July is flying by

Well, T in the Park has been and gone. Fflam was cancelled, which is how I come to be sitting here typing this, rather than currently passing pre-poured pints over a bar. I should really say it was postponed. But I have doubts as to how good it'll be, seeing as they will have to re-book all the acts, and I can't imagine they'll get them all.

It was supposedly cancelled because of poor weather in the run-up to the event, which explains why it's suddenly so hot on the weekend it was due to be happening.

I'm working again next weekend. In the meantime, I'm going to try to set up some work experience on a magazine in Cardiff, and there's something else in the pipeline which should help me in my career. I'll tell what it is once it's sorted.

But what's really exciting is that I graduate on Monday! I've had my hair cut, and I bought a black shirt in Cardiff to wear, and a restaurant is booked for my family and Dai's, and Bethan, who's coming along too! I'm so excited. Above our bed at Dai's is all the cards and stuff I've been sent by my family and friends to congratulate me. And Nanny's making me a cake. I'm very spolit, as you can tell.

Mum and Nanny have been texting me with what they're wearing. I don't know what it's going to look like, but we'll see when they get there. The plan has been worked out to minute detail, and there's not much room for leeway - I'm making this a family occasion, and for more reasons than one - not only has it been a while since there was an academic do to go to in my family, but it's going to help unite my family, and no-one has met Dai's family, and it's at the point now where I'd like that to happen. Fortunately they feel the same way - both our parents have been making threats to go visit the others!

We've been preparing for the ball too - all we need now are masks! Dai tried on his suit again last night, with a borrowed shirt and bowite. Dad's bringing up some hand-tied ones. I've never been out with someone in a clip-on bowtie, and if I can help it, I'm not going to start now. What a snob! But I blame it on my Dad. He was in the RAF, and wouldn't be seen dead in a clip-on.

Anyway. I'm really excited about the whole thing, and am going to enjoy it as much as possible. After all, this is my first graduation. It's not going to happen again.

Just a little update from me

I've been moving Dai out today and yesterday. I rather gulitily filled his roof cuboard thing with my crap last week, but it'll be moving soon...well as I soon as I go home. I'll be working at fflam the weekend before graduation, so if you come to the bar I could be serving your pint!

First job however is T in the Park. I'm stewarding, and it's going to be LONG shifts, but it's not too long a period, just 5 days. But it's a long way to go from Cardiff. Not ooking forward to the coach journey that's for sure!

I'm leaving Swansea for a while now, I'm going to miss it, but I know I'll be back. Everything at home, by the way, is becoming clearer - looks like we might have the divorce agreement settled soon.

Anyway for the first time ever Dai is in bed before me. I think he's trying to seek my attention so we can watch West Wing on the laptop. Makes a change - normally he's the one tapping away at a computer while I'm falling asleep.

Degree results...

The results were posted. I called my father and asked if I'd had any post from Swansea. He says it came in a brown envelope, so he didn't believe it was my results, but there it was, telling me I had gained a degree of a 2:1 classification - better than I had hoped.

Also included were my graduation tickets. All the ones I requested have been granted! Which means all the people who wanted to come can, hooray!

Suffice to say I am one chuffty bunny!

Moving out..

This is one last post from House 81. We're all leaving tomorrow morning (although Penny has already gone home, of course). It's really quite sad to be leaving, but fortunately I've been too busy moving out and cleaning and moving Bethan into her new house today to think about it too much.

It's going to be very strange. I'll post again once we're all out of here.

It's all coming to an end...

Well today I'm heading home again to take more stuff back. I'm going throuh all my clothes and taking all my posters and decorations down. It's the end of an era. I've lived in this house for two years, and it will be sad to leave. Before we leave, however ,we have to clean it, and the less stuff we have in it the better!

A divorce hearing for my parents happened yesterday. From what I understand, we are to sell our home and business and split the money equally between them. Dad has tried to secure some sort of inheritance for Zander and I, but it failed. I understand why: but I work on the premis that I have no inheritance. I hate it when people are basically waiting for their parents to die so they can inherit. But this decision means that I will have no base, and there will be no 'matrimonial' home. A recent conversation with my mum left me very angry when she implied we were no longer a family. But if she feels that way then that's fine by me. Even if that means I have no mother and have no idea who my biological father is. I'm not sure when the selling will all happen - maybe next year sometime. I think my mother will press to do it as soon as possible.

