It's the thirteenth of December, so twelve days until Christmas. Niceeeee. Essay's duly been handed in, almost exactly on the point of the deadline. Blood, sweat and tears have been sacrificed for that. Ah well, all done. Well, not quite. Got a snippet of a French essay in for Friday - 1200 words. Can bash that out in a couple of hours, yeah.
I raced yesterday in Kingsbury, up in the parts that are more justifiably called "North West London". I tell people I live in North West London though the only thing northwestern about it is the postcode. I try to look cool. Anyhow, race. Not having run at all during the week, I tried my hand. I wouldn't say that I failed, but I did a bit poor. Highgate won, but because good runners turned up, I lost. Damn. And Spurs lost at home to fucking Wolverhampton, the city that doesn't really exist because nobody's heard of it. Hmph.
It's party time though, and one of my friends is having a birthday meal. £15, not so bad. Oh wait, it's £25. Better take £50 just in case. :/ College Winter Ball this week and other stuff, let's see how that goes. Au rev.
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Four Days Later
Only four days pass and I blog again! What's this? Ah well, nice and easy procrastination from the essay. Over halfway through it, and I'm still hearing of people handing it in days ago. Doesn't matter though. I'll get there.
Last night I relocated a game from the days of yore: Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis. Go on, laugh. But it is in no uncertain terms the best game that I have ever played on a computer. I've almost completed it in every method possible already. I wish that there were things about that game that I haven't yet seen. But there aren't. The usuals also came: the first two Monkey Island games, Loom, the Last Crusade, Day of the Tentacle, et cetera.
A spaceman came travelling, down from afar; twas light years of time since his mission did start. Lovely song. Gets me kinda emotional. Even though I fluctuate frequently between agnosticism and anglicanism, I'm not going to wait to wish peace and goodwill to all men this festive season. That song and A Winter's Tale by David Essex. Ahhh..
Some of the water piping's leaking in our house, and the plumber doesn't turn up until the third time of asking. Bad service already, and now I'm getting conflicting information about where the stopcock is, or even if one exists. Landlord says it does, caretaker says it doesn't. To be honest, I'd rather leave the problem in place if it meant I got a bit of peace and quiet. Landlord rang me three times this morning before I was out of bed.
Back to the essay.
Last night I relocated a game from the days of yore: Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis. Go on, laugh. But it is in no uncertain terms the best game that I have ever played on a computer. I've almost completed it in every method possible already. I wish that there were things about that game that I haven't yet seen. But there aren't. The usuals also came: the first two Monkey Island games, Loom, the Last Crusade, Day of the Tentacle, et cetera.
A spaceman came travelling, down from afar; twas light years of time since his mission did start. Lovely song. Gets me kinda emotional. Even though I fluctuate frequently between agnosticism and anglicanism, I'm not going to wait to wish peace and goodwill to all men this festive season. That song and A Winter's Tale by David Essex. Ahhh..
Some of the water piping's leaking in our house, and the plumber doesn't turn up until the third time of asking. Bad service already, and now I'm getting conflicting information about where the stopcock is, or even if one exists. Landlord says it does, caretaker says it doesn't. To be honest, I'd rather leave the problem in place if it meant I got a bit of peace and quiet. Landlord rang me three times this morning before I was out of bed.
Back to the essay.
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Winterstuff
Yeah the blogging's been sporadic lately. It's the 7th of December and the post before this was on the 31st of October. Oops. I've got Chrome now so I use IE for blogging. Handy really having two browsers.
Christmas is coming. I have my lovely usual Mars calendar, which I am never switching from as long as I live. The spirit's there, mainly in anticipation of all the food. I am such a material twat. Hopefully Spurs can stop squandering two goal leads and actually score penalties. No. I want to see my Mumsie and get some TLC and offer my own should it be needed. Not long to go now.
The house is in a bit of a shit state to be honest. I can never be arsed to vacuum any more, the kitchen gets crumbs everywhere, though my room beats all of my housemates' rooms to the ground, with all of my posters. I've started calling them "the fam", even though they're not family. I was inspired to do this after reading a threatening Facebook post made by some peculiar young fellow wearing a white tracksuit and holding his crotch in his profile picture. It addressed the threatened person as "fam" every five or six words, which was funny. So, having sensed the removed connotations of this word, my housemates are now "the fam".
