Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Tuesday Is Risotto Tuesday

Tonight, Jim, of 'Absinthe Collective' fame, came round and cooked for us ladies. 'I brought a bottle of wine to apologise for, er....', says he. We are not complaining. After stirring half a tub of Clover into his Risotto (it was tasty-rich), and dishing it up, he carries on with pudding: Ice-cream with crumbled Maltesers sprinkled on. It's like a scene from Fat Girls and Feeders.

Jim has an exam first thing tomorrow, so scooches off early, leaving me and Moo to work off our phantom pregnancies with Vonnie and Emma at the bar. 'We need to get out', says Moo. 'I feel there is a jewel somewhere at the Riverside'.

'What jewel?', inquire I.

'I don't know', quoth she. 'But there is a jewel like this (she makes an 'O' with her thumb and forefinger) and we have to find it'.

We get to the Riverside at 11.45pm, and no jewel of a pub is to be found open. However, we do find Al with his band (post-gig) and gratefully snatch two 'get-in-free' flyers from him for Time (cheesy club extraordinaire). There is dancing to be had.

However, what tops it is hearing from Major, my darling darling fellow-Thailand-venturing hockey boy. 'I heard what happened with your parents. I'm really sorry, man'.

'Nah, that's OK', I answer. 'Thanks anyway, though'.

'Now, you just keep your head up, OK?. I'll see you soon, and just you keep your head up'.

I am so touched that I rave to Moo for several minutes. When the proverbial hits the fan, it's easy to see who is there and who isn't. To continue the metaphor, some people who you think will wether it, simply run out because they don't want the proverbial on their nice T-Shirt...and then forget to call you to find out if the proverbial even got cleaned up, or whether it caused such a mess that you had to re-decorate. And sometimes, the most unexpected people will stand there with you while you get proverbial all over your face, and then say, 'Listen, let's forget the fact that you reek of proverbial and all go out for a drink'. So here's to Major. You made my night, Mister.

Monday, May 30, 2005

Monday Is Paella Monday

Today, Emma whipped up a taste sensation for us (see below) in the name of Bank Holiday Monday. It rained. Quel surprise. I spent most of the afternoon with the girls amongst wrappers of Mini Rolls and Walker's Crisps, and slurping my way through the Budweisers which were left in the pool (and had lost their labels). Furthermore, we knocked our way through 3 episodes of Sex and the City and 3 more of Due South. I will admit, we did return to the half-naked bathroom scenes in Episode 2. Several times. The batchelor life is great.

I am not immune, however, to feeling guilty at my immediate metamorphosis into the state of 'cabbage'. Or I wasn't, until I got invited to a Desperate Housewives party on Wednesday night and realised that my fellow 'intellectuals' had undergone the same transformation. I fancy Hollyoaks and a Grolsch, dagnammit.

All That Jazz

My new look diary, courtesy of Blogger. I don't think I will ever work out 'template' type areas.

Earth's Oddest Programming

We feel as students we can convincingly escape a thrashing for watching the most dreadful television conceived by various (most likely American) Executives. I've already mentioned 'Due South' (which I will defend to my last), but what I'm really thinking of is 'World's Wildest Police Videos'.

This has to be The Most Awful piece of scheduling on terrestrial television, even for Channel 5 who broadcast Family Affairs, for God's sake. Whose idea was it to hire a guy with a white fright-hair (a hair-do which was probably knitted by a friend and then shoddily UHu-ed onto his scalp) with blinding teeth to match, to 'link' the shonkily caught 'videos' together with some very hammy speil?

See him take a 'urgently needed' walkie-talkie to man in front of a video screen, whilst giving his best voice-over voice,

'These two bad guys thought they would be reunited with their loot. They were treated to a reunion...IN A JAIL CELL.'

And then, ducking with a sense of importance into a police helicopter,

'Drugged up and dangerous, this man thought he could out-run the cops. Unfortunately for him, they ran HIM down....STRAIGHT TO THE COURTHOUSE'.

Me and Moo found ourselves rolling about the floor after a mere 10 minutes. It's the best laugh on TV today.

Quoted Here

Emma: 'I'm appreciating you sideways'.

Better quotes to be had here >>>, for example...

Heard on the 6 Train:

Kid #1: Paper beats rock. BAM! Your rock is blowed up!
Kid #2: "Bam" doesn't blow up, "bam" makes it spicy. Now I got a SPICY ROCK! You can't defeat that!

