I have moved back to Tamworth for the foreseeable future (because, afterall, I have not yet signed a lease on The Dump or The Beautiful House). This was easier on everyone re: break up situation.
I had planned to write a post when I moved home on Saturday, about how I could smell the blossom and look at the quaint memories in my old room, but then I went to Nottingham and Zizzi's and suddenly it was Monday night, and home's perks have quickly died down having been replaced by a) being sick of unpacking, b) dislike of single bed, c) THE TRAINS.
So today was my first commute into Uni. I had an essay to hand in. Cue printing disaster, as always, and me last minute referencing and screaming at printer at 3 in the morning. So I was not in the best of moods when I was informed that it costs me £8 before 10am and£3 after, to get from Tamworth to New St to University.
Other than this, I have been in a revision haze. I am currently being thankful for my good memory because I am not working particularly hard. However something must be ticking over because this evening on the train I found myself subconsciously memorising all the companies' names written on warehouses.
I miss Hardy, a bit.
Labels: grumbles, law
I walk out of the library and down the law school corridor.
I am trying to remember what
McPhail v Doulton is about when Fabulously Gay Tutor bangs through the door at the end of the corridor.
He looks up and sees me. I cringe as we walk towards each other, replaying The Crying Incident.
"Hello," he says, not looking at me.
Christ, its like the morning after the night before.
I awkwardly put my hands into my pockets and ball them up into fists, trying to dissipate the akwardness.
Unfortunately, I squeeze a noisy keyring.
"Mwah. I LOVE YOU!" It says, to Fabulously Gay Tutor's back and the empty law corridor. It echoes around at least twice.
He utterly blanks it.
Labels: embarrassing
"
Billygean you will be SO proud of me," Housemate-Ali announces.
"Why?" I say smiling as I look up from Boring Law.
"I just spent £30 in Lush!"
"
Ooooh!" I say. "
Oooh!"
"Wow. You're actually really excited aren't you?"
"Yep."
"Lush by proxy," she says laughing.
"What did you get?" I say. Best to cut to the chase with urgent matters such as this.
"Honey I washed the kids."
"Oh I have this."
"Coconut soap."
"I have this."
"
Ok I get it," she says. "Um a gauze thingy you put in the bath..."
"
Ceridwen's Cauldron," I say immediately.
She widens her eyes and laughs. I do so wish my knowledge of caselaw was more expansive than my knowledge of lush products. And Friends quotes. And everyone's phone number. And, well, anything except caselaw really.
"Do you think, on balance, I would bring more money home if I worked at lush bearing in mind the discount and free stuff, or if i'm a lawyer and shop liberally at lush?"
Ali pauses for a second.
"Best just stick with the law for now."
She pauses again.
"But I don't know."
"Hi," I say, poking my head around Fabulously Gay Tutor's door.
There it is, on the desk, the pile of crap I sent to him on Sunday night whilst high on coffee and raspberry ice lollies.
"Sit down," he says, rubbing his bald head.
He gets up and paces angrily near the window.
I watch him for a few moments, for this is what we do.
Eventually, he sits down opposite me and slides the essay towards me. "I think this is fine."
"How fine?" I say obsessively.
He eyes me. "You know I can't say..."
"Mmm..." I flick my eyes to the essay and back again.
"... But the kind of fine you'll be happy with." He says, crinkling his eyes.
"Fine like my other essay?" I say, referring to the Essay Which Got a Distinction.
"Yep," he says shortly.
"Ooooh," I say, and he immediately shushes me.
"Right, thanks then," I saw. Awkward. Do I leave now? "Thanks for this," I say, standing.
"Are you alright?" he says suddenly. I am bemused. Surely he does not show signs of emotions?
I feel my lip tremble. Oh shit Billygean. No don't do that. Damn the revision. Damn that associate grades with emotional self worth! DAMN THE CONTRACEPTIVE PILL!
"I'm fine," I squeak. Shit my whole face is trembling.
Fabulously Gay Tutor awkwardly pats the table, in a gesture of sympathy we both know he is not quite capable of.
"I'll go now," I say, horribly embarrassed, and scurry out of the room.
Once out in the cool law corridor, I lean my head against the wall. "You IDIOT," I say.
"I heard that," he says from his room.
Bollocks.