Anyhow, I need to press on with the sorting. My bike's going to have to go this time too. But it'll be back when I get to Cardiff. Maybe when everything gets sold I could get Dad to move to Wales! Now there's an idea!

Busy...but not with anything useful

The ideas in the pipeline which I hinted about mean that this blog is now just a journal, rather than also a testing-station for my writing....not that anyone reads this crap anyway! But in any case, rumour has it next year I'm expected to blog something everyday, so I'd better get into the habit of being more regular.

The weather here has been gorgeous...this week I've done nothing useful, but I did take some stuff home, and spent a day in Cardiff with Dai, and went to Oakwood theme park - which was a really fun day, except the new ride did something to my neck - and yesterday was a meal and cocktail celebration to bid goodbye to a friend. Tonight is the SUCS (Swansea University Computer Society, funny name huh? Gotta love those geeks...and god knows I do!) beach barbeque. Now I'm not in SUCS, more of an associate, but that doesn't mean I won't be there with firewalls on. Ha. I'm not funny.

By the way, there's going to be a 'Potato Picnic' on the 1st July, starting from Girton Parish Church in Girton, Cambs, to walk to the trial GM potato site. Sounds like a fun, fluffy anti GM thing. Speaing of July, that's a busy month - I've got lots of work on, which is good. And graduation. Despite talking about it all the time, I still can't believe I'm going to have a degree.

New looks!

This blog had had a bit of a makeover. Pretty, huh? And much nicer than the pink, and I love pink, so that's saying something.

Well - I've done all I need to do for my course, so I'm kind of putting my house in order a bit, figuratively, and literally! I've got to get my stuff up here sorted so I can move out soon. I'll be going back to Plymouth, and then I'll be looking for a place in Cardiff for next year, and applying for loans and stuff to pay for the course.

I'm also listening to Gwen Stefani's The Sweet Escape (the album) on repeat at the moment, perhaps in an attempt to stop myself thinking about the parents and their divorce too much. Suffice to say, both sides are sharpening claws. Which is a shame because they all agreed to my plans for my graduation, but I'm dreading having to go home, and what it's going to be like when everyone's in the same room. They all want me to go home - which just makes me want to avoid it for as long as possible. Everyone seems to have theories about what the other is up to, and I've seriously had enough. And I will not be going to court.

Zander has had it tough too - he finally got a girlfriend and she messed him around in the worst possible way. Girls, think about the worst thing you could do...and then the actual worst. That was it. So he finished with her.

But other than that, my life is wonderful. I've got some great work lined up for the Summer, although more of it would be nice. Again, I'm stewarding at festivals. And there's some other ideas in the pipeline. Plus, let's not forget, I know what I'm going to do with my life. Well. Sort of.

Here comes the neighbourhood...there go the students (and the economy, and the life...)

Here it is, as promised. Commentisfree didn't want it...and to be fair, it probably just isn't their thing. The Waterfront is also going to have some articles up about it soon.


As reported in the Education Guardian (15/05/2007), a resident's association blames Swansea University students for some messy run-down areas of the city. The situation in Swansea is one which is unfortunately not new; and not uncommon to university towns. But it's also not justified that students should be blamed for all the social problems in their areas.

In my first year at university, being an environmentally-minded young person, I went along to a meeting of a local green group at which I was, admittedly, the only student. Out of interest, I asked them how the university was seen in the community, and they told me that I would probably encounter some hostility and 'nimbyism' towards students. They also told me that without students Swansea would be dead – the 'pretty shitty city' as described in the film Twin Town. Swansea's twelve thousand students bring masses to the city. Not only do they spend thousands of pounds each every year in local businesses in the city and to local landlords, but they also work - usually the unsociable seasonal hours and temporary contracts which locals can't or won't do.

The slur that students are ruining parts of the city is unfair when so many students give so much to the community. For example, I personally know students at Swansea University who work as volunteers with young people through youth and church groups, assist ChildLine and many others who raise money through Swansea's RAG. This society has contributed more than £22,000 to twenty local charities this year alone.

