Settled into the new place now (thanks to YellerKat and MizzFlee for helping with the move) and everything is now unpacked and internet access organised. It's been a hellish week of being tossed from pillar to post, but now I can put roots down for the next two months. The new bunch are cool: They laid on a barbeque this evening, and yesterday offered me some pasta bake, so I haven't had to cook anything since I moved in.
Also, for some reason, the presumed fault on my PC monitor (shades of red weren't rendered properly) has corrected itself. A mystery...
Close to four hours on the nudie beach today, and a colour is now starting to materialise (Red. Again!). I left at six, just as two of the police force were coming into my section over some matter or other. Just as well I was off, that could have gotten awkward.
I met Daffy again recently, as I had to give him his socks and cock ring. We met for drinks, and had a bit of a chat, but he reaffirmed in a way I didn't like about how he was in a closed relationship with someone else. I had been dimly aware of this on the night I met him first, but had chosen to psychologically brush it under the carpet. I left after the second drink, not really wanting to talk to him after that.
It's a shame, as I kind of like this guy, and he's the first suitor I've met who I wouldn't mind getting to know a bit more, but there's no point. He's investing in someone else, and being a third party like that isn't my style. He offered to help me with my move, but I was too proud to accept.
*Sniff*
Oh well...
Pride is about 5-6 weeks away, and in order to facilitate my attempt to give up the smokes, I think I'll be staying away from the pubs, and alcohol in general until then. Will I succeed? Oh, why do I even bother asking?
Mind you, 'Flee and Bear have taken off to Spain, so that's one temptation out of the way.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
I'm moving again! Oh fun...
I have found somewhere new to live. Thank fucking Christ.
The only problem is that it's for two months, so I have to start looking for somewhere else to live towards the end of August. The other is that while I have to move out of my current place on Sunday 25th of June, I can't move into my new place until the following Wednesday, so I have to move into temporary university accommodation on Sunday, and then move from there to the new place on Wednesday. The stuff of envy, I'm sure you'll agree.
I met the new flatmates last night and somehow got talked into going to see the England vs. Sweden game in a pub. The flatmates seemed fine anway, which is just as well, as I was utterly disengaged from the game. A goal? Oh is that what happened? I was looking at the floor. Who was it that scored? More beer, anyone?
I went to London on Monday to visit J. We went to see an exhibition, 'Bodies', in the Earls Court museum. Made up of real human bodies and their parts, preserved using some new polymer whatever process, it has attracted some controversy owing to use in parts of the bodies of the victims of murder under the current and previous Chinese regimes, apparently without the consent of their relatives. One of the press releases on this urges people to question not the use of the bodies in the exhibition, but the circumstances under which they were killed. Meh, I suppose they're right, but if that was someone I knew and loved up there, I'd be pretty pissed, to say the least.
The preservation process gave the bodies a somewhat plastic appearance, making them look like mannequins at times. Yet it was pretty much to the forefront of my mind that I was still looking at real dead people. Three things stood out in my mind. The first was the section of the anal canal, and how diminutive it looked. It must be pretty stretchy if it can take a ... oh, you get the picture.
The second was the two pairs of lungs. One pair, that of a healthy person, the other, that of a smoker. 'Leave your cigarettes behind here' urged the sign over a glass box with an opening on top. The box was full of cigarettes cartons, lighters and matches dumped by those who had been affected by what they had seen. I'd found the £17.50 entrance fee rather extortionate, but Joanne pointed out if I did give up, it would be money well spent, which is true.
The third was the unborn child section. Foetuses that had perished before birth were on display. The museum was considerate in that you were warned before you entered this section, and were given an alternative route if you wanted to keep viewing the exhibition, but bypass that section. It was really weird seeing the foetuses at weeks 1-8 of a pregnancy. Halfway through this early stage, you could make out the mouth on the face of the potential baby, curled up into what looked like a smile. At week 9, a dramatic increase in size was observed. I imagine it would be pretty hard for anyone involved in a miscarriage or abortion to look at something like this.
Then there was the placenta, which brought Tom Cruise, unbidden, to mind. We left.
So it's onward ho over the next few days. Tomorrow the packing and cleaning up begin. Joy!
The only problem is that it's for two months, so I have to start looking for somewhere else to live towards the end of August. The other is that while I have to move out of my current place on Sunday 25th of June, I can't move into my new place until the following Wednesday, so I have to move into temporary university accommodation on Sunday, and then move from there to the new place on Wednesday. The stuff of envy, I'm sure you'll agree.
I met the new flatmates last night and somehow got talked into going to see the England vs. Sweden game in a pub. The flatmates seemed fine anway, which is just as well, as I was utterly disengaged from the game. A goal? Oh is that what happened? I was looking at the floor. Who was it that scored? More beer, anyone?
I went to London on Monday to visit J. We went to see an exhibition, 'Bodies', in the Earls Court museum. Made up of real human bodies and their parts, preserved using some new polymer whatever process, it has attracted some controversy owing to use in parts of the bodies of the victims of murder under the current and previous Chinese regimes, apparently without the consent of their relatives. One of the press releases on this urges people to question not the use of the bodies in the exhibition, but the circumstances under which they were killed. Meh, I suppose they're right, but if that was someone I knew and loved up there, I'd be pretty pissed, to say the least.
The preservation process gave the bodies a somewhat plastic appearance, making them look like mannequins at times. Yet it was pretty much to the forefront of my mind that I was still looking at real dead people. Three things stood out in my mind. The first was the section of the anal canal, and how diminutive it looked. It must be pretty stretchy if it can take a ... oh, you get the picture.
The second was the two pairs of lungs. One pair, that of a healthy person, the other, that of a smoker. 'Leave your cigarettes behind here' urged the sign over a glass box with an opening on top. The box was full of cigarettes cartons, lighters and matches dumped by those who had been affected by what they had seen. I'd found the £17.50 entrance fee rather extortionate, but Joanne pointed out if I did give up, it would be money well spent, which is true.
The third was the unborn child section. Foetuses that had perished before birth were on display. The museum was considerate in that you were warned before you entered this section, and were given an alternative route if you wanted to keep viewing the exhibition, but bypass that section. It was really weird seeing the foetuses at weeks 1-8 of a pregnancy. Halfway through this early stage, you could make out the mouth on the face of the potential baby, curled up into what looked like a smile. At week 9, a dramatic increase in size was observed. I imagine it would be pretty hard for anyone involved in a miscarriage or abortion to look at something like this.