Labels: law
Just received very odd email from a man, "just wondering if I am from Northern Ireland and doing the LPC in Nottingham?"
Very odd request. I tell him I am from the Midlands and doing the LPC there. And ask him how I know him.
He says, oh don't worry, you don't.
Yeah, okay then.
This holiday I have mostly been going to bed at 4am and waking up at noon. I tried to fight it, honestly I did, but by my first Monday off I was nocturnal.
So I have taken to working from 1pm to 3am. Do not be fooled by the long hours. I am incredibly unproductive. Yesterday, I'd estimate I did ten minutes' work.
I woke up this morning (okay, afternoon) and checked my university email.
There it was.
Dear Billygean
I am back now. I thought we were meeting on the 24th. Therefore if you want anything marked by me you need to get it to me tonight. Midnight.
Fabulously Gay Tutor
I checked my watch. 1:15. Great. My entire dissertation. In less than 12 hours.
Rather worringly what upset me most was that I would DEFINITELY have to achieve something today. It would appear I am So Unproductive that I do not like to commit to actually producing something on any given day.
Dear FGT
Midnight it is.
Billygean
He of course emails back immediately.
Dear BG
Fine
FGT
Honestly he's so
difficult.
I spend an hour or so making drinks and convincing myself that it's just a touch of editing and it won't take long. 11 hours, 8 cups of coffee later and I had well and truly abandoned my Attention Deficit Disorder and produced
something to send to him.
I have no idea whether it's any good or not. I am way past caring. Thank God it's (another) draft.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of the end. I have to revise negligence and criminal law and next Monday is the start of the revision lectures. By which time I was going to Know Everything and Be Sorted.
I am NOT. There is TOO MUCH TO KNOW.
I have not done enough work.
And I worked SO HARD all year.
I think I am - how do you say - Royally Fooked.
Labels: law
The message box blinks on the my computer.
S says:
I'm bored of misrepresentation
Billygean says:
Ooh. It is dull. I did it yesterday. You should TEST me!
S says:
Okay then. What is Edginton v Fitzmaurice about?
Billygean says:
I should know this. Isn't it about inferring a misrepresentation from their intention?
S says:
Maybe. And what's Lord Bowen's quote?
Billygean says:
Worringly I have no idea who he is.
S says:
"We can tell as much about a man's state of mind as about his state of digestion."
Billygean says:
Hehehe. Equty varies with the length of the Chancellor's foot.
S says:
Weren't C19th law lords hysterical?
Billygean says:
Would you have abandoned yourself if you'd have met this you a year ago?
S says:
Totally.
Labels: law
Dear Fabulously Gay Tutor
I was just wondering when you wanted to meet next week to discuss draft 2 of my dissertation? I have to decide when to move back to Birmingham you see.
Gilly
-------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Gilly
I have informed you I am not contactable at this time.
Regards
Fabulously Gay Tutor
-------------------------------------------------------------
What? Is this automated? Are YOU automated?
My God you PSYCHO.Labels: grumbles
Press ctrl+f5 to see new layout.
-----------------------------------------
I stand stock-still in the supermarket.
"Are those
real?" I say to my Dad, gesturing to the STUPIDLY FAKE carcasses in the STUPIDLY FAKE butchers.
My Dad smirks. But I do not see this. "Yep," he says.
"Wow."
I stare a bit more. The butcher catches my eye. He stares for a while. I eye him back.
It's been way too long now to look away.
"Don't worry love, these aren't real," he says, bashing one of the carcasses with his knife. It sounds reasonably plastic. It swings as he bashes it again.
"You
fuck," I hiss at my Dad.
I smile at the butcher politely. I then cease eye contact.
But it's too late. Dad has walked over. I reluctantly follow.
Butcher hands me the carcass. It is definitely plastic. And also
much smaller than a cow.
"Thanks for this," I say. Very red.
"Did you really think they were real?" Butcher says.
No.
Obviously I just felt like embarrassing myself because I don't do it OFTEN ENOUGH.
"I bet loads of people think they're real, don't they," my Dad says.
"Most of them aren't 22," I say, instantly regretting it.
Butcher stares at me. "I thought you were about 14," he says.
I huff.
Dad folds his arms.
I huff again and pick up some mince. Butcher wraps it for me.
"Don't worry," he says. "This is real."
