It is baffling to me how a normal-sized person upstairs can manage to sound like a 400-lb Homer Simpson doing aerobics. And this is just when she is walking normally. When she runs down her stairs, she apparently leaps into the air for joy at the bottom, and it is quite possible that one day she will just come on through into my room.
Although she is lovely, and her name is Lucy (which is a pretty name and reminds me of Mrs. Tiggywinkle), I am really glad that she is moving in a week. (However, this will be slightly anti-climactic, as I won't be here for a month, so it won't really help my headache that much. If noone is there to hear a loud person, are they still loud?)
Returned from Cardiff yesterday (v. sorry not to have gotten together with anyone in the two days I was there, but was helping pack E's house as he is moving), and wonder if my two 'hollydays' left this week will be calm or if I will be sucked into work stuff. The past two days of hollyday, too, have been proofing and re-proofing brochures which were supposed to have gone to the printer by end-of-day in Louisiana yesterday. (Monday was a Bank Holiday here, which means that it has mutated into a day for everyone but shopkeepers to be off).
*******
A few notes on the season:
The hayfields are in full harvest (and have been for some time -- I may try to go out on my bike this afternoon and locate a good photo, although no promises). Some is in rolls, some is in huge bales and some is in smaller longish bales. Barns are filling and this, along with the shorter days, is a sign that winter is coming.
Heather is in full bloom.
Not sure if they are still as beautiful, but just a couple of weeks ago, another planting of rape was brilliant yellow and is one of my favourite parts of the countryside quilt.
East Anglia apparently farms a lot of grains. Seeing a field undulating and scintillating in the sunshine and wind makes me understand the line 'amber waves of grain' more than perhaps I comprehended in the pine forests where I grew up :)
Wales really is greener than England. The view when driving west on the approach to the Severn Bridge is absolutely amazing.
Temperatures have been cooler (much, much cooler than Loosyanna and Texas -- am not really at all looking forward to being in 100* in a week and a half) and I even had to turn my heating on one night a couple of weeks ago! Lots of people are complaining about this, but I hate to complain (hee hee hee).
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Thursday, 23 August 2007
A World of Her Own
Anne-Marie has returned to her own little world after a short venture outside. It is safer in her world. And people talk in amusing voices.
She really rather likes her own little world, as it is quiet and peaceful. Esp. if one is sitting on the wrong train all by one's self on the platform across from where one's correct train is pulling out. Sometimes one doesn't realise this until the annoucement comes over the speaker detailing the train after one is supposed to be gone and one slightly freaks out in a panic. But if one is a Southern Lady, the train manager just might be nice due to one's accent (and obvious American-ness -- *bless*) and let one go on this train. This is lovely until this train is late and one nearly has an aneurysm in London worrying about making one's connection. Fortunately, one does make it across London with a whole 4 -- yes, count 'em -- four minutes to spare!
After a few days out and about, though, one really needs to internalise again and go where life cannot irritate.
I had a haircut appointment scheduled for 6.00pm today (am trying to masquerade as adult who cares about regular grooming issues) and have reminded self every day this week by looking at useful and omnipresent Calendrical Item (some people might find this an amazingly fantabulous addition to their daily wardrobe...). Somehow, though, today the voices and the calendar failed in their duty to remind me about said appointment.
It was only when literally 1/2 block from St. Miles church, and I shrewishly noticed someone's unfortunate roots, that the brain kicked in (previously, it had been occupied with planning for lovely food to quell violently rumbly tumbly and the later excursion to knitting and the need to call the printer in Shreveport and to call my Auntie Karen and to call Dr. Morgan). This shadow-form of a memory led to my consulting clock on phone, which read 17.58 (for those uninitiated into the wonders of 24-hour time telling, this means I had two minutes to get to Ritual Day Spa). Quite handily, it is only about 2 1/2 minute walk from my house, so I did indeed make it as the Town Hall clock was striking 6 -- whew.
*******
There are now people across the square doing the Nelson Laugh (ha ha!) from The Simpson's. This is slightly amusing.
But I still think I need to go back into my own little world...
Goodbyeeeee, Trolley People!
She really rather likes her own little world, as it is quiet and peaceful. Esp. if one is sitting on the wrong train all by one's self on the platform across from where one's correct train is pulling out. Sometimes one doesn't realise this until the annoucement comes over the speaker detailing the train after one is supposed to be gone and one slightly freaks out in a panic. But if one is a Southern Lady, the train manager just might be nice due to one's accent (and obvious American-ness -- *bless*) and let one go on this train. This is lovely until this train is late and one nearly has an aneurysm in London worrying about making one's connection. Fortunately, one does make it across London with a whole 4 -- yes, count 'em -- four minutes to spare!