Then there was the placenta, which brought Tom Cruise, unbidden, to mind. We left.
So it's onward ho over the next few days. Tomorrow the packing and cleaning up begin. Joy!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
CJ Haughey, 1925-2006
One of the advantages of living in where I am right now is that while I may have to suffer other people's fever for England in the world cup, I'm pretty much saved from hearing anything about Ireland's progress in the same event (Did we even qualify? Do I even care? Actually not and definitely not, respectively).
The flipside of this is that events of no small consequence can come to pass in Ireland, and only by chance do you find out about them via a third party. Such as it was with the passing of former Taoiseach (Prime Minister, if you're not Irish) Charles Haughey, announced on Tuesday 13th. His funeral, complete with state honours, was the following thursday.
If ever there is one politician who should form a central part of a college course in political psychology, it would have to be him. Course PS203: How to screw a country out of a substantial part of its collective wage packet, yet still command the unwavering loyalty of its majority and get re-elected into power again and again. Independent reading: How to claw your way back into public favour after suffering a disgrace that would see other politicians retire in ignonimy (cf. arms trial in 1970).
It's the brass-necked hypocrisy, more than anything, that has me open-mouthed in wonder. The 1980 speech where he urged the naton to tighten its belts while he was living his lifestyle on money he had basically grabbed from the hands of the Irish, the speech he gave about family values just after returning from Paris, having entertained his mistress there, oh, this goes on and on. But most striking is the manner in which people have been prepared to overlook his misdemeanours, write them off as not as significant as they actually are. Not as significant, I suspect, as they would be if committed by someone else.
This, of course is it. To get down to brass tacks, what did CJ have, something no-one else had, that allowed him to carry it off?
In one of Nuala O Faoláin's articles in the Irish times entitled 'Spirit of the Nation', she wrote:
There is also the fact that at 15, elsewhere wrote about in the same article, he joined the local defence force.
Could this be it? The fact that he was a bit of a bruiser gained him the respect of the man on the street, to the point where that same man might overlook his waywardness as a consequence of someone with a strong personality, an unfortunate side-effect of the achievements in his lifetime. Most other politicians, having come from privileged backgrounds, don't have this quality, and this is probably what set CJ apart.
What struck me in the tributes left on the ireland.com page was the extent to which his supporters were willing to overlook the flaws in his character, write them off as minor, and focus on the 'great things' he did for his country. Any naysayers are dismissed by these people as begrudgers, symptomatic of the Irish tendency to build people up and then tear them down, as if that was a mindset specific to Ireland alone.
There are a two important flaws in this reasoning, though: His achievements, upon examination, weren't that great, and his misdemeanours were many and substantial.
He screwed Ireland for money in the 70's and 80's in a way that no-one else did before or since. upper band tax rates, a 'reward' for people who had managed to maneouvre themselves into a position where they were high earners, were just totally fucking insane, yet he siphoned off his money to the Cayman Islands so that he himself could escape the financial net he had created for everyone else. More than anything else, this demonstrates complete contempt for the country he had under his watch at this time.
He was involved in gun smuggling in the 1970s, at a time that saw the emergence of the IRA in its present form - an important point, considering that the organisation had deteriorated to little more than a collection of thugs at that point - a form that would prevail until it was disbanded. He had the phones of his opposition bugged so that he could anticipate their next move. Physical intimidation was used in the Dáil to quell dissent. His restriction on the sale of condoms, his opposition to divorce and the Anglo-Irish agreement.
Money that was collected with the intent of paying for important surgery for his friend Brian Lenihan, he used on himself. His friend.
Yet I have never seen denial like that which I have seen in his supporters when confronted with all of this.
And now onto the bloody Celtic Tiger. It has been put forward that he laid the foundations for the prosperity that Ireland enjoys today. I have yet to see an expert in economics conclusively prove that this is the truth. Fintan O' Toole put it best once, when he said that just because sunrise follows someone having an early breakfast, it doesn't mean that the person eating that bowl of cereal has caused the sun to rise. It happened independently of the breakfast. The same logic is applicable to Ireland's economic boom.
It may be closer to the truth that he saw it coming, and made preparations for it. Such as the building of the IFSC, for example. Of course the tax incentives used to attract multinational investment over here could well turn out to be a band aid solution: Of the corporations whose incentives have expired, some have withdrawn from the country. It remains to be seen if the rest will do the same.
Of course all of this deflects from the basic unassailable fact that while he was in power, Ireland was in recession, and after he left, Ireland boomed. It always annoys me when politicians try to claim credit for fiscal successes like these, as if a substantial part of it was under their control, when really, it is not.
Then again, if we are to apply the skewed logic, he is therefore responsible for the current mess in Irish hospitals. We got rich, but our healthcare system got shit. Nice trade-off, CJ.
Free travel for the elderly? A free TV license? The cost of these was borne by CIE and RTE, respectively. The reaffirmation of the artist within Gaelic Ireland? The action of someone with thought processes.
Under his leadership, a guy getting hot n' heavy with another guy? Illegal.
Elsewhere in the aforementioned 'Spirit of the Nation' article, O'Faoláin writes that his background makes him seem "an outsider, an anti-establishment figure, permanently challenging, even when he is in power". Bollocks. He bought into something bigger than himself and became corrupted in the process. For a woman of O'Faoláin's insight, I'm surprised at her short-sightedness. She's just like the rest of his supporters in this regard.
Ultimately his position was made available to him by democracy, so it could be argued that he represented all aspects of the nation, that he represented the best and worst of the Irish people. That someone like him can flourish says something about the people who allowed him to flourish, who elected him into power.
Like many a man with talent in no small amounts, he had his moments, but they were too few, relative to what he was capable of, and capability was his middle name. I have no doubt he could have been a great leader, simply, he wasn't. But we got the government we deserved because we voted him back in again and again. We accepted his many warts, when we should have been demanding higher standards of him. This is what exasperates the most.
He's gone now, and it's over to others to do away with the climate he created in politics, if they see fit. Hopefully it'll happen. Indirectly it'll reflect damningly on the the population of Ireland if it doesn't disappear, because it means they'll have sanctioned it, directly or otherwise.
The flipside of this is that events of no small consequence can come to pass in Ireland, and only by chance do you find out about them via a third party. Such as it was with the passing of former Taoiseach (Prime Minister, if you're not Irish) Charles Haughey, announced on Tuesday 13th. His funeral, complete with state honours, was the following thursday.