Sunday, May 29, 2005

The Sunday Pin-Up

Remember this chap? He once played the lead role in a programme called Due South, which was on in the mid-90s. The other day, cerebrum mostly corroded from hours of poring over books about Equity, Emma bounded into my room to ask me whether I remembered it. Screaming. 'I thought I was the only person in the world who watched that!', says I. 'I used to have THE BIGGEST crush on the Mountie Guy. Fraser.'

Twenty minutes later, writhing about on her bed and eating Kettle Chips, we gawp as we watch an old episode she downloaded for a lark. 'This must be the best programme ever made', we muse. 'And do you know what?', says I. 'I was expecting him to look completely minging in retrospect, but he's actually not at all!'

'Are. You. Kidding?', Emma gasps, 'He is possibly the greatest man on the planet'.

Bank Holiday Monday may be re-christened as Due South Day. Call me a geek. I don't care. This picture is for Emma. This week's Sunday Pin-Up is Paul Gross circa 1994: The Greatest Man On The Planet.

Posted by Hello

Sausage Fun

Yesterday we welcomed in 12 members of the UEA Fencing Society, assorted Art School people, spouses, The Absinthe Collective and others into our home to celebrate the end of (most people's) exams. Having started (drinking) at about 5pm, we felt quite impressed with ourselves as old timers having managed to last right through until 3am when we pushed the diminished number of The Collective out of our back door and told them not to steal the wine we were lovingly cooling in the paddling pool. After 10 hours of dancing, Sangria, sausages and 30-odd people cooing over our 'sun terrace', we staggered to bed in our own little ways. Today, many were feeling the carnage wreaked inside their young lithe bodies. I, however, at 10am sharp, went out into the garden armed with bin liners and marigolds to pick tender raw burgers and dew-soaked cigarette butts out of the grass in the name of the greater good. Although, to be fair, I did leave the marshmallows to the nettles.

There are some very decent photos of yesterday's japes on my Flickr page, if you're interested/bored/sceptical/sunburnt etc. Just click on the set marked 'Our Barbie'.

Special Quotes from the night include:
  1. 'I've never been so Woganized in all my life' (Emma drunk in a way which only Terry Wogan at the Eurovision Song Contest would deem necessary).
  2. 'Why are you stroking her feet? She's got breasts!' (Steve-O warns a very drunken Jimbo off me... I think).
  3. 'You look adorable in that jacket...kind of like a boy from the 1970's (Fox's backhanded compliment).

Posted by Hello

Friday, May 27, 2005

Summer Ici

Tomorrow we're having a fair old barbeque chez nous, so for the past couple of days we've been scrubbing bathrooms, making jelly and (as Emma demonstrates here) mowing the lawn. What a fantastic machine that is. Nicely sized. However, today our preparation was put on hold as The Sun Well And Truly Had His Hat On, and we spent most of our day attempting to recreate life in the Hamptons/The O.C. with three of us in our bikinis lying in a row and nibbling on strawberries. Our neighbour Toby caught the scent of something girl-shaped and unashamedly leant over the fence to leer at us.

Fortunately for us, Toby is only a dog.

Posted by Hello

Gerald! Stop...

...Locking me in my own room. It's not big and it's not clever.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Head. Brick Wall.

In a continuing vein of militancy, I would like to share with you a text I received just before midnight.

You didnt reply to last message. Glad youre ok Simon has made me worry that youre on pot. Dont want you to throw things away !mum xx

Prima headline: 'My crack-head daughter hell'.

Frog Vitriol

In the name of all that is decent and right in the world, how, oh how is the Crazy Frog outselling Speed of Sound 4-1 in the singles charts? I appreciate that Coldplay isn't everyone's cup of tea (e.g. Alan McGee's) but who on earth is willing to spend £3.99 on a virtual frog with a blacked-out penis 'ding-ding-ding'ing along to the theme tune from Beverley Hill's Cop?

I swear the bastards at Jamster did this to convincingly fuck with the lives of students everywhere. First they infiltrated the phones so that long bus journeys became suddenly unbearable. Then they put their advert on twice in the middle of every episode of Hollyoaks. And now they're pulling off chart-slaughter. Their office must look like an abattoir of goodness.

If you feel frustrated, angry or even tearful at the words 'Crazy Frog', you may find this website gives you a giggle. As long as you're not similarly ruffled by the 'See You Next Tuesday' word.