However, all the fund-raising and work for charity aside, student neighbours aren't necessarily bad neighbours. I live in the Sandfields area of Swansea, and it is full of students. It also has families living there, and elderly residents, so you'd expect there to be major complaints over students. But there isn't. No-one seems to know we are here. It's a lovely area, two minutes from the beach, close to town and within walking distance of the university, and living here is almost like stepping thirty years back in time. People here leave their front doors open all day, let their children play in the streets and drink tea whilst leaning against their door frames. As I type this I can hear kids playing outside my window. We do have occasional house parties, but then, so do most people. Although, not often – if I'm honest, we're too busy with our degrees and extra-curricular activities such as the student newspaper to have them much, but even when we have, we've certainly never had any complaints.

The article which prompted me to write this talked of bins put out too late for a collection. Nobody's perfect – some people may have forgotten, but let us not forget that 'too many' bags may mean not all are collected (and as students often live in larger households, there's often more bags per house than would be expected of a nuclear family). There are also complaints if bags are put out too early. Waste collection is not always early in the morning, as most people realise. The residents association must be aware that it is not only students that live in Brynmill and Uplands. As to a further comment; it seems unlikely that students are responsible for builder's rubble. This is more likely to be lazy landlords who do not bother to make their houses presentable as they are 'only' for students. Unfortunately, although there are great landlords in the city, there are, as in all places, bad ones. The lazy landlords are responsible for much of the mess their student residents are blamed for.

Many residents say they are worried about the amount of cars that students bring to university. They seem to assume that all students have cars – but from experience I can tell you this is far from the case. Very few students are prepared to make the financial sacrifices required to keep a car or have parents rich enough, and generous enough, to fund one. Swansea council has made it difficult for students to get permits for vehicles and have created permit only spaces in response. Again, the non-student issue is often ignored – in Sandfields, car parking spaces are scarce during the week – not because of students, but because of commuters who park in the area to go to work in the city centre.

One of the more worrying comments was made by Peter May, a Liberal Democrat councillor, who not only described students as dirty and messy but as vandals as well. His claims rest on knowing when the students are and aren't in the city. However, Swansea has students all year round. Not only does it attract many international students who can't afford to go home much, it also has a large number of students who are also residents of the city, not least because Wales offers special grants for Welsh students who study in their home country. There are also those who genuinely love it here so much they rarely leave.

One thing the students and the residents have in common is the knowledge that Swansea is a wonderful place to be, and many students stay and build their professional lives here. The students of today keep this city afloat, alive and vibrant. They give the city it's prosperity and community and many will be its citizens of tomorrow. Making us feel unwelcome will not improve but damage the city – when all concerned agree it's a fantastic place.

Swansea students in the Guardian

In the Guardian Education supplement today was this article: Here come the students...there goes the neighbourhood

Have a look - but I warn you, it's not pretty. And not entirely fair.
So I wrote a reply article to it: but my editor wouldn't let me publish anything on the website because it might be, errr, demfatory? And he didn't want people to think journalists were opportunistic bastards. Ok then...
So I sent it to commentisfree instead. If (ha, when, more like) they don't publish it, I'll whack it up here instead.

End of degree numbers!

Numbers for my end of degree:

1450 - approximate number of words I handed in last week.

5 - bottles of cola Dai and I drank last week to keep us going. Also the number of tickets I've requested for my graduation ceremony.

9 - days left of University for me - my big presentation is on the 18th, and that's the last thing.

5531 - how much my fees (in pounds) probably are next year.

19 - the number of journals in my bibliography of my dissertation.

26 - how much it cost to have my ballgown dry-cleaned. It was worth it though, it looks stunning now. I'll be wearing it tomorrow night at the Media Awards.

10 - the number of issues of Waterfront I have been Features Editor for.

It's nearly over. I had my last Waterfront meeting last night, so we all went for a drink, but we're all going to be at the media awards so that's probably our last social.

They said to us last year that the third year would be our most enjoyable year, and they weren't wrong. But it wasn't for the reasons they thought it would be - the course was better last year, I thought. But the paper's been brilliant - I've realised what I want to do and I have a chance to have a stab at it.

It's scary to leave University. And although I really don't want to leave Swansea, I think I'm ready for something else now. New challenges lay ahead - just to deal with this presentation first!