After a few days out and about, though, one really needs to internalise again and go where life cannot irritate.
I had a haircut appointment scheduled for 6.00pm today (am trying to masquerade as adult who cares about regular grooming issues) and have reminded self every day this week by looking at useful and omnipresent Calendrical Item (some people might find this an amazingly fantabulous addition to their daily wardrobe...). Somehow, though, today the voices and the calendar failed in their duty to remind me about said appointment.
It was only when literally 1/2 block from St. Miles church, and I shrewishly noticed someone's unfortunate roots, that the brain kicked in (previously, it had been occupied with planning for lovely food to quell violently rumbly tumbly and the later excursion to knitting and the need to call the printer in Shreveport and to call my Auntie Karen and to call Dr. Morgan). This shadow-form of a memory led to my consulting clock on phone, which read 17.58 (for those uninitiated into the wonders of 24-hour time telling, this means I had two minutes to get to Ritual Day Spa). Quite handily, it is only about 2 1/2 minute walk from my house, so I did indeed make it as the Town Hall clock was striking 6 -- whew.
*******
There are now people across the square doing the Nelson Laugh (ha ha!) from The Simpson's. This is slightly amusing.
But I still think I need to go back into my own little world...
Goodbyeeeee, Trolley People!
Wednesday, 22 August 2007
Vegetable Vandals
This morning on the way to work, I saw at various points on the pavement (aka, sidewalk):
* an avocado
* a papaya
* a broken jar of beet root
* a smashed orange, flattened by traffic
These items were all located within about a one and half block-worth stretch between Colegate Street and St. Benedicts Street.
What is the world coming to when fruit and veg can be victimised like this?
* an avocado
* a papaya
* a broken jar of beet root
* a smashed orange, flattened by traffic
These items were all located within about a one and half block-worth stretch between Colegate Street and St. Benedicts Street.
What is the world coming to when fruit and veg can be victimised like this?
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
What the hey?
Pray tell, what business exactly is it of the EU to tell the Republic of Texas how to run its business?
It seems that the idea of capital punishment of a murderer is somehow more repulsive than mass killings of innocents in other parts of the world (Example 1; Example 2; Example 3; Example 4) , but whatever. This is the same governmental organisation which formed a committee to argue the collective for Jaffa Cakes as either cakes or cookies so as to determine taxes, so why wouldn't we all listen to them? Maybe some dead girl babies and a few thousand people of the wrong race or the wrong faith really aren't such a big deal. Now, I understand the underlying questioning underlying 'wrongful death' discussion, but somehow it seems just that 10 years is a long enough time to prove the 'shadow of a doubt' which might have spared a jackass who shot a convenience store clerk. But let us consider only a couple of things about Johnny Ray Conner:
* he was identified as fleeing the scene
* he turned himself in
Generally, one doesn't either run OR turn one's self in if one is not guilty. His record is not so good, either, leading one to suspect incorrigibility.
Texas Attorney General case file.
I really am sorry for him; he may have had a horrible childhood, since he was already well on his way to the giddy heights of convicted murderer by the age of 10. He is possibly the product of incompetent social services and a disfunctional education system. For this I am sad for him and will pray for his soul. But I am not so sad as to want to (or want my friends and relatives to) pay for his free maintenance and upkeep since he cannot be a contributing part of society.
When one has a rabid dog, does one keep it in a little house and feed it, medicate it, counsel it incessantly and educate it in the legal profession until it dies of old age?
This being ranted, I am quite willing to parry objections to my point of view in a civil way. So, do feel free.
Have to go back to my online Scrabble game now...
It seems that the idea of capital punishment of a murderer is somehow more repulsive than mass killings of innocents in other parts of the world (Example 1; Example 2; Example 3; Example 4) , but whatever. This is the same governmental organisation which formed a committee to argue the collective for Jaffa Cakes as either cakes or cookies so as to determine taxes, so why wouldn't we all listen to them? Maybe some dead girl babies and a few thousand people of the wrong race or the wrong faith really aren't such a big deal. Now, I understand the underlying questioning underlying 'wrongful death' discussion, but somehow it seems just that 10 years is a long enough time to prove the 'shadow of a doubt' which might have spared a jackass who shot a convenience store clerk. But let us consider only a couple of things about Johnny Ray Conner:
* he was identified as fleeing the scene
* he turned himself in
Generally, one doesn't either run OR turn one's self in if one is not guilty. His record is not so good, either, leading one to suspect incorrigibility.