Please buy the Coldplay single if you like it. The band don't need the money, but imagine if you lost out on a Number 1 to a well-endowed frog with Biggles goggles. Gutted.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Little Bit Hungover

Builders. They always work nearest my window when I have a hangover, and then they crack out the JCB and the drills extra early. And they insist on blasting out 80s pap from each of their little machines. Bastards.

Since when have they been using sledgehammers?!?

Posted by Hello

Little Bit Tipsy

Ic wante to do an experimenbt to see whether my drunken selv was hindering my normal self from attracting emn. I think the cinclusive answr is 'Yes'. The eys are enough to sare away Medusa herselgf, let alone your average Norfolk Stdudent. This is clearly whenre i'm going owrong.

Posted by Hello

So So DAriunk

I thought i would post in this stae withoutm aking any corrections. Oh, i AL drunk, so so drunk.. This evening I wandered forr to finf Rob but it was to no abvail, I saw him in the cultural hive of megamunch in a baseball cap. There were a lot of sketchbombs around tonuight, but mosto f them wantwed Mary. And we had a conversatio with the taxi man and he agreed that bimts in short skirets (one of htem was was walking aroung in a bra and a skirt, literally a bra on the reckoning that she wad too hot...whatever) were silly, and thant none of them had any brains. Tjhis is ture. We coud al walk arounf in minin skirts and try and seduce men if we wangted to, but vsome of us have dignity. Shit, I don't hjavr any dignity at all, I vam completely shitfaced. I have brough t a Morrisons bag upstairs just in case. It is a sad sad moment when wone cannot pull and cannot also manage to keep onss alcohol inside though it is as superflouis amount in he stomach. My stomach is a vety angry with me. Oh dear, it is increasingly hard to write. Noght night all.

Lobve ofrom Suzette

Monday, May 23, 2005

Gerald Strikes Again

Oh, Gerald. You weren't content with blowing up the oven AND the microwave. You weren't even satisfied by swinging a door open into my face. No, you simply had to blow up one of my plug sockets. And then melt Moo's alarm clock. Come on now, this is just silly.

Another Music Post

On the playlist this week (amongst others)...
  1. 'Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others' (The Smiths)
  2. 'Indigo' (Moloko)
  3. 'In The Morning' (The Coral)
  4. 'Vibrant Thing' (Q-Tip)
  5. 'Stroll On' (The Yardbirds)
Posted by Hello

Our Friend Gerald

When we moved in, we became more and more used to 'odd things' happening about the place. It wasn't unusual, for instance, to see handfuls of cutlery literally fly out of the drying rack and scatter on the floor whilst still at the kitchen door. We discussed, jokingly, that the perpetrator was clearly a Norse King buried in the swamp our house was built on, just over a year ago. Like 'Poltergeist', but Scandanavians instead of Indians.

Moo, famously Mystic that she is, decided the culprit was someone named Gerald, a bit of a pesky, but otherwise harmless, man.

One night I had the house to myself and was typically lying awake in bed when I heard a creaking sound above my head and looked up to see my dangly lampshade swinging around quite vigorously. I put my head under the covers and waited for it to stop. On Friday night, though, Emma had the weirdest experience of all when, at about 3am, her printer (which was unconnected to her computer and completely unplugged from the mains) began to print out pages and pages of garbled text. A bit freaked out by this, we googled 'poltergeist activities' and found this little gem;

Included in the most common types of poltergeist activities are the rains of stones, dirt, and other small objects; moving or throwing of objects, including large pieces of furniture. It seems that poltergeists have adapted to the development of technology. They are known to have caused interference in telephones and electronic equipment, and turning lights and appliances on and off.

The microwave and the grill bust in one short week. Gerald, are you to blame?!

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Back In The Picture

What a week it's been. What with parents divorcing, boys hitting themselves over the head with trays etc, i'm left wondering, what exactly IS going on?

Tonight, Moo and I discovered the joys of drunkenly shopping for '60s stuff' on e-Bay. With large beaker-fulls of wine sloshing about the desk, we eagerly bidded for a blue 'crimplene' go-go dress i'd been watching all day and which was about to hit the 5 minute mark. In 'high spirits' I forgot that i'd already got a dress for my birthday party (see below) and ended up in a fierce bidding war with a girl who annoyingly kept topping my best attempt at purchasing the beast. Luckily she beat me as, drunk or not, £35 for a worn piece of synthetic scratchiness isn't a good deal, is it?