Drunken children?

As news breaks today that Alcohol Concern is, well, concerned about children drinking at home, I wonder if it's the right attitude.
I grew up in a social club. I was completely surrounded by alcohol from birth, and before (my mother worked behind the bar while she was pregnant). So I was alowed to drink a little from an early age. However, I rarely drank alcohol because I didn't like the taste. But I knew that my parents would allow me to have some of their wine, or a bottle of beer perhaps, if I wanted. I got cramp in my sleep badly when I was sixteen while on holiday, and my dad mixed me a gin and tonic for the quinine the next day. It was hot and it was a refreshing drink. My parents never encouraged me to drink as such, but they didn't attempt to stop me.
I only started drinking in any quantity when I was with my first boyfriend, and his parents were heavy drinkers. Unfortunately his parents drank like they were in university still, i.e. regularly during the week, and very heavily at raucous parties with their huge group of friends most weekends. Their son grew up thinking getting drunk was fun and clever, rather than accepting it as a small part of life.
I was always more restrained with alcohol than my peers. I always was the one looking out for others. Ok, so I'm a control freak and the eldest child, but still. It wasn't until this university year, while I dealt with the break-up of my longest relationship, that I made a few mistakes with alcohol. A couple of times since October I drank so much I was sick. I lost my phone and all my friends one night. That scared the life out of me, and my friends who were away from me, as they knew it wasn't my style. However, I moved on, and think that compared to how some people deal with things in life, I did it in relative safety. I didn't have a huge binge of one-night stands. I didn't take any recreational drugs. I didn't shut out my friends.
I don't think my parents did a bad job by allowing me to have alcohol. Dai's parents often have a bottle of wine, shared by the whole family (apart from his sister who doesn't like the taste) but if they don't want it, they say no. Often I don't feel like drinking, so I don't. I think part of our drinking culture is that we can't say no, and I'm not sure why. I always question whether I really want a drink, and rarely ever drink if I'm feeling depressed. I never drink even a sip if I know I may have to drive.
I hope they don't ban children from being able to experience alcohol in a healthy environment like a responsible family home. I'd like to bring up my (hypothetical)children with alcohol as something to drink with food, allowing them to have heavily diluted wine as is common in France, in the hope that they won't see it as big or clever when they grow up. I also really hate adults being drunk in front of children, as I saw supposedly responsible adults drunk and out of control as a child at a friend's birthday party, and it was quite scary for me.
What does worry me is irresponsible families who abuse alcohol passing it on to their offspring. How we can control that, I'm not sure. I don't believe that legislation to make drinking at home illegal would help those children with irresponsible parents.
We do need to change our drinking culture. But clearly, making something illegal doesn't make it impossible. I think restricting children's access to alcohol would only provide a greater novelty once they became of age, creating a greater problem than that we already face.

April update...

I have news. I got a place on the Postgraduate Diloma in Magazine journalism course! I was very, very suprised. I got out of my interview and fell ill almost immediately, and I knew I hadn't done terribly well on at least the current affairs quiz. I was enthusiastic though, but I made a terrible joke...when I was going off on one about the new form of media, and how I wanted to be part of it, I mentioned that I was sure everyone was really excited about it..and the interviewer said 'Oh, you'd be suprised...people seem to think they're Canute or someone, but you can't stop it!' To which I replied, 'No, you can't stop the digital tide!'
It wasn't as bad as it sounds...but I can't believe they let me in after I said that cheesey phrase.
So now I need to get the money together. But at least, if I can, I'm on the course! It would have knocked my confidence very badly if I had been refused.
All the people from the Waterfront and Front who went for the magazine course have either got in or been put on the reserve list, which is great!
I stayed with Dai and his family for the interview, it was lovely, just staying there, working on my dissertation and spending time with them. We went back to Swansea for a few days then came down to Plymouth, where I've been trying to get some work done. Today I've managed to do a bit, and I'll be working in the pub a bit later. I've been given approximately a ton of chocolate and some wine for Easter, and Bethan's mum sent me down an Easter egg hunt game, which is really cool!
And it's my birthday soon. I've already had some gorgeous presents, and I'm going to have a quiet one this year as Dad's going into hospital. But that's ok. I'll be down for a bit, then heading back up to Swansea. Must get back to work now. Happy Easter!

