Month: September 2009

“Ladies and… oh.”

On By brosencrantzIn Uncategorised5 Comments

Orrible snoffy snout tobay. Coodn’t sleep and snuffle all the time. Bluhh.

Spent the morning making up for failed attempts at sleep with surliness, TF2 and reading about 17th century misery, then hopped on my bike and whizzed down to the Arts block for the War Studies induction thing. Found myself sitting with two guys about my age, a chinbearded American in his mid-twenties and a considerably older man called Dave who was now doing this, his third degree, for fun at the end of a long and interesting-sounding career. We chatted, found common ground in WW2 interests and dislike of clubbing, and wondered “is this it? thought there’d be more”, upon which Dr Snape came in, attended by a platoon of first years.

This is the War Studies class of 2012: twenty-three white males, all but two (Dave and the American fellow) around my age, all but two (the American and a Parisian called Balthasar) from England, and the South of England at that. The broad demographic appeal of BA War Studies L252 is astounding.

Dr Snape, defiantly not hook-nosed, sallow-skinned or black-haired, told us much which made sense and was of use and a few things which had me somewhat alarmed, mostly that regarding module selection (which he had been told worked one way and we had been told worked another). Hopefully I will be getting both the Modern modules which I asked for, but asking around indicates that just about everyone wanted them too – sorry, medieval history professors, but you just can’t beat this much gunpowder. He seems a thoroughly good egg, although he did, sadly, use the world “proactive” without irony.
(As a sidenote: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d0/Europe_map_1648.PNG This, hopefully, is my period. Doesn’t it look fun?)

The introduction was briefly interrupted for a message from our spiritual sponsors, the Historical Society. There was a second year history student, the only female in the room, who fumbled wetly through a sales pitch for an e-newsletter to general apathy, but she was accompanied by a large, weathered, ponytailed fellow who spoke in a glorious voice and with some passion about the importance of joining the association, history in his view being “squeezed from the curriculum” and “perverted and distorted by those who seek to gain capital from its misrepresentation”. I’m sold. How do I shot cheque?

Got my timetables. They seem to clash with what’s on the eventually-located War Studies noticeboards. I would ask my tutor, the fantastically named Caterina Bruschi, but I haven’t met her yet and she hasn’t posted a date for such on her noticeboard.

Must tune up my laptop if I’m intent on actually getting any use out of it. The restoration of my Firefox settings and the tedious process of getting Word 07 to start in the way I want it to cannot be ignored, and I must also try to find something useful on the impenetrable Birmingham Wireless page (which I can only connect to on my desktop, as the wired connection on my laptop needs modem drivers which I got from Acer but don’t seem to be working. Hurrrrr.)

Tried the free Angel Delight the Asda hookers gave me. It tasted of pink. Okay for free, but I would not pay money for it. Also, om nom nom delicious baked potatoes and tuna and sweetcorn. This is the life, this is.

today’s expenditures: £1.69, dericious milk.

but I got this old rifle that my grandaddy owned

On By brosencrantzIn Uncategorised3 Comments

On Monday, nothing happened; on Tuesday, we had a power cut which has only just been resolved. I’m seeing a lot of our Maintenance Man, and when he does come problems get resolved in short order. I just wish he’d arrive a little faster.

I was under the impression that the Fresher’s Fair thing held at the Students’ Guild (far too posh to be a Union – and looks it, compared to the basic misery of Bristol’s union) involved student societies, or, well, anything of genuine interest to me. I was horribly disappointed. All it was was “services”, social networks, insurance and suchlike hawking themselves in a vain effort to get my money and/or contact details, and as one of the first into the marquee, heavily outnumbered by brand prostitutes, I was treated to a never-ending stream of them. The only one I actually went for deliberately was the police, for computer-hiding and bike-parking advice, although Asda gave me a nice pack of various instant foods and details of bargains, and would be almost guaranteed to have my custom were they not miles and miles away.

