NORTH COUNTRY FAIR

Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Name:
Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

The Year In Brief

What a year we've had in Rimer Close (no 'Rimmer' jokes, please). We've had ups, downs, lefts, rights, in-fronts and even behinds and we've come out intact.

As I surveyed my entire life in a pile of boxes, I began to muse upon what a year its been. Before Christmas, I wasn't sure we'd actually make it here, what with the three turbulent months of upsets and rows we'd been having. And then we went and lost two housemates. But then Spring went and sprung, we met the Absinthe Collective and had a Moby Dick of a time together. I remember saying to Lydia last October that I couldn't wait to leave for civilisation. And there we all were, just the other week, eating strawberries in the sunshine and telling each other we really were Living The Dream.

Thanks, Rimer, we'll miss you. And you too, Gerald.

This will be my last 'proper' post for a few months as I begin to struggle with the technogodological problems of my place in The Shire. Despite the odd sporadically- and poorly-constructed offering, I will be quite silent and thus will take this opportunity to wish all of you a beautiful summer (especially you graduates, you crazy people, you).

Peace.

George xxx

Friday, June 10, 2005

Shipping Out Smug

This afternoon I took a break from packing to meet Fox and PJ for a 'Goodbye' coffee. PJ is going to Kentucky for a year to study American Law, and Fox is, well, going back to Lewisham.


While I was enjoying my 65p Hot Chocolate from the Union Hive, in came Reynolds all stripey-jumpered and curly-haired. Normally, this would have been enough alone to send me into a flustered 'I'm looking anywhere but you and what this person is saying is absolutely hilarious' type flap. Surprisingly, there was none of the sort. He sat down and I asked him how he was enjoying his last day of Student-hood, whilst Fox and PJ looked on suspiciously. He responded by telling me a horrific story about how he was already claiming dole money despite not having looked for a job AT ALL, how he wasn't really speaking to any of his housemates and how the girl he was 'in love with in the first year' was playing at the Arts Centre tonight and so he couldn't go to Satu's gig (supporting The Subways in the same venue). Once he'd disappeared, Fox felt impelled to call him a loser. In fact, she'd pretended she had to leave in order to get rid of him. 'Ugh, he was so sinister', snorted PJ (I agreed). 'Was he on something?'

And thus ends the tale of Reynolds. So over, it requires its own casket.

All Shook Up

It's been a week of transition. Literally. I'd forgotten how much I hate moving. How did all this detritus accumulate? How the jiggins am I going to get it into a Voltswagen Golf and then down the A47?

The logistics of 'The Big Move' are proving to be a bit of a head-scratcher. This is my own fault for
  1. Finding a better place to call my student home and
  2. Hoarding a superfluous amount of old tickets and postcards and insisting they have sentimental value. I painfully deliberated over whether to bin a flyer for a local clothes shop, simply because I'd been given it on my first day EVER in Norwich when I was all rabbit-eyed and youthful. Then I scoffed at myself and threw it in a big black sack, along with the unused condom and sticky unwrapped Drumstick i'd also been given. N.B. I'd saved those for two School Years.

Tonight, Lyd and I went to the last LCR of term and then took our last taxi home, made our last cheese-on-toast in our beautiful oven, and said our last 'goodnight sweetie' at her bedroom door. I may complain about the packing, but we're moving to 'a better place' and that better place is three doors down from a wine bar and round the corner from a Chinese Takeaway. And most importantly, to get to this 'better place' one does not have to fork out £7 one-way.

Still, it would be nice to have a place to sleep tonight under all this gumpf. What is a shoebox lid doing where my head should be?

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

How Not To Be In Love

I love days when anything seems possible. Like you could just walk out the door and end up anywhere. Today, the boys organised a Pub Crawl starting off on campus. I met them with the intention of leaving soonafter, thanks to lack of funds. Unusually, so did Steve, who'd driven in in his Dad's huge (9 Capacity) Landrover Defender. 'You couldn't give me a lift home, could you?'

'Yeah, of course'.

As the 7 who had already gathered together tumble into the back, Steve and I wind down the windows, stick on London Calling and wait while they pile out again at their first stop. 'Are you sure you're not coming, George?', asks Jim. Things have been uncomfortable between us for roughly 2 months. 'Er, no thanks', I reply sheepishly, burying my head in the glove box.

Steve and I head back Colney-way. 'Thanks again for the lift'.
'No worries, mate. I've still got 3/4 of a tank of free petrol to burn off!'
'Really? Then we should go to the beach!'
He gasps. 'Yeah, we really should!'
'What do you say? Dinner of Fish & Chips on the seafront?'
'Absolutely!'

