Recently in Life Category

I fancied writing this down. I'm not the kind of person who believes in or does new year resolutions, but rather I prefer to think of things that I would like to achieve at some point in the year, new year or not. I'll break this down into categories, and bear in mind that this will not only be the good/interesting/fun things that I want to do, but also a few predictions.

Degree
I have a set goal with my degree: to finish it, and get a proper job. I know, easier said than done I am sure. Within the calendar year of 2009, I will have sampled three seperate courses. There's AA100 which I started in October 2008. Then there's A210 which begins in February 2009. And then in October 2009 I will start U211. Three seperate courses in one year. Beyond that, there's only two more courses to do. The realisation of that is quite a strange one, because it feels as though I have only just begun and that I have a very long way to go. In truth, I don't. It's not that far away, and graduation should be in the summer of 2011. What a strange feeling. I hope to meander my way through A210 to the best of my ability - I am sure it is not as difficult as the rather threatening material makes it look.

Books
Last year I made a book list that I intended to get through. No such luck. I sucked in every attempt that I made, and judging by my previous entry about my reading in 2008, I wasn't anywhere near as erudite as I wished to be in my literary choices. This year, I hope to change my piss poor attempt into a much better one. It's only 5th January, but I am coming towards the end of the most recent book that I purchased, which is 600 pages. I am hopeful that I will read more this year. I am also hopeful that I will read better stuff too. As I have two books by Ayn Rand, a number of romantic writings, and the complete works of William Shakespeare to get through, I think I am on a much better path than 2008.

Work
With one of our guys off for the long haul, I fear and very much feel that we were going to get heavily rammed. Arse. With The Boss being forced to take two weeks worth of holiday this month, there will only be two of us in the department, and with me only being a part-timer, for half of the time there will only be one person. Not looking good. Our problem is not the work and the stuff that we are required to do, it is other people and their lack of tact as well as their impatience. I will definately not resolve to be nicer to people because most people that I come across that I have to work with don't deserve it because of their bad attitude towards us. It's going to be a difficult start to the year and I hope it doesn't last too long.

Learning for Learning's sake
I like learning. I'm one of these people who can put the Discovery channel on and watch it all day. I love learning solely for the sake of learning new stuff. I think that we are a rare breed of people and it saddens me that there are not more of us. Anyway, this year, my challenge is to start learning a new language. I've mentioned it before - Russian. I am under no illusions that I can learn much of a language with a Cyrillic alphabet within the space of one calendar year. However, I simply wish to start learning as we all have to start somewhere, and I really want the challenge.

Games/Consoles/Computers
We have rather neglected our xBox recently. That must change. Not only that, but I have been seriously neglecting the games that I used to play on this machine. Since installing a new Razer gaming mouse last week, I have started playing Day of Defeat: Source again. It is fun, and I think that I had forgotten that. It's nice to be back, even if I do suck at it. I do resolve to do one thing: take better care of this machine. It was running hot recently (35ºC immediately after being turned on, and 55ºC while playing games), and today I hoovered it out. Now it's 10-15ºC lower which can only be good, surely? You should have seen the disgusting amounts of dust in there, especially under the CPU fan. There's a lesson for you - hoover out your PC every few months, it can make a massive difference. On one more unrelated note, for as long as EA keep advertisements and spyware in their new release of The Sims 3, I am not buying it. Sorry EA, but you've just lost yourself a very loyal customer of 8 years.

Life in General
On the morning after our second anniversary, The Boss and I were sat having breakfast in the hotel in London. The Boss could see a family behind me and he was annoyed by the behaviour of the children. We then started talking about children. After a short pause, he said "One of us should get sterilised", or words to that effect. I agree, at least one of us should get neutered. I may only be in my early twenties and he in his mid-twenties, but we know that children aren't for us. We're more the work focussed type. We don't want interruptions or to have to take time out for someone else. I also don't want to ruin my relatively nice body - I'm very happy with the way it looks now. In 40 years time, I want to look like Helen Mirren in a Bikini, not like a lot of these women you see on things like Embarrassing Illnesses with massive amounts of stretch marks and extra skin. Nah, not for me. In 2009 one of us will probably be neutered, which one is yet to be decided. As I have had abdominal surgery before, I need to see a gynaecologist first (I hate the word gynaecologist, it makes me want to hurl). As shallow as we may seem, the choice to remain without children is a more difficult one than to blindly follow society and have some because "everyone does it".

We might travel a little. Apparently I would like Prague.

We might get a dog. Rescue dog of course - what breed and age we do not know, but it is something that comes up in conversation quite regularly.

Beyond all of that, there really is little to talk about. I hope that 2009 won't be terribly exciting in a bad way, but I also hope that the world doesn't come to an end. I'm not ready for that yet. Are you?

Another year has slipped me by in this futile world. 2009 is almost upon us, but lo! Where did 2008 go?

