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There is no excuse for my last post other than mint-flavoured vodka. Whoops.
Erm, so, yes. A post that makes sense! I came home from modern history soaking wet due to the TORRENTIAL RAIN that only the East Neuk of Fife seems to enjoy, and proceeded to dry off whilst reheating lasagne and watching Doctors with Katie. Then I realised I was running really late and ran out of the house, gave in my application for Starbucks and drove to Leuchars.
At which point I realised that, um, it was only 3pm and I was horribly early for the train. Drove home and watched the first half of Krpto The Superdog (?!) with Katie whilst she laughed at me for not realising that I was, a whole hour early. Whoops.
So, I sit down on the train, managed to get a seat and proceeded to read my entire Russian Lit book for next week (Mikhail Bulgakov - The White Guard. Good but inconsistent with the names so for the first half I thought there were twenty more characters than there actually was, because all the pet names were in Russian - Alexei was referred to as Aloysha a lot which threw me for a while) as well as a big chunk of Gormenghast (what is it about that book that means I can only read it on the train?) before changing over at Peterborough. Ah, rock and roll.
Made it to Cambridge with very little fuss and met Simon at the train station. This is never a bad thing.
So, Thursday night passed with Simon's next-door neighbour having an impromptu party (the music was bearable so it was okay) and Friday passed with me sleeping a lot. Oops. Anyway, the evening drew in and due to my total late turning up, Simon went to a Formal Hall thing he'd already paid for and assumed it was too late to get a ticket for me. It's all good. I end up chatting to his neighbour for a long while and spend the evening reading my flist and e-mail until Simon came home.
"Come to the Bar!" he said happily, admittingly swaying mildly. I stand by my statement that the more posh a university or halls of residences, the more bloody childish they are with drinking traditions. Anyway, I hesitated. I am not so good in social situations where I, well, only know one person and everyone else knows each other. Also, Formal Hall. People in gowns and suits, and I had on a pair of quite baggy jeans and a red t-shirt.
"Is everyone is formal wear?" I asked.
"No, only the ones who are already very drunk."
Well, alcohol is alcohol.
So, down to the Bar I go and, well, drink. I am introduced to people in a hesitating way. You know, it's really, really hard to introduce yourself as an actual fiancee of an actual person or be introduced as such, because people stare at you and stuff. The birthday girl (didn't I mention? All some birthday thing) swayed at me.
"I don't know you," she said fuzzily. "Are you Simon's friend?"
"Um," I said. "I am Colleen. Um. Fiancee, actually."
"What, the college type?"
"Erm, no," said Simon.
"Like, the type with a church and stuff," I added helpfully and waved my ring at her.
"OH MY GOD REALLY?"
"Erm, yes."
She then called Simon cheesy for proposing on Christmas Eve and swayed away.
There were, however, other people who were not of Jesus College and we ended up congregating in a small corner in fear of the other people. I spoke to people, justified where I lived a lot
("Where are you from?"
"I live in St Andrews, actually. You know, in Scotland."
"Oooh, my condolences."
"It's NICE! Our gowns are red, made of wool, and practical!")
and generally had a very good night. Their bar is nice! Okay, I'm used to the student union and haven't seen any fo the bars inn the halls of residences, but still. The closest I have is the bloody New Inn, which is enough said, really.
And yes, mint-flavoured vodka. Argh. Vodka bars are bad things. Bad and indeed painful. I think a lot of the bad spelling came from me not being used to this keyboard, or so I will tell myself.
I'm not hungover, though, and I can no longer taste mint-vodka-and-cranberry-with-lime (oddly nice) which is a good thing. I need to drink cranberry juice more often, it is nice. Without minty-flavoured stuff, obviously. Blargh.
Anyway. Simon is rehearsing something or the other and I am going to actually do my tutorial reading. It's quite nice being a student-away-from-university, because I can totally just remember the good stuff about St A's and not remember the pants stuff, and Cambridge is very, very nice but I don't think I'd be very good here as a student. Too much work, too much money and too much inferiority complex. I like St Andrews, I really do.
Also we have a beach and I am going to live in bloody Albany Park next year if it kills me. I have no qualms with bursting into tears at student accommodation because I have no money. Frankly, I don't have enough money and cannot live anywhere else. Simple as.
I have to point out that this song is on because I'm listening to the radio.
Right. Michael Atteliades Account of Some Battle I Can't Remember The Name Of.
