it and walked off. This seemed to me to be rather odd as he did not appear to have dropped it and did not put it in a bin, but it was none of my business so I packed up my lunch and went back to the office.

About a week later I had gone back to the park for another relaxing lunch break, when I saw the man with his dog again. I watched him go past, amused by his resemblance to his dog which reminding me of him from before, and I wondered if he walked his dog here regularly. They walked over to the same bench where they sat down. This time I watched out of the corner of my eye as he looked around nonchalantly and dropped something on the floor, seemingly without noticing. The man with the tie walked past me and sat on the bench again. After the other man left, he picked up the object from the floor and walked off innocently.

I picked up my lunch and followed him, watching as he put the object, possibly a piece of paper, into his wallet. He strolled over to an ice-cream van where he bought a cone, and then he headed off out of the park towards Westminster Bridge where I lost sight of him in a crowd of shouting tourists, who were waving cameras dangerously.

I observed several of these meetings, which always took place at the same time. They happened once or twice a week, and after about a month I decided to follow the man with the tie again. His routine was the same as before, but this time I saw something fall from him on his way to the bridge. I walked over to it, and saw it was his wallet. I opened it slowly and started to look for the small, white piece of paper he had picked up from the man with the dog. It was nowhere to be found. It had seemingly disappeared. As I realised this, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to the man with the red tie standing there menacingly.

“What are you doing with my wallet?” he asked.

New Years Resolutions

2005-02-01T13:36:00.000Z

I don't normally make new years resolutions, as generally, I can't think of any. In the past, there's not really been much that I'd wanted to change about my life, and certainly nothing that I'd bother making a resolution about. I quite often have health kicks, or exercise fads during the year, but any resolution making tends to be done around October with the start of term.

I didn't do that this year, mostly because I was too busy trying to find out how to register and get my grant, and when I'm supposed to be where. Having classes to teach as well as to take with no visible timetable for either makes the start of term far too busy and stressful to worry about how I'm going to work my life this year. I decided I'd figure things out after I had a timetable for the term, but that never really happened.

As a result, I have signed on for the gym and never been, so in an effort to justify the use of my hard earned pennies on such an extravagant spend, I have decided to participate in the time honoured ritual of setting goals to hopelessly fail to achieve for more than 2 weeks of the coming year. Except that, as usual, I'm a bit late.

I can easily justify my lateness in this matter. January first is a rather foolish time to expect any major lifestyle changes. It's in the middle of the party season, and so any cut down on excesses are unlikely. This year, I was in Edinburgh for the Street Party, so any thoughts of healthy eating, gym visits or other such unlikely events would have to be put off until my return home anyway. If you combine that with the fact that I couldn't decide on any sort of schedule or organisation for next term, as I have only just now got my timetable, I have been unable to make any decent plans for the year, until now.

So it would seem today is the perfect day for goal setting and time planning. Eeeek. Here we go.

I will go to the Gym twice a week.: This term I have a fairly sparse timetable. Other than the usual seminars, I only have one tutorial weekly, and one bi-weekly lab session. Most of my work is either marking or my own research, which I can organise around things like gym visits. So I can fit in a 2-hour break on Thursday afternoons (assuming I pass my driving test), and then in 2 weeks time on Tuesday afternoons as well (I have 2 lectures I want to attend this week and next).
I will eat more fruit.: This shouldn't be too hard, as I currently eat none at all. I hate buying fruit, as I always suspect that it's going to go off sneakily behind my back, before I have a chance to eat it. And it never seems worth buying small amounts, as they get finished straight away. So I'm not entirely sure how this one is gong to work, but I suspect that it will involve nipping across to the union shop during my morning break, and buying 3 pieces of fruit to snack on throughout the day. We'll see tomorrow, I'm already on my third banana today.
I will do more work.: Probably the most important of these resolutions. As we got further into winter, last term, I found myself less and less motivated to do work. I really struggled to get into my office and do the weeks reading, and I found myself becoming bored with the book I was studying from, and generally un-inclined to do anything productive. This term has been somewhat better. I've moved on to the next book, which I'm actually finding really interesting, and have even managed to do some work on trains, which means I'm not really taking 4-day weekends every time I go to visit my Boyfriend. I've put this third, as I'm hoping that the exercise and fruit eating will help me with my work by improving my general health, and therefore my mood. That and the fact that Summer's coming back!
I will make the effort to be nice to everybody.: I've already started on this one, by coaching somebody I wouldn't normally bother with at Archery last night. This is mainly because I would like to be Captain of the Archery Club next year, and I think part of the position is as a liaison for the club committee with the ordinary members, so this means I really need to start being nice to them. It's more difficult than you'd think. I have a sharp sense of humour at times, and a tendency to expect a high level of general competence from people around me. These traits combined make me come across as scary to people who don't know me, which is something I really need to work on.