Labels: blonde moments, Dad, embarrassing, Home
I am crouched on the floor of my bedroom, one hand deep into my rucksack. My hair is dripping went from the shower.
I rummage a bit more. Phone chargers can be so elusive.
Last week I lost the phone charger. It turned out to be in the plug where I left it but this is beside the point. It still made me tidy my room and swear a lot.
"Don't leave it in Birmingham," my Dad had said.
After all I was only going for one night and this would be a
stupid thing to do. And we all know I never do stupid things.
"Take it out of the
multi-block as soon as you're done using it," he had said.
I did this: phone finished, charger came back with me.
My hand grasps the phone charger at the bottom of my bag and I pull it out through the clothes and hair straighteners. Yes, plural.
I smirk, thinking how organised I've become.
I look at my hand.
I am holding a Glade
Plug in.
The phone charger remains in Birmingham.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, Home
A few pictures from the past few weeks.
I felt like a bit of an outpatient taking pictures of the blossom today. I have a hacking hacking cough and red eyes and arguably should not be outside. However I have regained my voice so not all bad.
Cold aside, a few of you have asked me whether I am okay. I am, I am just deciding how much of certain issues to reveal on the blog. It's a difficult balance to strike when one has to consider others' feelings. Bear with me. I will attempt to go back to flippant stupid blogs soon.
I'll start now actually:
My friend just revealed he KNOWS the girl from university challenge who I hate. She is on facebook! I think I might add her!
Labels: photos
The girl from University Challenge WHOM I HATE is on it again tonight as her and her ability to quote Julius Caesar has earnt her a place in the final.
So you can all watch in approximately one hour.
And then list the reasons here why you are seething.
(I would name her but I think this constitutes both indirect harassment and defamation. Suffice to say it'll be obvious)
Labels: Home
"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours." - The History Boys.
I cannot stress enough how true this is.
We are in Home Pub. It is comforting.
"Cooking was a nightmare," I say, referring to my Worst GCSE Grade.
"Why?" S says, sipping his pint. "Free choice every week. Make shortbread every week."
"I was not this smart," I say.
"It's true," C says, folding his arms. "I made fruit salan a lot. Chop banana. Add orange juice. And there you are."
"Sandwiches were easy," I say, watching a drop or water run down the side of my coke and onto the table.
"Sandwiches?" S says, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, did you not make sandwiches?"
"SANDWICHES?"
"Yes."
"Er, no, I was not in the remedial cooking class."
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, Home
Apple emailed back. In hindsight I was excessively grumpy and probably did not need to cite the Sale of Goods Act. And I don't suppose Apple care that I know this statute when I've been so crap with contract law revision otherwise...
Anyway I have a free song and a very long winded emailed which I think semi takes the piss out of the song I chose to download. Obviously I can't write what that was here because you would all take the piss too.
In other news, on watching University Challenge last night, I was Grumpy because:
1. There was a question about the LAWS of COPYRIGHT of Wilde's plays. You might say this is my niche area. I however made chimp faces at the screen, and, on misunderstanding the number of clauses in the question, said "An Ideal Husband" when the answer was "Lord Chamberlain."
2. A girl who has clearly never had her hair held back for her over a toilet on a night out managed to say "Julius Caesar" from "Which Shakespeare play contains the quote 'the storm-'". I mean for
FUCK'S SAKE. Shakespeare LOVED weather. She must have
cheated.
3. I realised that when one team is above the other, it is computer graphics. They do not sit above the other. And they do not use a ladder to get up there.
This is all.
Labels: blonde moments, grumbles, law
I am bored of EU law and feeling vindictive. Therefore just sent the following snotty email:
Dear Apple,I recently purchased my first itunes song. However the track skips and cuts off abruptly. I am sure you are aware this contravenes s14 Sale of Goods Act 1979 and I am therefore entiled to a refund and/or damages.I look forward to hearing from you.Kind regardsBillygean
I am feeling self-righteous and snobby and await their response within 24 hours. In the meantime I should probably revise in case they sue me.
Labels: law
We are in the garden having a barbecue. It is not quite warm enough.
"Nice sunset," I say, gesturing over the garage where the sun was hanging, a big orange globe above suburbia.
"Yes is weird and big," Doctor-sister says.
