The latter figure may be inflated, but then, the former one is just as likely to be. HMMMMMM.

Wednesday 9 April 2003

Number of page of revision notes Zed can make in an hour while not dreaming about becoming a famous underground rock star: 4.
Number of page of revision notes Zed can make in an hour while dreaming about becoming a famous underground rock star: 1.
Is Zed currently dreaming about becoming a famous underground rock star? Oh yes!

I am very tired. This probably has something to do with dreaming, last night, that I was Harry Potter. I had just started Hogwarts and gone to the (non-existent) school gym, where Dumbledore and McGonagall had hung a winged horse. Hagrid was trying to rescue it by throwing things at the ceiling. The ceiling started falling down, and I had to run for my life! Thus making for Not Very Restful Sleep.

This is doubtless a punishment for spending a good portion of yesterday trying, without success, to find an Aevil Copy of "Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix" on the Internet, after Bryn mentioned to me that he'd heard that WH Smiths were already in possession of copies of the books - and its employees have no doubt filched them, and at least one of them must have the desire to spread its good news. Since I've pre-ordered a copy, my actions wouldn't have been entirely sinful, but nevertheless, patience is a virtue, and really, the last thing I need to be doing now is hunting for an 700+ page novel to immerse myself in. Oh well, my lesson hath been learnt. Now can I have my energy back?

***

About a month ago, the campus shop ditched its carrier bags with "Campus Shop Kent Union" and a whole bunch of contact details written on them, in favour of plain blue ones. This initially seemed like almost as much of a wonderful thing as it is to be a pirate king (according to Gilbert and Sullivan). Firstly, it is surely cheaper to have bags of this sort, and they can consequently lower the price of the products. Whether they will or not is another matter, but it's nice to know the possibility exists. Secondly, unlike the old style carrier bags, the ordinary mortal is capable of opening them. The days of the customer feeling inferior and meek and having to beg for the mighty campus shop assistants to have mercy upon them and open the bags for them are over!

Today, however, I was reminded that every silver lining has a cloud. For the best usage you can give to a campus shop bag, upon putting your shopping away, is as a binliner for a waste paper basket. And with the new style bags, when they are full and you knot the handles, pulling them tight . . . they break apart in your hands!

This is no good! I am grateful to be escaping this reign of terror in a few months' time. (2:1 permitting. Speaking of which, you should be getting on with some work, ya know. Yes, Martha. Since when am I called Martha? Since now. Fairy nuff.)

Thursday 10 April 2003

There used to be this number I could dial and an automatic voice would give me showing times for all the films on at my local cinema. Since I don't have full-time Internet access, this was wonderful. However, when I phoned them today, the automatic voice said, "Your call is important to us. Please wait while we transfer you to an operator!"

Noooooo! That's no good! I'm not going through the process of talking to someone every time I want some information!

Today, I applied for some summer jobs. By that time, I will have a degree, but the choice at the student jobshop website remains unfantastic, even for the qualified - i.e. warehouse picker and on-off transcribing. Oh well, I can think of worse things.

Monday 14 April 2003

Today's lessons:

1. If you use a public photocopier, be sure to collect your results afterwards. They may not be there when you return.
2. It is a lot of fun to sing "Paranoid" by Black Sabbath in a Jamaican accent.

I've been looking at friendsreunited lately, and discovering that an alarming number of my olde classmates are now on the other side of the globe. Oh well, good riddance, sez I, evilly. Also, one of them is apparently expecting his second child . . . but since he also sez he has an eye out for me, I am taking this with an entire shaker of salt.

Thursday 17 April 2003

Oh dear. What have I let myself in for?

A while ago, Dad said, "When are you coming home for Easter? See, there's going to be loads of people from Brampton's twin town in France staying in Brampton over Easter and we [him and his relatives, employees, and random musical associates] are putting on a concert for them. Will you play the clarinet in it if you're around?" (Brampton being the town where I live, or would do, if I had a life.)