On the way, we listen to Rooney, get caught up in a Police car chase and take the wrong road. Haddock and Chips on the Sea Wall is fresh, filling and delicious and we go for a paddle as the colossal tide rushes in and smacks our legs. Steve finds a heart-shaped rock which we leave for posterity and he buys us ice-cream for pudding. The sun is setting as he finally drives me home, sipping Dandelion & Burdock. We tell each other this has been so much better than any pub-crawl could ever be. It's such a romantic moment...without any of the romance.

Sometimes I think it might be nice to have someone. Then, on days like these, I realise that actually whenever I did, even when I was in love, I felt restricted. I'm not saying it must be like this for every couple, but it was like that for me. Being single, I can be flighty, spontaneous and utterly selfish with my time and have a ball. And here's the cheese. Today, I didn't want or need a goodbye kiss or hand-holding from anyone to prove to myself that it had been perfect.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Gerald Update

N.B. This is actually a photo I took of Willy Mason in London, NOT the form of Gerald.
It seems I played down Gerald's actions at the weekend, so I'll start again. From the 'happenings' (and they can't possibly be freak accidents), Emma has deduced that Gerald is protective of us and dislikes strange men in the house. More strange things seem to happen whenever her new 'squeeze', El (Fencing) Presidente is staying over. However, the freakiest moment was on Saturday, when her Dad was in the house collecting up her stuff.
Mr. Jackson walked into the kitchen to find not one, not two, but three chopping boards scattered over the floor. And next to them sat the entire drying rack as it was on the sideboard. It had all our cutlery, plates, mugs etc on it, except that it was on the floor. As Mr. Jackson stooped, puzzled, to pick it up, the tap suddenly came on. In fact in came on so strong that he literally had to run to turn it off as the sink had completely filled and was overspilling after those few seconds. Emma assures us that her Dad is the sceptical type, which is why everyone was shocked when he ran upstairs yelling, 'Yoooou've go t'ghooost!'
The next morning, after Mary's parents had been and all had gone, Lyd popped home to find the door not only unlocked but wide open.
And now we are finding white spots of light on our photos.
Weird.
After-post: I'd just like to say that for some reason Blogger keeps messing with this post. This is the fifth time I am re-doing corrections I have already made.

Bob's Entry


This morning, the texting commences to win tickets for Live8. I'm absolutely desperate for these, but with only 75,000 tickets up for grabs this way per 60 million people, i'd be lucky! There are 150,000 'seats' in all, so i'd be quite galled if 75,000 Z-List celebs managed to get in there if I couldn't. Hopefully they'll go to people who do have some real importance (political, charitable) in the country. I'm praying that Bob Geldof is not the sort of bloke to give Jade Goody a plus-one deal, because that would shatter a lifetime crush.

Maybe they'll turn up as competition prizes at some point. Even worse, they might turn up on e-Bay for personal profit. Honestly, I'm willing to forfeit my 100% positive record to give that seller the riot act.

Mr. Vodafone, if I over-indulge on the £1.50-plus-standard-network-rate expenditure, forgive me I implore you.

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Playing Catch-Up

The last few days have been quite the period of effort-making. Or should that be dress-making?

Mine and Moo's 21st Birthday Party

The second-half of this night was Absolut Carnage. I escaped from Bedford's (having alched it up in The Ten Bells, The Plough and The Hog In Armour first) looking fairly upright, and then thought it a good idea to throw the shape of a Charlie's Angel in the doorway of Long Tall Sally, and ended up hideously slipping so that my feet kicked up and my head ended up alongside the exit hole of a drainpipe. Emma managed to blag us a free bottle of bubbly inside Mercy. This helped when we were relentlessly badgered by a man who told us 'You dance good, baby' and then preceded to simulate the act of shagging a floor. He also took a shine to the posterior of Cookie, our 6'7"-bearded-American-Football-playing bloke-mate. Everyone made a brilliant effort to dress Mod. Could this be the start of a false-eyelash Renaissance?