If ever there is one politician who should form a central part of a college course in political psychology, it would have to be him. Course PS203: How to screw a country out of a substantial part of its collective wage packet, yet still command the unwavering loyalty of its majority and get re-elected into power again and again. Independent reading: How to claw your way back into public favour after suffering a disgrace that would see other politicians retire in ignonimy (cf. arms trial in 1970).
It's the brass-necked hypocrisy, more than anything, that has me open-mouthed in wonder. The 1980 speech where he urged the naton to tighten its belts while he was living his lifestyle on money he had basically grabbed from the hands of the Irish, the speech he gave about family values just after returning from Paris, having entertained his mistress there, oh, this goes on and on. But most striking is the manner in which people have been prepared to overlook his misdemeanours, write them off as not as significant as they actually are. Not as significant, I suspect, as they would be if committed by someone else.
This, of course is it. To get down to brass tacks, what did CJ have, something no-one else had, that allowed him to carry it off?
In one of Nuala O Faoláin's articles in the Irish times entitled 'Spirit of the Nation', she wrote:
The first of the Irelands Mr Haughey commands is the Northside, which is not just Dublin's northside but everywhere people live in streets and kids go to big, tough schools. He knows all that from the inside - playing football, robbing orchards, taking the bike out to Portmarnock for a swim. He was something of an exception in being very clever - first in Dublin for a scholarship - and very bookish. He haunted Marino Library. But not that much of an exception. His personal friends - still Northsiders - a motor trade businessman, a supreme court judge, an auctioneer - would all have been the same kind of boy, reared in modest circumstances, but with the brains to transform them.
There is also the fact that at 15, elsewhere wrote about in the same article, he joined the local defence force.
Could this be it? The fact that he was a bit of a bruiser gained him the respect of the man on the street, to the point where that same man might overlook his waywardness as a consequence of someone with a strong personality, an unfortunate side-effect of the achievements in his lifetime. Most other politicians, having come from privileged backgrounds, don't have this quality, and this is probably what set CJ apart.
What struck me in the tributes left on the ireland.com page was the extent to which his supporters were willing to overlook the flaws in his character, write them off as minor, and focus on the 'great things' he did for his country. Any naysayers are dismissed by these people as begrudgers, symptomatic of the Irish tendency to build people up and then tear them down, as if that was a mindset specific to Ireland alone.
There are a two important flaws in this reasoning, though: His achievements, upon examination, weren't that great, and his misdemeanours were many and substantial.
He screwed Ireland for money in the 70's and 80's in a way that no-one else did before or since. upper band tax rates, a 'reward' for people who had managed to maneouvre themselves into a position where they were high earners, were just totally fucking insane, yet he siphoned off his money to the Cayman Islands so that he himself could escape the financial net he had created for everyone else. More than anything else, this demonstrates complete contempt for the country he had under his watch at this time.
He was involved in gun smuggling in the 1970s, at a time that saw the emergence of the IRA in its present form - an important point, considering that the organisation had deteriorated to little more than a collection of thugs at that point - a form that would prevail until it was disbanded. He had the phones of his opposition bugged so that he could anticipate their next move. Physical intimidation was used in the Dáil to quell dissent. His restriction on the sale of condoms, his opposition to divorce and the Anglo-Irish agreement.
Money that was collected with the intent of paying for important surgery for his friend Brian Lenihan, he used on himself. His friend.
Yet I have never seen denial like that which I have seen in his supporters when confronted with all of this.
And now onto the bloody Celtic Tiger. It has been put forward that he laid the foundations for the prosperity that Ireland enjoys today. I have yet to see an expert in economics conclusively prove that this is the truth. Fintan O' Toole put it best once, when he said that just because sunrise follows someone having an early breakfast, it doesn't mean that the person eating that bowl of cereal has caused the sun to rise. It happened independently of the breakfast. The same logic is applicable to Ireland's economic boom.
It may be closer to the truth that he saw it coming, and made preparations for it. Such as the building of the IFSC, for example. Of course the tax incentives used to attract multinational investment over here could well turn out to be a band aid solution: Of the corporations whose incentives have expired, some have withdrawn from the country. It remains to be seen if the rest will do the same.
Of course all of this deflects from the basic unassailable fact that while he was in power, Ireland was in recession, and after he left, Ireland boomed. It always annoys me when politicians try to claim credit for fiscal successes like these, as if a substantial part of it was under their control, when really, it is not.
Then again, if we are to apply the skewed logic, he is therefore responsible for the current mess in Irish hospitals. We got rich, but our healthcare system got shit. Nice trade-off, CJ.
Free travel for the elderly? A free TV license? The cost of these was borne by CIE and RTE, respectively. The reaffirmation of the artist within Gaelic Ireland? The action of someone with thought processes.
Under his leadership, a guy getting hot n' heavy with another guy? Illegal.
Elsewhere in the aforementioned 'Spirit of the Nation' article, O'Faoláin writes that his background makes him seem "an outsider, an anti-establishment figure, permanently challenging, even when he is in power". Bollocks. He bought into something bigger than himself and became corrupted in the process. For a woman of O'Faoláin's insight, I'm surprised at her short-sightedness. She's just like the rest of his supporters in this regard.
Ultimately his position was made available to him by democracy, so it could be argued that he represented all aspects of the nation, that he represented the best and worst of the Irish people. That someone like him can flourish says something about the people who allowed him to flourish, who elected him into power.
Like many a man with talent in no small amounts, he had his moments, but they were too few, relative to what he was capable of, and capability was his middle name. I have no doubt he could have been a great leader, simply, he wasn't. But we got the government we deserved because we voted him back in again and again. We accepted his many warts, when we should have been demanding higher standards of him. This is what exasperates the most.
He's gone now, and it's over to others to do away with the climate he created in politics, if they see fit. Hopefully it'll happen. Indirectly it'll reflect damningly on the the population of Ireland if it doesn't disappear, because it means they'll have sanctioned it, directly or otherwise.
Friday, June 16, 2006
The Da Vinci Code
Two things about it that were good.
- Jean Reno's hotness (not his acting, as he was an autopilot all the way through).
- The scenery/locations.
Two things that weren't so good.
- It stuck rigidly to the book, with one or two exceptions of artistic license. Because of this, I knew exactly what was going to happen at almost any given moment.