It feels as though it were mere weeks ago that I was sat on my parents sofa at Christmas totally engrossed by what is now my favourite book. The Picture of Dorian Gray. And then it feels even more recently that we were, on the fly making our way to London for what was to The Boss, an Anniversary surprise. Well, it was slightly more recent than Christmas, by two days, but still, it is almost a whole year ago. And here we are now. It's is almost our second wedding anniversary, and I am about to have yet another birthday.

What have I achieved this year?

• I completed DD100


• I started AA100


• I signed my life away to A210


• I survived an academic year as an IT Technician

That is probably all that I could claim as achievements. Personal mental achievements? Nah, they're all tied up with the courses. Personal social achievements? Removing myself even further from the social circle at work is continuing. When I say the "social circle" (or should that be circus?) I mean the people whom I have a certain amount of contact with as oppose to the people I work with a lot. I have managed to become more honest, perhaps brutally so, with people that request our help. So call me a heartless evil bitch, I don't care. Sometimes I think that people need to know the truth. Most of them are too stupid to know when I'm being nasty, which is a bonus.

Argh. I digress. Yes, it is shortly (the end of this week) my birthday. I get yet another year older. As I get ever further away from from birth, and ever closer to my death so I wish that were a Dorian Gray type. I am probably shallow enough to sell my soul in exchange for staying youthful. For Lord Henry would say that youth is everything. I am not scared of dying, no. I am perplexed by aging despite believing that it is inevitable and doing nothing to prevent it. Unlike some women my age who cover themselves in make-up or anti-aging "formulas". No. I don't subscribe to that, I subscribe to the idea of growing old gracefully, however, I don't want to get old. Youth is everything. At the grand old age of twenty-something (early twenties) I still look as I did when I was 18. Perhaps I even look as I did when I was 13. I don't have a single line or wrinkle to speak of. I have not yet started to develop the jowls so apparent in many women older than myself. Perhaps I don't smile enough? Perhaps I'll keep it that way.

Lying in bed very late last night I wondered if my lack of apparent aging, at an age when most women start to become concerned about it, was because I had made a deal with the devil, and maybe there is a portrait out there somewhere which I could do with tracking down. Maybe that's showing the signs of indulgence in rather rich foods, sex and alcohol? Maybe that's showing the ravages on my face and body that a decade of insomnia and laziness should be displaying? Or maybe I am grabbing at straws and still hoping that I don't age. I like the way I look now. I will never have a child, so my body won't change in that way, will I be able to sustain this womanly form, or will it all fall by the wayside? I look like the woman that I have always imagined I would be. The determined, strong, independent woman that I have so desired to be since I was a child.

The only thing on me that shows any kind of aging is the slight peppering or frosting of gray in my hair, which The Boss so lovingly points out on a semi-regular basis (no criticism there dude, it keeps me grounded). I expected it, as my Mother started going gray in her teenage years. If It bothers me that much, I could dye it, but I know that I won't. It is this strange feeling of finally being Me, but just as soon as Me came along, so Me has to go again. I'll never be as perfect as I was at this age ever again. As I grow ever closer to 30 I start to feel as though I'm entering that age group of the population where there is no longer anything special about them. They are simply the people who work and pay the most taxes. There is nothing extraordinary about the thirty-somethings unlike there seems to be with the twenty-somethings and the teenagers. The thirty-somethings just slot right into society and no-one gives them a second look.

I wonder, do many twenty-somethings feel like this, or are they all having too much fun? Is my fear borne out of a very different kind of life in my twenties to that of my peers, or because of my strange connection to a book? A connection that I felt a decade before I even read the thing. That's a difficult thing to try and explain. I shan't bother. The Boss will only think that I am being silly.

But then, there is the conundrum as with Dorian Gray. He stays beautiful and youthful forever, yet becomes a conceited, selfish and perhaps even evil boy - things for which beauty and youth cannot make up. I do not wish to become conceited (some may say I already am), selfish (again, some may say I already am) or evil, I merely wish to retain my youthful good looks.

So here's to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year for everyone else. And a youthful birthday for me.

Sure is cold. In here too. I've never been one for staying terribly warm. I'm just skin and bone. However, the heating has just come on.

I was actually writing here to say that in TMA01 of AA100 I got and average of 84. I say "an average" because it was marked in two parts and the average between the two was 84. I'm pleased. TMA02 is what is known as a 'reflective essay', which the student reads the tutor's comments and then rewrites part of their previous submission based upon the feedback. Even my tutor had admitted in the comments that it doesn't need to be rewritten and I simply need to find a part that I don't like myself and take his feedback into account. Wonderful. I honestly thought that I had totally bombed out on TMA01. I've already written TMA03 and it's almost ready to submit, so the short amount of time that I need to pay to TMA02 will be done this week before having the next couple of weeks free for Christmas.