Texas Attorney General case file.
I really am sorry for him; he may have had a horrible childhood, since he was already well on his way to the giddy heights of convicted murderer by the age of 10. He is possibly the product of incompetent social services and a disfunctional education system. For this I am sad for him and will pray for his soul. But I am not so sad as to want to (or want my friends and relatives to) pay for his free maintenance and upkeep since he cannot be a contributing part of society.
When one has a rabid dog, does one keep it in a little house and feed it, medicate it, counsel it incessantly and educate it in the legal profession until it dies of old age?
This being ranted, I am quite willing to parry objections to my point of view in a civil way. So, do feel free.
Have to go back to my online Scrabble game now...
Saturday, 11 August 2007
Leaving the Building
(or legal society, as the case may be)
So, in annoying news this week, some Scouts are missing. In case it wasn't mentioned on the Ark-La-Tex, CenTex or SWales news (for regular readers), the 100th anniversary Scouting Jamboree has been going on in Essex. 40,000 scouts from around the world participated, giving
the morning news correspondents loads of precious English-as-a-Second-Language children to torment for several mornings ('How do you like it?', 'What do you think of England?', 'Do you like meeting people from around the world?' -- really deep questions).
However, to everyone's surprise, some scouts have gone missing!!!! (It is slightly befuddling to my tiny brain how a 24-year-old is still a scout, but... b-a-d. Cultural sensitivity, Amrie!) The missing include:
* 5 male Bangladeshis (aged 12, 15, 16 and 24)
* 2 girls and 2 boys from Uganda (aged 16 and 17)
* 17 y.o. Sri Lankan male
* 15 y.o. Nigerian male
* and another boy and a girl, whose countries are unknown to the general public (that is shady as well).
Now, my sympathies are truly with people who want to escape from these countries (and others). Wayne, my line manager, just returned from Nigeria, where he stayed in his hotel for two solid weeks, went nowhere outside but to the recruitment agent's office and the airport, and had armed guards the whole time. He reports that it is a s---hole. He says it has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he was terrified for his life, and there is every understanding for people who want to get out however they can. He brought us some plantain chips.
HOWEVER, there is only so much that better-off countries can stand or hold. It also makes it really confusing and difficult for people trying to follow the rules to get visas and work permits legally (ahem). My mama told me there was a news story about Brits moving out of the country due to the influx of migrants, although all I could find was an article about the British exodus from London.
(step down from soapbox)
*******
Now we move over to the humorous side of life, where something else has gone missing (namely, sanity).
This is the tale of a lawsuit. An All-American piece of litigation. Elvis has sued his former company for wrongly dismissing him. Nameless (well, he did legally change his name to 'Elvis Presley') former-Wall Street banker claims wrongful firing, harrassment at work, and victimisation. When he was dismissed, he claims the HR manager looked up from his desk and quipped that it was time that Elvis left the building. (titter) Another blogger has given his tuppence.
It has always been my dream to go to the One-Legged Elvis Presley-Lookalike Alligator-Wrestling Challenge (my question is: how many competitors do you have to have to make it a Championship?). It is on August 16th.... maybe should check next week to see if they have pictures!
And this is a list of randomness (which incidentally includes the above story, but also a link to a story indicating the possible location of the missing Briton Lord Lucan, who may be Roger Woodgate, currently living in a car in New Zealand with his pet possum).
*******
It is a lovely day, and I ought to leave the building and go and be utterly mad somewhere. Maybe a hat will help! Or a possum.
But perhaps a shower is in order first.
So, in annoying news this week, some Scouts are missing. In case it wasn't mentioned on the Ark-La-Tex, CenTex or SWales news (for regular readers), the 100th anniversary Scouting Jamboree has been going on in Essex. 40,000 scouts from around the world participated, giving
the morning news correspondents loads of precious English-as-a-Second-Language children to torment for several mornings ('How do you like it?', 'What do you think of England?', 'Do you like meeting people from around the world?' -- really deep questions).However, to everyone's surprise, some scouts have gone missing!!!! (It is slightly befuddling to my tiny brain how a 24-year-old is still a scout, but... b-a-d. Cultural sensitivity, Amrie!) The missing include:
* 5 male Bangladeshis (aged 12, 15, 16 and 24)
* 2 girls and 2 boys from Uganda (aged 16 and 17)
* 17 y.o. Sri Lankan male
* 15 y.o. Nigerian male
* and another boy and a girl, whose countries are unknown to the general public (that is shady as well).
