Wayne and I walk towards the cash machine outside Sainsburys. There’s a billboard advertising a NEW WISPA DUO just outside.
Kim: What is it, then? A bigger version of the Wispa?
Wayne: You know how you get Bountys in two pieces, and Mars Bars? I think it’s like them…
Kim: So not a bigger version of the Wispa then?
Wayne: No, not a bigger version of the Wispa. Although…wouldn’t a larger version of a Wispa be a shout?
Kim: *groans* *punches Wayne*
Monday, 28 June 2010
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
(f5 f5 f5 f5)
It is That Time of Year once again – the time of year that all students dread and yet look forward to in equal amounts: Results Day. Or it should be today, anyway – while we have been told by a trusted source (or two) that it should be today. But it’s half six and I’m losing hope – do I really have to have another night of not being able to sleep much, of tossing and turning and waking up at 9 in the morning, the first thought on my mind being ‘ARE THEY UP YET?!”
Must I?!
Panicking comes easily for me. It doesn’t take much until I turn into a gibbering, hackering, jellified mess. How’s this for nerves: it took me well into the second semester before I stopped getting nervous about class. (Don’t ask why, I have no idea.) So this wait for my results is absolutely killing me, not to mention my forefinger – hitting the f5 button is probably gonna end up wearing the muscle out. How many times is it possible to check the same page in a minute?
‘LOTS’ is the answer.
Last year at this time, I was reasonably confident of passing. I had loved the course and while I may not have enjoyed all the modules, I felt I had learned something from them all. This year, in contrast, has been a hard slog of dried up inspiration, classes that weren’t motivating at all, and considering quitting the course several times.
Short Stories is the only module I am even slightly confident about: ‘Great Plans for the Future’, a story about an abused wife telling her child-hating husband that she is pregnant, is one of my favourite pieces of writing that I have done. It ushered in a new love of reading short stories, not to mention the genre shift – sci-fi and fantasy, my old favourite, seems to have given way into more ‘real life’ stories. Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle, and Raymond Carver have suddenly taken their places as some of my favourite authors (alongside old fantasy favourites), mainly due to the module and what I learned.
It’s the rest of the modules I’m dreading. All three of them. I know a couple of guys who are third years who are awaiting the results of their dissertations, and from them I know that 50% of the students taking one of the modules (research for writers – a module designed to make you think about your dissertation) usually fail. I will be one of those 50%. I had a decent idea, I think – to look at ghost writers – but the proposal lacked a focus and that, I think, will cause me to fail.
I had a decent idea for Narratives, too – to look at urban legends and to follow them back through time, thinking about what could have inspired them as well as their part in the history and the evolution of the folktale. A big subject, I know. So, to make it easier, I chose two urban legends (‘Bloody Mary’ and jewellery found in the stomach of an animal) and concentrated on them. It was a very interesting subject, actually – I really enjoyed researching them. That, however, doesn’t come through in the essay I wrote: after rereading it earlier (obviously in a fit of madness due to still being gradeless!), I have come to the conclusion that it was appallingly written and I could have done (and should have done) much better.
The module I failed badly is Creative Practice 2. I hated the module, and although I tried with the coursework, I know that the writing in it was sub-par. I can’t even bring myself to think about that module: even writing this, there’s an odd, queasy and wobbly feeling in my stomach.
Can the grades just get here, already?!
Must I?!
Panicking comes easily for me. It doesn’t take much until I turn into a gibbering, hackering, jellified mess. How’s this for nerves: it took me well into the second semester before I stopped getting nervous about class. (Don’t ask why, I have no idea.) So this wait for my results is absolutely killing me, not to mention my forefinger – hitting the f5 button is probably gonna end up wearing the muscle out. How many times is it possible to check the same page in a minute?
‘LOTS’ is the answer.
Last year at this time, I was reasonably confident of passing. I had loved the course and while I may not have enjoyed all the modules, I felt I had learned something from them all. This year, in contrast, has been a hard slog of dried up inspiration, classes that weren’t motivating at all, and considering quitting the course several times.
Short Stories is the only module I am even slightly confident about: ‘Great Plans for the Future’, a story about an abused wife telling her child-hating husband that she is pregnant, is one of my favourite pieces of writing that I have done. It ushered in a new love of reading short stories, not to mention the genre shift – sci-fi and fantasy, my old favourite, seems to have given way into more ‘real life’ stories. Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle, and Raymond Carver have suddenly taken their places as some of my favourite authors (alongside old fantasy favourites), mainly due to the module and what I learned.
It’s the rest of the modules I’m dreading. All three of them. I know a couple of guys who are third years who are awaiting the results of their dissertations, and from them I know that 50% of the students taking one of the modules (research for writers – a module designed to make you think about your dissertation) usually fail. I will be one of those 50%. I had a decent idea, I think – to look at ghost writers – but the proposal lacked a focus and that, I think, will cause me to fail.