Talking of Chrirstmas...we kind of had our 'Christmas' last night. Well, we exchanged gifts. The Brother and Sister-In-Law visited briefly yesterday to give us our gifts, so The Boss and I decided to give each other our Christmas gifts. I gave him a new Philips Sonicare and he gave me Razer 4000dpi gaming mouse and mousepad. We didn't bother to wrap them up, in fact, they still had their Amazon packaging and receipts in with them. Yeah, we're classy. The Brother and Sister-In-Law gave The Boss Gears of War 2 (try finishing Gears of War before you start this one!) and they gave me the DVD of Equus. I had asked for it, and was rather pleased to receive it. I shall have to watch it soon, but maybe after I've read the play.

My parents have been and gone. I picked them up from the airport and they left here the next day. It's now going to be quiet for the rest of the year. I have to work. Yes the pay is some conciliation for it. It's a few hundred quid that I wouldn't otherwise have and can spend it on Rosetta Stone or something. Yeah, didn't mention that did I? I want to learn Russian and have drawn a blank on evening classes. I am currently considering Rosetta Stone stuff, but it's freaking expensive. We'll see, in the new year. Plus, the train to and from my parents house/London is going to cost around £150. Christmas prices? Nah, that's just the normal rip-off Britain fares. Last time we went to London, it cost us more for the train tickets than for the hotel.

What else, what else? It's cold. So cold. Oh yes, the Spooks DVD(s) went down well with my Father. He kept telling me that I shouldn't have bought it, but then said that he didn't see half of series 6 either, quite how he managed to follow the beginning of series 7, I do not know. But he's even now, and is probably missing a whole series in total. And for Christmas I have got them a Photobook which I ordered today. It better look good, it wasn't exactly cheap. I thought that I had presents all figured out until yesterday when I realised I hadn't ordered a load of vouchers and when I got an e-mail from Snapfish telling me there was only 2 days left to order to get stuff in time for Christmas. Meh. Maybe I'm just getting old and the time is passing me by quicker, but life does seem to slipping by at the moment. Too much work, too much studying, maybe? Too much of wishing my life away so that I can get a proper job and be free of the clutches of funding these courses - finally putting them to good use? Maybe.

This evening, I feel like having, after dinner, some booze accompanied by some cheese and crackers. There's no Spooks to watch (travesty - what will we watch instead?!) and nothing in particular to do. Just relax huddle up on the sofa then.

Today, I was forwarded an article by my Father. Arrest over ME campaigner's death.

It's not only on the BBC, it's also available on The Times and, by unpopular demand, The Daily Mail.

A feeling came over me when I read these articles. I developed ME when I was 13 and sometimes still say that I have it mildly. The feeling that came over me was one of a desperation to move on. To leave it all behind. I'm getting on a bit now and I am quick to become bored and frustrated of things. This is one of these things that I am bored and frustrated of.

There is a lot of reluctance amongst people within the ME community to accept that people do get better. From my years as a member of a charity for young people, I saw many people be lambasted and subjected to some pretty vitriolic comments when they announced that they were better and it was time for them to leave. Sure, you might be a bit pissed off that someone else is better, but everyone has it in their capacity to keep their mouth shut, to grin and bear it - there is no reason to ruin someone's day by making a nasty comment about it.

There is also a lot of malice when people say that even if they aren't fully better, the best thing for them to do is no longer have contact with ME sufferers. It's almost as though it's some club that you join one day, and you'll never be allowed to leave. I've read many accounts over the years of people saying that they most significantly recovered either mentally, physically or both when they ceased contact with people who were ill, and possibly dragging them down. What is so wrong with doing what is best for you? If living in the real world and without hearing other people trying to drag you down is the best thing for you, why should you be made to feel guilty for it?

I've come across numerous parents saying that they didn't want their kids to be part of that particular young people's charity because of some of the morbidly depressing things that were posted on the online message board, or sent to people privately. I wholly accept that. In fact, I think that it is sensible for a parent to say such a thing sometimes. If you are constantly bombarded with people telling you how bad life is, how bad it could get for you, how ill they feel, how it is unrelenting agony, then how is that going to make someone feel? Worse than they already do, most likely. I am sure that somewhere along the line I have read about sufferers of different diseases have better survival/recovery rates if they aren't dragged down by their own existence and don't dwell on things. It's no different for this. Sometimes I wonder just how much support people get from 'support groups'.

I have seen first hand, starting ten years ago, the stubborn reluctance of a lot of people with ME to believe in any tiny, tiny, minute form that the state of your mind has any effect on your overall health. They will say that it brands people with ME as being mentally ill and they want to get away from that. Of course, by saying that the state of your mind affects your physical health does not say that people with ME are all psychiatric cases. It merely says that your mental state impacts your physical wellbeing, which is very clearly evident in cases of depression. Sometimes a brighter outlook, whether that's brought about by therapy or a person's own initiative can have a huge impact on the state of their physical health. I know it did for me. And no, I had no 'treatment' in the form of CBT or "Lightning Process".