I could go on adding things to this list forever, but I need somewhere to start. It's a bad idea to make too many changes all in one go, as you'll never keep up with them. Even the ones above I'll add in gradually, work more this week and try to buy fruit a couple of days, and then add in the gym one day, with more fruit buying next week. The last one will most likely be an ongoing project. I'll consider it a success if I manage to reduce my scariness levels somewhat.

The Three Boyfriendly Duties

2005-01-29T19:07:00.000Z

I was reading this article from Just One Bite recently, and it got me thinking about the same question. What is it that I really look for in a man?

Well, the list has changed over the years. It started off as a list of Must-Nots. Not shorter, younger or a smoker, and definitely not vain. Vanity was measured by the number of bathroom products a man had, that is, if he had more than me, I considered him too vain. I have broken all of these rules at one time or another, with some proven to be pointless, and others to be wise and just.

It doesn't seem to matter how old or young a boyfriend is, all men are just boys at heart, and when a man is shorter than you at worst it can be an inconvenience at times, on the whole you don't really notice. Especially when you are lying down. Smokers are generally a bad idea if you don't smoke yourself, I certainly noticed the smell and the taste, but if that's the man you really want, then it shouldn't stop you. I really mean it about the bathroom products, though.

So the list moved on, and to a list of Must-Have's. He must have a sense of humour first, followed by a whole caboodle of other traits and interests. I wanted him to like everything I liked, do everything I did, and generally be a male clone of myself. I soon found that this was a fairly difficult list of criteria to meet, and at the same time began to realise that I'd like someone a bit more blokey, and cross-stitch wasn't as such an attractive characteristic as I had first thought.

So the list changed again. From Must-Not's to Must-Have's it has been refined to a list of Must-Do's. Three simple requests every boyfriend should be happy to fulfill.

Cinema

Carrying heavy objects.

So what makes these qualities so important? The first, or so I'm reliably informed, you can get from any nightclub in town. The second any girlfriend would be happy to oblige. And as for the third, well I'm not really that much of a weakling. No, it's not as simple as that. The reasons for having a steady boyfriend for sex are fairly obvious, and this is a family show, so quickly on to the other points.

Cinema. Whilst I would happily drag any girlfriend out to watch the latest costume drama, or perhaps even a French murder mystery musical, (sorry, what?), I don't always get a positive response to a suggestion of the latest action blockbuster, even when it happens to star George Clooney. And if the lads are going to see it, they don't generally want a girl tagging along. They want to swear, make sexist remarks, and drink beer. And good for them too, but I don't really fit in. So a boyfriend is the perfect compromise.

Carrying heavy objects. I could, but I don't want to. I will invariable feel tired afterwards, and quite possibly break something (although this is more to do with general clumsiness rather than strength). Having a man to do it for you, ensures that you will remain fresh and calm, able to make the right decision about exactly where the heavy object should be put. The other advantage is that it makes me feel cared for, looked after, which is the real point here. I get a little rush of warmth all over whenever I hear the words "let me take that from you". I know he's really saying "I love you".

And in truth, that is what it's all about. I could go on forever (and very nearly have) about do's and don'ts, and what makes the perfect guy, but really there's only one thing that matters. I realised a while back now that I'll know when the guy I love is right for me. All I want in a man is that he loves me as much as my Father loves my Mother. And then I'll have all that I ever need.

Turning point.

2005-01-26T23:41:00.000Z

A couple of years back, on my summer break, I worked in a bar back home. I'd worked in plenty of bars before, but never both full time and mostly evening shifts. This meant that I spent most of my evenings working, and the ones in between at work, drinking with other staff members. It was one of the most popular high street pubs, and so very busy on a Friday and Saturday night, which made working the weekend quite an adrenaline rush. After work everybody would stop for a pint, and in most cases a cigarette.

When I started working there I didn't smoke, I'd tried cigarettes before, but never really felt the inclination to take it up. After a few weeks of mad Friday nights I was taking cigarettes off workmates just to wind down. They are very relaxing after all, and when you've been breathing it in night after night, you're bound to feel the effects sometime.