It's that time of year...

I've got too much work on to do this, but hell.
It's that time of year on campus again - sabbatical elections, and the paper has been a nightmare. After nominations close we are not allowed to print pictures, names or quotes of the people up for election. Which is annoying because although I know it's there to ensure fairness and so on, the people who run tend to be pretty active in the Student's Union. And RAG. And LGBT. Or whatever. And we can't have comments on the website now either. So here is the only place I can vent. So here goes.
THE SOCIALIST CANDIDATES GET ON MY TITS!
There, I've said it.
I feel better now.

Dignity! Period.

My university sent me their newsletter. Next week is Women's week: they will be showing some films and doing a female health sesssion and so on, as well as celebrating International Women's Day. They are also encourging boys to dress like girls for charity. Quite a good move in some ways as student males seem to, on the whole, delight in this activity. It disturbs me a little that the young men of my generation seem to think that putting on skirts and dresses and pretending to be girls or women is a funny thing to do, but there we are. (Girls dressing as men is nowhere near as desirable, and I think this is probably because women, and particularly, female students, live in remarkably similar clothes to their male counterparts. I'm terribly guilty of this; today I'm wearing a boyish-cut t-shirt and combat trousers, not to mention cute 'boyshorts' underneath. Clearly there's something going on with the fact that many of my clothes are based on male tailoring, but that's for another day.)
As a fancy dress choice, boys choosing cross-dressing is very common. In fact on Wednesday I went out to a 'superhero' themed fancy dress do, and a boy there dressed in drag. Quite sweet really, I'm pleased he recognises that women are indeed superheroes, but it also made me laugh as he proudly wore his 'What Would Jesus Do?' bracelet and engaged in the usual homo-erotic behaviour which only seems to afflict church-going, geeky young men. I'm always throughly confused by this, but I see it happening a lot. I always think that it's nice that they embrace their homoerotic side as eagerly as they do lesbianism (with much gusto, in case you needed clarification). But I still think there's probably a million contradictions going on there.
Anyway, the charity they are raising money for through the medium of boys (hiliariously, I'm sure, and accompanied by much 'laddish' homo-erotic fun) dressing as girls is 'Dignity! Period'. These people are raising money to send tampons to Zimbabwe. At first I was utterly disgusted by this idea. I assumed that Zimbabwean women were, like the women I met in the Gambia, using rags to soak up the blood released during their period and then burning or washing the rags afterwards. There is nothing undignified about this practice in my opinion, and sending the westernised idea that unless you can take it out of several layers of packaging, admire the bleached whiteness, then throw it away, it must be unclean, is completely unethical and irresponsible.
So I did some research and found a website on it: Dignity Period. It seems I'm not the only one who has questioned this. I wouldn't expect a charity to give out the hippy favourite, mooncups, but sending disposables seems really unethical. The reply to a similar question posted there informed me that women in Zimbabwe have been using tampons for a while, and since the cotton is now very scarce and therefore expensive, due to the complete degradation of farming and society in general, the only factory making tampons has closed and although there are some available they are prohibitively expensive. It's reported that women have been using packed wedges of newspaper or leaves instead. This is leading to infections and vaginal health problems, which in a country with widespread HIV infection and huge stigma about such matters is problematic, and contributing to domestic violence and supression of women in Zimbabwe. Hence the campaign. They chose disposable tampons because 'that is what women have been using'. Fine, and some women probably have. They also tell me that clean water is scarce, so maintaining hygiene is difficult with regards to washable sanitary protection. Which is a problem anyway. And frankly, another part is the fact that western women on the whole feel no guilt about using plastic backed, over-packaged sanpro, so to criticise Zimbabwean women for being environmentally unfriendly is ridiculously westerncentric, when we've been polluting the planet by doing the same thing for many more years.
However, I still think it's a huge generalisation to say all women in Zimbabwe were using tampons and have forgotten how their grandmothers dealt with their periods. Clean water is scarce in many places, and often accompanies widespread poverty. How do other women cope?
I hope they raise lots of money and send truckloads of tampons, if that's really what's needed right now. But I think in the long term what's needed is a greater communication on sanpro itself, and more social studies into women and their periods now, and in the past, all over the world. My favourite mag, Scarlet, this month has an interesting article on the history of sanpro, but they avoid any of the environmental arguments about modern period products. I think they missed a trick there, but the article was otherwise very good. The best thing about Scarlet apart from their lack of squemishness about women's issues is their 'no celebrities and no diets' policy. Although I also noticed that there was an advert by a condom comapany this issue which was in an article format and provided a 'sex diet plan'. Hmm.
Going back to the Dignity! Period campaign, I think my biggest problem is with the name; I feels it suggests that non-tampon methods of sanpro are somehow undignified. The NUS is backing their campaign, and some universities have put forward support for the motion of a 5% 'tax' on tampons to be added to their price and then contributed to the campaign. I'm all for that; but then I'm a Natracare towels or washable towels girl.
So I hope they send many many tampons, and that through this type of campaign there's more openess about the issues regarding 'sanitary wear'. But I've decided againist trying to get my boyfriend to wear my clothes this week. Quite apart from anything else, he'd be no fun and look completely normal: I wear jeans and a t-shirt most of the time as well. Plus he's already got longish curly hair, and, bless him, he's no giant. He gets mistaken for a girl too much for his liking already.