There are no wireless connections anywhere in Tennis Courts, instead we get one (deliciously fast for free, disturbingly fast for money) wire per room; am considering buying a wireless router to stick into my wire and charging folks in my block for the key to cover the costs of the hardware and the better connection I’d have to buy along with it, with the margin going to the Shiny Things Fund. Unsure if this is commercially viable, and/or if the uni frowns on this sort of exploitative entrepreneurism on its own land. Must investigate further.

Applied online for various term-time jobbish things (teaching assistant, proofreading, home tutor). The prospect of actually working for the Guild was an intriguing one, but they required both expertise and willingness for the positions of cleaner, bouncer, technician or marketing puke, the last of which’s job description included “promote accredited properties to students” and “bring awareness of the Guild brand to new tenants”. As far as I’m concerned this is only one step up from leveraging my information-based competencies synergistically in an agile working environment, and is out.

I went to Cadbury World. It was… impressively chocolatey. I made friends with an Indonesian chemical engineer called Charles.

There was a fire or other fire-brigade-requiring incident at Shackleton on Saturday. Monday, at Mason. These form a pattern sweeping along the long line of the Vale Village, and my hall is next in the line. So if this is the very last letter I post, fortify Pritchatts Park.

I had a nightmare about being hunted by Hans Landa of Inglourious Basterds. Even creepier, the action mainly took place in a dream-construct that looked like my secondary school, populated by my primary school teachers. Based on their constant encouragement, I eventually decided to stand up to him (?!), and woke with the MP40s chattering in my ears.

Monday was overcast. Every other day I’ve been here has felt like high summer. I could get used to this.

bring your little black bag with the medicines in, the crank and the tranq and the peni-cilli-cin

On By brosencrantzIn Uncategorised8 Comments

Communal washing up this morning, the gradual spread of gear into other cupboards and a cutlery drawer reshuffle all confirming developing “mi cutler es su cutler” mentality (and the place is clean, too!). As soon as I can be sure this extends to pots and pans, I’m on Easy Street, Edgbaston. Everyone is making much use of my kettle, though, so well within my rights.

Picked up my ID card from the reception at Shackleton; various forms demanded various codes, paperwork and identification, but when I actually got there clutching my folder, all I was asked for was a number and my face. Unfortunately they were taking pictures right there and my hair decided to go twiddly at a critical moment so I am forever doomed to have an ID cart with a freakish little curl poking out of the top of my head. Such is life.

After the failure of stir fry, decided to fall back on good simple meat & potatoes, unfortunately I didn’t have any. So, shopping trip, via a quick “where exactly is Sainsbury’s” look at Google Maps. Decision to bring bike completely vindicated. The roads here are slow and horribly congested (a home away from home) but the pavements are broad and the pedestrians’ reflexes good. It’s uphill most of the way to the Selly Oak shopping sprawl, and not an inconsiderable distance, but there’s a Halfords, a Sainsbury’s, an Aldi and a variety of other large shops, and I then get to sail downhill with my new goodies.

Bought what looked like about £30 worth of shopping (and felt like an average value of about 75p to the kg) and was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a mere £13.48. Am noting down all expenses on my PDA, as this makes me think twice about a purchase. Also grabbed a set of Allen keys for £4.99 at Halfords, which turned out to be a mistake as the important bits of my bike are so rusted and crusted that it’s impossible to turn anything; I’d better get some oil or something next time I’m around there.

Ran into a bike-mounted University guard at a crossing where I needed to stop, and the screech of my brakes prompted an anguished look followed by a few minutes of helpful advice. As he suggested, I scrubbed down the rims and brakeblocks of my front wheel with soapy water to clear off the grease and grime and allow the blocks more purchase. If I notice a significant difference, the back wheel is next.

Off to cook dinner and flapjack! …in someone else’s utensils.

Birmingham, Day One

On By brosencrantzIn Uncategorised2 Comments

(This being the first of a number of emails I am sending home, which form a diary written first for myself, second for my parents, and third for anyone else who cares to read it.)