"Why not?" I said, and it turned out that I was indeed going to be at home for it. (Campus closes over Easter weekend, and since I'm not very good at revising in my student house, I thought I'd try home.)

When I spoke to him on Monday, however, he said he didn't really need me to play the clarinet in it. Instead he needed me to provide some backing singing, along with my Mum and Jo (one of the employees).

Now, I really enjoy singing. It's not like I come to a suitable stopping point in my revision, and go, "I'll take a break. What enjoyable activity shall I partake in? I know, singing!" Partly because I usually revise in a public computer room, whose other inhabitants could do with being spared, but my instinct would be to choose reading or going online. However, at school, when we sang hymns, I used to belt them out, to the point where people who barely spoke to me normally were encouraging me to join the school choir. (I went along once, but my fellow altos, who'd been in the choir for years, were entirely capable of harmonising, while I was not.)

The trouble is, apart from the fact that I don't have brilliant pitch, when in the presence of middle aged ladies trilling away (as happens every Christmas at church), I automatically sing an octave down from them. Unfortunately, if they venture south of middle G (a common occurrence), I get stuck, as bottom G is as low as I go. I either have to jump up my best approximation of an octave, or continue to sing bottom G. And Mum, while not necessarily middle-aged (she's 53), sings in that fashion.

The journey home was ok, surprisingly. When Evil Bloke At The Station Reserved me a seat on the Nodnol to Carlisle train, he asked if there was anywhere I preferred to sit. Since the transaction had already taken about twenty minutes, due to the computer failing, lots of trains not running due to engineering work, and him flirting with me (he is more than twice my age), I said no. What's the worst that could happen? I thought. The smoking car? The dreaded quiet car? (Where you're not allowed to use your mobile, which is pants as trains oop norf are always delayed, and it would be kinda helpful to be able to tell the people meeting you this.)

I got assigned to coach B, the one right behind the engine. This seemed like a bad sign. But it wasn't a smoking coach; it wasn't a quiet coach. It was a coach in which I found myself literally knee-deep in Short People. The one where most seats remained unused due to Said Short People running up and down the aisle. But oddly, Said Short People were not too annoying.

Unfortunately, I had fifty minutes to kill in Euston station before catching the train, and so I went into W. H. Smiths and couldn't resist buying the new Sophie Kinsella book, "Can You Keep A Secret?" And so, the journey was spent reading it. As opposed to doing work. It was brillig, in an entirely fluffy way, but nevertheless, wasn't going to help me pass any exams.

Then, as Noj took me home from the station, I thought to ask him what songs we were playing.

The list was not pleasant. "Come Up And See Me (Make Me Smile)", which, although a truly brilliantly composition, I find incredibly annoying (on account of the fact that it's both my parents' favourite song); "Mull Of Kintyre" aka the longest and most dreary song ever; "All You Need Is Love" - I know it's bad and wrong to slag off the Beatles, and it is a very well written song, but it's not only dreary with all those "DUH duh duddle dur"s, but horrendously soppy - I have rechristened it "All You Need Is Drugs" and have starting changing "Love is all you need" to "Drugs like coke and speed" under my breath; "Rockin' All Over The World" - suffice to say, "ARGH!"; a couple of Sky songs - which is kewl because I [hart] Sky; and a bunch of local(ish) folk songs (there isn't much to write about the precise area where I live). Most of the latter are ok, if not positively funchie. John Barleycorn is truly Rock and thoroughly witty and "Carlisle To Settle Railway" incorporates the phrase, "Hell on the fells". The version of "The Cockfight" we sing has "Brampton" very clearly substituted in for "Oldham" - i.e. a place people would bother to write a song about - cringe - and The Blackleg Miner is annoyingly head sticky and also includes the word "pants" when it means "trousers" (people on both the east and west coast of norvern Inkland say "pants" for "trousers", but not I!), but they're both good shouty fun. But another is What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor? (groan!) and another is "Sing To Thee Daddy". While it paints a very vivid picture of Traditional Newcastle Life (to the effect of: your Dad's drunk, I would be if I could get hold of some alcohol, and you'll be a pishheid too as soon as you're old enough), this does little to detract from the fact that it consists of a single annoying tune repeated many many times, and includes the lyric "You shall have a fishy in a little dishy" four times. ARGH!

