Further witterings of the Hamster

Ack, tis a sorry state of affairs. The fact that I update this so infrequently, and the fact that I have seemingly so little inclination to do so, is a sad testament to the fact that being a grown-up is just not as much fun as being a student.

Ah well.

Nik and I went out for dinner yesterday, and (demonstrating one of the ways in which being a grown-up can be more fun than being a student, at least if you're an actuary) spent approximately four times our weekly food budget on a single meal. I kept looking at the price of my steak and thinking, 'That's two and a half veg boxes! Preposterous!' However, I suppose, the veg box doesn't come with truffle sauce. EVERYTHING on the menu came with truffle sauce (seemingly - one thing came with lentils, so that restricted my options). And it was by far the best food in Wokingham, by quite some way. (I did wonder how Italians have the energy to be so enthusiastic about sex, though, if they eat like that all the time. Maybe it's just an act. Or maybe they normally eat pasta and fresh, seasonal vegetables and go easy on the steak.)

I'm currently in the middle of transcribing some DULL financial conference about complaints. Dull, dull, dull, though marginally more fun than the one about financial regulations. Yawn. I really have to go out and get some bits for my dressmaking course, but I'm so tired (woke up at 5 for some reason) I don't know if I can face going to Bracknell this evening, let alone compos mentis enough to operate a sewing machine. While I don't want to start unmitigatedly slagging off Bracknell, as that's far too much of a cliche, it is one of those places that is designed for cars, and is thus impossible to navigate your way round on foot. My first week at the college, I tried to follow the footpath that went in the right direction, and ended up getting shunted round a deserted shopping centre and trying every exit in a labyrinthine underpass in the middle of a roundabout. And, of course, it being designed for cars, nobody else is walking. I never felt particularly unsafe, there were no gangs of youths leering threateningly from doorways, but there was nobody around to ask directions from. Bah. Nearly finished my skirt though. Need a pattern to start next week now (or tonight, if I can drag my weary carcass to John Lewis, back again and out to BRacknell, having done a respectable amount of work).

Parents coming this weekend, sans chien this time. Not that the chien was a particular problem, but we have got bacon curing all over the kitchen, so perhaps it's best she's not sleeping by it. (Yes, my food-buying obsessiveness led me to buy half a pig from the butcher at the farmer's market. We got very funny looks carrying the crate between us through the streets of suburbia. We had the most divine pork chops the other day... and can have them again... and again.... and again..... and again.... till next year! Nik thought we'd been swizzled and been given a whole pig instead of a half, but seeing as we were only charged for a half, it would be the world's worst swizzle...) Have no idea what we're going to do with them. Last time we all got horribly worked up about going to dinner with Nik's family and spent the entire afternoon stressing over a cake, but I don't think any of us is ready to go through that again, so we may be on that never-ending search for entertainment that is far enough away from Wokingham to be interesting, but near enough that my poor beleagured parents, who will be sandwiched between days involving hours spent on the M-sodding-1, won't balk at the idea of travelling to it. Hmm.

Anyhow, must press on with the dull financial conference. A particularly camp bloke is explaining how retired actuaries are really annoying. Yes, I know, but I need to keep body and soul together and all that. Hohumm.

Wrestling with the tax office and a treadle machine

Oof, have just rung the tax office. Been putting it off for... well, until about a week before they'd fine me for not having told them I'm self-employed! And, as ever, the chap on the end of the phone was very helpful, not at all scary and it was all fiiiiine. Don't know why I get so worked up about dealings with the Tax Office - I always get in a tizz and put it off for ages and ages, and then it's never as bad as I think! I shall let that be a lesson....

Been rather busy with work after a downturn over January, when I sorted out all the cupboards in the kitchen and various other worthy and boring things like that. Got called in to do an emergency eleventh-hour translation by the rubbish agency who have never given me any work before (I'm basically so unmarketable as a translator that I've given up responding to their emails), which required me to get up at six in the morning and do it in 'real time' online so someone could proof-read it simultaneously. I felt somewhat naked, sharing my rather idiosyncratic work processes with total strangers who might be judging me and my warped brain.

Still plodding away with my dressmaking course, though, have to pin and press the hem of my skirt for tomorrow and then I should be able to finish it off, with a bit of help. The sewing machine is almost working - I had it at the stage where the mechanism was fine, but I couldn't thread it, and now Nik's mum has shown me how to thread it, and something seems to have gone wrong with the belt.... Grrrr......