In other news, we have added our Microwave to List Of Recently-Exploded Household Appliances™ . This afternoon, poor unsuspecting Vonnie, who is living with us during her exams, went to make some packet-popcorn to cheer herself up from the dark pit of behavioural psychology.

The next thing I heard was, 'Help! Help! It's on fire!!!!!!!', coming up the stairs along with a pungent smell of burning. Running into the kitchen, I saw a now-unplugged microwave filled with large yellow flames. I went to open it, and then, for some reason, had a sudden vision of the film Backdraft, and was convinced that was I to do that, my face would surely be burnt off. Thus I opened it whilst stooping in the brace position. Disaster was averted, but said appliance is now off-limits, along with the grill which has taken to spending a good 30 minutes melting cheese onto toast.

Posted by Hello

Proof That Boys Are Stupid

They buy malleable metal baking trays for the sole purpose of giving themselves concussion. Posted by Hello

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Three Tales Of Enlightenment

I’ve gone home again, supposedly for relaxation purposes. And my, do I have some tales to tell.

Tale One

I have finished my exams. Yah boo sucks! I may not be so smug once the results have dropped through my letterbox early one fateful morn, but for now I am. Anyway, despite arriving a good 30 minute early for my last exam (that’s dedication to preparation, people), I still managed to end up walking into a sea of scribbling students 10 minutes late. How? The School ‘forgot’ to publish a couple of incy-wincy letters at the front of the Exam Room number on their ‘official timetable’. This mistake, compounded by the Evil Witch (the School Office Clerk I have regularly duelled with for a good year-and-a-half-now)’s stern assertion that this room was ‘definitely downstairs’, caused me to spend a good 40 minutes frantically running up and down the same 5 flights of steps in the vain hope that someone might have a clue where I was supposed to be going. One lady, to make up for this staggering cock-up, hurried me over to the other side of campus and assured me I would ‘definitely get some extra time for this’. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen and I ended up wasting another 10 minutes, at my rigid little desk, plotting the downfall of the School of Literature (a plot involving me, the Witch, and the duelling wands from Gladiators) when I should have been quoting the anti-misogynist outcries of one Christina of Markyate. Or something.

Tale Two

This week I was desperate to find a 60s outfit for mine and Moo’s 21st Birthday Bash (which is happening on the 2nd of June), and hotfooted it down to Scrooge, which is a Vintage Shop somewhere in town. The lady who owns it is the Auntie of our friend Chris Salama who used to live across the street from us. The poor boy, even in his late teens, was often haunted by the shrill cry of an Egyptian-accented ‘Christophaaaaaar’, which she and his Mum Maria would sound to drag him away from our house on school nights. The shop itself has bars across the windows and door, so that it doesn’t look open, and the shop-owner herself immensely objects to any of her items being touched. The way she appears behind the rail you happen to be brushing past is very reminiscent of the TV show Mr. Benn. She doesn’t recognise me.

Auntie Salama: ‘What are you looking for?’
Suzette: ‘Er, a 60s dress. (Looks at Auntie and suddenly feels this is not enough information). It’s for a party’.
AS: ‘Well… (Glances at what I’m holding). That won’t fit you. And why did you pick that up?’
S: ‘Er….’
AS: ‘That’s early sixties. Almost fifties. You don’t want that. What do you think about this…? (Holds up classic seventies dress expectantly. Displays doe eyes. This must be her favourite. It is hideous.)
S: ‘Yeah, that’s quite nice. I was thinking more sixties…’
AS: (Tosses eight dresses over my shoulder). ‘And this one? What do you think about this one?’
S: (Tries to read Auntie’s eyes. Hestitates). ‘I’m not so keen on that one…’
AS: ‘It’s hideous. Half of these are hideous…(points to both rail and my shoulder). Right. You can’t try on all of those. You can try four’.

At which point, Auntie Salama, nonchalantly chattering along to the Learn Italian tape which is currently reciting verbs, lures me into the ‘changing room’, a back-room filled up to waist level with old shoes bound together with elastic bands. The floor space just allows for my feet. She stands outside. ‘How are you getting on?’, she continually yells through the curtain. ‘OK’, I eventually yell back. ‘I think I’m done’. Big mistake. As I try to extract the jeans I have cast into a pit of shoes, she yanks back the curtain to see me, bent double, in all my ‘period (greying-flesh-coloured) pants’ glory. She is surprisingly un-perturbed by this. ‘Which one are you having?’ ‘Where are the others?’ ‘Did you try any of the shoes on?’.
‘This one’, I offer. ‘They’re there. No I didn’t’. I wrestle my jeans back on under her watchful eye.

