Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

The Little Break

It's been a long, tough week, what with all these essays and the like. I can barely keep my eyes open while writing this (although that could be due to the large glass of Rosé I just snaffled to reward myself). What a long term!

Tonight me and Moo went to the annual Carol Service in Union Square where they were handing out free mulled wine and mince pies (bonus) and everyone got together for a bit of a sing-song to the Salvation Army band. We launched into 'Once In Royal David's City' with aplomb, managing to drown out several of our neighbours with our flat, albeit enthusiastic, soprano warblings. The Chaplaincy's, er, chaplain(?) was forced to sing into the microphone throughout, presumably to rouse his flock into doing the same, and proclaimed, 'We've all worked very hard this term', whilst people lay on their backs around the fountain drinking the free booze.

Tonight is my last night in Norwich, and therefore probably my last night blogging, for 2005 at least. Have a brilliant Christmas everyone and an ace New Year. Here's to 2006!

Lots of love,

George xxx

Monday, December 12, 2005

Happy Days with Mr. Jay

This weekend has been quite a busy one thanks to the arrival of our brand new best friend, Mr. Jay, who moved in next door on Friday. We had been down to the local shop for a DVD and chocolate (two of a girl's many best friends), dressing on the principle that unwashed hair and sweatpants virtually guaranteed a nice looking young man, and who should pop out from our shared gate but a graduate surfer with a trowel.

Luckily, he's not quite "over" his student days and treated us that night to a couple of rounds down The Mad Moose on the promise of cups of sugar and coffee granules should he ever need them. We took a tour of the house afterwards, which turned out to be an utterly empty shell, with bare brickwork for walls and a washing up bowl in the dirt for a sink. Tonight, we were once again cabbaging from a top night out and who should appear at the front door but Mr. Jay and his Helpful Vegetarian Friend, who admitted they had bought in a curry. But had no cutlery. Once we'd also assessed that they had neither a table nor indeed drinks with which to accompany the meal, we invited them to eat chez nous, and we spent another night chit chattering over current affairs.

We also managed to squeeze in a trip to Narnia, courtesy of UCI, which was fandabbydosy but raised a few questions:
  • Is it OK to find a fawn (half-man-half-deer), erm, you know, attractive? Hello, Moo.
  • Was the paedophilic love-story sub-plot between The White Witch and Edmund, and Mr. Tumnus and Lucy intentional, or was it just dodgy by accident? Because that really messed with my childhood reading of it.
  • Can I have my own Phillip? Thanks.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Boxing Day

Yesterday was Dover Street's Christmas Day, and here's me doing my 'University Mummy' bit. I even started saying things like, 'Oh I do love it when all my girls are together'. See more photos here.

In other news, I have belatedly discovered the bestest most amazingest most wonderfulest site in the world ever! To find out more (and trust me, you'll want to), check out my music site here. Lets just say, it's free, it's easy and makes my lists redundant. You'll never have to listen to those awful 30-second previews again to hear new music!

Monday, December 05, 2005

The Body Of Art and As Art

The winner of this year's Turner Prize are to be announced tonight. If you're as dimwitted as I am, you might ponder why that bloke out of Soft Cell is up for nomination. N.B. That's Darren Almond, NOT Marc Almond.

In other news, if any of you fancy an early morning drive to Norwich tomorrow, the Climbing Society will be posing outside next to a big tree for this year's RAG calendar. In the buff, my friends. That's right, strapping young outdoorsy men nude for your viewing pleasure. Call me for directions.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

I Am No Longer Constipated

Thanks, Jakki, I took your advice and went in search of a pineapple. Unfortunately I was quite feverish as well and ended up walking to the supermarket with nothing on my upper half but a vest and a rucksack, with my back totally soaked. But I did find the pineapple and am feeling very, erm, relieved. I'm not the only one with problems of the health variety though; upstairs currently sounds like a tent in a Crimean field hospital, with Em groaning (because of her headache) and Moo coughing up her internal organs bit by bit (or so it sounds).

It's basically your average end-of-term weariness, your body screaming, 'No, I don't WANT to work, I want an extension which will see me through until THE NEW YEAR!'. Well, body, I've got news for you: I'm in charge here and I WILL get it done so that, in the holidays, I can work all week, go out all weekend and not be guilt-tripped by my Mother and/or conscience (whichever activates itself first). And I'm spent.

In other news, if anyone would like to buy me this for Christmas, they should know that I am willing to work for free, as long as shelter (be it rudimentary) is provided. Just think, it'll cost much less than what you're paying your regular staff, plus I won't grumble for having to make the tea. Again. The pressie will be worth it if only to share air with the man, who looks like the love-child of Mr. Magoo and a peanut, alone.

N.B. If that link doesn't go straight there, it's Ultimate Gifts--->Extreme Pilots--->Zero Gravity Flight

Thursday, December 01, 2005

World AIDS Day

Click the ribbon for more information

I Am Constipated

Oh yes. I'm not sure you really WANT to know this, but I am. Very. It reminds me of those happy-go-lucky days in South Thailand a couple of summers ago. I was writing my diary in a hut halfway up a cliff (whereby the floor neither touched the walls, nor did the walls touch the ceiling, and which several cockroaches called their home) and, in the vein of being temporarily and utterly obsessed with my bowel movements, wrote, 'haven't gone to the loo for a while'. Flipping back through the pages, so as to be more accurate, I discovered 'a while' was actually 11 days. Eleven bloody days!

Quite alarmed, I took a boat round to the main port of the island, where there was a small nurses' centre. I tried to explain in pidgin English what the problem was.

'Hah manidays?'
'Erm, (tries to keep voice low) Eleven'.
'Hah mani?'
(Shows ten fingers, then one more). 'Eleven'.

At this point, horror swept across the lady's eyes and she immediately rummaged in her cabinet. Firstly she gave me a strip of twenty-four large pills. I was to take four in the morning and four in the afternoon for three days (for a very reasonable 60B, about 85p). Then she pulled out a small box, about the size of a small bottle of mineral water.

'Nahwthis', she says, whipping out of the box what looks like a giant pipette, 'Is the enemaa'.
(My stomach drops). 'Riggghhhhhhttt.....'
'Yees. If the pills do no' help you, you take this and put it ina burtahks'.
'In the buttocks?!'
'Yees. You take it ina burtahks, open the burtahks and let out the...'
'Erm, liquid?'
'Yees. The liqui' '.
'Right, I think I'll just take the pills please. Not the enema'.
'Righ', OK ' (Proceeds to charge me for the enema too).

When I get it home, I discover that, according to the translation on the packet, the enema is 'pre-operative', which means that it's basically the last chance saloon before some sort of barium job. Luckily, the Gods smile on me and I don't have to use it. I still have it at home in fact, and my family (particularly my sister) like to point at it and laugh about my brother (in the spirit of blood being the ultimate tie) actually offering to do it for me. Oooch, it still makes me squint!

In other, non toilet-related news, we went to see Roots Manuva last night. It was great, but I was much too white and not-stoned to be there.

Roots: 'Yeah, you young, yeah, but soon you gonna get some collosal insights man. The insights are gonna be colossal!'
Stoner crowd: (as if they've had some divine revelation) 'Woo! Yeah! Yeah, man!'