The veg box sent us a mixed fruit and veg box instead of just a veg box, which means no sprouting broccoli (one of my favourite vegetables) and a surfeit of bananas this week. Hohumm.

Anyhoo, have hemming and shopping to get on with. I'm having a 'freelancer's weekend' today. We've run out of almost all dry goods imaginable, and I feel rather vulnerable not having a well-stocked cupboard. There might be a nuclear holocaust or something.

Campaign for a free range future

Now, I don't often do this any more. Most food rants are kept on my secret hippie blog nowadays, so you don't have to read me moaning on about raw milk or muddy vegetables, but this is very, very important, so I want you to pay close attention.

If you click on the link above you will be taken to the Chicken Out! campaign website, where you can find out the horrendous facts about the life of a battery chicken. Chickens are supposed to live outdoors, scratching around in the dust and pecking at things on the ground and suchlike. Y'know, normal chickeny things. That's what chickens like doing.

Instead, because we demand cheap animal protein and the supermarkets want to sell us whole chickens for £2 or packs of anaemic chicken breasts for under a fiver, hundreds of chickens, bred to be genetically obese, are crammed into broiler houses, forced to live in spaces smaller than a piece of A4 paper each, reared to slaughter weight in around 39 days - about half the time of an organic chicken.

Chickens that die during the 39 days are just left in the cages until the others go off to slaughter, and many of them do die, because they can't get to their food or water.

Also, have you ever seen a chicken with those black marks on its legs, like the one in the picture? Those are called hock burns, and they are a result of ammonia - i.e. because of the chicken walking around in its own droppings.

If you want more information, Compassion in World Farming have a good page here.

Your personal views on meat are probably varied and diverse (and I would love to talk about them more if you want to leave a comment or email me), but I firmly believe that if we have decided it's okay to eat an animal, we owe it to that animal to make sure it has as good a life as possible and is as happy and healthy as it can be.

Free range (or ideally organic) chicken is more readily available than ever, and it does cost more, which can be offputting, but that cost reflects the fact that they cost more to produce - because they are raised more humanely - and the superior quality of the meat.

If money is an issue, buy chickens whole (ask your butcher to joint them if you prefer) as you get much better value for money that way - Nik and I bought an organic, free range chicken for only £8.50 the other week, and roasted it (2 portions), made a risotto (2 portions) and made 3 lots of curry to freeze (6 portions), then made stock from the carcass (easy as pie - in fact easier, cos pastry's a faff, while bunging some chicken bones, an onion and a carrot and some herbs in a pan is dead simple), enabling me to make 3 lots of soup/risotto/stew (i.e. another 6 portions of something else). That's 85p a portion, not including the stock, or slightly more than 50p a portion if you count the stock. I am more than happy to post lots of recipes for risotto/casserole/curry if you like.

So, please, go the the Chicken Out! website, watch Hugh's Chicken Run on the 8th, 9th and 10th of January at 9 p.m. on C4 (and Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay when they're on as well), and, please, sign the petition, but remember that signing the petition is a completely, utterly, totally empty gesture, unless you think next time you're in the poultry aisle at the supermarket, and buy free range instead of that 'oh-so-tempting' £2 bird.

I would love you to sign the petition, and I would love you to leave me a comment saying that you've signed it, but I would love it even more if you promise me you are never, ever going to buy a battery chicken again. (Unless you're a vegetarian, in which case it's irrelevant, and you probably care deeply about animal welfare already and only buy free range eggs anyway.) If you feel even slightly uncomfortable at the thought of battery chickens, don't be a hypocrite - remember that you can make the choice to buy something else.


Next week: what the .tv suffix has to do with global warming.

In which the Hamster descends further into middle age

Dear lord, I feel frightfully grown up!

And also frightfully cold. Am sitting here typing with fingerless mittens on and feeling like I should be being more organised about Christmas. I think one of the signs of being an adult is that you no longer look forward to Christmas with unadulterated excitement but also start to dread it. I refuse to go that far, but signs of the 'it's such a faff' feeling are starting to make themselves felt.