(I'm also very sceptical about Wild Mountain Thyme which includes the line, "If my true love, she won't have me, I will surely find another". Now, that's a very sensible attitude to take, but not it's exactly romantic!)

Luckily, Dad has given me clarinet parts in three of the songs. Unluckily, though I played it at least twice a week for nine years and passed grade 8 with merit, after nearly two years without playing it, I cannot play it for beep. The tone is pants and I can't hit any high notes. I guess if I practice, that and singing, I'll be ok . . . but I'm supposed to be revising! My first (impossible) exam is in less than two weeks' time! Nooooooo! And I have already lost yesterday evening and today, due to reheasalage.

Oh well, one good thing has come from Being All Musical And Stoof. I got inspired to write a thirty-seven-second thrash metal song called "Shop Assistants" during my lunch break, which is mint!

Saturday 19 April 2003

Last night, I went to Whitehaven to see Le Buzzcocks. Who could really do with being rechristened "The Boozecocks" judging by the amount of beer that was thrown at them. (Fortunately, I was on the other side of the audience from all the perpetrators and and so wasn't touched by a drop.) I have clearly been spoilt by all these Good Bands I've seen, like U2, Mel C and Alice Cooper, since I didn't think they were anything special, but my uncle, who I went with, thought they were mint. Still, it was definitely good value for money - as well as two support bands (neither of whom were really my cup o orange squash, being the nu-indie-kids-in-blazers-and-makeshift-ties kinda folk, but they were both very accomplished), since Buzzcocks songs are short anyway, and they play them top speed, we got about a zillion. They didn't play either of my favourites ("Lipstick" and "Rendez Vous") or "Everybody's Happy Nowadays" (the letters of which I stuck on my velcro t-shirt), but Who Cares? Not I, said the snail. Instead, I realised just how many good Buzzcocks songs I didn't know, and have resolved to familiarise myself with them further.

Thoughts:

1. Considering Whitehaven is tiny and in the middle of nowhere (it's forty miles from almost-as-small Carlisle, and about a hundred miles from the nearest major city), the place was a darn good venue - slightly smaller than the London Astorias. It was also surprisingly full. At the Stranglers concert I went to in Carlisle a few years ago, there were only about a hundred people, but while this place wasn't packed, but there were at least five hundred people there. Pretty darn good for a much-forgotten band, charging at least £11 entry! Not all of them came with walking sticks either - there was a kid in the front row in a Slipknot shirt and several members of the audience were younger than me.

2. Speaking of old, the Buzzcocks themselves were in mighty good shape. While their performance wasn't as energetic as those of the two insane support bands, they still looked pretty cool.

3. Said venue is due to get some pretty darn famous bands shortly too, namely the Dead Kennedys and Inme.

4. One of the support bands, Miss Machine, had a bloke from Whitehaven in it. Bearing in mind they're touring nationally and have a single out this week, and Whitehaven's aforementioned tinyness and in the middle o nowhereness, this is not bad going for a local lad. *feels rush of rare Cumbrian pride* Especially since, as my rather tipsy uncle pointed out later, Whitehaven is the least alternative place in the world, and all the kids on the streets were giving me funny looks on account of my pink and black stripy tights and New Rocks.

5. After writing to the Cumbria Goths mailing list for a couple of years, I finally got to meet one of the perpetrators, lipservicewithasmile. W00t!

6. Whitehaven is a mad place. It has miles and miles of unending residential area, and despite being on the coast, there are a zillion hills in it, and seemingly it doesn't possess a single flat pavement.