Despite these remarkable sales tactics, I still end up buying a dress, earrings AND a belt from her. She is my hero of the month.

Tale Three

I was watching Hollyoaks today, when my step-dad came upstairs to tell me he’d received divorce proceedings from my mum c/o Royal Mail. And he was as clueless about it as I was.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

The Life Of Student

Here I am again, posting from the library. What a wonder it is to be among such intellectuals as they potter about in front of their computer screen, dying a gradual death under the mound of paper in front of them.

Had my first exam today; I don't think my priorities are very 'straight' at the moment, I was more concerned with getting out of there before the last 15 minutes (in which you can't leave) came about, thus I rushed the conclusion etc (and still didn't make it). Luckily as anyone I did know did manage to leave early, I avoided mass exam-analysis hysteria.

I need a drink.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Suzette and Lesbionics: Round Two

A girl wants to kiss me. How do I know this? Well, through a friend of hers. Or to be more precise, her boyfriend. DD is American and has been dating Rich for a few weeks. I met her on Thursday when we all gathered together in the bar, and made small chatter with her as, apart from Moo and I, she was the only girl there.

S: 'So how did you meet Rich?'
DD: 'Wellllll, I saw him in the Union one night, went up to him and said, 'Hey, you're cute, you're coming home with me!''
S: 'Wow, I need to get some man tips from you!'
DD: 'I mean, I didn't lay him or anything...'
S: (Flabbergasted laughter)
DD: '...but you know, he was cute'.

DD came off in those few minutes as very nice, but also a little bit cuckoo. Therefore it didn't surprise me, after hearing her intial 'interest' towards me, that she announced to the entire collective last night that she 'still wanted a piece' of me.

I'm not sure what this was supposed to achieve. Does she want to kiss me in secret? In front of her boyfriend? Does she want, God no, a threesome? What exactly is going on?!

Can someone please tell me, I am ever so confused.

P.S. I got my jacket nicked last night. If anyone should spot someone wearing a Size 10 blue pinstripe blazer with only the one button left, could they please report them to the local authorities? Thanks.

The Last Girl Jammin'

Last night, Moo and I went out for a boogie. I've got a nightmare exam coming up tomorrow and I needed to blow off some steam. The music at Po Na Na's is sometimes predictable, but always good. You can always count on the fact that there'll be at least a Ska section, R 'n' B section and a Hip Hop/Breaks section at some point, interspersed with the delighful delectable indie music. However, we'd never heard them play Bob Marley before, and so it was when the delicate boogie of Jammin' kicked in, we had a right old slow jive. Unfortuately, the art students also there didn't see it that way, and we had soon amassed a circular gathering of boys and girls alike all whispering and sneering at us.

What the hell happened to people actually daring to enjoy themselves? Apparently 'cool' is now denoted by a penchance for leaning against the nearest pillar, cocking your leg up so that you're standing 'asymmetrically', and sucking on a cigarette so hard one might believe you were dependent on it for oxygen. Surely 'the scene' originated from hedonism; benders, all-nighters, trips, whatever you want to call it. So why are the 'painfully cool' scenesters sitting in the corner talking about my dancing? My dancing's bloody fine, i'll have you know.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Photoey Goodness

Ever since I cranked up my Flickr page for the public's viewing pleasure, I've been trying to get my Blog to display its latest additions. However, as my Blog access is limited to a few 'stolen moments' with my housemate's laptop, I've given up all the coding and am doing it the cheap way.

Link to my Flickr page... (once a week, repeat ad nauseam)

Saturday, May 07, 2005

Keeping The Tone

I'm sure I'm joining countless other bloggers here by mentioning Mr. Blair's recent re-election. Despite a good student turn-out, Norwich still aint yellow but at least, as is surprising for Farmer-country, it aint blue either. Well done to all of you who voted. Apologies to those of you I badgered and bored by yapping on about women throwing themselves under horses to get you to do so.

Lydia's response: 'There was only two of them'.