Mostly because I unfortunately succumbed to Nik's cold this week. I had felt myself coming down with it last week and successfully fought it off, and went round feeling smug and waxing lyrical about the healing powers of echinacea, zinc, onion soup and sheer bloody-mindedness. I was then cruelly struck down last weekend, limped through to my deadline, decided I would be healthy on Tuesday and do all the things that needed to be done (ordering Christmas decoration kits from ebay, putting finishing touches to presents, learning how to do ribbing so I can make gloves and hats etc, writing cards, buying paint and making the cheapie recycled brown paper I'm wrapping things in more exciting, etc etc) and felt distinctly unhealthy on Tuesday after all. My eyes were streaming, as per usual, and I couldn't actually see to focus on anything long enough to read, knit, write cards, cross stitch, look at the computer etc etc and consequently I spent the day either in a foul mood or asleep.

On Wednesday, I dragged myself to London very much against my better judgement to put in an appearance at the Sustain Christmas party. After a couple of glasses of local, organic cider in a plastic container that could be returned to the producer, I suddenly felt much better, and found myself on the penultimate train home and crawling into bed at 1 a.m. with extremely cold feet.

Yesterday I had a 1950s housewife day, and made carrot cake and used up one of the peculiar joints that we got when we ordered half a lamb. This required excessive quantities of stuffing and slow roasting to make it palatable. I also boned it out myself, which made me feel very thrifty, esp as am now going to make stock! My hero, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, had a very exciting looking recipe, but it involved storing things overnight in jam jars, so I refrained from going down that road.

My garden is full of pigeons and a grey squirrel. Vile, southern, urban wildlife. Had a fox once, too, that came right up to the window. Have pathological fear of urban foxes, creepy unnatural things that they are. Foxes should not be that tame!

Also had a robin once. I can deal with that! Am quite pleased, in theory, that despite being paved over my garden can still be part of a wildlife corridor. I wonder if I can encourage 'good' wildlife without encouraging ugly, scroungy things though...

Maybe I should write to 'Feedback'...

Oh, oh, oh, PEOPLE! The reason I listen to Radio 4 at 2 a.m. is because I can't sleep. While I am really very sad that Stockhausen died, broadcasting a tribute to him at that time is not very conducive to sleep and restfulness!!!

Urgh, it's only 8 a.m. Why am I up so early on a Saturday?

Cross stitch, carbon footprints and Broadmoor

Right, I am going to get into the habit of updating this again, even though my life is really boring, because Rob just reminded me that he actually reads this and now I feel bad. If you read this too, I promise to write more random drivel to distract you from work/study.

So, what have I done that isn't really boring.....?

I made a massive cross stitch sampler for my parents' wedding anniversary, which you can see on the right. Their anniversary was in September and I finished it last week.... Ahem....

I have booked myself onto a dressmaking course for next term, so I can learn how to use my beautiful new sewing machine. Hurrah.

I have made excellent progress on my Sustain project today. Need to chase a few more people, but am feeling more confident that I'll get it done for Christmas.

I calculated my carbon footprint tonight, on the government website thingy. We're doing pretty well, given as we're renting and aren't allowed to faff around with solar panels, switch electricity suppliers or bung fluffy stuff in the loft. I can't believe we did so well compared with the national average. Who are these people who actually boil a full kettle of water just for one cup or leave their mobile charger plugged in? Do they really exist?

Work is going well. I quite enjoy getting to sit around arranging words on a page all day, and I have a far wider range of good quality teas than any office. (Except maybe if I worked at Whittard's...) I think it's making me a bit agoraphobic, though. Or a sociopath. I don't know if it's my inner anti-consumerist reacting to the time of year, but I find going out a less and less attractive prospect.... Hmm. There is the Sustain party next week which I am looking forward to. Anyone else's office party sounds dire, though! I think it's partly to do with my insomnia earlier in the year. I managed to 'cure' it by getting into a bedtime routine, but the trade-off is that when I want to stay up later, I can't, so I'm pretty rubbish at anything exciting and eveningy...

Oh, and I found out what the air-raid siren is. It isn't an air-raid siren (or it is, but it doesn't mean there's an air-raid), it's the escape alarm at Broadmoor! They test it every Monday at 10. If you go here you can read lots of people's memories of it going off. All the schools have specific procedures to follow in the event of an escape. Pretty scary stuff.... Oh, I do like being smug and telling people I've been inside!