By the time I went back to Uni, I was buying them for myself, and getting through a couple of packets a week. One of my friends who had "quit" (mostly because of a girlfriend) was now taking them off me. It felt good to smoke, it made me feel like one of the popular crowd I always wanted to be. After a while, I suddenly realised that I didn't want to be this person. My clothes always smelled, I'd wake up with a bad taste in my mouth and worst of all, I was lying to my Parents as I was hiding it from them.

So I quit. I just made the decision one day that I wasn't going to smoke any more, and didn't buy a packet for another week. Of course that wasn't the last cigarette I smoked, but I did well, and only succumbed to temptation a few times. I hadn't been smoking for long, which made it easier, combined with the fact that my current peer group were mostly non-smokers.

Since then, there has always been the temptation, although mostly after drinking. I have quite often smelt smoke and felt a craving for cigarettes, although lately it has been happening less often. It's the thing I most regretted about ever smoking, this feeling that I would never be free and that I would always want cigarettes whenever I was exposed to them. Until tonight, that is.

Tonight was a pretty typical post archery pub event. There was eating, drinking, conversation and Pool. Typical except for one thing. From the next table a waft of cigarette smoke drifted over, I breathed in and unusually, I felt ill. It smelt disgusting, undesirable, and it even made me cough. I didn't even realise until I was halfway home and downwind of the local Chinese Takeaway. I felt so hungry, in that familiar post pub way, but tonight, I didn't want a cigarette.

I got bored one day and drew this

2005-01-24T14:25:00.000Z

I don't really have the time or the inclination to write a proper post today, so instead here's a picture for you.

My Dragon

The Big Blue Chair

2005-01-23T19:09:00.000Z

Not so long ago, one of my old school friends moved away from home to join the RAF. She was going to be living in barracks, and so knew she wouldn't have a lot of room, but she'd built up quite a collection of stuff over the years. Knowing that my Mum had connections with a local charity shop, she left a lot of her surplass possesions with her, to take in sometime. One of these items was a large folding blue canvas chair, one of a pair, the other of which she decided to take with her.

I came to visit my parents shortly after, and asked about the rather nice new folding chair they seem to have aquired, but were not using. I decided that as best friend of the previous owner, I had rights on her unwanted things that were above and beyond those of any charity shop. So I swiped it.

She came to visit me at my own house, and I got the chair out for her to sit on, saying it was new. She praised it's comfyness, and commented on how she has one in her room just like it. She also mentioned how she had 2, but threw one away. Of course, if she had known I wanted one I could have had hers, after all it was at my parents. It didn't take her long after that to twig.

Sell Out! With Me Tonight, Sell Out!

2005-01-22T15:36:00.000Z

I'm really quite disappointed with my Google Ads. They seem to be stuck on bow adverts. I have 6 posts up so far, and only 2 of them mention archery, so I had hoped it would be something different by now. I've often thought that my life seems to revolve around archery a little too much, perhaps sometimes to the exclusion of other hobbies. Maybe they're trying to tell me something?

Some of the messageboards I read regularly have Google Ads, and it's amusing to see what they come up with. Sometimes they hit the topic of conversation right on the nose, other times they miss the point entirely, but I often find myself laughing at the bizarre or insightful connections that the ad bars make. I was looking forward to seeing what adverts I could produce down my sidebar with the content of my posts.

Yes, and that is the reason they are there. One of the things I did as soon as I'd set up this blog was to sign up for Ads by Google. It's not the sort of thing you'd expect to see on a random website which is written for my own enjoyment rather than as any sort of business venture. After all, I can't really expect them to make any money, I certainly don't expect my visitors to click on them.

So I wait with baited breath to see what comes up next. I suspect, given that I've mentioned the a-word yet again in this post that it will continue as the main theme for quite a while. This strikes me as perhaps a little ironic.

What to read, what not to read?

2005-01-21T18:15:00.000Z

I have a Livejournal as well as this blog. (It's in the obvious place, but I no longer post public entries). It was started because my boyfriend has one, which I read, and I felt I wanted to give something back in the same way. It's not the same as this blog, rather it's an intimate diary where I record my feelings of the moment, and often some very personal details.

I told some of my friends where it was, and they read it too, although some more personal entries were hidden away for BF only. These friends all had journals of their own, and I was allowed to read theirs in exchange. Recently, however, some other people from that group of friends have been reading mine also. I hadn't hidden it away, but had mentioned I wasn't too keen on the idea of them looking. Some found it directly, others followed links from friend’s pages. And I'm not happy about it. I enjoyed the chance to rant and rave without consequence. I most liked the chance to say what I wanted for everyone to hear, but to have nobody around to hear it.