I've got a big old Spanish film essay to do. I've written two sentences and it's in for the end of the week. Whoops, there went the weekend. It'll be done though. It always is. Winter Ball to look forward to, and since my drinking has become slightly more occasional, I've decided to have this one as the last big session before Christmas. It'll be good. I also want to look round town more, but the essay looms and it's almost prohibitively cold outside. Maida Vale, Edgware Road, Bethnal Green and Covent Garden are at the top of the agenda. Probably leave it until January to be honest.
The races have been coming thick and fast. I have counted ten at least since the end of September, which is an achievement. The college league races are going pleasantly well. I've finished 16th, 15th, 10th and 9th in the first four respective races, and am currently fourth in the individual league. Met League is going almost as well, coming in 39th and 49th in fields ov over three hundred isn't bad! Plus I love the day out. Next week is the North of the Thames at Kingsbury. Again, the essay....
I want to round off the post in honour of Naomi, who's been a rock for me these past few weeks. xxxxxxxxxx
Christmas is coming. I have my lovely usual Mars calendar, which I am never switching from as long as I live. The spirit's there, mainly in anticipation of all the food. I am such a material twat. Hopefully Spurs can stop squandering two goal leads and actually score penalties. No. I want to see my Mumsie and get some TLC and offer my own should it be needed. Not long to go now.
The house is in a bit of a shit state to be honest. I can never be arsed to vacuum any more, the kitchen gets crumbs everywhere, though my room beats all of my housemates' rooms to the ground, with all of my posters. I've started calling them "the fam", even though they're not family. I was inspired to do this after reading a threatening Facebook post made by some peculiar young fellow wearing a white tracksuit and holding his crotch in his profile picture. It addressed the threatened person as "fam" every five or six words, which was funny. So, having sensed the removed connotations of this word, my housemates are now "the fam".
I've got a big old Spanish film essay to do. I've written two sentences and it's in for the end of the week. Whoops, there went the weekend. It'll be done though. It always is. Winter Ball to look forward to, and since my drinking has become slightly more occasional, I've decided to have this one as the last big session before Christmas. It'll be good. I also want to look round town more, but the essay looms and it's almost prohibitively cold outside. Maida Vale, Edgware Road, Bethnal Green and Covent Garden are at the top of the agenda. Probably leave it until January to be honest.
The races have been coming thick and fast. I have counted ten at least since the end of September, which is an achievement. The college league races are going pleasantly well. I've finished 16th, 15th, 10th and 9th in the first four respective races, and am currently fourth in the individual league. Met League is going almost as well, coming in 39th and 49th in fields ov over three hundred isn't bad! Plus I love the day out. Next week is the North of the Thames at Kingsbury. Again, the essay....
I want to round off the post in honour of Naomi, who's been a rock for me these past few weeks. xxxxxxxxxx
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Autumnal antics
So I told you that I'd blog more often. I suppose I lied. I have been busy, though, and because all of these Google accounts are rigged together, having to log out of my blog to check the wretched society email and vice versa is a chore. So there are the excuses.
My life is rushing along at its usual London pace, and though I will say I have killed some malnourishment gremlins, I'm still such a bloody cheapskate. Rent and water are due and I typically pay on the last possible day before the court summons arrives. I need more clothes and a new phone, but it'll probably be January before I get any of those, knowing my standards. I still only ever top up £5 at a time on my Oyster.
This year's autumn has been quite delightful, however. I usually see autumn as a time for sighing, as a time for "oh God, here it comes, six months of eternal darkness and cold." But it's wonderfully mild at the moment. On a misty Hallowe'en morning (contradiction much?), I managed to revel in some relatively high humidity during a training session on the Hampstead Heath Extension. Probably a mistake that I wore a cotton tee, then. Another thing I like about autumn is the colours. In Regent's the other day, walking up towards Primrose Hill, the sea of leaves on the broadwalk was rather beautiful, and most tempting to kick up. It's quite a romantic time of year, much more so than any other season. Why couldn't saint Valentine be buried on 14 November instead? It would be so much more fitting.