Another moment of perplexity

Cor, there's some odd stuff available on ebay. Why on earth would anyone buy bright orange curtains?

So, to summarise the last month

Gaaaah, sorry, have been absolutely terrible at updating recently. Apologies.

Well, to summarise the last month...

The house is very cold. I've been running round it periodically doing crazy energy-saving measures. We have tinfoil behind the radiators, scrunched up newspaper up the chimney, a draught-excluder lying in wait ready to trip over anyone who comes in the door...

Employment prospects are looking better. With any luck (assuming I haven't screwed up the test!) I should be doing some freelance report-writing, transcripts and possibly translation, and eventually might get to be official translation hander-outer-er. But let's not get carried away. This is, incidentally, all thanks to my cousin. Nepotism and telecommuting, that's what we like! I now have to tidy the study, but this is preferable to working in an ethically questionable organisation as I thought I'd otherwise have to.

Wokingham has gone down in my estimation. Previously, I used say in a rather droll, slightly tongue-in-cheek fashion, 'oh, the only thing it has going for it is the salsa dancing classes'. They've recently moved the salsa dancing classes to Twyford, and I've decided I want to move to London, so perhaps the was something in it.

Meh. I want to live in the middle of London or the middle of nowhere. Suburbia sucks.

Foodie project goes well. Have been talking to some very helpful and some rather obstreperous catering managers, and very much enjoying working in an office where people talk about things like the Soil Assoc report on imported organic food, and where there are 400 varieties of coffee in the fridge!

Am also becoming even more middle aged. Spent ages on Wednesday trying to tidy the garden up, as it was covered in weeds and depressing me. Looking much clearer now, but I did manage to lock myself out of the house without any shoes on. Oops.

Randomness

Ooh, how scary. There's just been what sounds like an air raid siren going off. I wondered if it was the four-minute warning, and was briefly confronted with the terrifying possibility that I might die, unemployed, playing spider solitaire in my pyjamas at 10 o'clock.

So, yes, the summer was fun, Portugal was fun, the house is nice and now mostly furnished, and I'm still unemployed. I did work briefly as a battery chicken, but then had a spectacular bout of career indecision, burnt my boats (it was boring as hell, but at least it paid), subsequently decided I didn't want to be a speech therapist after all, but have ended up working (sporadically) with people with learning disabilities in order to become one, which doesn't pay well and isn't very regular, and nobody else wants to employ me.

Bugger.

There's a few things I'm waiting to hear about, though, and I have a very exciting internship, so it's not all doom and gloom. I just feel like I've moved to some provincial backwater to sponge off my boyfriend, which defies all my feminist principles. It's also rather depressing not knowing anyone or having anything to do a lot of the time. Meh.

Ah well. Am keeping myself occupied baking and cross stitching and stuff, which I'll doubtless miss tremendously as soon as I am working. Anyway, I have to go and collect a drill from someone so I can continue with my plan to grow spinach in a box, so I shall have to leave this here. Probably just as well, no-one wants to read my self-indulgent moaning!

"Nothing suppresses the exercise of conscience as effectively as the words, 'Buy one get one free'."

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

Argh!

I was minutes away from telling a prospective employer that I have excellent 'communicational skills'.

Young people these days!

Blimmin' 'eck, what's with all this Facebook/proctors/trashing malarky? I've had about 400 emails from OUSU in the last few days, blatantly up in arms about the whole thing, but I can't really see why. We get countless emails and letters from the proctors, right through Trinity term, saying that we're not allowed to throw disgusting things at people and that we shouldn't do it - I hardly believe anyone hurling octopodes on Queen's Lane hasn't heard yet. I suppose it's possible there are a few muppets out there who haven't yet realised that Facebook is public and lots of people have access to your personal details, but, honestly, anyone who persists in this so-called tradition* knows full well that it's against the rules, and if your misguided sense of humour and/or anarchy leads you to break them and you subsequently get caught, then I fail to see why anyone should feel morally indignant about it.



*Do you know how they really used to celebrate finishing Finals in the old days? They used to go and sit in the quad with a bottle of sherry, and invite their tutors.

I repeat, July my arse

Changed my mind, don't want to move to Berkshire anymore, it's all underwater. Think I'll stay up north, where there's lots of hills.