I stayed the night at my uncle's house (not wanting a fifty mile drive home at 11pm), where I dreamt I was delivering Omega Music catalogues to houses in south east Ireland (whose dimensions were only about four miles by two miles) and my Mum prepared me fifteen drinks of a range of acidities and alkalinities, laced with universal indicator so I could tell them apart. I only drank the neutral one, though. My subconscious gets more creative with every passing week.

Monday 21 April 2003

Yesterday, I:

* Had long conversations with my Dad about The War, Dark Ages Britain, Porn Studies (now a class at many American Universities - consult this month's British version of The Readers Digest) and Hunting, among things.

* Practised transcribing music from CD to page, in aid of working out how to sing all the songs for the concert. In doing so, I discovered that I can, in fact, sing, kind of. I don't much like my tone, but I have an ok set of lungs and I don't go flat too often.

* Went to Caldbeck (one of Cumbria's many villages) with parents to go for walk along muddy tracks and through v. bumpy fields. Despite wearing v. big soled New Rocks, I managed not to fall over. My Gothic Fellwalking Attire (velcro t-shirt, black trousers and black fleece) did earn me some odd looks from a number of sheep though. In Caldbeck, I finally got to see the school where That Chris's mother teaches (it was rather average, as schools go), though I failed to locate the house in which mein old schoolfriend Chris N lived last time I checked.

* Read the front few pages of The Cumberland News. It was surprisingly interesting. I learnt that when I was four years old, an eighteen year old boy murdered his aunt who lived in Brampton (since it has population 3500, this is quite dramatic) and he has recently broken out of jail and stolen a car. Another Bramptonian, aged 16, is believed to have committed suicide last December. Also, a thirty five year old woman has been tried for stalking Ken Dodd (an thoroughly cringe-worthy comedian in his seventies).

* Learnt how to use Sibelius (a music writing program) and started writing two of my songs in it. I only got as far as nine bars in total, though.

* Discovered that my parents are planning to go on holiday to Slovenia in September and I can go too and they will pay for me! W00T!

* Chatted to Twi, Ven (for the first time in ages) and Meg (for my second time ever, I believe) for a few hours. Twas most enyojable, despite the serious and depressing nature of some of the discussion.

But did I get any work done? Actually, I did! Just, erm, not very much. Would kick self, but pain would be an excuse to do even less. I have less than twenty three days to go before my six exams are over - is it to much to ask to exhibit a little devotion to the cause of passing them?

Today, I:

* wrote down last night's dream (in which I started a creative writing class and my brother fancied me) and spent all morning rereading accounts of dreams I had in year 2000.

* wrote half of a vicious "Teenage Dirtbag" parody and half of a song about Edward I. No, the latter instead completely random, since My Local Church is planning to commission a cantata about him, to celebrate the eight hundredth anniversary of his staying there, and Dad wants to do it, so I thought I'd assist.

* did do some work, but was distracted upon noticing a book about the Brontës and "The Class That Went Wild" lying enticingly on my shelf. (Said shelf is typically used to store ring binders on, but fictional books often commit suicide onto it.) I've read "The Class That Went Wild" before, when I was nine, and haven't read the Brontës book, so I meant to read a chapter or so of the latter, as a break from work. Two hours later, I was polishing off the former. The writing style is kinda preachy and Enid Blyton-esque, but the plot, dialogue and truth in the character portrayal is mint.

* rehearsed booers music with family.

* logged onto the Internet using my Dad's new computer for the first time. It has the funchiest keyboard ever! Unfortunately, half the buttons aren't what they say they are, and I can't find the hash sign anyway. Quel tragedie!

* chatted to Twi. We ended up writing the most insane and vicious Harry Potter fanfiction parody ever.

Tuesday 22 April 2003

Today, I became more adept at performing Analysis Of Covariance and other such things, totally incomprehensible to the non-Maths student.