~Hathy_Col~
Erm, so, yes. A post that makes sense! I came home from modern history soaking wet due to the TORRENTIAL RAIN that only the East Neuk of Fife seems to enjoy, and proceeded to dry off whilst reheating lasagne and watching Doctors with Katie. Then I realised I was running really late and ran out of the house, gave in my application for Starbucks and drove to Leuchars.
At which point I realised that, um, it was only 3pm and I was horribly early for the train. Drove home and watched the first half of Krpto The Superdog (?!) with Katie whilst she laughed at me for not realising that I was, a whole hour early. Whoops.
So, I sit down on the train, managed to get a seat and proceeded to read my entire Russian Lit book for next week (Mikhail Bulgakov - The White Guard. Good but inconsistent with the names so for the first half I thought there were twenty more characters than there actually was, because all the pet names were in Russian - Alexei was referred to as Aloysha a lot which threw me for a while) as well as a big chunk of Gormenghast (what is it about that book that means I can only read it on the train?) before changing over at Peterborough. Ah, rock and roll.
Made it to Cambridge with very little fuss and met Simon at the train station. This is never a bad thing.
So, Thursday night passed with Simon's next-door neighbour having an impromptu party (the music was bearable so it was okay) and Friday passed with me sleeping a lot. Oops. Anyway, the evening drew in and due to my total late turning up, Simon went to a Formal Hall thing he'd already paid for and assumed it was too late to get a ticket for me. It's all good. I end up chatting to his neighbour for a long while and spend the evening reading my flist and e-mail until Simon came home.
"Come to the Bar!" he said happily, admittingly swaying mildly. I stand by my statement that the more posh a university or halls of residences, the more bloody childish they are with drinking traditions. Anyway, I hesitated. I am not so good in social situations where I, well, only know one person and everyone else knows each other. Also, Formal Hall. People in gowns and suits, and I had on a pair of quite baggy jeans and a red t-shirt.
"Is everyone is formal wear?" I asked.
"No, only the ones who are already very drunk."
Well, alcohol is alcohol.
So, down to the Bar I go and, well, drink. I am introduced to people in a hesitating way. You know, it's really, really hard to introduce yourself as an actual fiancee of an actual person or be introduced as such, because people stare at you and stuff. The birthday girl (didn't I mention? All some birthday thing) swayed at me.
"I don't know you," she said fuzzily. "Are you Simon's friend?"
"Um," I said. "I am Colleen. Um. Fiancee, actually."
"What, the college type?"
"Erm, no," said Simon.
"Like, the type with a church and stuff," I added helpfully and waved my ring at her.
"OH MY GOD REALLY?"
"Erm, yes."
She then called Simon cheesy for proposing on Christmas Eve and swayed away.
There were, however, other people who were not of Jesus College and we ended up congregating in a small corner in fear of the other people. I spoke to people, justified where I lived a lot
("Where are you from?"
"I live in St Andrews, actually. You know, in Scotland."
"Oooh, my condolences."
"It's NICE! Our gowns are red, made of wool, and practical!")
and generally had a very good night. Their bar is nice! Okay, I'm used to the student union and haven't seen any fo the bars inn the halls of residences, but still. The closest I have is the bloody New Inn, which is enough said, really.
And yes, mint-flavoured vodka. Argh. Vodka bars are bad things. Bad and indeed painful. I think a lot of the bad spelling came from me not being used to this keyboard, or so I will tell myself.
I'm not hungover, though, and I can no longer taste mint-vodka-and-cranberry-with-lime (oddly nice) which is a good thing. I need to drink cranberry juice more often, it is nice. Without minty-flavoured stuff, obviously. Blargh.
Anyway. Simon is rehearsing something or the other and I am going to actually do my tutorial reading. It's quite nice being a student-away-from-university, because I can totally just remember the good stuff about St A's and not remember the pants stuff, and Cambridge is very, very nice but I don't think I'd be very good here as a student. Too much work, too much money and too much inferiority complex. I like St Andrews, I really do.
Also we have a beach and I am going to live in bloody Albany Park next year if it kills me. I have no qualms with bursting into tears at student accommodation because I have no money. Frankly, I don't have enough money and cannot live anywhere else. Simple as.
I have to point out that this song is on because I'm listening to the radio.
Right. Michael Atteliades Account of Some Battle I Can't Remember The Name Of.
~Hathy_Col~