(Picture from BBC)


Damn global warming...

Whinge, whinge, whinge...

Wish it would stop bloody raining.

July my arse.

"Dignity is the one thing that can't be preserved in alcohol"

I'm supposed to be applying for jobs. Two admin jobs on the Reading Uni website finish this week and I would be more than happy to do either of them. Just put off by the scary form-filling. What's quite annoying is that I have actually been offered a job, but it's in Oxford, and it's teaching, so can't/won't do it.

Meh.

When I'm prime minister, I would pass a law that all jobs are to be applied for by means of CV and covering letter only, none of these stupid 10-page forms.


In other news....
We have the house!! Hurrah!!

Went down on Friday to visit the only house left on our list (all the others had gone during the week) and both really liked it. Cue a weekend of nailbiting while we waited to hear if the landlord was happy to take us with a guarantor (in absentia job and salary) , but the agency called first thing today and said yes!!

It's so, so cool and I'm massively excited about it. It's a wee Victorian terrace, two-up two-down, with a funky wooden staircase and a kitchen at the back of the house (gas hob!!). It's really light and airy, fortunately there aren't any hideous carpets or curtains we have to put up with, and there's a long, thin garden (all patio) where we can have barbecues. It's unfurnished, which is a pain, esp as we have to find a fridge and a washing machine from somewhere, but various family members seem to be keen to push furniture off on us, so we'll probably get useful things (like a bed and a sofa) from Nik's mum, and a handful of old clocks and ornaments from my antique-collector of a grandfather. My dad has promised to buy me some pots as a moving-in present, so I can start growing herbs and vegetables and things. Hurrah. Have also acquired Gaby's slow cooker which I am extremely pleased about.

Had a lovely last few days. Incredibly washed out barbecue on Saturday, which saw me and Jo holding umbrellas over the barbecues while Nik heroically flipped burgers, and a bunch of incredibly damp people huddled in the boathouse. Inspired by the relative dryness of Sunday, I dragged Nik, Catherine, Rob and Mairi to Minster Lovell (on the suggestion, two years ago, of my mother) which was an incredibly cool ruined hall near Witney. Aside from getting rather lost and the unsuitably-clad Catherine stepping in a cowpat, it was a most successful expedition. I also have a new contender for 'oddest utterance ever':

"I'm not following you. I've got some crayfish in a bag and they're trying to escape. You see, my dog just learnt to swim today."

This was from a lady at Minster Lovell whose numerous tanned children were splashing around in the stream. I want to be the kind of cool parent who lets their kids do that kind of thing (though don't want to engage strangers in peculiar conversations).

I'll post some photos of the day out and the house tomorrow.

Today, Nik took various bits of paperwork to the estate agents en route to home, and I've been faffing about filling in job applications. Actually, I've filled in one (my target was three), though the other Reading one should be easier now I've done the boring bits of the form and only have to write the 'why I'm fab' bit. I always agonise over them, and then get into it right at the end and write something utterly preposterous and arse-licking. I have, however, started packing. My room is full of boxes and piles of things and I'm missing a teaspoon, a glass and a plate. Damn communal kitchens.

Crikey!

"The alleged phenomenon of the Bridezilla spawned numerous newspaper articles that recounted her exploits with gleeful censure. There was one bride who demanded that her attendants all colour their hair the same shade of blonde; another who procured a swatch of the purple wallpaper from the hotel suite in which she would be spending her wedding night so her florist could find blooms that were an exact match; and another who insisted, before a barefoot beach wedding, that her husband's groomsmen all endure a pedicure."

...

"Thanks to the inspiration of Gerety - who never herself married - the imperative for a diamond engagement ring is today so well established that current De Beers' marketing campaigns have focused not simply upon the necessity of a diamond, but the necessity of a really, really big diamond. (One recent US advertisement shows a large stone and a smaller one side by side, with the caption under the smaller reading, "Where'd you get that diamond?" while the caption under the larger reads, "Where'd you get that man?") The convention that a man should spend two months' salary on his bride's ring was also created by the jewellery industry, and the De Beers website, adiamondisforever.com, provides a handy calculator for figuring out two months' salary from an annual wage, helpful for any would-be groom who can't divide by six. (Where'd you get that man, indeed.)"

