Things I Thought I Knew

Yes, this is me approximately nineteen years ago. Apart from the sickening feeling in my stomach that arises when I consider that fact there there was a point in my life that I can say was more than nineteen years ago, this is I think quite a sweet image.

That is until I think of all the completely insane things I believed as a child. I blame my mother partially for this, since she let me read far too many stories as well as watching some pretty tripped out fairy tale videos. (I honestly think that the makers of children's television must be totally tripped. Have you seen In the Night Garden? I rest my case.)

Anyway, here are some of the things that a considerably smaller, impossible as that may same, me once held as verbatim, believed necessary or somehow grasped far too young.

1) The troll from the Billy Goats Gruff did not in fact live under a bridge. Instead, he lurked somewhere in my back garden and will attack me when he thinks I was alone. One such time would be when I was in the bathroom, as this backs onto the garden. The solution to this then was for me to talk to inanimate objects in the bathroom, such as the sink, toilet and bath to cunningly trick him into thinking I wasn't on my own and therefore prevent him from eating me.

2) Wee Willie Winkie was not in fact a kind little fellow that was going to come send me to sleep, but an evil creature possibly in allegiance with David Bowie's character from Labyrinth. Instead of slipping comfortably to sleep, I hid under my bed clothes with my eyes pressed shut praying that he wouldn't steal me.

3) That before being born, my younger sister had used her psychic fetus powers to find out that not only did I love Thomas the Tank Engine, but that I lacked a Percy toy. She had then gone to the special fetus shop, purchased it for me, and brought it with when she came out of my mother. (The stalk/cabbage patch story was useless on me since I spotted the umbilical cord). I was baffled for quite sometime as to how she managed to do all this, especially when I learned how babies were really made.

As I got older, I started to move away from these weird and wonderful accusations and somehow managed to learn some startling vocabulary. For example, when my Dad had to have our dog put down when I was five, I failed to grasp why this had to be done. Instead I told him I hated him and he was an evil murderer. Around this age I also once told a school dinner lady that her attempting to force me to eat food I didn't like made her a Nazi- which I had thus far understood as someone that made people do things they didn't want to.

My finest hour though, I believe, was aged 10, when I informed my Head Teacher that I would not sing the hymn she has insisted that we all learnt. When she demanded that I did, I told her that on the census I was not listed as Christian and therefore she could not make me sing a Christian song. Our school, I insisted, was not a religious school and it was against the law for her to make me sing about a God I didn't believe in.

It turns out I had overheard a conversation between my parents about what we should be listed as on the census, and the rather over zealous Christianity of the new head teacher. After I then remembered my mothers pin number, my parents stopped having important conversations while I was in earshot.

Clearly in moments of difficulty or dilema, I should begin to challenge my no nonsense ten year old former self. She suffers no fools, yo.

And I shall call him Cuthbert

My housemates had the ingenious idea of buying a load of pumpkins.


They were to carve, of course. I did suggest that I could make some form of pumpkin baked goods, but they were all far more interested in carving faces into them and lighting them up with tealights. Our kitchen is not that large, so we did manage to commit mass carnage. By the time we were all done it looked like we'd murdered some aliens or something. However, the results were AWESOME.

Considering that I haven't carved a pumpkin since I was about thirteen, this whole affair made me very, very excited. You can see this by the fact that my pumpkin looks really ridiculously happy. In case you hadn't worked it out, mine is the one on the far right.

I love him. I have called him Cuthbert, and he is by far the least scary Jac-o-lantern I have ever seen in my life. I kind of forgot the point was to make them look menacing to ward off evil spirits and what nots. After, I made heart shaped biscuits with pink icing on which were nom-alicious.

Clearly this was such a good idea that all the very important work I had to do can wait until tomorrow.

'With the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas connected. It was impossible for her to see the word without thinking of Pemberley, and it's owner'.

I am for Derbyshire, on yet another Miss Austen related mission. Despite my general dislike for the 2005 film version of Pride and Prejudice I did think they were rather wise in using Chatsworth as Pemberley, so thats where I'm headed.