I had a decent idea for Narratives, too – to look at urban legends and to follow them back through time, thinking about what could have inspired them as well as their part in the history and the evolution of the folktale. A big subject, I know. So, to make it easier, I chose two urban legends (‘Bloody Mary’ and jewellery found in the stomach of an animal) and concentrated on them. It was a very interesting subject, actually – I really enjoyed researching them. That, however, doesn’t come through in the essay I wrote: after rereading it earlier (obviously in a fit of madness due to still being gradeless!), I have come to the conclusion that it was appallingly written and I could have done (and should have done) much better.
The module I failed badly is Creative Practice 2. I hated the module, and although I tried with the coursework, I know that the writing in it was sub-par. I can’t even bring myself to think about that module: even writing this, there’s an odd, queasy and wobbly feeling in my stomach.
Can the grades just get here, already?!
Friday, 4 June 2010
Back to Boston
Oh, the things I put Wayne through!
A couple of weeks ago, he went vegetarian after losing a bet to me. This time, I went back to Boston for a week and he came to visit me. Why's that so bad? First of all, it involved returning to Boston, a town he has previously compared UNFAVOURABLY to Barnsley. And, if you know Wayne, you’ll know how much he hates that place! Second was the knowledge that I would be going babysitting for a short while every day, and that I would probably end up dragging him along with me (I did). Finally, he would finally have to face (*inserts echo and voice of doom*) My Mother’s Cooking!
Well, Boston wasn’t too bad, as it turned out.
Apart from the few minutes we spent in town going to the train station, we managed to avoid that hellhole quite nicely. Babysitting also went fine – Wayne made himself a new friend in the guise of a furry fluffball grumpy granddad cat called Steelo, (who looks like this...
)
I finally found out what the hell Viva Piñata is and we read some amazing poetry and stories by my charge. (I will never again be able to hear "300" without thinking of a cannibalistic crocodile who has a super telescopic gun that shoots giant inflatable bullets.)
Mother’s cooking was, however, every bit as awful as expected.
The first night she cooked for him, she gave him some sort of curry thing. Wayne hates curry and spicy food. That one was my fault, though. Mum and I were in Tesco on Saturday and we had been talking about Dad never eating anything new. Suddenly, she pointed to the curry and said “Will he eat that, do you think? It says Weightwatchers, but…” I said she should buy it and give him it – he would never know the difference. She didn’t mean for Dad. She meant for Wayne. Oops!
The second time she cooked it was better, but only marginally. That time she did mashed tate (Wayne did the unthinkable and made her use the tate masher as opposed to a fork - something I would never get away with doing!), beans, courgette, Yorkshire pudding and a pie. The veg was underdone, the Yorkie pud awful, the mash boring. The only thing she didn’t destroy was the pie, and all you need to do with that is stick it in the oven. I think he now has a greater understanding of why I hate food so much – when you’re putting up with rubbish like that every day of your life, you kind of start to go “…nah” every time food’s put in front of you. Wrecks the tastebuds, does my mum’s cooking!
I think, should he ever dare to return to this part of the country, we’ll be eating out every night. Or I’ll cook. But I know which one’s the safest - I have my mum’s awful ability to cook!
Thankfully, other things about the week were far more interesting than my mother’s disgusting creations that she calls food.
On Tuesday, after babysitting, we got the train to Skegness. Despite Wayne thinking that he had been there before (albeit many years ago), it appears this wasn’t the case and that was his first ever visit to Skeggy. This is both appalling and a relief in equal measure - how can he have got to his age and never visited Skeg? And yet the knowledge that there are such people out there, people who have never been to that grimy, rotten town is such a relief.
Sane people do exist!
However, for the first time since I was a nib, I actually enjoyed my day there. And that's not something I would ever say! I suppose there’s a big difference between going somewhere with your parents and going there with your boyfriend. Rather than walking around and giving things a glance but not your attention gets dull after a while. We went for a walk on the beach - I managed to get him to take his shoes off and walk barefoot along the sand, we built a very bad sand tower, drew faces in the sand, went to the sea and generally messed about.
We spent hours in the arcades (where Wayne kept on trying to win me something but failed every single time), walked around the Pleasure Beach, ate lots of ice cream (well, Wayne did - three, I think he had!), took photos of appalling grammar (yes, we're sad), ate rubbish chips – and generally had a great time. We got there 3-ish and left at 9 but the hours seemed to fly by.
The only downsides to the day were:
a) the seaside Clementine jingle wasn’t played (such a disappointment!)
b) Wayne made me play pool. I was dreadful, and it was highly embarrassing.
c) the food was shit.
