Sterling times in Stirling

I thought people might like an account of the epic BUCS journey this weekend, so here it is.

Last Friday wasn't an especially cold day in town. I remember cramming all the stuff in to my suitcase and popping down to college to hand some work in and sweating in my coat on the way. It wasn't going to be that mild in Scotland, though, so I sweated all the way to King's Cross where I arrived with ages in spare time. As we boarded the train I remember someone giving me the most horrendous death stare as my bag gave him the lightest touch on his shoulder. After nearly five hours of uneventful travel (excluding a wild hen party and crossing the Tyne) I had arrived in Edinburgh for the very first time. We connected onto the Stirling train on which I opened the world's best dish of pasta, no lie. After nearly an hour we got off and found the hostel after an unexpectedly short walk. It was run by a middle-aged Danish bloke who appeared to be backpacking. He liked to drink. A trip to Tesco ensued in which I made the most bizarre discovery of own brand Irn Bru, and bed was at 11. Too early. I had been to bed the night before at about 2, but I slept remarkably adequately. Had the obligatory breakfast of cold oats and milk, and headed up to the race.

The race was too long for me. Eleven kilometres is okay but too much when you have to stay focussed for more or less forty minutes. I came 102nd, missing out on a half purple for ULU by two places. Ah well. That's what you get when you don't revise hard enough. It was alright anyway.

We proceeded to watch a very successful game of rugby on England's part, and sampled Tennent's finest lager before going to eat feeling tipsy from three drinks. The bacon burger helped. The after party followed, which took London's mildness to a new level. The dancefloor had no air conditioning and was packed full. The bar wait time was about half an hour, if you were aggressive enough. We left at about half 1 on Durham's coach (don't ask) and it was straight to bed. The following morning's run was a laboured affair initially, but we soon made light work of 62 minutes.

Shower and we left. I sent the folks a postcard, and we boarded an earlier train for Edinburgh, so we could spend a couple of hours marvelling at the sights. The 'Burgh was indeed marvellous. We caught some food (my choice was sausages and mash) and we went for Waverley. We all sat together which was fantastic, and I showed Stephen the magic of Sporcle.com. Jelly Babies and M&Ms were distributed in abundance. At about half 8 the train arrived in London again, ending the magic...

The after-after party is on Wednesday. Looking forward.

Getting on

The year's getting on, we're already twenty days into it. I'm finding myself a lot more at ease than last term, maybe because my social life hasn't quite exploded into three or more nights out a week this year.

I actually enjoy my course now though, and I really enjoy French as a language. I find André Gide most engaging, which is fortunate because I'll probably have to write an essay on his work at some point. Now for Duras, Beckett, Éluard and Genet. I need to go back across het Canaal. Thinking of Paris at Easter if I can afford it. Spanish, meh. I want to go to Madrid next year though.

I've only done two track sessions so far this year, one indoors and the other outdoors, and the latter was so poor I could well have been walking. Backwards. I can't say I'm overly concerned about it, though. I'll get better in time for BUCS. Sixteen days to go, until R3 goes north, dudes. Race in Reading next Wednesday. Let's rip it up.

J'suis Londonien pour toujours.

Oui, j'écris cette message en français. Je sais pas pourqoui. Je peux peut-être m'exprimer mieux comme ça. Que dis-je? Ouais. Je retourne à Londres demain, où je vis. Je suis Londonien pour toujours, même si mon niveau de français améliore autant que j'oubile l'anglais. Je ne choisirais aucune ville française avant Londres. Je m'excite peut-être trop d'y aller. Qu'est-qu'il y a à part beaucoup de travail et la manque de nourriture? Il y a mes colocataires, ou bien mes frères. Nous nous saoulerons ensemble le mercredi, woooo, la boîte Roxy! Et bien je me réveille le matin suivant avec une migraine. Ça vaut la peine, hein?

S'il reste de la neige chez moi ça m'irritera. Je dois préparer pour le championnat britannique. C'est pas facile avec ce temps. Ça me fait penser qu'il y a une personne qui fait tout qu'il peut pour m'empêcher. Ça ne marchera pas. Je vais courir le mieux possible.

Twenty-ten

Hi! It's twenty-ten, or two thousand and ten. Or two thousand ten, if you don't like limes. I think I shall pronounce it twenty-ten. Fiona Bruce does, I noticed.

I had a good Christmas. I hope you did too. I stayed at the folks' house in old KL, saw old friends, and generally just chilled out. London's calling though, as Joe Strummer once sang. The fam are missing me. I'm itching to go back, and the only thing stopping me isn't emotional. Mum won't miss me that much. It's physical. It's the weather.

Now I don't mind the snow for a few days, people at home, go sledding, et cetera. But after the excitement, you realise that it's neither here nor there. It's a nightmare hindered by the council's categorical refusal to grit pavements because someone might slip because there's no fucking ice there. I was planning on running today and now I can't go quicker than eight minute miling without breaking an arm. The track's shut. It's cold. The trains probably won't be running. The Spurs game is off. I'll probably get snowballs thrown at me when I do finally get back to London. At least the cricket's a nice restbite.

Now I've jinxed it. We'll probably lose the last test. Sheer brilliance by Paul Collingwood, Ian Bell and Graham Onions keeping the series from South Africa. Now let's not make ourselves rely on poor Graham's batting ability. I hope he takes all twenty wickets in the next match. Strauss and Cook will each get a century in the first and second innings respectively. Now that's wishful thinking.

Sunday bloody Sunday

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.

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.

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