Relieved… and annoyed…
I’ve finished my essay – all 2,041 words of it. I can’t help but think if anyone asks me in a week’s time what it was about I will struggle to remember. Why? Well I just momentarily forgot and I haven’t even sealed the envelope yet. Oh well – on with the next one. Another 2,000 words – but I need to do a load of reading first. At least my arm will be rested – well assuming I don’t need to do any long blogs!
I suppose I will be spending some time on my new “Easter” section of the website – but I am not in the mood today – we will have to see what tomorrow brings. I would like to have it done by the end of the week if possible.
Slightly annoyed by the husband this weekend. Well VERY annoyed. It starts out as just a stupid trivial thing, or 2 or 3 – then they mount up. Just because HE doesn’t find Harry Hill funny does NOT, in my opinion, mean that Harry Hill is not funny and that I am wrong. Anyone who earns a living as a comedian must be ‘funny’ to more than just one person. I accept that the husband doesn’t find him funny – so why can’t he accept that I do? This works the other way around as well, when the husband thinks someone/something is funny which I don’t find funny. I don’t think it means that I am wrong – I think it means we have differing opinions. Why can’t he see that? Why are my opinions always ‘wrong’ and his always ‘right’? THAT is what is WRONG.
Likewise, ‘Allo ‘Allo does NOT, in my opinion, LOOK dated. How can it be? I don’t think something like that (Dad’s Army is another example) can look dated because they are set in a particular time. I think Mr Twat was basing his theory on the World War 2 costumes. It can’t be because of the humour because Officer Crabtree was on (Good moaning!) and I was pissing myself when he said “Shall we have a poke” instead of “peek”. It’s the reactions of the ‘French’ that’s funny and I happen to think it is extremely clever writing. I said as much – but NO – apparently I was wrong, again.
The other annoying thing about his ‘sense of humour’ is what HE finds funny is only ever someone taking the piss out of someone else. His heroes are all people who belittle someone else, and his main hero is Jim Royle. Sometimes it is funny when someone is a bigoted, dirty, lazy good-for-nothing git – but he thinks it’s funny because it is right to be like that. It’s hard to explain really, Alf Garnett was another of his heroes. I think my sense of humour is more ridiculous things or surreal stuff – so we are never going to agree – all I want is for him to accept that I can have a point of view that is different from his.
I told him that I was fed up with his constant criticism of the things I like, and said I didn’t like the things HE watches – then he said he NEVER watches anything because he is never in!! I mentioned the constant repeats of ‘Only Fools & Horses’ – something HE didn’t find funny when it first came out – but that he now watches as much as possible – even watching the same episode immediately after it has just been on. So we know the bloody things off by heart – they really don’t seem funny when you know exactly what’s coming – especially when you heard it less than an hour previously. I also mentioned the constant racing channels he watches. But no – he insists he never watches anything!
If that is the case, why did I have to watch Casualty etc. upstairs on a crappy TV with a crappy picture that looked like it was snowing with crackly noises making it difficult to hear any dialogue? Because he was watching ‘Only Fools’ repeats – while asleep – with the remote control balanced on a part of his anatomy that ensures no one will attempt to change the channel. That doesn’t seem fair to me.
Then today he annoyed me even more by asking me stupid questions about my course. He wanted to know if I was going to try a level 2 course next year, suggesting it might be “a bit too hard for me”. Then I had to explain – yet again – that I have done 2 level 2 courses already. Then he asks the same stupid questions he has asked millions of times before about the points you get for the courses. I’d rather he didn’t ask at all than pretend to be interested – because if he was THAT interested surely he could try to remember my answers from last time. It’s all like the comedy thing – because he thinks he KNOWS how it works, then I must be wrong – again. Like when he was convinced Kate wasn’t at Birmingham University because someone at work told him it was a good university – so kept asking (for 2 years) which Uni she was at. ‘Birmingham’ I would reply. 'Yes – but it’s not the REAL Birmingham University is it? It’s one of those other ones.' 'No – it is in fact the REAL Birmingham University'.
He has got it in his head that you must get more points for a harder course – and no amount of explaining that all the courses I’ve done have been worth the same amount of points will convince him. He said again today that there would be no point anyone doing a harder course if you only get the same amount of points. I explained, yet again, that you have to do so many level 1, 2 and 3 courses to get a degree – and he said “Yes – but you won’t get one of those will you.” – I haven’t put a question mark there because he said it as a statement.