Flatmates and block randomers thoroughly nice; much conversation and positive comments re flapjack, which has now almost run out. Also they like my tea, despite ineffectual tea-strainer resulting in icky dregs. Can you get aftermarket internal strainers for teapots or something?
Flat electric hob deeply, utterly useless for stir frying. Attempt at dinner an embarrassing, prolonged failure resulting in prized ingredients being reduced to crunchy, undercooked stew or essentially uncooked, even after allowing it to heat up for ages beforehand. Internet recommends installing gas (unlikely), getting a flat-bottomed wok (a shame) or learning to cook properly; alternative suggestions would be welcome. Two others have woks so we are likely to either arrive at a shared solution or a shared problem to complain about, either of which is likely to bring us closer together although the first would obviously be preferable. Appear not to have packed teaspoons, but everyone else has lots of things and I am sure we will shortly have a general agreement on the sharing of utensils, allowing me to cook properly on the awful hob. Have already fixed one computer problem for Rose next door, beginning to build reputation as Indispensible Tech Support Nerd.

All is well with the world.

a september snow is upon us… and on such a warm day, no less

On By brosencrantzIn UncategorisedLeave a comment

-(This is a good line.)-
D’Erlanger looked up. Motara was surveying one of the berms that bounded the endless Falgar paddy-fields, posing dramatically, as if the dead epistler’s camera was still on him. It looked like every other berm they’d seen in the last fifty kay of retreat, a big, long, flat, pointless ridge of red earth standing between one poxy puddle of crops and the next. The column’s heavy transports and armour were parked along the one he was sitting on, huge and white and still. Small arms cracked in the middle distance.
He turned back to his lap, ignoring the old fool Q’orray. There were twenty-nine hammer rounds lying in the mud-stiff fabric of his tunic. There had been twenty-nine rounds there the first time he had counted them, and every time since. That answer did not please him. He started counting again.
Sarjane walked over, her visor up. Power was too scarce to use the eslinks when you didn’t have to. “Technicians reckon transport four’s a bust. We’re blowing it.”
“They took three hours to tell us this?”
Sarjane shrugged. “It would have been worth it if they’d managed to get the wheels spinning. As it is, your team gets to carry a nice heaping helping of fifth-cal. Reckon they can handle ten rounds apiece?”
“Yeah. Wish it was thirtieth-cal.” He indicated the pathetic clutch of munitions in his lap.
“Wish for some air support while you’re at it.”
He started thumbing the gleaming rounds back into his murderer’s magazine, and only then noticed his superior was drenched in fresh blood.
D’Erlanger raised an eyebrow. “Woman troubles?”
“Ain’t mine,” said Sarjane, not laughing. “Some stats were hiding in one of the shacks. One had a grenade. What the shit’s going on here?”
D’Erlanger nodded towards Motara, still striking a pose with his hand shading his head-eyes. “He likes the mud here.”
-(We can make a stand here.)-
Sarjane didn’t even bother. “Supply promised me a drop as soon as we get onto hard ground. Nobody’s slept in days and the stimulants are running out. So is the ammo, so is the fuel. We stop here, we die by inches.”
Motara’s grasp of spoken languages was shaky even when he was trying to understand. Now, he wasn’t even listening. -(Look. Auxiliaries along the parapet. Dismounted guns at intervals. It’s a ready-made line. Stop the transports in the field behind, hull down, use the fifth-cals for support. We could hold out for relief.)-
Sarjane looked at the berm for no more than five seconds. “If you want to make a stand here, you’d best know you’re going to die alone.”
Motara’s response was cut off by a rolling blast that made the rice stalks all shiver together. Pillars of smoke rose from what was left of transport four. The other vehicles were powering up, their huge fat wheels slithering in the red mud.
D’Erlanger slotted the magazine back into his murderer, shouldered it, and set off wearily towards them.