The races have well and truly begun. I've only done one full distance (8km) cross country race, and being on Parliament Hill, a wonderful landscape but admittedly not my favourite course to run on, I could probably have done better. This week I have two; one in Richmond Park and the other in Woodford Green. Here's hoping for improved performances.
Speaking of performances, the performance of a certain football team from N17 was almost non-existent today. I hate moping about football, it is so sad and pathetic. But I can't help but feel the negative emotions when everyone in the room is pouring scorn on your team. "I told you they were shit, Baz, but you didn't listen to me." Baz doesn't particularly care. His team doesn't promise trophies year after year and fail to deliver because they have more realistic expectations. And what, pray tell, is "shit" about being fourth in the league? Okay, immaturity over.
I apologise here to Bob Geldof, because I simply can't wait for Monday when I will have this silly Spanish essay finished. Better go finish it, hasta luego.
My life is rushing along at its usual London pace, and though I will say I have killed some malnourishment gremlins, I'm still such a bloody cheapskate. Rent and water are due and I typically pay on the last possible day before the court summons arrives. I need more clothes and a new phone, but it'll probably be January before I get any of those, knowing my standards. I still only ever top up £5 at a time on my Oyster.
This year's autumn has been quite delightful, however. I usually see autumn as a time for sighing, as a time for "oh God, here it comes, six months of eternal darkness and cold." But it's wonderfully mild at the moment. On a misty Hallowe'en morning (contradiction much?), I managed to revel in some relatively high humidity during a training session on the Hampstead Heath Extension. Probably a mistake that I wore a cotton tee, then. Another thing I like about autumn is the colours. In Regent's the other day, walking up towards Primrose Hill, the sea of leaves on the broadwalk was rather beautiful, and most tempting to kick up. It's quite a romantic time of year, much more so than any other season. Why couldn't saint Valentine be buried on 14 November instead? It would be so much more fitting.
The races have well and truly begun. I've only done one full distance (8km) cross country race, and being on Parliament Hill, a wonderful landscape but admittedly not my favourite course to run on, I could probably have done better. This week I have two; one in Richmond Park and the other in Woodford Green. Here's hoping for improved performances.
Speaking of performances, the performance of a certain football team from N17 was almost non-existent today. I hate moping about football, it is so sad and pathetic. But I can't help but feel the negative emotions when everyone in the room is pouring scorn on your team. "I told you they were shit, Baz, but you didn't listen to me." Baz doesn't particularly care. His team doesn't promise trophies year after year and fail to deliver because they have more realistic expectations. And what, pray tell, is "shit" about being fourth in the league? Okay, immaturity over.
I apologise here to Bob Geldof, because I simply can't wait for Monday when I will have this silly Spanish essay finished. Better go finish it, hasta luego.
Friday, 9 October 2009
Back in the hood
I've been back just about three weeks, and just getting back into the swing of university life, that is to say malnourishment, constant infatuation and procrastination to name three. Work? Pah. I'm in London, back in town, in the hood, you know. It says that I haven't blogged since 5 September. I suppose it's so my mum can't read up on what I'm doing. ;)
I've got a slight problem that I don't think I mentioned before, an identity crisis of sorts. My house is currently in NW1. Last year I lived in NW5. So I can safely say my borough is Camden. But what's my postcode? Changing postcode to me is like changing a football team. I think I might call myself a NW1er for now, and sell myself back to NW5 when I graduate. How stupid, really. Only someone like me could seriously worry myself about something like this.
I'm daytrippin' in Manchester tomorrow, with the old relays that pop up every twelve months. There's only three men, yes, but three. The team is six in total. Two legs each, maybe? The Met League in Ruislip is looking ever more attractive now. Maybe I should drop out of the event myself, having co-organised our team for it. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to this whole dropping out thing.