Thursday dawned another bright, beautiful and hot day. We had wanted to go to Lincoln, but I was sitting until 2.15, and as it takes an hour to get there, there wasn’t really much point. So instead I thought I would show him more of my village and the surrounding area. We jumped on bikes (Wayne borrowed my brother’s) and we went to Freiston Shore, a nearby RSPB reserve.
Wayne was a bit wobbly on the bike, at least to start with, but he soon got into it. There was a bit of wind and that made things a bit difficult in a couple of places, but for the most part the going was easy. Especially when we got off the main road and there were fewer cars. Not long after we set out, we got there, locked up the bikes, and went off for a walk around the reserve.
We sat in the bird hide for ages, just watching the birds flying over the freshwater lake. There were no twitchers there (at least not in the hide), so we were fine to sit and quietly chat, or else sit in silence listening to the birds. Wayne says it was one of the most peaceful places he has ever seen - and I completely agree. It's lovely just to sit there and enjoy the quiet. Well, it was quiet until a guy trimming the hedges hadn't been there.
I think next time I go there (whether Wayne’s with me or not) I’m going to have to take some paper along, sit in the hide, and do some writing. It seems a brilliant place to go for it. Anyway, we went for a walk along the lakeside, shaded by the trees either side of the path, and went up onto the bank.
It’s not very often that Wayne is stunned to silence. But, upon seeing the wetlands in front of him, that rare occurrence.
Obviously, he had seen the sea before - even just the day before, at Skegness - but the sheer vastness of the wetland area held him completely in awe. I have never seen anyone quite so gobsmacked by it as he was! We walked around it for a short while, and then decided to go home. The day was hot and we stupidly forgot to pick a bottle of water up.
He may have moaned about being in pain after the ride for the next couple of days (after a 6 mile ride! The big pansy!), but it was totally worth it. I love that area of Boston, and getting to show it off was great fun.
Another of the highlights was actually at the house, much to my surprise. Carl (my brother), Wayne and I all gathered round on Thursday and watched Back to the Future - a trilogy I have never seen before. It was brilliant. The first two were better than the third - they were cleverly plotted and well scripted, and the third one just didn't live up to them. The best character, without a doubt, was Emmet - though I find it very difficult to believe that he would so easily give his life up and stay in the past with Clara. The kid (whose name I have forgot!) was irritating - well, he wasn't until he selfishly tried to get Doc Brown to go back to the future and leave the woman who had fallen in love with behind. Nor was I fond of the damsel in distress - the kid's girlfriend (forgot her name, too) was very annoying. Anyway - it was nice to sit there with those two and watch a few films together. It was also entertaining when all three of us were jigging along to Jonny B Goode - I have never seen Carl do that before!
So, on the whole, it was a highly enjoyable few days. He'll have to go back to Boston at some point, though - I really want to take him to Lincoln and a couple of other places (and I also plan on taking him on some very long bike rides - he'll regret whining about a poxy 6 mile thing!).
A couple of weeks ago, he went vegetarian after losing a bet to me. This time, I went back to Boston for a week and he came to visit me. Why's that so bad? First of all, it involved returning to Boston, a town he has previously compared UNFAVOURABLY to Barnsley. And, if you know Wayne, you’ll know how much he hates that place! Second was the knowledge that I would be going babysitting for a short while every day, and that I would probably end up dragging him along with me (I did). Finally, he would finally have to face (*inserts echo and voice of doom*) My Mother’s Cooking!
Well, Boston wasn’t too bad, as it turned out.
Apart from the few minutes we spent in town going to the train station, we managed to avoid that hellhole quite nicely. Babysitting also went fine – Wayne made himself a new friend in the guise of a furry fluffball grumpy granddad cat called Steelo, (who looks like this...
)I finally found out what the hell Viva Piñata is and we read some amazing poetry and stories by my charge. (I will never again be able to hear "300" without thinking of a cannibalistic crocodile who has a super telescopic gun that shoots giant inflatable bullets.)
Mother’s cooking was, however, every bit as awful as expected.
The first night she cooked for him, she gave him some sort of curry thing. Wayne hates curry and spicy food. That one was my fault, though. Mum and I were in Tesco on Saturday and we had been talking about Dad never eating anything new. Suddenly, she pointed to the curry and said “Will he eat that, do you think? It says Weightwatchers, but…” I said she should buy it and give him it – he would never know the difference. She didn’t mean for Dad. She meant for Wayne. Oops!
The second time she cooked it was better, but only marginally. That time she did mashed tate (Wayne did the unthinkable and made her use the tate masher as opposed to a fork - something I would never get away with doing!), beans, courgette, Yorkshire pudding and a pie. The veg was underdone, the Yorkie pud awful, the mash boring. The only thing she didn’t destroy was the pie, and all you need to do with that is stick it in the oven. I think he now has a greater understanding of why I hate food so much – when you’re putting up with rubbish like that every day of your life, you kind of start to go “…nah” every time food’s put in front of you. Wrecks the tastebuds, does my mum’s cooking!