So the question is, just because something is posted on the web, should it be considered public property, with anyone having the right to read it? It's very hard to come up with a good argument to suggest why not. So perhaps the answer is yes, everybody has the right to read something in front of them and easily accessible. But that doesn't mean they should. Shouldn't these people, these alleged friends have thought first about my feelings? I feel they should have asked me first at the very least? If they had, I would have gone back over, and made a lot more of the posts private. In fact, I most likely would have said no, even after doing this.

I feel censored now. I can't bitch and grumble about people I know in there, unless I do it in a hidden post. But I don't want to hide my posts, I want to shout at the world that I'm unhappy. That's what my Journal was for. But so often, I say things that I don't mean later, and in fact didn’t even mean then. And now I can't, as the people who are reading it are not the people it was first intended for.

I also feel bad about the things I have written in there in the past. There is more than one post about people known by the new readers which is none too flattering. Had I known that these people were going to read the journal, I would have made these posts private, partly out of respect for the people I was ranting about (after all, I do still like them) but also out of embarrassment for myself. I get upset about stupid things at times, and I don't necessarily want people seeing that somewhat unpleasant side of me.

I still post in there, but only things that would have been hidden anyway, as I often write about things I feel are too personal even for strangers to hear. Sometimes I write a post specifically for my BF to read, as sometimes it’s easier to write these things down than to say them, and realise you’re not saying what you mean. But I don’t write my daily essays anymore, my general comments about how I’ve been today, what I’ve done and how I’m feeling. They lost their bite a while back, and now I’ve lost all pleasure in them.

A Short Story

2005-01-19T10:00:00.000Z

As they posed for the photographer, Kirsty looked at the cave they had dug out. All that effort, just for a box when they weren't even sure what was in it. A few obscure references in a small collection of unreliable documents. But they'd turn out to be right in the end, she was sure.

Jack stared at the box as they held their poses while the photograph was taken. He was a little nervous, wondering what would happen next. Would the contents crumble as they were exposed to the air? Egyptian papyrus held together well over time, but who knew what conditions it had been exposed to. Would they open the box they had looked for, for so long, just to see a pile of old dust? Or would it be the treasure they had longed for, the records from the census that could tell them so much about a long forgotten world.

Jack carefully stepped down, and a mixture of anxiety and concentration crossed his face as Kirsty passed the box down to him. He placed it carefully on the floor, and she slipped down after, feet nestling into the dust, causing a small cloud to rise up. Jack, bending over the box, took a breath just at that moment, and started coughing energetically. His chest rose and fell, as his asthma fought back and threatened to suffocate him. Kirsty reached in a panic for her bag, where his inhaler was kept, and watched in horror as an immense spasm sent Jack sprawling forward. He put his hand out, and the full weight of his portly frame went crashing down in front of him to the precious object below. A crash rang through the air backed by a chorus of gasps as Jack's hand broke through the precious casket. Under his fingers centuries’ old parchment crumbled away into nothing as he grasped urgently trying to stop his fall.

Silence for one infinite moment before his coughing resumed, and Kirsty hurriedly turned back to her bag, trying not to let the tears come bursting through her eyes. She handed him back the inhaler wordlessly, her gaze steadfastly not meeting his, and desperately trying not to look at the arm protruding from what was left of their life's work.

Jack said nothing, just took the inhaler and drew deeply. He stayed crouched while he recovered and then drew his hand slowly out from within the broken wood. A steady stream of blood flowed from a large cut on his wrist, and dripped down his palm and over his fingers.

"That's going to need stitches" said the photographer, awkwardly trying to fill the silence. The archaeologists turned to look at him, both faces reflecting astonishment that he could think of something like medical attention at a time like this.

6 People and 4 Bows in a Small Blue Car

2005-01-18T17:50:00.000Z

Last night was the first Archery Club practice of the new term, so it was succeeded by the first Archery Club trip to the pub of the new term. Our favourite pub is only a short walk up the road from the sports centre, but the keyword here is up. It's very up, as in "get half way there, and start walking backwards" up. And then if you add heavy bowcases, well.

One of the members lives the other side of town to the sports centre, so he drives to practice, and then takes his car to the pub afterwards. Normally he takes a couple of people, and the rest of us walk, but then normally only I have a bowcase, and I don't mind the walk. This time it was different, there were 3 people with large bowcases for take-down bows, one longbow, and 2 others. Some people had been shopping over Christmas...

I didn't want to walk, as I was a bit tired. I also had a new bow for Christmas, and it's heavier than the last one. After a bit of barganning and negotiating, we decided that we could fit everyone and everything into the car. Which is a Seat Ibiza. (For people who know as much about cars as me, that means small. It's also blue).