Which brings me on to my next pet dislike: indecisiveness. If you don't want to come to a race or an event or a social if you're asked, fucking say. Don't say "I might be there" because we all know that you'll give us pseudo-hope and then you won't turn up. I don't care if you say "no". We're a society, not a school. It's annoyingly worse in men than women. I asked a girl if she was coming to a social and she said "no, it's the Fresher's Ball". Fair enough. I asked a bloke and he was like "maybe, but you know it's the Fresher's Ball, might be tight for time.." I almost wanted to punch the "no" out of him.
Ahh, that's better. Now for the nice bit; I love my housemates. I think I have three long-lost brothers in this house. They are like my family here. So maybe one of them's still in bed and it's midday, so what? He doesn't have a lecture. I really feel like I've made good social progress since coming out of school, and that's saying something for someone like me. I'm also one of the "token white guys" on the UCLU Pakistan Society, the pride. :)
I promise to blog more often. You have my word.
I've got a slight problem that I don't think I mentioned before, an identity crisis of sorts. My house is currently in NW1. Last year I lived in NW5. So I can safely say my borough is Camden. But what's my postcode? Changing postcode to me is like changing a football team. I think I might call myself a NW1er for now, and sell myself back to NW5 when I graduate. How stupid, really. Only someone like me could seriously worry myself about something like this.
I'm daytrippin' in Manchester tomorrow, with the old relays that pop up every twelve months. There's only three men, yes, but three. The team is six in total. Two legs each, maybe? The Met League in Ruislip is looking ever more attractive now. Maybe I should drop out of the event myself, having co-organised our team for it. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to this whole dropping out thing.
Which brings me on to my next pet dislike: indecisiveness. If you don't want to come to a race or an event or a social if you're asked, fucking say. Don't say "I might be there" because we all know that you'll give us pseudo-hope and then you won't turn up. I don't care if you say "no". We're a society, not a school. It's annoyingly worse in men than women. I asked a girl if she was coming to a social and she said "no, it's the Fresher's Ball". Fair enough. I asked a bloke and he was like "maybe, but you know it's the Fresher's Ball, might be tight for time.." I almost wanted to punch the "no" out of him.
Ahh, that's better. Now for the nice bit; I love my housemates. I think I have three long-lost brothers in this house. They are like my family here. So maybe one of them's still in bed and it's midday, so what? He doesn't have a lecture. I really feel like I've made good social progress since coming out of school, and that's saying something for someone like me. I'm also one of the "token white guys" on the UCLU Pakistan Society, the pride. :)
I promise to blog more often. You have my word.
Saturday, 5 September 2009
Summer, The Last Two Weeks
It's been two weeks since my last post. I should blog more often, it kinda helps me to relax. So now, let's get down. It's about two weeks ish until I finally move back into town. Admin's going okay, but the landlord's being a slight pain. He asks for something, gets it, and then appears dissatisfied. Let's see.. passport photocopy, NI number, bank reference, employment reference, accomodation reference, (hell, was the deposit return confirmation not enough?). Would you like to become me, Mr Landlord? Well it'd be pretty darn easy. Sometimes I actually long to have dealt with an agency, even with all of their fees, simply because you know you're safe.
I can't wait to go back to London for good, though. The atmosphere is second to none in this country. I will miss my friends from here, but I miss my uni friends right now!
I'm back running, and don't it feel good, yah. I'm currently building up to a fourteen-mile stage of a relay race that completely encircles Norfolk, with the entire race coming to just under two hundred miles. I'm slightly worried about my fitness, though. Tomorrow's the Wissey half marathon, for which last year I ran 1:21:40. I was good then, but not so much at the moment. I'll be alright.
Football tonight, yay. England v Slovenia. Sometimes I don't like friendlies that much, because the whole league programme shuts down for the weekend, but I suppose the team need to practise together. Wednesday's game should be good, though. Time for revenge against Croatia, or rather, time to show how much of a useless manager Steve McClaren was. The World Cup, for me, is the pinnacle of quadrennial sporting events. Better than the Olympics. Judging by our qualifying form, next year could be our year.
Time to watch it; see you in a few.
I can't wait to go back to London for good, though. The atmosphere is second to none in this country. I will miss my friends from here, but I miss my uni friends right now!