From The Guardian.

Shiny, happy people holding champagne...

Right.

Time for a proper update I think, since I now have some time.

Well, finals were... finals happened. All my diligently colour-coordinated linguistics notes were utterly redundant as none of the papers had any questions on anything I knew about and I had to blag extensively. My supposedly best literature paper was rubbish, again no questions on anything I knew about, and it's easier to blag based on prelims/general knowledge of linguistics than it is when you haven't read any texts for a literature topic!! The three papers I had been most afeared of were actually the ones I felt went best - special authors, syntax and language essay. Though syntax would have been dire had Holly and I not learnt one side of lecture notes that was then expanded into the basis of an entire essay for both of us!! And I hope whoever marks my language essay is Belgian...

Anyway, after two weeks of exams, long cycle rides, sleep deprivation and patronising such fine establishments as Mamma Mia, the Dew Drop and the Summertown Wine Cafe on a regular basis, finals were over. Nik and Catherine gallantly trekked up north to meet me. Catherine brought some lovely flowers that smell gorgeous and made my room look pretty. Nik sprayed champagne in my eyes and I spent my first ten minutes of freedom hopping around outside M&S going 'Argh! Aaargh! I can't see!' Catherine went off to play squash with Mairi and Nik and I went to have lunch at the Oak (whose burgers are AMAZING) and we then all met up again in Chequers, Thomas arrived, I went to choir, I came home and collapsed in a sleepy heap and listened to the News Quiz and then dragged a posse of lovely people to the Grand Cafe for cheap cocktails. Hurrah.

I spent the weekend pottering. I like pottering. I made dinner for people on Saturday: chicken cacciatore (?sp), quite successful. I really want a Le Creuset casserole now. More than anything in the world. (I wanted one before, but I want one even more now I've borrowed Pete's.) My friends are heroic washer-uppers. Thank you! Sunday was Catherine's birthday and she was being flautatious for most of the day, but had a girly cream tea at the Rose and more cocktails at the Grand Cafe.

Incidentally, I thought I was doing so well not getting very worked up about finals. Since finishing, I realise that while I never had extreme moments of tension, I've been carrying around a residual level of tension for some time and I've been horribly antisocial and grumpy and not really been aware of it. Anyway, I'm very sorry and will now endeavour to be sunny and cheerful.

Last night was Schools Dinner and I was extremely cheerful, in large part thanks to the vast quantities of wine I consumed, and also because everyone's so lovely, all the other linguists, all our tutors. Lord, I'm getting soppy in my old age! But, meh, we all felt a bit soppy, and we got an email from Prof. Pearson this morning thanking us for our gifts (among which a pen with 'I [heart] Mallarme' on it!!) and I did have a bit of a cry. Also, never would have guessed in first year that I'd end up happily sitting with Mrs Williams discussing where babies come from!! And that was when I was relatively sober! There weren't too many questions about what on earth the void of the future will be filled with (everyone tactfully asked what we were doing 'in the summer') and Ruth very firmly told me that my woolly liberal desire to do something socially useful is 'not vague and not naive'. Hurrah! I extolled the virtues of facebook to Prof. Pearson and Ruth, thanked Charlie (the German tutor) 'for letting me in in the first place, even if I defected', went to Escape with Francois and stayed up till 4 a.m. eating cake and talking about god knows what. Apologies if I talked bollocks at anyone! And you're all a lovely bunch. I will make you another cake soon!

Hmm, maybe I should change my MSN from 'us linguists is working terrible hard' to something more appropriate.

I refer you to facebook for more photos!

Between now and the end of 9th week I am going to:

• go to the History of Science museum
• go to the Natural History/Pitt Rivers museum
• go to Blenheim Palace
• go to Minster Lovell
• go for a couple of long walks in the Cotswolds
• get some shoes for the ball
• make more lists
  
• read some more books FOR FUN and FOR THE PLOT

Anyone who wants to be included in any of the above (except the books one, cos I get territorial and solitary when reading) please contact me in some way!

I just filled in my vac res application form and had to write 'n/a' in the 'I would like to come into residence' section.

Happiness

Finals are over and 'I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue' is back on the radio.

Hurrah.

Typical...

Only on a French website, could you search for a casserole dish and be offered the DVD of 'Chicken Run'.

Shock horror!