- The flashbacks sucked.
One thing I've noticed about this phenomenon is that more and more people are coming out of the woodwork and criticising it, and recent coverage of the Cannes film festival featured a selection of critics turning their noses up at the whole thing. If ever there an example was needed of a frustrated bridesmaid, it has to be a film critic, and it does nothing except increase my resolve to see the film even more. Have a go at making your own films boys, and try not to speak out on others. The sound of jealousy getting caught in your throat can be heard by all.
Incidentally, Sofia Ford Coppola's new film, Marie Antoinette, is coming out next year, and she's done the same with it as she's done with The Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation in terms of the soundtrack. This time, it's the New Romantics that are spicing up the background a bit. Should be interesting. Incidentally, a selection of critics showed their appreciation for that one by booing. Very mature, ye of little consequence.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Likes cuddles. And Daffy.
The last few days have been interesting.
On Friday night I was bored. I stayed in, foregoing my usual rendez-vous with the Bitches of BN2, only to get itchy feet at about 12:30am Saturday morning. Where in Brighton, I hear you ask, can you get drink in a bar at this time, without having to pay an entrance fee? The Bulldog, we cry!
So down I went,on my own. Got a drink and surveyed the eye candy. 'Anvil', a sort of kink-themed night, was just finishing up in another club, so soon the Bully was enjoying (well, I was enjoying, but I digress) an influx of men big n'beefy. After talking to a few of them, including two ex-entanglements of mine, I settled on a big burly cuddly dude. It led nowhere. Then I spotted another tanned and rugged specimen and swooped. That led to my place.
The journey home was a bit fun, in a smartarsery kind of way. He moaned constantly, but kind of jokingly, about the walk, and said that if we had gone to his, we'd be there by now. I hotly denied this and told him to shut up and keep moving. He then wanted to know what I intended to do when we got back to mine. I told him I was expecting to get into his knickers. He shrugged, not explicitly ruling it out as a possibility, but declared that when we got there, he would expect a nice cup of tea.
He got a nice strong cup of tea. The rest followed in due course.
In the course of the night, or should I say early morning, I learned two things about him that still make me smile. 'I love cuddles', he proclaimed at one stage (We cuddled at this point). I asked him about the tattoo of a bear paw on his ass. He told me that when he was younger, about 15 years old, he got a tattoo of Daffy Duck on his ass. In due course, he thought the best thing to do would be to cover it up. So step forward, paw of the bear.
This made me laugh to myself at work later that day, while on the checkout, serving customers. I now have him stored in my phone as Daffy. It's just as well: He left his cock-ring and his socks behind him, under my bed.
I suspect, though, that there is something about him that marks him out as someone who is not really suitable for anything other than a bit of fun. His insistence that I 'be discreet', for one. I think I might have to investigate that a little if I meet him again.
On Sunday evening after work, I met an interesting Greek man. His blog can be found here.
Yes, I'm a believer in keeping more than one iron in the fire.
On Friday night I was bored. I stayed in, foregoing my usual rendez-vous with the Bitches of BN2, only to get itchy feet at about 12:30am Saturday morning. Where in Brighton, I hear you ask, can you get drink in a bar at this time, without having to pay an entrance fee? The Bulldog, we cry!
So down I went,on my own. Got a drink and surveyed the eye candy. 'Anvil', a sort of kink-themed night, was just finishing up in another club, so soon the Bully was enjoying (well, I was enjoying, but I digress) an influx of men big n'beefy. After talking to a few of them, including two ex-entanglements of mine, I settled on a big burly cuddly dude. It led nowhere. Then I spotted another tanned and rugged specimen and swooped. That led to my place.
The journey home was a bit fun, in a smartarsery kind of way. He moaned constantly, but kind of jokingly, about the walk, and said that if we had gone to his, we'd be there by now. I hotly denied this and told him to shut up and keep moving. He then wanted to know what I intended to do when we got back to mine. I told him I was expecting to get into his knickers. He shrugged, not explicitly ruling it out as a possibility, but declared that when we got there, he would expect a nice cup of tea.
He got a nice strong cup of tea. The rest followed in due course.
In the course of the night, or should I say early morning, I learned two things about him that still make me smile. 'I love cuddles', he proclaimed at one stage (We cuddled at this point). I asked him about the tattoo of a bear paw on his ass. He told me that when he was younger, about 15 years old, he got a tattoo of Daffy Duck on his ass. In due course, he thought the best thing to do would be to cover it up. So step forward, paw of the bear.
This made me laugh to myself at work later that day, while on the checkout, serving customers. I now have him stored in my phone as Daffy. It's just as well: He left his cock-ring and his socks behind him, under my bed.
I suspect, though, that there is something about him that marks him out as someone who is not really suitable for anything other than a bit of fun. His insistence that I 'be discreet', for one. I think I might have to investigate that a little if I meet him again.
On Sunday evening after work, I met an interesting Greek man. His blog can be found here.
Yes, I'm a believer in keeping more than one iron in the fire.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Moving out
I have just over two weeks left to find somewhere else to live.
Over the last few days, the others in my flat are moving out one by one. I've noticed that certain things of mine seem to be departing with them. A blue mug of mine vanished round about the time of the departure of one of the lads, and I came home from work tonight to find that the (admittedly free) TV guide that I donated to the communal area, had the tv times for tomorrow and monday ripped out. Errmm.....
At least the ones that are left until last are amongst the nicer of the lot.
In any case, I think I'll be stashing my kitchen utensils in my room between now and my departure.
Over the last few days, the others in my flat are moving out one by one. I've noticed that certain things of mine seem to be departing with them. A blue mug of mine vanished round about the time of the departure of one of the lads, and I came home from work tonight to find that the (admittedly free) TV guide that I donated to the communal area, had the tv times for tomorrow and monday ripped out. Errmm.....
At least the ones that are left until last are amongst the nicer of the lot.
In any case, I think I'll be stashing my kitchen utensils in my room between now and my departure.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Thank FUCK!
The exams are over now. It's been a car-crash week and I'm relishing being able to breath again.
It looks like I'll be staying here for the summer, at this moment in time. House hunting starts tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. And then the job hunting. I still have the supermarket job, but after 8 hours behind a cash register today, I was reminded of how boring it was.
Like I had forgotten! Bah!