This thing reckons I'm Brigitte Bardot...

You are Brigitte Bardot

Naurally sensual and beautiful, you're an exotic beauty who turns heads everywhere! You've got a look that's one of a kind.

What Famous Pinup Are You?

Divorce, St. David's Day and dissertation

The dissertation draft is due in soon. As is the Researching Politics (Child Soldiers) group report. So I'm snowed under. Again. Plus I have another application form, or actually a few. Some are for funding, but I'm also applying to the Telegraph. They're offering apprenticeships, basically. The application is ten pages long. The funding letters are more vauge 'set out personal circumstances'. Don't ask for my life history, because you will surely get it.
The list has gone up for graduations ceremonies. Not until July. But that makes no difference. The fact is that the two people who brought me up hate each other to the extent that they cannot be left in the same room together and their silly divorce is going through court as we speak. It's completely unecessary, but there it is. Currently, I'm disgusted with both of them. The word is we only get two tickets for graduation. I thought about it and got quite stressed. This is going to be an important day. I thought about the options, and combinations, and decided I couldn't invite anyone. I was at Dai's parents house. I could invite them, I joked. Better than no one to be happy for me.
But I've thought about it some more. I think I might invite both my parents. Maybe I'll tell them the other's going, maybe I won't until they ask. I will however make it as difficult as possible for them to say no. That'll force them to get their act together, and if they don't, then they don't love me. I shall also reserve the right to completely ignore them if they act up and refuse to referee.
Childish? Maybe. but sometimes it does people good to have a taste of their own medicine.

Cross your fingers for me...

It's gone. The envelope has been sealed, the contents checked a hundred times. Even in my sleep; I woke last night with a terrible but unfounded fear I forgot to sign something. Applying for postgraduate courses isn't easy; the amount of hoops you need to jump through, forms to fill in and references to obtain, it feels almost like an entrance exam in itself.
So it's been sent and Cardiff should receive it just in time. My personal statement has been worked and reworked; I'm hoping to pull off another memorable statement like the one which got me into university despite my poor A-level grades. So cross any spare things you might have, fingers, toes, legs, if appropriate, and wish me luck, because I really want this. I think I've come a long way this year already; I want to keep this dream alive.
Here's hoping I get accepted.

My first...Valentines

I've never really done Valentines before, but it seemed a good excuse to spend a whole day with Dai so after many conversations about if, what and where, we both took a day off, (as it was a Wednesday, which we both have no official committments for) and I did nothing!
We had a massive lay in, lazed about and watched DVDs and ate toast. We both made cards because we're silly and gave each other chocolate, (although we both said no presents, we both turned up with chocolate).
In the evening Dai disappeared and made me a yummy meal; organic soup with bread to start, a main course of grilled peppers stuffed with corguettes and mushrooms, served with field mushrooms with ginger, and followed by vegan chocolate mousse and strawberries. Very impressive, Dai had done extensive research to find vegan recipes online. It was all delicious. I'm a lucky girl. We shouted at the Brits for a bit but I did absolutely nothing all day and felt very lazy. Dai said that that was the point. In any case it was great and I was very spoiled. As usual!