Friday, May 06, 2005

Avoiding The Fugu

Major is a hockey-boy. This is how I know to avoid hockey-boys. When I first met Major it was a hot Saturday in May and my brother and I were standing outside Liverpool Cathedral watching the steam rise from the tarmac. The idea was to track down the Thai Consulate in the City so we could get a 60-day Visa for our summer trip. Major came strolling into view clearly still drunk from the night before, swinging his keys about his fingers and sporting a huge bandage on his forehead (a narrow escape from death-by-hockey-ball). He spent the next few hours talking about ‘pulling birds’ in the plumiest of accents. And, for some reason, he completely charmed me.

Once we got to Thailand, it didn’t take long for his preoccupation with his own sexual starvation to override all other aspects of his personality. On the very first night he tried to untie my bikini bottoms as I showered in them. After three weeks, drunken fumbling sessions at mine became a regular thing when my brother started locking him out at night whenever there was a thunderstorm. This did not stop him from trying to get girls into our room whenever we had to share.

When we went trekking alone together in the North, people disturbingly assumed we were a couple. ‘So you’d never even consider it, then?’ they’d ask.
‘Err, no’, I’d reply. ‘I know too much of what he’s like to ever want to go out with him’.

Last night I was introduced to roughly 40% of the UEA American Football team by an enthusiastic Al who was probably trying to pimp me out. I chatted to one of them for quite a while about the greatness of Charles Kennedy and Michael Howard’s ‘It’s not racist to hate the Welsh’, type campaigning. However, it soon went Pete Tong.

To begin with, I didn’t mind his team-mates sprinkling water over my back, but the plastic cups ricocheting off my shoulder blades (meant for him) were beginning to irritate me. Then a strange boy who refused to look me the eye began to share cunnilingus anecdotes with us. In short, it was a fucking nightmare. I made my exit and kissed him goodbye on the cheek. He swerved towards the lips and I in turn swerved away, thus creating the effect of a slow-motion Matrix fight-sequence. He wrangled my number out of me and said he would call today, but needless to say that (a) he didn’t call and that (b) I wasn’t exactly gutted about it.

When you break up with someone, people will often tell you that there’s plenty more fish in the sea. What they don’t tell you is that there’s certain species you want to avoid. Unless you’re looking for a fuck-buddy, kids, stay away from the hockey boy. Some are unnervingly charming. Others can throw cups at high velocity. Both are equally as toxic.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Can Can

Happy Birthday to my lovely sister Canna (Caroline) who is a staggering 26 years old today.

I remember when we used to build huge complex villages out of Lego together and Simon would wreck them by putting red and yellow bricks in the walls of the 'cafe' which was SUPPOSED TO BE ALL WHITE!

I remember when our cat gave birth to four kittens (how white trash do we sound?!), she toiled over making them a little 'playhouse' out of a large cardboard box. She laboured over a 'welcome' sign to put over the door. She filled it with blankets and cat toys. And then they saw it and immediately peed all over it.

I remember her painting 'TRAF 1' on my brother's sit-on toy tractor and begging her not to do it because I thought that 'Traf' was a rude word for a fart and she'd get in trouble.

I remember when I learnt that she hated slugs so I used to stick them on the end of 6ft long bamboo sticks and thrust them at her as she came round corners etc.

I remember when she threw a tantrum on Christmas morning because she thought Dad was only giving her a can of Baked Beans. And then she wouldn't let me ride my new bike on the lawn because it was only for 'years 8 and over'.

And now she's 26 and married! Ha! You can see a picture of the lovely Canna

The Bermuda Triangle

I’ve had a few people e-mail me since I posted about Fox, asking, ‘Quite frankly, what the Dickens are you on about?’ Well, it’s obvious that I quite like to air a bit of dirty laundry on a regular basis, and as me and Fox are all square, I’ll give you the outline.

February 2004: Suzette goes out on a (failed) date with Mr. England. Fox has a boyfriend. Suzette chats to Fox at the bar on a wonky Sunday and, later that night, Fox invades her room, pushes her to the floor and drunken kissing ensues.

The next day: Suzette feels immediately guilty. Fox runs to Oxford to grovel to her boyfriend.

May 2004: Suzette and Mr. England start spending a lot of time together. Daily routine begins whereby Mr. England picks Suzette up at about midnight and they walk and talk all night, go their separate ways at roughly midday and then sleep until the next time. Fox splits with her boyfriend.