>>>Photos>>>

The Shakedown

The next day, still feeling a little unstable, I took the 4 hour train journey home to the 'Shire. Head singing, I tried to pour the remains of my brain-skills into Salman Rushdie. Unfortunately, London-bound, I was forced to endure two little girls running up and down the carriage screaming out the Crazy Frog, snapping my tray table up and down and sitting on my bags. A question: How does a tiny girl (who later has her nappy changed in the aisle) know the words, 'I like big BUTTS and I cannot lie...' It's just plain wrong. Anyhoo, Nina, Cat and I have a great night and I wake the next day to find a Sons and Daughters T-Shirt transfer, sticker, flyer and Spiritualized (Amazing Grace) cigarette lighter in my bag. Booty-licious.

>>>Photos>>>

Rachel's 21st Birthday Party

For the Disney theme, I have been assigned the character of Robin Hood. Not only do I don green tights and feathered cap therefore, but also a Fox tail and ears (and also a fruity persona). Ali drives me to the door as I am too afraid to run the Townie Gauntlet to her and Fox's house. Waiting at the door I have Bridget-paranoia that I alone have been told it's fancy dress, and the party is actually a cruel scheme to humiliate me for no apparent reason. Luckily, everyone is dressed elaborately as their given character and I take an especial fancy to Luke's brother's Caterpillar get-up (complete with Hookah pipe). Eventually, having brought a change of clothes, I walk off to the Beach Party not dressed as Robin (although I have become quite attached to my quiver of wooden spoons by this point). I nick one of Fox's jumpers and scoot off mit-flip flops.

>>>Photos>>>

The Union Beach Party

I find the girls in the bar watching the Steel Drum band (as it accompanies the Limbo Competition), and immediately slide several feet across the wet floor in my precarious footwear. Roughly 15 freshers laugh hysterically in my direction as, without make-up or Hawaiian skirt, I attempt to look not-bothered by the entire thing. Steve-O's friend buys us all two double-Vodka-and-Red-Bulls each as midnight slips away which is a mistake as, usually un-caffeinated, we end up rolling round the house hysterically until 4a.m. (watching a horse on a treadmill as part of Open University). As the night becomes increasingly jolly, I decide to use Steve-O's arm as an impromptu Limbo Stick and then get pushed into the Conga. I pay for it later by supporting his 18 stone (of idiot) all the way home. Oh, Union, how we love thee!

That just about wraps up the weekend. I was very grateful for T4 for showing not one but two episodes of The O.C. today, and to The O.C. itself for being so idiot-proof that I could watch it with the sound off to save my poor head. There's only one official week of University left now before the Summer Break, and without the departed Moo to distract me, I expect it will be highly transitory, and mostly concerned with restoring my soon-to-be ex-room to its original state.

Have a good week, everyone (especially those of you done-and-dusted with the Student Life)!

>>>Photos>>>

Friday, June 03, 2005

Quel Carnage

Carnage can, as usual, be found on my Flickr page. I'm trotting off back to the 'Shire today to go to The Shakedown with Nina and Cat so, horrifyingly, I won't be posting for AT LEAST 24 hours. Suck it in people, suck it in. However, I'm sure my cup will runneth over with images of inebriation come Saturday (on which day I wil be dressed up as Robin Hood, with a rucksack of clothes so I can change into Beach Party Wear suitable for the Union's End Of Year Shindig). It's all go go go come Single Party Season.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Thursday Is Sixties Thursday

Happy 21st (University) Birthday To Moo and I. Tis like calm before storm. If anyone happens to be in the Norwich area tonight, we shall be easily identifiable by our Sixties garb. Either that, or look up a bit and you'll see what looks like plastic spiders slipping down our cheeks. Special.



Wednesday, June 01, 2005

A Fearless Species

When does one witness the miracle of life? When one is staring one's offspring in the eye as they emerge from the labia of one's spouse? When one sees a dog surface unscathed from the wreckage of an earthquake? My more sedate (read: tragic) observation is seeing one of my Orchid flowers literally pop out while it was listening to The Bravery. I knew plants were supposed to enjoy music, but I didn't realise they enjoyed THAT kind of music. I suggest someone tries to get their plant to bust out whilst listening to The Killers. That way, through the medium of plant, we can settle this ridiculous Rock Quarrel of Brandon, erm, Flowers.

June Arrives In Song


Their meetings made December June
Their every parting was to die.
-Tennyson

June already. Who'd have thunk it? Apart from the, er, calendar people, of course. Not only is it June, but also Wednesday, which means, in the name of regularity, I am obliged to pick (yet another) Song Of The Week™. This week:

'Forever Lost' by The Magic Numbers. I think they look like a nouveau-hippie ABBA. This is possibly a lazy journo comparison, given that they are two guys and two girls. But once the track really kicks in (roughly 2 minutes in), nobody will care either way.