I think, should he ever dare to return to this part of the country, we’ll be eating out every night. Or I’ll cook. But I know which one’s the safest - I have my mum’s awful ability to cook!
Thankfully, other things about the week were far more interesting than my mother’s disgusting creations that she calls food.
On Tuesday, after babysitting, we got the train to Skegness. Despite Wayne thinking that he had been there before (albeit many years ago), it appears this wasn’t the case and that was his first ever visit to Skeggy. This is both appalling and a relief in equal measure - how can he have got to his age and never visited Skeg? And yet the knowledge that there are such people out there, people who have never been to that grimy, rotten town is such a relief.
Sane people do exist!
However, for the first time since I was a nib, I actually enjoyed my day there. And that's not something I would ever say! I suppose there’s a big difference between going somewhere with your parents and going there with your boyfriend. Rather than walking around and giving things a glance but not your attention gets dull after a while. We went for a walk on the beach - I managed to get him to take his shoes off and walk barefoot along the sand, we built a very bad sand tower, drew faces in the sand, went to the sea and generally messed about.
We spent hours in the arcades (where Wayne kept on trying to win me something but failed every single time), walked around the Pleasure Beach, ate lots of ice cream (well, Wayne did - three, I think he had!), took photos of appalling grammar (yes, we're sad), ate rubbish chips – and generally had a great time. We got there 3-ish and left at 9 but the hours seemed to fly by.
The only downsides to the day were:
a) the seaside Clementine jingle wasn’t played (such a disappointment!)
b) Wayne made me play pool. I was dreadful, and it was highly embarrassing.
c) the food was shit.
Thursday dawned another bright, beautiful and hot day. We had wanted to go to Lincoln, but I was sitting until 2.15, and as it takes an hour to get there, there wasn’t really much point. So instead I thought I would show him more of my village and the surrounding area. We jumped on bikes (Wayne borrowed my brother’s) and we went to Freiston Shore, a nearby RSPB reserve.
Wayne was a bit wobbly on the bike, at least to start with, but he soon got into it. There was a bit of wind and that made things a bit difficult in a couple of places, but for the most part the going was easy. Especially when we got off the main road and there were fewer cars. Not long after we set out, we got there, locked up the bikes, and went off for a walk around the reserve.
We sat in the bird hide for ages, just watching the birds flying over the freshwater lake. There were no twitchers there (at least not in the hide), so we were fine to sit and quietly chat, or else sit in silence listening to the birds. Wayne says it was one of the most peaceful places he has ever seen - and I completely agree. It's lovely just to sit there and enjoy the quiet. Well, it was quiet until a guy trimming the hedges hadn't been there.
I think next time I go there (whether Wayne’s with me or not) I’m going to have to take some paper along, sit in the hide, and do some writing. It seems a brilliant place to go for it. Anyway, we went for a walk along the lakeside, shaded by the trees either side of the path, and went up onto the bank.
It’s not very often that Wayne is stunned to silence. But, upon seeing the wetlands in front of him, that rare occurrence.
Obviously, he had seen the sea before - even just the day before, at Skegness - but the sheer vastness of the wetland area held him completely in awe. I have never seen anyone quite so gobsmacked by it as he was! We walked around it for a short while, and then decided to go home. The day was hot and we stupidly forgot to pick a bottle of water up.
He may have moaned about being in pain after the ride for the next couple of days (after a 6 mile ride! The big pansy!), but it was totally worth it. I love that area of Boston, and getting to show it off was great fun.
Another of the highlights was actually at the house, much to my surprise. Carl (my brother), Wayne and I all gathered round on Thursday and watched Back to the Future - a trilogy I have never seen before. It was brilliant. The first two were better than the third - they were cleverly plotted and well scripted, and the third one just didn't live up to them. The best character, without a doubt, was Emmet - though I find it very difficult to believe that he would so easily give his life up and stay in the past with Clara. The kid (whose name I have forgot!) was irritating - well, he wasn't until he selfishly tried to get Doc Brown to go back to the future and leave the woman who had fallen in love with behind. Nor was I fond of the damsel in distress - the kid's girlfriend (forgot her name, too) was very annoying. Anyway - it was nice to sit there with those two and watch a few films together. It was also entertaining when all three of us were jigging along to Jonny B Goode - I have never seen Carl do that before!
So, on the whole, it was a highly enjoyable few days. He'll have to go back to Boston at some point, though - I really want to take him to Lincoln and a couple of other places (and I also plan on taking him on some very long bike rides - he'll regret whining about a poxy 6 mile thing!).
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