There is another issue here, about the 'use' of a chronic illness to the benefit of a person. A discussion I had at work recently. Many years ago, I remember conversing with people who openly admitted that they used their diagnosis of ME as a way to get out of things, whether that be working, school or a difficult situation even if they were capable of dealing with it. I saw many people fall into this trap of using it for those means, even if it was the odd innocuous thing such as getting out of an undesirable social invitation. It's a dangerous precedent to set yourself and a very dangerous, dark world of secrets and lies to fall into. I entered into it myself. It got me out of church, seeing relatives, answering certain questions, hell, I would even say it got me out of getting physically and mentally better for a number of years. However, for some people it becomes almost enjoyable. They enjoy the attention and recognition that they get from their experience. They would be the first to say that they do not in any way enjoy being ill, but that seems to be negated by their enjoyment of the attention. Of course, I am not saying that this is the case with all, or even many ME sufferers. I am sure that it is a tiny proportion, but it would be stupid for anyone to deny that this occurs with any illness.

Sometimes you get to a point of acceptance with a chronic illness. Not just that you have it, but that you have to move on and get at least some of your life back. Sometimes you might just have an epiphany that it's time to leave it all behind and to get better. Sometimes you might not even notice, but something in your brain simply changes. Mine came about almost 5 years ago and now I feel as though I'm at my pinnacle. I have a job, I'm doing a university degree, I intend to get physically fit and live the rest of my life with as much enjoyment as is humanly possible. This is my time to officially renounce myself as being an ME sufferer. I am not chronically ill, I haven't been for a long time. In my mind, it was pre age 18. The physical manifestation of it may not have gone by that point, but the mental ties certainly had.

World, please accept this as my official renunciation of my being chronically ill. It's time for me to move on. And fuck me, am I going to move on.

Life is terminal. I may as well enjoy it while it lasts.

I made a promise to my Father just before they went on their extended holiday. I promised him that I would record the six subsequent episodes of Spooks as he would miss all of them. I checked last night, and out of five broadcast (the final one being next week) I have managed to record two. WTF? How did I forget? We've watched them all. We haven't missed a single one. How was I so absent-minded? I was asking everyone at work today that I thought was cool enough to watch Spooks whether they had recorded it. No - one seemed to even watch it, let alone record it. Arse was my response each time. Arse.

I've ordered the Series 7 DVD, and I think I'll do him an IOU type thing for Christmas, as well as apologise. Apologise indeed as the DVD isn't released until the end of February. It's annoying because I've put so much credence into this series and not missed an episode, as I truly believe that despite pretty good ratings, it will probably be the last series. Honestly, how many times can you go over similar terrorism-related stories? It's been running for 7 years now, there are only so many times that you can accuse Al-Qaeda, Iran or Russia of launching some kind of nuclear/terrorist attack on Britain. Surely they are running out of potential countries to use as enemies? It'll either come to an end because it has finally run its course and there's nothing left to talk about, or because they'll kill off Harry Pearce. I'd be pretty pissed if they killed off Harry, because he's lovely.

Now I'll spend the next 10 days trying to work out how to deflect my Father's questions about "did you record Spooks for me?" into something like "I'm working on it".

I was going to write so much more. I had it all in my head, and suddenly, it's gone. I was going to bitch about the Mother in Law, having read a newspaper article, but I think I'll leave that for another time.

There's a part of my nature which distresses me. I'm far too capricious. For a while now, I've thought that my attempts at getting a degree would be of great help, and that I really and truly did want to go on and get a PhD. Well, I ruminated over a doctorate, and have done for quite a while. However, I am beginning to wonder if it's just my poor attempt at shunning proper, real-world work for another four years? I have these thoughts that maybe I'll do a PhD, and then become a lecturer or get into publishing or something. You know, the kind of thing that slots nicely into society and what other people think I would be good at or should do. That kind of thing that people on the outside of your life think is perfectly acceptable, and would not only suit you but fulfill your every wish and desire of a job. However, my outer role, that which I portray to everyone else but those closest to me is a million miles from that. I don't want to fit into some predefined slot and idea that others have for me.

My parents never had any 'dreams' for me. They never expected me to go into any kind of job in particular. Perhaps that was because I have always been too fickle and would flit between things readily? I've said many times over many years what I would like to be, but when it has failed to materialise, or I have the realisation that I am not capable, those ideas subside. My parents were sensible in not pushing me, not inflicting their ideas of what they thought was best for me as an adult. Doing that would have been wrong. Selfish perhaps. Instead it is entirely led by me. In fact, my life in general has always been led by me. With two parents who I hardly ever saw because they worked 16 hours per day, of course my life was going to be independent and entirely led by me. It still is. Just because I'm married or in regular contact with my parents does not mean that I desire to fit to anyone's boxes. I am still an independent, almost free spirit in terms of where my learning and work desires lead me.