Now, my sympathies are truly with people who want to escape from these countries (and others). Wayne, my line manager, just returned from Nigeria, where he stayed in his hotel for two solid weeks, went nowhere outside but to the recruitment agent's office and the airport, and had armed guards the whole time. He reports that it is a s---hole. He says it has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he was terrified for his life, and there is every understanding for people who want to get out however they can. He brought us some plantain chips.
HOWEVER, there is only so much that better-off countries can stand or hold. It also makes it really confusing and difficult for people trying to follow the rules to get visas and work permits legally (ahem). My mama told me there was a news story about Brits moving out of the country due to the influx of migrants, although all I could find was an article about the British exodus from London.
(step down from soapbox)
*******
Now we move over to the humorous side of life, where something else has gone missing (namely, sanity).
This is the tale of a lawsuit. An All-American piece of litigation. Elvis has sued his former company for wrongly dismissing him. Nameless (well, he did legally change his name to 'Elvis Presley') former-Wall Street banker claims wrongful firing, harrassment at work, and victimisation. When he was dismissed, he claims the HR manager looked up from his desk and quipped that it was time that Elvis left the building. (titter) Another blogger has given his tuppence.
It has always been my dream to go to the One-Legged Elvis Presley-Lookalike Alligator-Wrestling Challenge (my question is: how many competitors do you have to have to make it a Championship?). It is on August 16th.... maybe should check next week to see if they have pictures!
And this is a list of randomness (which incidentally includes the above story, but also a link to a story indicating the possible location of the missing Briton Lord Lucan, who may be Roger Woodgate, currently living in a car in New Zealand with his pet possum).
*******
It is a lovely day, and I ought to leave the building and go and be utterly mad somewhere. Maybe a hat will help! Or a possum.
But perhaps a shower is in order first.
Wednesday, 8 August 2007
A thing of beauty...
...is a joy forever. So Mr. Keats tells us. To continue, according to same, '...its loveliness increases' which is quite encouraging, as we can only improve from here this evening.
Firstly, the puffy red eyes are back (although this is not the most noticeable thing about me at the moment, as will be more fully visualised presently). Despite my extremely scientific and methodical way in which this problem has been tackled -- systematically disposing of various creams, eye makeups and facial cleansers -- along with a NHS-sponsored tube of steroid cream, eyelids returned to puffy and unpleasant state this morning. And, I have self-diagnosed (so clever for a psuedo-linguist, no?)!
It is my studied opinion that I have developed a mango allergy. Perhaps I had it all along, but just possibly, eating an entire mango in one sitting can bring out a latent condition. Just maybe. Now that I look back over the past couple of months, I have been eating quite a lot of mango(s). Because they are:
a) yummy
b) chock full o' Vitamin C (I think. If not, then something else)
c) is regularly on 2 for £2!
And a case study (online, because everything online is true) has my symptoms listed! Fortunately, 'periorbital oedema' seems to be the lightest of the problems. And I can live with this. Because, after all, there is one more mango in the fridge, and it will not be allowed to go to waste! (mmmm, salivation!) It appears that urushiol (3'5'-pentadecylcatechol) is our culprit here. It is a happy fact to note that, despite being closely related, pistachios and cashews rarely cause cross-sensitivity -- that would make me really cross.
Secondly, the hair needed henna-ing overnight and now my head is wrapped in cling film/saran wrap. Glasses are a bit tricky when one's head is swathed in plastic wrap, but if you place the side bars carefully on the outside sort of where your ears are, and you don't move around a lot, they kind of stick to the film. Hoorah.
To complete the vision, I have applied a white face mask: rejuvenating, in 'loveliness increasing' and generally youth-ifying my entire aura.
And I wish you all a good night and pleasant dreams. You don't have to dream of me... (ha). On the positive side, if any gypsies should try to creep in through the window, they would quite probably wet themselves in fright. There is a current Traveller issue in Norwich, and on UEA's campus... more about this issue later.
Firstly, the puffy red eyes are back (although this is not the most noticeable thing about me at the moment, as will be more fully visualised presently). Despite my extremely scientific and methodical way in which this problem has been tackled -- systematically disposing of various creams, eye makeups and facial cleansers -- along with a NHS-sponsored tube of steroid cream, eyelids returned to puffy and unpleasant state this morning. And, I have self-diagnosed (so clever for a psuedo-linguist, no?)!