Unfortunately, I also became a lot more knowledgeable about the Brontës, on account of reading the aforementioned book about them. And when I was on the last page, I accidentally mentioned I'd read it to my Mum. She asked what it was like and when I complained that it was too short, she said, "Here, I'll lend you Mrs Gaskell's biography of Charlotte Brontë, which is longer." And so I started to read that, before falling asleep for a couple of hours.

Ibid, Biggest Fan Of The Brontës, will be proud of me, but I am not.

And seven hours of the day were eaten by The Concert Du Dume, which was located deep in the heart of enemy territory: the school wot I would have gone to if my parents' hadn't decided to send me to posh people's school, with its menacing round windows and gleaming sixth form common room with a bar. (Actually, my sixth form common room had a bar, but it didn't serve anything. And its walls were decorated with magazine clippings, and the leather seats were ripped, and it was generally pretty grotty, but it felt like a proper sixth form common room, unlike this alien place with its cylindrical ceiling rafters and zillions of homogenous blue cushioned office chairs.) However, I escaped from its foul realms pretty much unscathed.

The performance went ok, except for contracting temporary brain damage during one of the pieces I play the clarinet in, and so coming in a few bars too early. My vocal range also sunk a few notes, but ended up making for altogether more comfortable singing, so this was a fine thing. At the end, the crowd begged for more, and since we, en masse, didn't know how to play anything we hadn't already played, I had to endure "Rockin' All Over The world" again. Still. It could have been worse. We could have repeated "Dull Of Kintiresome".

Wednesday 23 April 2003

Today I returned to Canterbury, to be happily reunited with my beloved large New Rock boots (whose existence I know I'll have to confess to my parents sooner or later, but I'll tell them they were a graduation present to myself) and my collection of industrial metal. Of course, I now have "Sliver" by Nirvana stuck in my head, which I've been listening to a lot over the Brampton sojourn, and is of course, still in Brampton.

But then, so is The New Kitchen Curtain, a profoundly evil entity. For it has many horizontal streaks of blue on it and looks for all the world like the evening sky: a most disturbing sight at 1am, when I go to get my belated midnight snack. And I have escaped its tyranny. However, the kitchen in Canterbury has become rather ominous too, since Jo has cleaned it. It looks funchie and I am most grateful . . . but now I'm afeard to prepare any food there, lest I spoil its pristinity with crumbs.

But I'll live. Perhaps entirely on chocolate, but I'll live.

I managed to get a fair bit of work done today. However, I also managed to read over two hundred pages of "The Runaways" by Ruth Thomas (her what wrote "The Class That Went Wild"). Although still a bit preachy, it works better in this tome, and is otherwise brillig. However, that was not my fault, since part of my train journey was spent under incredibly cramped circumstances, during which work was not really feasible. Honest!

Back in my Canterbury abode, I phoned my Mummy, upon her request. The moment she answered the phone, I at once heard "Noooo!" from her end, and "Not another one!" from the next room, as Real Madrid scored yet another goal against Man United. I am surrounded by football! Eep!

Thursday 24 April 2003

For the last three weeks, every daily to-do list has included the item, "Get To Grips With Markov Processes, You Big Geen". Naturally, I have been steadfastedly ignoring this instruction to myself. Until tonight! I had little hope of success, for I didn't begin until late in the day, campus was noisy and working at home tends to make me fall asleep within minutes. But victory was mine! I am invincible and ready to face tomorrow (Day Of Simulation). I thank my Monsters Inc t-shirt, which I am wearing today, in the hope of it having a positive effect on me (since it bears the slogan "Let's Go To Work").

Sunday 27 April 2003

Ok, so I am now on my third Day Of Simulation and I'm still only 2/3 of the way through the material! Wah! To my credit, in the last three days, I did manage to:

1. Add some 8000 words to (what was) a short story abandoned I abandoned nearly four years ago.

2. Reread a fair amount of my novel, "The Fake Sound Of Progress", most of "Verbal Voodoo", a few components of an old collection of short stories entitled "The Mystery Of A Speeding Car", and a few months of "Another Brick In The Wall". This accomplished nothing whatsoever, other than making me All Nostalgic Over School and realise my writing's improved over the last six years. However, it was slightly more productive than playing Cat's Cradle with myself for a few hours, right?