It looks like I'll be staying here for the summer, at this moment in time. House hunting starts tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. And then the job hunting. I still have the supermarket job, but after 8 hours behind a cash register today, I was reminded of how boring it was.
Like I had forgotten! Bah!
Saturday, June 03, 2006
This blog as a graph
Unlike BN2 Beeyatches, which seems to have a somewhat nuclear structure, mine is an entity more diffuse, with arms outstretched. I'm so original.
Do your own, and add it to the Flickr group here.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Announcement
As and from today, The Friday Thing, weekly satirical e-newsletter par excellence, is free to those who may wish to subscribe to it.
If you have a brain, you owe it to yourself to get on it.
If you have a brain, you owe it to yourself to get on it.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
And we're off...
... to the worst start ever.
Immunology this morning, and I can say with 100% certainty that I will be back in early autumn doing that again.
As an aside, it is rather strange for a module as comprehensive as this one to only barely feature HIV in lectures, and have not even one question (not even an MCQ) on the exam paper on the subject. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you don't have to be a genius to work out what area I put most of my work into there.
Now I return to the books, and make sure this doesn't recur. On it's own, this damage is controllable. If it makes friends, I'm screwed.
Later...
Immunology this morning, and I can say with 100% certainty that I will be back in early autumn doing that again.
As an aside, it is rather strange for a module as comprehensive as this one to only barely feature HIV in lectures, and have not even one question (not even an MCQ) on the exam paper on the subject. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you don't have to be a genius to work out what area I put most of my work into there.
Now I return to the books, and make sure this doesn't recur. On it's own, this damage is controllable. If it makes friends, I'm screwed.
Later...
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Here we go AGAIN!
I found this on BuffTuff, the blog of a hot n' hairy Canadian biker. It's from a recent CBS edition of "60 Minutes" conducted by correspondent Lesley Stall. It's long, but worth the effort, upto a point:
There's a few things that I have to take issue with in this, and other articles like this.
From time immemorial, the scientific community, just like the psychology community, seem to hold with the idea that one of the fundamental characteristics of homosexuality is that it apes femininity. In the above article, there is a subtle allusion to masculinity (however the hell that is defined these days) being suppressed by a mother's immune system while she carries a male child in the womb. This is similar to a view, widely held for a while but since discredited, that a certain gland (I can't remember which one, but I think it was the pineal) in the brain of gay men is smaller in size than one in straight men, and surprise surprise, comparable to that of a straight woman. It would appear that the old preoccupation with size has spilled over into the realm of anatomy and physiology.
A few years ago, someone I know who was a psychology student, and very good at it, wrote a thesis postulating that rather than aping femininity, homosexuality should be regarded as an alternative masculinity. It's not hard to see why. To describe the archetypical camp queen as 'effiminate' is inaccurate. While some gay men have mannerisms that can be described as more flamboyant than those of straight men, comparisons of said mannerisms with those of straight women highlight the difference between the two. Gay men, often possessed of a certain something that allows them to be identified as such by a keen observer, have a 'style' all of their own. I'm not attacking the idea of effeminacy in men, in itself not intrinsically 'wrong', just saying that it doesn't exist to the extent everyone thinks it does. People of course will point out that gay men often prefer the company of straight women rather than straight men, not stopping to think that this says more about straight men generally than gay men in particular.
And now to the issue of sex. Who was it that said 'Women's virtue is man's greatest myth'? Anyway, there is the somewhat outdated notion that women (or more disparagingly, 'nice' women) don't like casual, unattached sex as much as men. Men may have higher sex drives on average, but to say that 'a woman only does it with the man she loves', well, some of these people need to get out more, and more specifically, go to a local pulling joint at a weekend and see what goes on there. But there's no point at all in denying that this notion still exists.
Women want lots of sex, end of story. The way current courtship rituals are set up in the straight world just means that they can get it whenever they want, so they can afford to discriminate a bit, provided they're someway attractive. Straight men, on the other hand, have to do more work to get it, so will jump at the chance when it's offered to them, thus perpetuating the notion that men are governed by....
I suppose that's one thing we have in common. Oh well. The point made in paragraph two about the success of gay men in getting laid is a good one though: Straight men would be putting it about so much more often if straight women would allow it.
I suppose what I'm advocating is the idea that gender roles no longer exist (if they ever did in the first place) at completely opposite poles. These days, a lot of us gravitate somewhere towards the middle, and occupy a ground that can be described as 'other'. This is a position that is occupied by gay men and lesbians quite a lot of the time, and should be considered instead of this rubbish of a gay man's brain being 'feminized' and a lesbian's brain being 'masculinized'. And anyone who thinks that men are inherently more competitive than women should think about why straight women have a reputation for being more bitchy towards one another than straight men.
Interesting piece though. Still, biological theories like this have been disproved before. I can't see this lasting forever. Perhaps scientists should stop looking at this through the lens of gender roles, and approach it from another angle.
Shit, I need to get back to studying.
Psychologists used to believe homosexuality was caused by nurture — namely overbearing mothers and distant fathers — but that theory has been disproved. Today, scientists are looking at genes, environment, brain structure and hormones. There is one area of consensus: that homosexuality involves more than just sexual behavior; it's physiological.
Dr. Bailey , a noted sex researcher, and his colleagues set up a series of experiments in his lab at Northwestern University. In one study, researcher Gerulf Rieger videotaped gay and straight people sitting in a chair, talking. He then reduced them visually to silent black and white outlined figures and asked volunteers to see if they could tell gay from straight. The idea was to find out if certain stereotypes were real and observable. Based on physical movement and gestures of the figures, more often than not, the volunteers in the study could tell a difference. "So, is the conclusion that gay people do in fact move differently?" Stahl asked Rieger. "Yeah, absolutely," he replied. It's not true 100 percent of the time; it is true on average. The researchers also studied the way gay and straight people talk, and they found differences on average there too. This research is controversial. Some say it is reinforcing stereotypes. But to Bailey, the stereotypes suggest there's a feminizing of the brain in gay men, and masculinizing in lesbians. Ironically though, when it comes to their sex lives, he says gay and straight men actually have a lot in common. "Straight men tend to be shallow in terms of focusing on looks. Gay men are shallow, too. Straight men are more interested than straight women in having casual, uncommitted sex. Gay men are like that, too," says Bailey.