It is my studied opinion that I have developed a mango allergy. Perhaps I had it all along, but just possibly, eating an entire mango in one sitting can bring out a latent condition. Just maybe. Now that I look back over the past couple of months, I have been eating quite a lot of mango(s). Because they are:
a) yummy
b) chock full o' Vitamin C (I think. If not, then something else)
c) is regularly on 2 for £2!
And a case study (online, because everything online is true) has my symptoms listed! Fortunately, 'periorbital oedema' seems to be the lightest of the problems. And I can live with this. Because, after all, there is one more mango in the fridge, and it will not be allowed to go to waste! (mmmm, salivation!) It appears that urushiol (3'5'-pentadecylcatechol) is our culprit here. It is a happy fact to note that, despite being closely related, pistachios and cashews rarely cause cross-sensitivity -- that would make me really cross.
Secondly, the hair needed henna-ing overnight and now my head is wrapped in cling film/saran wrap. Glasses are a bit tricky when one's head is swathed in plastic wrap, but if you place the side bars carefully on the outside sort of where your ears are, and you don't move around a lot, they kind of stick to the film. Hoorah.
To complete the vision, I have applied a white face mask: rejuvenating, in 'loveliness increasing' and generally youth-ifying my entire aura.
And I wish you all a good night and pleasant dreams. You don't have to dream of me... (ha). On the positive side, if any gypsies should try to creep in through the window, they would quite probably wet themselves in fright. There is a current Traveller issue in Norwich, and on UEA's campus... more about this issue later.
Tuesday, 7 August 2007
£10 Tuesdays
Something is up with Tuesdays.
Places open 30 minutes later in the city centre on Tuesdays for some reason -- well, at least HSBC bank and Boots pharmacy. Sally and Suzy claim this is for staff training, but I am convinced that it has to do with some pagan tradition requiring the sacrifice of busy people's patience on the altar of locked doors. Or maybe worship of the sun.
My reason for trying to do business on a Tuesday morning stemmed from my post on Friday: So, we all get mail for people who used to live in our houses. Mostly, this can be returned to the Corporate Sender of Crap Paperwaste (CSCP) by marking through and noting 'Not at this address'.
But piece of post from Friday was obviously a personal note, not to a person for whom I regularly get post, with no return address (WHAT is UP with people trusting any postal service so implicitly that they do not put a return address?), and with a suspicious hard, slim thingy inside. Instead of throwing this immediately in the bin, I opened it and this girl should be happy that I did, since her idiot friend who had mailed it to her (with no return address) was mailing Girl A's driving license and her HSBC bank card. Yes, that is safe.
After trying yesterday to find this girl at her work place (wonders of the internet) to no avail, I took the items in to HSBC on campus at lunch. AND THEY GAVE ME A £10 REWARD! Wow! Isn't that nice? So someone has some chocolate on her desk and might be able to make it through the rest of stressful day of travel planning (which departure looms closer every day -- approx. 35 days from now).
Places open 30 minutes later in the city centre on Tuesdays for some reason -- well, at least HSBC bank and Boots pharmacy. Sally and Suzy claim this is for staff training, but I am convinced that it has to do with some pagan tradition requiring the sacrifice of busy people's patience on the altar of locked doors. Or maybe worship of the sun.
My reason for trying to do business on a Tuesday morning stemmed from my post on Friday: So, we all get mail for people who used to live in our houses. Mostly, this can be returned to the Corporate Sender of Crap Paperwaste (CSCP) by marking through and noting 'Not at this address'.
But piece of post from Friday was obviously a personal note, not to a person for whom I regularly get post, with no return address (WHAT is UP with people trusting any postal service so implicitly that they do not put a return address?), and with a suspicious hard, slim thingy inside. Instead of throwing this immediately in the bin, I opened it and this girl should be happy that I did, since her idiot friend who had mailed it to her (with no return address) was mailing Girl A's driving license and her HSBC bank card. Yes, that is safe.
After trying yesterday to find this girl at her work place (wonders of the internet) to no avail, I took the items in to HSBC on campus at lunch. AND THEY GAVE ME A £10 REWARD! Wow! Isn't that nice? So someone has some chocolate on her desk and might be able to make it through the rest of stressful day of travel planning (which departure looms closer every day -- approx. 35 days from now).
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