Well with that sort of support probably not – but I’m going to have a bloody good attempt at it, and he can stick that in his irritating pipe and smoke it.
Calling for Hughie, Ralph and Ruth…
Today I can appreciate the benefits of the Roman “Vomitorium” – which, if I understand correctly, is a place that the Roman’s went to empty their stomachs, to make room for more food. A room with a spew. (Obviously, if I have misunderstood, then it’s quite possibly the worst named “whatever” – and to be honest I don’t have time to look it up at the moment – but rest assured I will at some point and will, of course, report back).
(Before you ask – NO – I haven’t eaten too much chocolate – well, I have – but I have quite a high chocolate tolerance level – on this occasion it is not the reason for my nausea!)
The whole day (which, as Mother’s Day I understood to be some sort of ‘day of rest and treats’) started disastrously. I should explain that because I once had a really revolting cup of tea, I haven’t been able to drink it for several years, so I usually drink coffee, coke, or coffee flavoured Pepsi. However, I can’t face coffee first thing in the morning so I tend to have a drinking chocolate – one of the 40 calorie ‘Options’. They used to do a ginger one which I loved – but they stopped making them. Although I like the orange and mint ones, I prefer the Belgian chocolate ones, or (for a real treat) cinnamon flavour. So, imagine my horror when I discovered the husband had bought 10 Turkish Delight flavoured ones. I hate, loathe and despise the rosy-perfumed flavour of Turkish Delight. If I accidentally eat one from a box of chocolates – I HAVE to spit it out. They are VILE. I did try one, but it was revolting – so not the best start to the day.
Then later on, I went into the kitchen to make some coffee – and was greeted with what can only be described as a cross between an alien autopsy, a bad accident in Casualty and that scene near the end of the film “Murder by Decree” (Starring the rather gorgeous Christopher Plummer as Sherlock Holmes and James Mason as Watson, investigating the Jack the Ripper murders – anyway if you’ve seen the film it’s the scene where the Ripper has bloody hands and there’s bits of goodness-knows-what all over the walls – very reminiscent of the ‘reveal’ at the end of a Anna Ryder-Richardson/Linda Barker Changing Rooms episode. If you haven’t seen the film and want to, well I’ve got two DVDs because it’s so good I bought it twice! Don’t ask! I have mentioned my crappy memory haven’t I?) Anyway – picture the scene - the dripping blood, the flashing blade of the knife, the bloody hands – and this is my kitchen now – not the film – and don’t get me started on the smell! I was absolutely heaving, and just about managed to make the coffee without throwing-up. Then, when I went back later to wash-up the cups – there it was, uncovered, no cling film – just sitting there, in a dish, oozing…
For some reason, the husband decided he wanted LIVER for Sunday dinner. To me, it is more of a Saturday thing – and, what with it being Mother’s day, it seemed harsh to buy something he doesn’t know how to cook. Quite why he thinks it needs chopping up into tiny pieces is a mystery to me. He has teeth. And he just leaves it there in a bowl, uncovered.
When I eventually recovered, I went to see my mum and deliver her Mother’s Day card. Things got worse! She cut the top of her foot open on Wednesday. She went to the doctor and had some sort of strip things put across it to hold it all together while it healed. She’s taken the bandage off and was in the process of removing the strips when I arrived. It was swollen, it was oozing. The sight of it caused this weird kind of tingly-wobbly feeling all down the backs of my legs. I had to cover it up!So – now I need to go and cook this bloody liver, then I’m off to design my Vomitorium and apply for planning permission…
... hard at it!!
I've been extremely busy with my course work today. I think these photos speak for themselves.I'd like to thank Jenni for taking these photos, especially as she is extremely busy herself "writing an essay" - I know this is true because I can hear her typing away on her computer, and she is definitely NOT playing games... I suppose it is something to do with her laptop, but her keyboard makes really unusual noises, a bit like swords clashing together, with the occasional shriek or shout - I expect that is the space bar or something?Which reminds me, I used to have a Monty Python disk that made silly keyboard noises, like farting etc. (if I've remembered correctly) - also a silly game which, when you were stuck, offered a message that said "For help press F1" - when you pressed F1 it said "Help!"Actually, this is possibly the most useful help message I've ever had!!Anyway - not much time for blogging today - must get back to the books...
...not QUITE so strange as yesterday!