When you live near Derbyshire, every spare Sunday or Bank Holiday Monday is generally spent visiting the huge number of houses that the county has to offer. Chatsworth, aside from Hardwick Hall, has always been one of my favourites. The house also has a connection with Cavendish family, and in Jane's day that would have meant the infamous Duchess of Devonshire, Georgiana. Though Jane herself may never have gotten so far as Derbyshire, I'm headed over to see what I can scout out a la Pemberley. After all, there must be a reason she chose to situate Mr Darcy's stately home in Derbyshire.

That and it means I get to go home for a few days.

Ode to a Keyboard

I got a new keyboard. I have a laptop, but I very cleverly spilt nail varnish remover on it and now half the keys don't work out.

It turns out that proper keyboard keys have make an extremely fufilling click sound. I always wanted a type writer because something about the click of a typewriter key and watching the words appear on the page made me feel very motivated to write.

Apparently, so does this keyboard. At 12.26 am, when I have work in the morning. And a new memeber of staff. That I'm probably meant to be training. And I have to go on a research trip on Monday.


The click is far to alluring. Look how creative I am. See how much I look like I should be in a movie montage when I click away determindley at my keyboard like a real writer. Which you know, is funny, because instead of writing a short story I've been attempting to finish for almost a year, I should probably be working on the thing that I'm actually going to be having published.

Or you know, asleep.

Hi, my name is Sian

At the start of last year, there was a girl in two of my seminars. She was the kind of girl you prayed to the Gods of Academia that you would never get put in a group with-she was literally on another planet. She once came in wearing her tshirt inside out, on purpose.

Anyway. One day, out of the blue, she approached me in the SU, asked me a question, which I automatically answered, and left.

It was only as she was walking away that I realised she had not called me Lauren, or any variation of my name, but Sian. Over the next few weeks she continued to call me Sian and leave almost immediately.

I never told her my name was not in fact Sian. I began to dread classes with her, realising that if she were now, after weeks of calling me Sian, to realise that it was in fact not my name, the situation would be awkward. Not just with her, but what if thanks to her other people began to call me Sian? How would I explain that I simply had never corrected her? How could I go on? Would I suddenly split, Jekyll and Hyde style, in to two different people!? The horror, the horror!

Thankfully she dropped out aronud Christmas and apart from the occasional teasing from my uni friends, I was to be Sian no more.

That is, UNTIL TODAY. Picture the scene: an ambitous third year steps down from the bus for her first week of lectures, sporting a highly fashionable pixie hair cut and a determined demeanor. She has by now established who she is, her person, her...

BUT WAIT.

And she's there! Turns out she's started back on a different course and I'm hoping that with her being pretty spaced out she won't recognise me with a different hair cut. However I will have to avoid her like she is the actual plague for fear of her calling me Sian.

Otherwise I meant end up at gradution, them calling out my name and being all, who the hell is this kid? Oh, it's Sian!

For Amy

This girl on my right, the one dressed as the Doormouse to my Alice, she's pretty cool. I mean look at her. She's in a box.

Only cool people get in boxes. Fact of life my friends.She's not been very well this week so she needs to be reminded of her own coolness. So to conculde, Amy = cool. Got that?

The Age of Appliances

I bought a rice cooker.

I feel that 21 is an appropriate age to start buying kitchen appliances. Also I decided not get the novelty rice cooker and settled on a very sensible looking one from Argos. Admittedly, fact that the sensible cooker was more than half the price of the novelty helped.

Despite the fact I'll come out at the end of the year steeped in debt and therefore have to move back into my parents house, I feel as though my purchasing a kitchen appliance gives me a certain amount of independence. I will install it in my parents kitchen as a sign of my individuality and grown-upness. I will make grown up meals in it.

Which I will then eat on my Little Mermaid plate, while drinking juice out of my Peter Rabbit glass. And I'll store the left overs in my Darth Vader lunch box. Then go to my room with my collection of Disney themed soft toys and my array of Star Wars memorabilia. It's okay though because by then I'll hopefully have finally swapped my little single bed for a double. That makes it okay, right?

I think I'm adapting to being a grown up really well.

A Dedicated Post

This is Lucy. I live with her. She was sad I never mentioned her in my blog, so I'm mentioning her.

She's a well cool kid, bruv.