It's gone - it's back - oh, and it's gone again...

Well. The past few days have been what's known as 'very odd'. Wednesday evening I was at home. It had been quite a long day at the office. The boyfriend turned up probably about eleven. My car was parked just around the corner, because the parking in my street is difficult to say the least at times. I check my car everyday pretty much, but usually drive it no more than once a week. I needed to replace the headlight bulb before I went to a gig on Friday night and home to Plymouth on Saturday, but it would have to wait until the paper was put to bed.
Thursday morning was a bit of a rush, but we set off for the office about half ten. I was working on the pages layout when I got a message over MSN from my brother. The police had called the house about my car, saying it had been abandoned. Completely ridiculous. Ok, so I hadn't driven it for four days, so what? You'd think the police would have better things to do. I called Penny, and got her to check the car was ok. It wasn't there.
So I called the police. The car had been found in Morriston (a place near the industrial estates in Swansea) at 1am. The boyfriend saw it when he arrived
in the evening; and I was certain I'd seen it in the morning, but that morning, I hadn't looked. When I thought back, I didn't remember seeing it. That would be because it wasn't there.
The police took sixteen hours to get in contact. They then took a further six hours to tell me exactly where it was. But a few minutes later they rang back to tell me it had been stolen again.
I wasn't that upset about the car; well, I was, but I accept that as a car owner, it happens. But I was pretty pissed off it had gone again. As far as I was concerned, the police had let it get nicked again.
I was not impressed. I called everyone and told them they wouln't see me this weekend, and cancelled all plans for the gig.
Dad wanted to come get me, and I was feeling really homesick, and nearly let him. But I decided that just in case the police got back to me I should be here. It was a good plan. I was reading the Sunday Times on my laptop in bed, as is my habit on a Sunday morning, when I got a call. The police insisted I came and recovered my vehicle. I had to call my intern with a car, Spooky, to come give me a lift. It took forever to find the place. I'd asked the police about the condition of the car; they thought I'd need to tow it, although they couldn't see any body damage. So I called the RAC. They agreed to come out.
But; although the ignition had been unscrewed, and the steering lock broken, and the lock ripped out from the driver's side and a dent in the rim of the front driver's side wheel, it was ok! It started, no problem. the RAC checked it out and told me it was safe to drive. It had battery, and petrol. I bought a stoplock, assuming the car wouldn't lock, but it does from the inside, (although it's still a little more vulnerable) and of course the alarm still works. Fortunately the boyfriend has off street parking, so I'm borrowing that until I can get all the bits and pices fixed. I'm thinking about having a plate welded over the hole where the lock was; I haven't been able to open my car from the driver's side for months anyway after a former but botched screwdrivering attempt.
The new plan is to go home this weekend instead. I'd given up on my car, and cancelled the insurance due to go through on it...guess I'd better see if they'll take me back! what a weekend. I was going to really work on my dissertation as well...funnily enough concentrating has been difficult. Now. If it's possible, I'd like to have a really sodding boring week; no bombshells, no disasters, nothing. Can we manage that? I doubt it...but I'll try.

My boyfriend makes oi laff...

Now you'd think a Computer Science student would be completely obsessed with his err.. equipment; and you'd be right! Don't get me wrong, he loves his toys and gadgets, but I'd never have thought one so technologically-minded would refer to his computer as a 'piece of shit' quite so often.
I work on the assumption that if you're nice to the nice computer, the nice computer will be nice to you. Ok, so I'm wrong, but I'm not doing too badly; I've had my laptop for 4 years (cue a complete breakdown) and so what if the disk drive is broken and Office is completely screwed for no apparent reason? I use an external or USB drive if necessary and have Open Office. Oh and for some reason it won't go into standby mode, it just releases blue screns of death instead. Odd, but manageable. I just have to cope with it being either on or off.
I don't mind. The boyfriend, however, gets really mad at his whenever something goes wrong for no apparent reason. I'm beginning to think he likes it though (I certainly don't mind, he's really cute when he's angry at inanimate objects, it makes me giggle); he's always so proud when he works it out and fixes it. That's what he's good at. Amongst other things, of course.