But then come the doubts. It's when I start to doubt my capabilites in certain skills. Or when I don't enjoy a topic for a while and I start to ponder if that's because I'm crap at it, rather than the subject currently sucks. Or when other people make some glib comment either about me or other people. I start to wonder if they really meant it, if it was a snide attempt at pulling me down a couple of rungs. I'm not the type of person that is outwardly affected by criticism. Inwardly I can be a little bit, but I try to put it down to someone not knowing me well enough. Then I start to doubt that excuse and tell myself that maybe they're right on the money, after all.

It rears its head when someone asks me why I'm doing this degree. I say that I don't know, truly. It is true, I don't really know. I could reel off a list as long as my arm of things that I would like to do. I could then reel off a list as tall as me about why I am not capable of doing any of those things. It would be a list of doubts. We all doubt ourselves. I am sure that I am not the only person in the world whose doubts stop them from doing things that they are more than capable of doing. I don't fear being laughed at - not at all. I fear letting myself down, and that's far worse than being laughed at.

Shakespeare had it so very right when he wrote this in Act 1 of Measure for Measure:

Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.

I have a day school tomorrow.

Because one of the guys is off sick, The Boss now has to cover this Saturday. I think the guy has actually been poisioned by his wife such is her...err...desperation. Anyway, yes The Boss is working tomorrow. I had forgotten until late this afternoon that I do in fact have an AA100 Day School. I am not required to attend, but it might be helpful.

The original plan was that The Boss would take me into Chelmsford tomorrow morning, drop me at the University and then come home. Because The Boss now has to work this has been scuppered a bit. Why can't I just drive myself into Chelmsford?

• I don't want to drive into Chelmsford on a Saturday Morning less than a month before Christmas (ew, ew, ew).
• I don't want to have to pay for parking at Chelmsford University (ew, ew, ew, ew).

The second one got four ew's.

The morning of the session is taken up by stuff that we won't be assessed on - The Diva and Stalin. The afternoon however, is. It's about The Dalai Lama and The Faber Book of Beasts for TMA03. I'm going in the afternoon. That way I can get dropped off and we don't need to pay for parking. What confuses me, is that it seems to suggest that the afternoon sessions take it all in within an hour. Now, I'm assuming that it's an hour each for one subject, so in total I'll be there for a couple of hours, just like a normal tutorial.

Part of me doesn't want to go as it already feels like a waste of a weekend, and I was rather looking forward to the weekend being relatively free and easy. Another part of me doesn't want to go because the relevant bit is in the afternoon and that's akin to me working in the afternoon which I simply don't do. And another part of me doesn't want to go because I'm convinced that as it's encompassing four different areas there will be a lot of people there who know even less about the subjects than my normal tutor group do. Oh yeah, and my Tutor isn't going to be there. You see, I'm sceptical about the whole thing. It'll be another two hours of my life where I sit in silence trying to hide my displeasure at stupid questions.

Moving on...Today the pest man was supposed to visit. He did visit in fact. We had a pest problem - some kind of rodent, we assume a rat or mouse (more likely to be a mouse) was trying to burrow its way through our ceiling. Had to be sorted before it chewed through an electricity cable and set the house on fire. I felt very guilty about having to call pest control in, but these things must be done sometimes. We had two visits previously from one guy. This time, it wasn't the guy that I was expecting. I was disappointed. The guy we've had in the past has been very talkative and nice. This guy was nice but not as talkative, he was also much older. He did however confirm us as pest free. That reads as though I am a social animal and that I am lacking/missing conversation. I'm not, in fact I much prefer talking to myself.

Now all we need to do is to coax the maintenance department into filling in the hole in the eves that lets the 'pests' in. Pfft. One day. They came round yesterday to do a different job, then said that they would come back today. They didn't. I assume it's because of the rain, just so long as they do come back on Monday, or at least early next week.

This weekend was looking so promising until I remembered that I have to go out.

I booked the hotel for our anniversary today. Yay. London Eye booked. Hotel booked. Now, what are we going to do while in London? Trying to entice The Boss to an art gallery has proved fruitless so far. Admittedly, I've only had one attempt, but he'll read this, laugh and still give me the same answer I am sure ;)

Sunday should be quiet. I hope. I've lost wherever that train of thought was going. I shouldn't google things during the middle of writing these.

For a while now, I have longed to put into words my experiences of when I have to visit the Mother in Law. It is a difficult thing to do because the entire experience engenders so much anger, and almost hatred, in me. Sometimes I experience some form of enlightenment where I let it pass me by untouched. Othertimes I cannot deal with it as effectively. This time, it mostly passed me by. I wasn't even passive-aggressive, I was merely passive.