June 2004: Suzette and Mr. England beginning to look like a sure thing. Suzette about to go to Thailand. Mr. England will, apparently, miss her a lot. Fox visits Suzette and begs her to go out with not Mr. England but her. Suzette pleas inexperience to Lesbianism and asks to be friends.

July 2004: Suzette misses Mr. England a lot in Thailand and sends him a lot of e-mails.

August 2004: Mr. England posts very sweet letter to Suzette’s parents house and a late birthday present. Suzette and Mr. England go to the V Festival for the day. Mr. England gets unnecessarily drunk, insults Suzette and her friends and is a general liability. Mr. England sends her a rude text saying that this was her fault. Suzette angrily replies. Correspondence ceases.

September 2004: Suzette runs into both Fox and Mr. England at the first Union night of term. They have become firm friends. Suzette avoids Mr. England. Mr. England avoids Suzette.

October 2004: Suzette confused about odd situation with Mr. England. Suzette sees Fox during a night out and again they end up kissing. Fox and Suzette have a chat whereby they agree to take the plunge and become girlfriend and girlfriend. Mr. England sees kissing and goes home in a huff.

The next day: Mr. England wants to see Fox. Suzette spends a day biting her nails as the two decide to go to the seaside together. Mr. England apparently forgives his friend Fox for ‘swooping in’ on Suzette. Mr. England does not apparently forgive Suzette for agreeing to it.

Two weeks later: Suzette tells all her school-friends that she is now a lesbian.

One week later: Mr. England’s friends still won’t really talk to Fox. Fox weirdly reveals that she and Mr. England had many conversations about Suzette whilst she was in Thailand. Going into campus together has become stressful. Fox realises it is too much hassle and dumps Suzette.

November 2004: Suzette cries a lot about the bastard bastard women, and realises she has lost most of her Fox-related friends. Fox and Suzette meet for ‘friendly’ coffees. More importantly, Fox secretly starts going out with Mr. England.

December 2004: Suzette meets Reynolds and has a heady month.

January 2005: Suzette discovers through housemates that Mr. England and Fox are officially an item. Suzette asks Fox why she didn’t tell her herself to save humiliation etc. Fox accuses Suzette of ‘moving on too quickly’. Suzette points out earlier coming-together of Fox and Mr. England. Fox tells Suzette she was ‘planning on getting back together at some point’. Suzette is confused, confesses she was once in love with Fox, but wishes Fox and Mr. England success, inadvertently making Fox cry.

February 2005: Suzette and Reynolds have very rocky Valentine’s Day and spent much time apart. Fox and Mr. England still together.

March 2005: Suzette and Reynolds officially split. Suzette goes home with disease. Reynolds disappears off Earth’s surface. Fox and Mr. England still together.

April 2005: Reynolds returns on first day of term with new girlfriend. Suzette loses a lot of weight. Fox and Mr. England still together. Fox and Suzette have heart-to-heart and make peace.

The present day: Fox and Mr. England still together. Suzette in ‘hedonistic singleton’ mind-frame. Reynolds and girlfriend apparently stalking Suzette in hope that she will run into them EVERYWHERE.
Suzette oddly zen.

Still awake? Good.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005


Howdy. If you’re so inclined, you can now see pictures of Norwich Life at ‘my’ Flickr page (the photos are all stolen from other people with cameras). Just go to the North Country Fair page or alternatively my page , and follow the links.

You may also find that, post-Flickr, my diary makes a lot more sense…

This afternoon, Lyd and I went to the Absinthe Collective’s house for a barbeque and, post-Gin, hatched a not-so-cunning plan to steal their (stone) garden mole and hold it to ransom. Students, eh? We were a bit disappointed that no one batted an eyelid when I conspicuously bundled Hamish under a jumper and Lyd departed with him bulging between her arms. However, once they had received our ransom e-mail, eight angry twentysomethings came to our house, stole him from our back patio and ran across the next-door building site into the local playground, where someone had deposited eleven or twelve huge bags of polystyrene shapes. As I ran barefoot after the boys, Cookie grabbed me sideways and body-slammed me into the pile, covered me with yet more bags and then sat on top of them and encouraged two other guys to the same.

If you read this, and didn’t think this was punishment enough for our thievery, follow the Flickr links and check out the 6’7” man-beast that is Cookie. My torso, legs and arms are seriously smarting from the prolonged compression, and my feet…well, they’re just bleeding.