"Yes it does weird things sometimes."
"Like rise and set?"
"Yes." I pause. "Maybe you can help me," I say, indicating sister's-husband, a logical and organised accountant.
"What?" he says, putting his burger down.
"Please explain why the sun rises."
He looks a bit aghast. And then he folds his arms. And then he stares at the sky, despairing.
"Right," he says. "Because the earth's round."
I stare at him.
He thinks this solves it. I have had people DEMONSTRATING WITH TORCHES AND TENNIS BALLS and he thinks THIS explains it.My Dad spontaneously gets under the garden table. We all stare at him. "Can you see my head?" he says.
I roll my eyes. "I would understand if the sun came from the BOTTOM of the earth to the top. But it doesn't. It goes ROUND."
Sister's-husband stares at me.
"Actually, the sun goes round too."
"Round what?" I say, slowly putting my hot dog down in horror.
"The milky way."
Doctor-sister puts her head in her hands.
"What?"
"You know how the moon goes round the earth?" Sister's-husband says. "Well just imagine the sun is the moon and the earth is the galaxy."
I stare. For a long time. He goes inside.
"What the fuck?" I mutter to doctor-sister. "Oh I don't understand how the sun rises. So tell me it goes around the universe!"
She stares at the barbecue in silence.
"You don't understand do you," I say, in a moment of clarity.
"Sun goes up, sun goes down," she says.
"NOBODY UNDERSTANDS," I say. "It's just like equity."
"And immunology," she nods.
Labels: blonde moments
"Will the bank be open today?" I say to my dad as I wander into the kitchen.
I am unsure how he is going to cook lunch, for there are three computers in bits all over the sides.
"What day is it today?" he says, stopping filling the kettle to stare at me.
"It's the anniversary of our cat's death!"
He pauses. "Ye-es. And what day is that?"
"Good Friday," I say proudly. My religious knowledge is SO GOOD.
"And this is a...?"
"Bank Holiday," I say automatically.
He stares at me.
I make thoughtful faces.
He stares some more.
"
Ohhh," I say. "BANK holiday.
Ohhh."
He shakes his head. "There it is."
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
How to tell when you have been staring at a public law textbook for two long:
Whilst listening to Radiohead, you start to feel overly emotional about the demise of Parliamentary Sovereignty and even shed a tear.
Labels: embarrassing, grumbles
I stir the turkey (NOT CHICKEN) into the sauce.
I am at home now. Although still cooking, this is a less dangerous place for me to be. I will revise every day for 3 weeks and return to Birmingham not hungover or feeling guilty, with perfectly tidy notes and all the cases in my head.
Well, I can dream.
I walk over to the cupboard and try and locate rice amongst my Dad's stashes of cookies. There is no rice.
I walk upstairs where he is wiring my computer up.
"No rice," I say.
"Oh no there's definitely rice," he says, albeit vaguely.
We walk back downstairs and he pulls a beaten packet out of the back of a cupboard.
"Is beef rice ok?" he says.
I stare at the fragrant thai curry and back to the bright red beef flavoured rice.
"We can do beef rice," I say.
It's nice to be back with someone exactly like me.
Labels: Dad
Right then.
After all my good work with the washing machine and the hoovering and the
functioning, I have poisoned myself with my own chicken.
Came home from pub with the sole purpose of lying on the bathmat.
Did this for half an hour.
Had sip of water.
Did it for another half an hour.
If I EVER get through these exams, I am getting myself a fucking cook.
Labels: grumbles
"I am DOING WASHING," I say, marching into the kitchen. "This is a Big Deal."
You can totally tell when I'm talking in capital letters.
Kirsty eyes me. "Do you need a hand?" she says, gently. "You're like a duckling who needs to be taught things."
I refrain from rolling my eyes. For she is right.
"Right, what do I do again?" I say.
"Fabric conditioner here," she says. I pour obediently. "Now get powder."
I reach into the cupboard and brandish
a perfect square of Bold two in one.
It instantly crumbles.
I try to catch it.
It goes down my bra. And all over the floor.
I stare at
Kirsty, who is silently pissing herself.
I huff and sweep up the powder. I silently decant it into the powder drawer.
And it is at this point I realise that we had ant powder over the floor too. Which is now nicely mixed in with my washing.
You can't win them all, can you?
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