This weekend just gone, we had to visit them for a little fireworks party that occurs every year.

Let me pause here for a second. I have no problem with The Father In Law - he's cool until one of his moments when he pitches up at our house unannounced, or asks the same question for the 100th time.

I always dread this occassion. Not because The Father In Law might get his hand taken off by an errant firework. No no. Merely because she (in this post "she" will refer explicitly to the mother in law) goes out of her way to ruin everything. She puts on her most dour face and can't muster up a single fucking smile the whole time that we are there.

And it doesn't stop there. She has to ruin things even further by complaining about everything that the Father in Law is doing. She tells us that he's doing it wrong. She asks why it has to be done like that. She chastises him like a child because he got dirty - FFS, he was stoking a bonfire, what do you expect? - she practically screams at him when she notices him sitting on an item of furniture while wearing apparently dirty clothing. Everything is prefixed with "Oh my God!", or a faked scream in agony. When someone asks her if she is okay, the answer they get is normally along the lines of "Of course I'm okay". When help is offered your head is bitten off quicker than vultures can form around a corpse.

I find these 'functions' to be something that I dread attending. In fact, myself, The Boss, the Boss's brother and The Boss's Brother's Wife all agree on that count. We only attend them because we have little choice. We're made to feel guilty. In fact, I can hear her voice saying "But he's bought all of these fireworks for you to see", yet in the same breath will beat him down like a petulant toddler for 'wasting' the money. She's so...capricious. She is more than that - she is completely two-faced. She'll say one thing to one person to meet some ends, and then the complete opposite to express her true opinion.

She never listens to what you say. She'll ask if you want something, whether that be a drink or a christmas gift. You can say "no" to her a thousand times. You will still get whatever you didn't want. You can say that no, you don't want to read something about her fucking Family History - a few minutes later some 100 year old photographs, newspaper clippings and a family tree will be in your hands and she will be waxing lyrical about it. There are occassions when she says "You can say no, it's okay", and you think that you have managed to get the message through, but still a few weeks later you get that horrid shirt you never wanted. Why is "no" so very difficult an answer to take? If someone tells me that they don't want something (regardless of whether they mean that answer or not), they don't get it. No seriously means no.

Her food is horrible. On Saturday evening, we were treated to some nasty mince meat and tomato water type stuff. I thought there might be some potatoes and vegetables to go with it. There were a couple of dishes of her signature sweet potatoes and carrots in orange juice on the table. Once putting that on our plates we wondered what was next. There was still a good half of the plate completely bare. WTF? If you're inviting people around for a meal, surely you make sure that they have a nosh? I'd rather slit my wrists than eat her food most of the time. Unfortunately I have little choice. The meals are always like that - barely anything on a plate, and nothing with a single bit of taste, as well as completely overcooked. She also forces us to take home nasty food and soup that she makes, in another case of not taking no for an answer.

I didn't want to invite her to our wedding, but I had little choice. I elected to ignore her for the entire day. I don't remember her once saying congratulations, or that we looked great. In the run up to the wedding she was disgusted that my Mother was either going to wear white or black to it. Why does it matter? If we suggested something that she didn't like, she would bitch at us about it for weeks trying to make us cave in. She tried to elicit a response from us about her outfit, but I wouldn't give an opinion. It was 8 months of her trying to grind us down. Epic fail.

But the worst thing has to be her attitude towards the way other people do things. If it's not the way she would [apparently] have done it, it's wrong. An example would be that a relative in a far flung land recently had a kid, but she didn't tell anyone that she was having it. That's the first place that this person went wrong, they were branded evil for that. Then she recalled about an experience in her life that happened almost 60 years ago, and used that as the reason for this other person being evil and wrong. Of course, because it's not the way you would have done it, it's wrong. However, there is a worse sin. The child that this person had is black. Surely that's a non-issue? It doesn't bother me or The Boss, or anyone else. What the hell has skin colour got to do with anything? They're another person, and all people are created equal. You should have seen the look on her face when she told us this. We were utterly non-plussed by it, frankly it's normal, surely a time for celebration? No, of course not. She does nothing but pour scorn on the people involved, and the situation. Why? Because it's different to how she lives/lived her life, therefore it must be the epitome of evil.

There doesn't seem to be the capacity for diversity in her brain. When we go out for a meal, she does nothing but point out mistakes, or say how it is better done, because her way is the right way. She treats everyone like a child too, and has no hesitation in telling people what they should or should not wear, or picking bits off people's clothing.