"One has the impression that gay men are much more inclined toward casual sex than straight men," Stahl said. "They're just more successful at it, because the people they're trying to have sex with are also interested in it," Bailey explained. "But don't you find this interesting that the one big area where gay men are more like straight men is in sex? I mean, that is…both amusing and odd," Stahl said. "It suggests that whatever causes a man to be gay doesn't make him feminine in every respect. There must be different parts of the brain that can be feminized independently from each other," Bailey replied.
But how and when does this feminizing occur? If the differences were already apparent in childhood, that would point to an early, perhaps even genetic origin — and that's what Bailey and Rieger are testing in a new study using childhood home movies. In the study, volunteers were asked to rate each child's femininity or masculinity. Stahl took the test and rated two girls highly feminine. When shown video of a toddler girl running a truck off of a table, Stahl observed, "She's really not girly. Isn't that interesting? She's not girly." She also observed differences in two boys, one of whom would grow up to be straight, while the other is now gay. If you can spot a child's future sexual orientation before the child even knows he or she has one, doesn't that prove it's genetic? Studies have shown that homosexuality runs in families. So genes must be the answer. But then the researchers tell you identical twins can have different sexual orientations.
60 Minutes found identical twins Steve and Greg Lofts in New York. They had the same upbringing, have the same DNA — and yet Greg is gay and Steve is straight. When people meet the twins and find out one of them is gay, Greg says people have asked if he's sure, and how it can be. "Everyone is curious about that," he says. There were signs, even when they were little kids. Their mother told Stahl that Steve loved sports and the outdoors while Greg liked helping out in the kitchen. But it wasn't until high school that Steve became convinced Greg was gay. Asked if he said anything to his brother, Steve says, "I did actually. And I think the way I worded it was something like, 'You know, Greg, if you're gay, it's OK with me. And I'll still love you the same.' And he gave a very philosophical answer. He said something like, 'Well, I love the soul of a person and not the physical being.' And in my mind, I was like, 'Yep, he's gay.'" "I wasn't ready just yet," Greg added. "
Does this prove that it's not genetic? "What it proves is it's not completely genetic. They have the same genes," says Bailey. Asked if that brings us back to the mother and the father, Bailey says no. "But that's environment," Stahl said. "That's environment. But that's not the only environment. There's also the environment that happens to us while we're in the womb. And scientists are realizing that environment is much more important than we ever thought it was," Bailey explained.
A newborn rat pup in the lab of Dr. Marc Breedlove at Michigan State University, may, oddly enough, hold important clues to what happens in the womb. Dr. Breedlove says he can take a male rat and make it behave like a female for the rest of its life, and vice versa for a female, just by altering the hormones it's exposed to at birth. Because rats are born underdeveloped, that's roughly the same as altering a third-trimester human fetus in the womb. But first, he said, Stahl would need a crash course in rat sex. Dr. Breedlove explained that male rats, including one he showed Stahl called "Romeo," will mount any rat that comes their way. In the mating process, the female performs something called lordosis, where she lifts her head and rump. If Romeo goes after a male, Dr. Breedlove says the male will seem profoundly indifferent. But Breedlove says he can change all that. He gave a female rat a single shot of the male sex hormone testosterone at birth. Now grown up, she will never perform lordosis. But a male rat did. He was castrated at birth, depriving him of testosterone. "So you created a gay rat?" Stahl asked. "I wouldn't say that these are gay rats. But I will say that these are genetic male rats who are showing much more feminine behavior," he explained. So the answer may be that it's not genes but hormones. "That's exactly the question that we're all wondering. This business of testosterone having such a profound influence. Does that have some relevance to humans?" Breedlove said.
While biologists look at hormones for answers about human sexuality, other scientists are looking for patterns in statistics. And hard as this is to believe, they have found something they call "the older brother effect." "The more older brothers a man has, the greater that man's chance of being gay," says Bailey. Asked if that's true, Bailey says, "That is absolutely true." If this comes as a shock to you, you're not alone. But it turns out, it's one of the most solid findings in this field, demonstrated in study after study. And the numbers are significant: for every older brother a man has, his chances of being gay increase by one third. Older sisters make no difference, and there's no corresponding effect for lesbians. A first-born son has about a 2 percent chance of being gay, and the numbers rise from there. The theory is it happens in the womb. "Somehow, the mother's body is remembering how many boys she's carried before," says Breedlove. "The favorite hypothesis is that the mother may be making antibodies when she sees a boy the first time, and then affect subsequent boys when she carries them in utero." "You mean, like she's carrying a foreign substance?" Stahl asked. "And if you think about it, a woman who's carrying a son for the first time, she is carrying a foreign substance," Breedlove replied. "There are some proteins encoded on his Y chromosome that her body has never seen before and that her immune system would be expected to regard as 'invaders,'" he added. It's still not a proven theory and it gets even stranger. "One of the things we've only found out lately is that older brothers affect a boy only if the boy is right-handed," Breedlove said. "If the boy is left-handed, if his brain is organized in a left-handed fashion, it doesn't matter how many older brothers he has, his probability of being gay is just like the rest of the population." I'm right handed and first born, with no other brothers.
You can give yourself a headache trying to apply all the theories to real people. Greg and Steve Lofts both are right-handed, and they do have an older brother, so maybe that's why Greg is gay. But they also have several gay relatives, which suggests it could be in the genes, except where does that leave Steve? Adam and Jared, fraternal twins, have older brothers, but they're ambidextrous. Then there's the question of how something in the womb could affect one twin but not the other. There are many more questions at this point than answers, but the scientists 60 Minutes spoke to are increasingly convinced that genes, hormones, or both — that something is happening to determine sexual orientation before birth. Adam has come up with his own theory. "I was supposed to be a girl in my mom's stomach. But my mom wished for all boys. So, I turned into a boy," Adam explained. Asked if he wished he was a girl, Adam nodded. "Do you think there was anything that you could have done that would have changed Adam?" Stahl asked Adam and Jared's mom Danielle. "I could have changed Adam on the outside to where he would have showed me the macho boy that I would want as a boy. But that would not change who he is inside. And I think that would have damaged him a lot more," she said. Stahl asked both boys if they are proud of the way they are, and both boys gave her big nods. "Yup," Adam replied.More at: www.cbs.com
There's a few things that I have to take issue with in this, and other articles like this.