I'm back running, and don't it feel good, yah. I'm currently building up to a fourteen-mile stage of a relay race that completely encircles Norfolk, with the entire race coming to just under two hundred miles. I'm slightly worried about my fitness, though. Tomorrow's the Wissey half marathon, for which last year I ran 1:21:40. I was good then, but not so much at the moment. I'll be alright.
Football tonight, yay. England v Slovenia. Sometimes I don't like friendlies that much, because the whole league programme shuts down for the weekend, but I suppose the team need to practise together. Wednesday's game should be good, though. Time for revenge against Croatia, or rather, time to show how much of a useless manager Steve McClaren was. The World Cup, for me, is the pinnacle of quadrennial sporting events. Better than the Olympics. Judging by our qualifying form, next year could be our year.
Time to watch it; see you in a few.
Friday, 21 August 2009
Political musing
Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi is the name that's been on everyone's lips this week. He's out, back in Libya where he can die in peace. But is he deserving of this peace he is getting?
I was intrigued to learn the complete difference of British and American opinion on this case. For a start, I haven't heard a single American supporting his release. Not even the great Barack Obama, Mr Compassionate who is going to help all of his citizens find healthcare. I hope Kenny MacAskill isn't fased at being condemned by the most influential man in the world at this moment in time. Sticks and stones and all that. British opinion, however, is more varied. The man I probably respect most in this case is Dr Jim Swire, who lost his daughter Flora in the bombing. He has vehemently denied al-Megrahi's involvement in the attack, an opinion which I respect, going against the clichéd need to find a scapegoat for the mess. Then you have David Cameron, who is with the US and called the release "nonsensical".
When the news story came up a few days ago, my mum commented that there would be a falling out with America over this case. It's about time, too. Is there any need to continue to pander to their every order? The Labour Party started their slippery slope downhill doing this, with the 2003 invasion of and continued presence in Iraq. They have not objected to the US-Israel collaboration which is killing Palestinians every day. Nor have they condemned the US's hypocrisy against Iran. It makes me want this country to get out of its belligerent rut, and leave NATO. Why must we be some military superpower for the sake of a few diplomatic relations?
So in short- yes. The man is dying and it makes sense to release him, convicted or not, to allow him to die in peace. It doesn't matter whether he did it or not. The fact of the matter is that compassion has triumphed over revenge. Love and forgiveness has triumphed over hate and, well, hate. 270 died on 21 December 1988. 70,000 died on 6 August 1945. Don't use war as an excuse - the Lockerbie bomber, whoever he or she was, was also at war.
I was intrigued to learn the complete difference of British and American opinion on this case. For a start, I haven't heard a single American supporting his release. Not even the great Barack Obama, Mr Compassionate who is going to help all of his citizens find healthcare. I hope Kenny MacAskill isn't fased at being condemned by the most influential man in the world at this moment in time. Sticks and stones and all that. British opinion, however, is more varied. The man I probably respect most in this case is Dr Jim Swire, who lost his daughter Flora in the bombing. He has vehemently denied al-Megrahi's involvement in the attack, an opinion which I respect, going against the clichéd need to find a scapegoat for the mess. Then you have David Cameron, who is with the US and called the release "nonsensical".
When the news story came up a few days ago, my mum commented that there would be a falling out with America over this case. It's about time, too. Is there any need to continue to pander to their every order? The Labour Party started their slippery slope downhill doing this, with the 2003 invasion of and continued presence in Iraq. They have not objected to the US-Israel collaboration which is killing Palestinians every day. Nor have they condemned the US's hypocrisy against Iran. It makes me want this country to get out of its belligerent rut, and leave NATO. Why must we be some military superpower for the sake of a few diplomatic relations?
So in short- yes. The man is dying and it makes sense to release him, convicted or not, to allow him to die in peace. It doesn't matter whether he did it or not. The fact of the matter is that compassion has triumphed over revenge. Love and forgiveness has triumphed over hate and, well, hate. 270 died on 21 December 1988. 70,000 died on 6 August 1945. Don't use war as an excuse - the Lockerbie bomber, whoever he or she was, was also at war.
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