I was in a funny mood yesterday – ‘funny’ as in ‘weird’. I put much of the strangeness down to doing a language course straight after a classics one. It’s done strange things to my head. Add to this weird mix a good dose of pre-menopausal memory glitches! I can never remember words these days – but am reliably informed that this is quite, er, something-or-other, for my, um, thingamyjig – which is something at least). To digress slightly, some members of my family would suggest that I’ve always had a crap memory. For example, I’m always having surreal conversations with my mother about places she insisted I’ve visited, places of which I have no recollection.
“Remember that time we went to Barmouth?” or “You HAVE been to Peterborough!” usually results in a blank look from me and desperation from my mum – who clearly has a better memory than I have. I always insist I’ve never been, or can’t remember – and I can think of numerous reasons why I can’t remember. I was probably only two or three at the time. My parents didn’t stand me in the middle of the town and say “This is Peterborough - remember it well, for we shall quiz you about it when you are 49.” But mainly because nothing interesting ever happened.
To make a ridiculous example, if my parents say to me, “You HAVE been to … ” (feel free to insert any English seaside resort because I can’t remember the name of the place I was thinking of now, and it really doesn’t matter where, and it will probably come to me later!*) and I argue that I’ve never been, and if at this point they go on to add, “You know – that place where the sheep exploded.” I would (I hope) be able to say, “Oh yes!” because I do remember things happening – just not place names! (*Skegness)
I mean, I am guessing that my son remembers the time that we were on a beach (somewhere in Wales?) when he was quite small. (Small enough to think that lying in a shallow puddle was ‘swimming’, and old enough to make a few brave exploratory steps down the beach away from us (with four sets of eagle eyes unblinkingly watching him) – when, totally unexpectedly, The Red Arrows flew over and out across the sea. I’m sure it was a brown trouser moment for many people that day. (Possibly explains why he has this irrational hatred of Red Arrows pilots!) I am positive he remembers that moment, but won’t necessarily know where it happened, other than ‘a beach’. And this is the argument I put forward to my mum in one of her exasperated moments when trying to convince me that I’ve been somewhere. Of course, it all falls apart when she goes on to explain that it was only two years ago! (Or as on one 'memorable' occasion - the previous month.)
I can’t remember my point now… Oh yes… language/classics/etc.
I was walking along yesterday and in my head (I’ve not yet taken to talking to myself out loud when I’m outside – it is, however, only a matter of time!) I was criticising someone’s “ironic columns”. I know at this point I did say “Ironic?” out loud, with a sort of questioning/puzzled intonation – much to the surprise of a man washing his car.
Had I actually been looking at what was supposedly columns in a vaguely Ionic style, I could perhaps have been forgiven a slight (vaguely humorous) “slip of the mind.” Except they were, in fact, bad examples of an unconvincing Doric style. I suppose they were in fact neither style – so what is the point? I have since named the style “Pathetic”. They were shit columns. [J. there is a metaphor in there somewhere!!] Neither one thing nor t’other. Now if I had the money to erect some pretentious, pointless, OTT, decorative columns myself, I’d like to think I could do it with some style! These people who have ridiculously oversized statues and fountains in the front gardens of their modern houses are clearly deranged and have more money than taste. I know I have a stone-effect bird bath with a gnome on it in my back garden – but it is in proportion (and it can’t be seen by the general public!) I like statues and fountains etc. but in the right space.
Now I shall stop criticising people’s choice of garden ornaments (‘tis, after all, a free country) and go back to recognising creative use of language in everyday discourse. Yesterday I spotted some intertextuality in Sainsbury’s. Brilliant! Intertextuality alive and well at the checkout AND I spotted it. Bakhtin would be proud!
Warning: Next year I want to do a course on Film & TV history. You get to write about Eastenders! I’m looking forward to that. The following year, Creative Writing – can’t wait! (Perhaps I should have done this one first?) The other day I had this idle passing thought that when I’ve finished all this I might go to college and get a science GCSE, and when looking at the website of the local college I discovered you can also do GCSE photography – wouldn’t that be fun?
I suppose, as I appear to be working backwards, I might look into retaking my Eleven Plus exam and perhaps Cycling Proficiency – both of which I failed. Being classed as a failure has a remarkable impact on an 11 year old, especially one with a destructive combination of self-consciousness and laziness. “Failure” is a very sticky label. Even if you manage to shake it off, the sticky residue is always there.