From time immemorial, the scientific community, just like the psychology community, seem to hold with the idea that one of the fundamental characteristics of homosexuality is that it apes femininity. In the above article, there is a subtle allusion to masculinity (however the hell that is defined these days) being suppressed by a mother's immune system while she carries a male child in the womb. This is similar to a view, widely held for a while but since discredited, that a certain gland (I can't remember which one, but I think it was the pineal) in the brain of gay men is smaller in size than one in straight men, and surprise surprise, comparable to that of a straight woman. It would appear that the old preoccupation with size has spilled over into the realm of anatomy and physiology.
A few years ago, someone I know who was a psychology student, and very good at it, wrote a thesis postulating that rather than aping femininity, homosexuality should be regarded as an alternative masculinity. It's not hard to see why. To describe the archetypical camp queen as 'effiminate' is inaccurate. While some gay men have mannerisms that can be described as more flamboyant than those of straight men, comparisons of said mannerisms with those of straight women highlight the difference between the two. Gay men, often possessed of a certain something that allows them to be identified as such by a keen observer, have a 'style' all of their own. I'm not attacking the idea of effeminacy in men, in itself not intrinsically 'wrong', just saying that it doesn't exist to the extent everyone thinks it does. People of course will point out that gay men often prefer the company of straight women rather than straight men, not stopping to think that this says more about straight men generally than gay men in particular.
And now to the issue of sex. Who was it that said 'Women's virtue is man's greatest myth'? Anyway, there is the somewhat outdated notion that women (or more disparagingly, 'nice' women) don't like casual, unattached sex as much as men. Men may have higher sex drives on average, but to say that 'a woman only does it with the man she loves', well, some of these people need to get out more, and more specifically, go to a local pulling joint at a weekend and see what goes on there. But there's no point at all in denying that this notion still exists.
Women want lots of sex, end of story. The way current courtship rituals are set up in the straight world just means that they can get it whenever they want, so they can afford to discriminate a bit, provided they're someway attractive. Straight men, on the other hand, have to do more work to get it, so will jump at the chance when it's offered to them, thus perpetuating the notion that men are governed by....
I suppose that's one thing we have in common. Oh well. The point made in paragraph two about the success of gay men in getting laid is a good one though: Straight men would be putting it about so much more often if straight women would allow it.
I suppose what I'm advocating is the idea that gender roles no longer exist (if they ever did in the first place) at completely opposite poles. These days, a lot of us gravitate somewhere towards the middle, and occupy a ground that can be described as 'other'. This is a position that is occupied by gay men and lesbians quite a lot of the time, and should be considered instead of this rubbish of a gay man's brain being 'feminized' and a lesbian's brain being 'masculinized'. And anyone who thinks that men are inherently more competitive than women should think about why straight women have a reputation for being more bitchy towards one another than straight men.
Interesting piece though. Still, biological theories like this have been disproved before. I can't see this lasting forever. Perhaps scientists should stop looking at this through the lens of gender roles, and approach it from another angle.
Shit, I need to get back to studying.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Let the bitching begin
The new Big Brother contestants aren't even in the house a wet week, and already the bickering has started. What a bunch of twats.
At least The Sun can stop trying with their usual bollocks now. They're in headlines for most of the summer. God help us...
At least The Sun can stop trying with their usual bollocks now. They're in headlines for most of the summer. God help us...
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Plug
Readers of this blog may have noticed references to a certain newsletter called The Friday Thing throughout my time writing here. It's a weekly e-mail which gets delivered to your inbox every friday, thus guaranteeing that any other work you have to do that day goes flying out the window. Its parent company is called The Friday Project, and even though it is similar in name to the Friday Night Project, it has nothing to do with that turdpile, and even less to do with its supporters.
It's better than PopBitch, Private Eye, and any other satirical publication you may care to mention. It runs to about 25 pages of a Word document, so there's plenty to keep you entertained, and with a letters page at the end, there's plenty of opportunity for feedback. Just be prepared to have your missive cut to ribbons, which was once what almost happened to me.
I started reading this one day early in 2001 when someone I worked with sent on the link to me. In those days, it was little more than a campaign to get friday off work, and the accompanying newsletter, then free, amounted to about 8 to 10 pages in Word. Even if we couldn't get Friday off, these people reckoned, we could certainly find distractions for ourselves at that time of the week. Then an extended edition became available, but you had to pay a subscription fee (to be fair, it was only £10 a year at the time). Then the short version was discontinued, so it became subscription only, but it was still worth it.
Well, because of the success of the parent company, from the 2nd June the full weekly newsletter is now being offered for free. So, all of you who like your writing witty and bitchy, go to the Friday Thing site on that day and sign up. I'll try and remember to post a reminder on that day too.
For a taster, go here, a rather good essay on the nation's hopes for the world cup.
It's better than PopBitch, Private Eye, and any other satirical publication you may care to mention. It runs to about 25 pages of a Word document, so there's plenty to keep you entertained, and with a letters page at the end, there's plenty of opportunity for feedback. Just be prepared to have your missive cut to ribbons, which was once what almost happened to me.
I started reading this one day early in 2001 when someone I worked with sent on the link to me. In those days, it was little more than a campaign to get friday off work, and the accompanying newsletter, then free, amounted to about 8 to 10 pages in Word. Even if we couldn't get Friday off, these people reckoned, we could certainly find distractions for ourselves at that time of the week. Then an extended edition became available, but you had to pay a subscription fee (to be fair, it was only £10 a year at the time). Then the short version was discontinued, so it became subscription only, but it was still worth it.
Well, because of the success of the parent company, from the 2nd June the full weekly newsletter is now being offered for free. So, all of you who like your writing witty and bitchy, go to the Friday Thing site on that day and sign up. I'll try and remember to post a reminder on that day too.
For a taster, go here, a rather good essay on the nation's hopes for the world cup.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Hooray!
I'm an uncle. For the third time. My sister gave birth to a 8lb-odd boy this evening at about 5pm. In keeping with their obsession with Irish names, he's going to be called MacDara Seán, or something. A brother for Sadhbh and Fionn.
This level of patriotism in a couple who are firm leftists is a bit of a curiosity at times. Oh well. It's all cool. I must remember to send them a card.
This level of patriotism in a couple who are firm leftists is a bit of a curiosity at times. Oh well. It's all cool. I must remember to send them a card.
"We don't have much time"
The study is, as per bloody usual, progressing at a funereal pace. I'm getting through subjects at roughly one-third of the speed required to cover the amount of material that would net me a reasonable pass this year. I've already given up on replicating last year's achievement of a 2.1. All I want is 40% in everything so I don't have to come back and do anything again.