I have this amazingly passive hatred for her. I cannot bear to look her in the eye for fear that she will try to suck out my soul - or worse - that I won't be able to keep my mouth shut and I will tell her what I really think of her. I cannot stand to be in the same room as her, it makes my skin crawl. I really cannot stand her existance because, over the past four and a half years she has been trying to wear us down and make us as pathetic as her. The best option is to simply ignore her. If that means not going to see her except when it is absolutely necessary, then so be it. I would rather that than having to stay my tongue.

What will it be like when she realises that neither of her children, nor their wives, are ever going to produce for her that coveted grandchild?

So...we went to London on Friday. I bought The Boss tickets to see Russell Howard (of Mock The Week fame) at the Hammersmith Apollo for his birthday back in August. The show was on Friday night.

West London + Friday Night = Err...I'd give it a miss.

Really, it's less of "West London" and a Friday night, it's more "Hammersmith Apollo + Lack of Management = Err...I'd give it a miss". I am not joking when I say that I think it's the worst organised event that I have ever been to. RIAT was cool, and they had approximately 100,000 people, but then, it would have been organised with military precision. The Hammersmith Apollo was just appalling.

Take my advice here. If you want to see someone that is appearing at the Hammersmith Apollo, but you have the opportunity to go elsewhere to see them...definately go elsewhere.

The tickets that I got through Ticketmaster said that the doors open at 18:30. Cool, right? Well, we turned up at about 18:45. The tickets also said that the show started at 19:30. When did they start letting us in? 19:15. I kid ye not. Is 15 minutes enough time to get anything up to 5000 people seated? Is it bollocks. We were seated pretty quickly, probably by 19:20. We were sat for the next fourty minutes in sweltering heat and really oppressive noise waiting for something to happen. Yes, you read that correctly, the show didn't start at 19:30.

It got to 20:00 and the lights dimmed. Everyone seemed to think that Mr. Howard was coming on. We were all slightly disappointed to find that it wasn't. It was the warm up comedian, whose name I cannot remember, but who was rather amusing. He stayed for 20 minutes, maybe 25 at the most and then buggered off, at which point there was an 'interval'. An interval in a stand up comedy show? WTF?

We were sat for between 30 and 40 minutes, again is sweltering heat, and oppressive noise waiting for Mr. Howard to come on. He didn't come on until 21:00. We had been sat in those seats for an hour and a half waiting for it to start before he came on. It just smacks of piss poor management. If nothing is going to happen for two hours before the show starts, then don't open the fucking outside doors two hours early. Not exactly rocket science, is it? Don't allow 4000 - 5000 people to pack into a tiny little space and then leave them hanging around for two hours. I was amazed that I didn't pass out considering how hot it was.

FFS. It's not difficult. And another thing - don't print a start time of 19:30 on the tickets if the fucking thing doesn't start until 21:00. What's the point in that? Probably to get us in and drinking. Doesn't fool us. We sat through the heat without a drink because it didn't appear that they accepted cards. How is it sensible to have that many people loitering around for hours? FFS.

On another note, Mr. Howard was very good. I certainly enjoyed that part of it. I'd recommend people to go and see him...however, I would look for somewhere other than the Hammersmith Apollo if I were you.

The following morning we had decided to get some food somewhere and ended up walking about 1.5km further than we needed to. We stayed in Southwark, and took an exceptionally long route to Waterloo Station which took us about 20 minutes, when we could have walked for about 5. Heh...it was pissing it down with rain too. After a visit to CyberCandy on Garrick Street (yes, the same street as The Garrick Club), where we spent over £30 on sweets, we went for some lunch at Ed's Diner on Rupert Street, and then we made our way home. Wonderful. Lots of processed junk food, and a visit to Britain's capital of consumerism and capitalism - what a lovely way to spend 24 hours.

I, normally, have one of these.

But at the moment, I'm using one of these.
Why?

Turned the thing on the other day, noticed a line of dead pixels. A few minutes later I had arranged for a return. I posted it today.

Oh phonieo, phonieo, wherefore art thou phonieo?
I already miss it, especially as I spent 3 hours yesterday trying to get it to connect to the freaking computer.

They are supposed to dispatch it pretty much as soon as they get the one that's been sent back. It should arrive before 1pm tomorrow. Let us hope that they don't try to deliver on Friday when we're in London.

And, a little while ago, I had some asshat trying to entice me into work on Saturday. She can blow it out of her arse. FFS. I'm not paid to do photography for this place. I don't see why I should piss away my Saturday on some stupid function. Some people around here are just so...presumptuous.

Left.

It certainly has been a while. Laziness strikes. Especially after two holidays. I believe that the last time I wrote anything was just before we went away for the second time? MT tells me it was 22nd September, which was the day before. Goodo. Our holidays were nice. Both of them. The second place we stayed had a hot tub and a sauna. I used both. I got the sauna up to a little above 50ºC. I was sweating at that point, but wasn't feeling light headed. I got out because I had been in for half an hour at that point, and I didn't want to overdo it, as it was an infrared sauna. And the hot tub? Well, that was outside, and I used it on our last night there as it was a pleasant evening. I was glad that it wasn't windy - the cover was hard, and if that had blown onto me while I was in there...not good.