Room for one more?

After a little reorgansing of the fairly crowded boot, we manged to fit the 3 large cases in there. I'm still not sure how. Then me and 2 others bundled into the back seat along with the longbow and several bags from the boot. This left 2 people for the passenger seat.

Louise got in first, expecting Pete to sit on top of her, but he didn't seem to get this part of the plan. Instead he squeezed in beside her, which pushed her over on top of the handbrake. The driver could use the gear stick OK, but when we got to a rather nasty uphill junction, and he couldn't use the handbrake, the cursing started. Some nifty footwork later, and we trundled up the final part of the hill.

We got there in the end, but you'd think we'd have learned our lesson. No, not us. The conversation in the pub started off with a discussion of how we could fit another person and bow in the car with us. We have planned who would sit where based on this most recent trip, and come to the conclusion that one person would have to lie on the back seat on top of 3 others, with a bow case on top of them.

Next time, I think I might just walk.

Under-where?

2005-01-18T02:44:00.000Z

The last few days have been tedious. I've mostly sat in front of a computer or been reading, with the exception of a trip to Makro with Tim yesterday. So today I decided to be a bit more productive, and put away the permanent washing. I always have a rack of washing in my room, which gets left until I need the rack to dry the latest load of washing, and then dry things get replaced with wet things. Normally, I'm just to lazy to put it all away.

Today I discovered something that, because of the permanent washing habit, I hadn't realised before. I have more underwear than will fit into my underwear drawer. And it's all still in good condition, so I have no old and torn garments that live at the back taking up room. I think I know why, it's new boyfriend syndrome running amok!

I'll explain. Whenever I have a new boyfriend, I go out and buy a few choice garments, something pretty normally, and throw away any old garments that are really past it. This generally happens maybe a couple of times in the first few months, or maybe one big shop, but I don't really feel the urge to do it again after the initial sparkle has worn off.

This is where the problem lies. We're up to six months now, and the sparkle is still sparkling. That's four months longer than normal that I've been buying new underwear. It's not a big problem really, other than space-wise, as I'm not spending a lot of money, and some of the things I have really needed. But there have been several times when I've spotted something pretty going really cheap and thought "Oooo, Tom would like that" and picked it up.

Of course the arrival of Christmas socks has accentuated the matter somewhat, I got 3 double packs from Mum this year. (All very comfy too, and some really quite apt). And now I'd like to point out that when I say Tom would like that, I mean like it on me, not like it for himself. Which would perhaps be a good point to end on.

The real reason for this post? I just wanted an excuse to say Knickers.

A Book Review

2005-01-17T00:38:00.000Z

I spent most of yesterday evening reading Apathy And the Dodo by Simon Maslin.
I had also spent a good portion of the day before with my nose glued to the computer screen, thinking "just one more page!". So I thought it would be a good choice for my first book review, especially as I know the author, and so feel more inclined to push his work...

The book centres around Martin Dean, a guy in his late twenties, with a job in London that he hates. He is telling his story, but also the story of the town he grew up in, Cocksham, and the people who live there. They are a colourful bunch, particularly the ones who live on the Hills Road Estate, and a large part of the book regales their adventures and mishaps in their small town lives.

Dodo is written in quite an unusual style, and one I found refreshing. It is not a straight forward plot line, but an intermingling of anecdotes used to tell a story. There is a lot of introspection by the main character, and a lot of discussion of his opinions which wouldn't normally come into play in a book which is in essence a love story.

It's not easy to read, and if you're looking for something to take to the beach, then this is not for you. If, on the other hand, you looking for something that will make you think, surprise you at every turn, and still keep you glued to the page right to the end, then you might like to give it a try.

Welcome...

2005-01-16T23:36:00.000Z

...To my shiny new blog!
Here i will be posting random scribbles, hopefully some of which will amuse you or provoke you to think. So to start us off, I'll introduce myself (after all, that's only polite).

Mostly, I do archery. Which may seem like a strange sentence, but is surprisingly true. After all, I shoot almost everyday, I spend all my spare cash on new equipment, and at the weekends, I jet off around the country in search of competitions and new people to beat. Well, try to beat anyway, I'm still working on the whole "being any good" part of the sport.

When I'm not playing with dangerous weapons, I'm likely to be attempting to research non-commutative algebra, or maths to those not in the know.

This blog won't be about maths or archery. They might get mentioned, as they are both substantial parts of my life, but mostly it will just be me talking about subjects that interest or amuse me, and telling stories that all my friends have already heard.

Beanbags in the shape of small frogs...