3. Watched Buffy S7 E17, which, although flawed, was, in places, as chilling as the most thrilling parts of "The Others". Also watched two episodes of "Rurouni Kenshin".

4. Caught up with my LJ friends page, which had been feeling abeeeet neglected.

5. Visited my classmate Kika and moaned about the impossibility of our modules and revision.

6. Played Spider Solitaire for, er, rather too long. Well, I was too headachy to work, and it requires mathematical thought, so it had to serve some purpose, right?

Now, on with finishing Simulation.

Monday 28 April 2003

Worked for most of the day (though not very well, as I kept getting distracted by thoughts of hair extensions), then went to ze Beercart in the evening. I probably shouldn't have, bearing in mind the fact that I have impossible exams on Thursday and Friday, but I also have exams next Tuesday and the Tuesday after that, so if I hadn't gone last night, I would have ended up missing four consecutive weeks. And since it is my main source of social contact, methought I'd best not attempt to spend over a month of this trying period of my life as a hermit.

Also, going there succeeded in give me something vaguely more interesting to write than, "I failed to revise very much."

There was a condom machine in the toilets! Eek! The Beercart hath confessed its nature as a Place Of Pulling! Noooooo!

And they've fired Goth Chris, who used to work behind the bar, because he's not female and apparently breasts sell drinks. Quel rubbish!

However, I got to see lots of people again, after a long period of not doing so. Which was nice. I had a fun gossip-y walk down with Klair, Bethany, Ian and Mark. I then spent so much of the night talking, that I forgot to carry out five of the six items on the night's to-do list, which said:

1. Lend Klair "Psalm 69" by Ministry (done).
2. Ask Iain (note the difference) about rock soc accounts, because, in the words of Shampoo, uh oh, we're in trouble.
3. Gather the few remaining rock soc committee members, to make a Plan O Action re: next year's committee.
4. Give Lawrence his homework back.
5. Ask Matt if the free camera I got with a bottle of Ribena some months ago is still likely to work, and if so, take pictures of everyone.
6. Answer text from Jon o gothicmatch.com (the only seemingly-not-insane person to contact me through it).

The primary culprits of conversation-causing were Sophie and this bloke called Toby who I'd only spoken to once before briefly. Turned out he found his New Rock boots on a pub floor(!) and knows Emma Of The Canterbury-College-Going Variety. I also got invited to a stag night! Oh, the novelty! Hooray for lesbian (pagan) weddings!

Then I walked back to campus with Klair, Sam, Emma Of The UKC-Going Variety, Ian, Mark and Tim. On the way, we passed a large unaccompanied dog that resembled a giant guinea pig, and a bloke sitting in a tree flashed us and told my companions that I was in his Maths class and the most intelligent person he'd ever met.

He must have not met many people, judging by my recent minimal levels of brainpower.

Wednesday 30 April 2003

If I had time to do that quiz everyone's doing, I'd be using Nine Inch Nails as the band, and answering the question, "Describe yourself" with "Head Like A Hole".

Yesterday, I forgot to take my birth control pill.

Today, I made some lunch to take to campus with me, and promptly left it at home.

Then I ran into my tutor in the campus shop. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Urgh. Argh. Exam tomorrow."
"Which one is it?"
"Er . . . er . . . (a minute later) Stochastic Something."

This does not bode well, considering I have to insert 68+ pages of meaningless equations into my brain.

I attempted to see the lecturer today, so that he might make sense of some of it, thus making it easier to remember. Only for me to discover that he is not here for the entire term. Well, that's highly useful!

All the other exams, I'm relatively happy about. However, as far as this one goes, I am d00med! The marker I know to be lenient, but what can he be lenient over when I don't write anything? Maybe he'll give me 50% for getting my candidate number right?