This morning we had seminars on Medicine Design, and I don't feel quite so bad about what has to be done now, but then again, blind panic is usually the only thing that will motivate me to work, so I'm not sure if that's a good thing.
I've pretty much decided that if I don't get a decent job in Brighton for the summer, then I'll go home and see if I can get some work in IT. I can NOT see myself sticking out the supermarket job for more than a couple of weeks, and doing it for a full summer would cancel out all the positive aspects of staying in Brighton, and then some. Hopefully I'll get some office admin or data entry job instead. It'd be nice to catch up with some of the old heads in Dublin, though. It's been a while, and Pride in Brighton falls on a weekend this year (well, the best part does) so going to that is still a possibility even if I don't end up staying there.
Now I must go back to work, and stop googling Lawrence Dallaglio.*
This morning we had seminars on Medicine Design, and I don't feel quite so bad about what has to be done now, but then again, blind panic is usually the only thing that will motivate me to work, so I'm not sure if that's a good thing.
I've pretty much decided that if I don't get a decent job in Brighton for the summer, then I'll go home and see if I can get some work in IT. I can NOT see myself sticking out the supermarket job for more than a couple of weeks, and doing it for a full summer would cancel out all the positive aspects of staying in Brighton, and then some. Hopefully I'll get some office admin or data entry job instead. It'd be nice to catch up with some of the old heads in Dublin, though. It's been a while, and Pride in Brighton falls on a weekend this year (well, the best part does) so going to that is still a possibility even if I don't end up staying there.
Now I must go back to work, and stop googling Lawrence Dallaglio.*
Mmmmm. Mighty fine. I'd almost sit through an entire rugby match just to look at him. Almost.
*The secret to a good google nudity search is to make sure Google's SafeSearch facility is off.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
It's the last line that cracks me up.
Thanks to Basando la vida en el Pene, or if you like, 'Basing life on the Penis', if Babelfish at Altavista is to be believed.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Pinched...
... from BN2beeyatches. Again.
My blog is worth $564.54.
How much is your blog worth?
Also, I did this online survey thing, which generates a blog code for you (a bit like a bear code, but for bloggers). I am:
B6 d- t- k- s- u-- f- i- o++ x+ e l- c
Pissed OFF!
The last few days got off to a shit start last Friday. In Asda I decided I'd be a bit adventurous and try and new recipe or two, so I bought some utensils (a colander and a roasting tin, to be exact), along with a slightly bigger shop than usual. The bill came to £46. I only had £50 to work with that week. Only £4 left for an entire week, which was used to buy a carton of milk and do my laundry.
Then began work. I have noticed something.
Saturday: My shift coincides with bitchy supervisor. It sucks.
Sunday: My shift coincides with other laid back supervisor. In spite of the fact that we're flat out all day, it doesn't feel too bad, as we're left alone to get on with things.
Tuesday: My shift coincides with main manager. He's just about alright, but having to stand at a till all day - 8am to 5pm - with only one hour break, along with the attendant back ache, results in the shift being only barely tolerable. At about 3pm, the bitchy supervisor comes on, and the moaning about the insignificant begins again.
This is the problem. I'm listening to this woman whinge about how the £20 note compartment is jammed while I'm serving a queue of ten fucking people, bitch about how I have to ask for change for my till, and make a production of anything in general that has to be done. The other guy delegates, or else gets it done without any noise. Management has be the biggest area of underperformance on the planet with some people.
It might raise an eyebrow to hear my complaints about the job only this far in, but I've managed to put the finger on what the overall problem is: I'm not afraid of exertion (as long as there isn't too much of it), but the kind of work where you are constantly watching the clock, willing your shift to end, is the kind of work that has always done my head in. Sometimes this reminds me of the days when I used to work in a factory, always looking at the clock with longing. I've worked in places where there were no small amount of physical demands, but I didn't mind it, and the time seemed to fly.
There are jobs going at the pharmacy down the road from the shop. I've applied. I am praying. If it comes down to a choice between software testing in Dublin again this summer, and having to support myself in Brighton by working in the supermarket, I don't know if I could tolerate the latter.
I nearly fell over myself trying to make it in time for a lecture in malaria this morning, only to get there and find out it was cancelled. Aaaaarrggh!
At least the recipe I tried out - oven roasted vegetables with steak and peppercorn sauce - didn't turn out too badly, though I must remember for next time, peel garlic, NOT aubergines, and use less olive oil.
Delia Smith must be quaking in her boots.
Then began work. I have noticed something.
Saturday: My shift coincides with bitchy supervisor. It sucks.
Sunday: My shift coincides with other laid back supervisor. In spite of the fact that we're flat out all day, it doesn't feel too bad, as we're left alone to get on with things.
Tuesday: My shift coincides with main manager. He's just about alright, but having to stand at a till all day - 8am to 5pm - with only one hour break, along with the attendant back ache, results in the shift being only barely tolerable. At about 3pm, the bitchy supervisor comes on, and the moaning about the insignificant begins again.
This is the problem. I'm listening to this woman whinge about how the £20 note compartment is jammed while I'm serving a queue of ten fucking people, bitch about how I have to ask for change for my till, and make a production of anything in general that has to be done. The other guy delegates, or else gets it done without any noise. Management has be the biggest area of underperformance on the planet with some people.
It might raise an eyebrow to hear my complaints about the job only this far in, but I've managed to put the finger on what the overall problem is: I'm not afraid of exertion (as long as there isn't too much of it), but the kind of work where you are constantly watching the clock, willing your shift to end, is the kind of work that has always done my head in. Sometimes this reminds me of the days when I used to work in a factory, always looking at the clock with longing. I've worked in places where there were no small amount of physical demands, but I didn't mind it, and the time seemed to fly.
There are jobs going at the pharmacy down the road from the shop. I've applied. I am praying. If it comes down to a choice between software testing in Dublin again this summer, and having to support myself in Brighton by working in the supermarket, I don't know if I could tolerate the latter.
I nearly fell over myself trying to make it in time for a lecture in malaria this morning, only to get there and find out it was cancelled. Aaaaarrggh!
At least the recipe I tried out - oven roasted vegetables with steak and peppercorn sauce - didn't turn out too badly, though I must remember for next time, peel garlic, NOT aubergines, and use less olive oil.
Delia Smith must be quaking in her boots.
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