The place that we stayed second time round was on a private road. Yeah. A private road that was over a mile from the public highway to the lodge. Good stuff. So quiet. All that we heard was fighter jets and geese. Good stuff - we will return there.

The entire time we were there, I was waiting for my period to start. Did it? Of course it freaking didn't. I have a problem with my periods. It finally started last night, some two and a half months after my last period, in July. Dude, please, sort it out. I would much rather not have any at all. Fuck me, does this one hurt. Painkillers required. If it hadn't have been for the painkillers that I took this morning, I may not have gone to work. It really was bad, I couldn't believe how painful it was. One hysterectomy please, Mr. Gynaecologist!

Then it was time to come back to work, and that happened last week. Eugh is all that I can say about that. I don't like working. Does anyone? Well sometimes I do, but not at the moment.

I need a cup of tea.
[Pause...]

We just seem to have had such a shower of bastards coming in or demanding our help. From the stupid new knob head of department who decided to set his own date on when something must be done by us, and continued to push us for that date, despite our department never agreeing to that date. To stupid retards being handed the items that they ordered, and then saying "I ordered 'blah blah blah'. Err, no you put down "blah blah", you never mentioned "blah blah blah". Fuckwit. And to the dude who must weight at least 30 stone and is such a pompous twat. I can barely stand to look at him, let alone be in the same room as him. He either stinks of BO or shite. Today it was shite. He's worse than the drunk retiree who keeps coming in, twitching and utterly pissed as well as stinking as though something crawled into his throat and died.

For fuck's sake, would a gentle return have been so difficult? We had a nice holiday, and what could have been a nice, quiet return to work was plagued by stupid fucks simply existing. While I realise that the start of term is "busy", it is not just busy for the academic departments. In fact, the start of term would not be busy for the academic departments if any of them had good teachers who did planning during the holidays. They just fuck off to their far flung countries for 8 weeks each summer and do sweet FA. While we, the support staff come in during the holidays, or in the case of The Boss, ends up spending half a day while he is in deepest, darkest Norfolk fixing a problem at work because they just can't cope without him. Teachers have it so fucking easy. Sure the kids can be a handful, but they only work part time, and have about 16-20 weeks holiday per year. While the support staff do not, and we get abused, bitched at, have people try to go above us, and generally get treated like utter shit by these "teachers".

A nice little message to all the teachers out there. Not only: Fuck you, for the most part, but also, you need to realise that without us, you really would be fucked. Treat us with a little respect for once, and you might get good, clean, nice service from people who want to help you. A smile, a please and a thank you go a long way. Stop thinking that you are the only reason that schools exist. You forget - the only reason that schools open after each holiday is because we, the support staff have been slaving our arses off to get 3 times our normal workload finished before you lazy cunts return. As soon as teachers start respecting me, I will return the respect. At the moment, respect is pretty thin on the ground.

What else? Oh yes, I started my course last week. I'm a week ahead of schedule. And I went to the first tutorial last Tuesday. It was in Chelmsford, I was late because I couldn't find the building, and the room was full. There must have been almost 15 people there. I'm used to just me and tutor in the sociology ones. I realised that while I was there, I seemed to be the only one who had any knowledge of, well anything. I know it sounds like I'm blowing my own trumpet there, but as I sat amongst all of these other people (about 95% of whom said they were doing the course because they wanted to be a teacher. FFS.) I realised that this course was the kind of stuff I did at primary school. Hell, Doctor Faustus? - I read the Canterbury Tales in Middle English without a translation when I was in my first year at Grammar school - I was 11!

There were also people there who obviously didn't listen as one particular question about referencing was asked by someone next to me. That person listened and took notes. Then, someone behind me got the tutor to repeat his answer. FFS - seriously. He spoke loudly and clearly the first time round, and the second time he said exactly the same thing. How could that have made such a difference? At times it really felt like being in a class back at primary school. Particularly so when I realised I was the only person understanding a lot of my tutors references to other things in the arts/humanities. I know, that really does sound as though I am three miles up my own arse. But...ugh, I can just feel that subsequent tutorials are going to be painful. Maybe next time I will pipe up with stuff that I know, especially as we should be getting onto iambic pentameters, and Christopher Marlowe.

Maybe it will get better? Maybe some people will drop out, or no longer come to the tutorials? I wish I could skip OU Level 1 courses completely. That way, I could just go onto A210 or U211. It is one of these moments when I wish there was a bit of an OU selective entrance exam. If you can pass to a certain standard, you can begin at Level 2 and get your degree from there. If you can't pass at that standard, you can starting with the groundings in Level 1. Bleh. Just keep reminding yourself, young lady, that it will be over by June.