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hathycolSo, I've been in Scotland, and I have learnt things.
It all started going downhill on Monday evening. I was dying my hair, and it's supposed to come out a sort of dark, vibrant red. Erm, yeah. Megan was painting her room, and just as I was about to apply the dye in perfect timing to remove it for the second ad break of Battlestar Galactica, I got thrown out of the bathroom so they could clean the paint tray. Well, poot. So, I watched the first section of BSG, ran and covered my hair in the gunk, went back, washed it out in the second to last ad break. Yeah. Silly, silly mistake. I have orange hair, and it's not even equal coverage.
On the bright side, rather good eppy of BSG.
Woke up disgustingly early on Tuesday and wandered around the house in a zombie-like form. We left, roughly, on time at about 8, and the RAC site assured us that we'd be in plenty of time. I made sandwiches and everything. This is quite a big thing for me, anyway. So, we made it up to Scotland with some ease. We continued onwards, and then the RAC site lied. I was stuck on a tiny little A road in the midle of nowhere. We could have taken the motorway - it's Edinburgh, ergo there are going to be motorways - but no. The best part was seeing a sign that read, quite simply:
"BADGERS!"
Well, fair enough. We decided that your average badger would probably kick your arse should we actually hit it with the car, and as such the sign was more of a "BADGERS! IF YOU HIT ONE DRIVE ON AND HOPE IT DIDN'T MEMORISE YOUR FACE!"
Badgers went on to be a feature of the weekend, as did a resurgance of the theory about the international car theft werewolf ring. I'm telling you, it happened. It was full moon - and there were no cars because they'd all been eaten and the cars were taken away!
So, despite the "BADGERS!" we continued onwards with the occasional text from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hammer_strike. To prove The Colleen Show, we had ended up at the two same Open Days. Sp00ky, etc. Made it Edinburgh, and I leapt out of the car, past the religious nuter with a signpost and dived for a loo. Then I did university type things with Simon, leaving Dad to sleep in the car. Except the one talk I wanted was twenty minutes long. Unwilling to tell Dad that we had driven to Edinburgh for a twenty minute talk, I went on a little walk around Edinburgh. It really is a lovely town.
So, there I was with Dad a little while later, and he declared he was a grumpy old man.
"Oh, you're not that bad. You do understand some modern stuff."
"I don't understand women's clothing," he said thoughtfully. I left this scary topic alone - evidently he is puzzled by my sister and her dress sense, understandably - and moved on.
"Well, you understand some stuff. Like music, and stuff."
"Well, John Peel is a grumpy old man," he said. "And he understands some modern stuff too."
We got into the car, and turned on the radio to Radio 1. There was Colin and Edith, sounding serious and sad.
"Okay," said Colin. "After the next song, we're going to Newsbeat for some breaking news."
John Peel is dead. Oh dear. He was a cool and grumpy old man, and it's scary that my Dad managed to say those words seconds before we heard that he'd died. Anyway, John Peel having died is a genuine shame - he was fairly young and generally a Cool Old Man.
Time marches on. And we marched to St Andrews. Well, we drove, looking carefully out for "BADGERS!"
We were staying ina pub by the name of the Tudor Inn. It was nice, and big, unusually, for the cheapness. We booked in, dumped our stuff, and went on a wander around St Andrews. Well, it's small. Smaller than Ormskirk, albeit far more prosperous. Oh, and with less pubs. Ormskirk has 32, though, so never mind. We walked around twice before we twigged that yes, we had seen this bit before. As such, we went for dinner. There was bacon on my chicken. I wibbled and flung it to Dad in fear and told myself resolutely that it was just like smoky bacon crisps. Bad fake vegetarian!
I stayed upstairs in my big cold empty bed, watching the TV Awards. Would have been Too Posh Too Wash, but I had chocolate and the atheletes foot was putting me off. As such, indulged in texting Clare before passing out. I slept quite badly though, unusually for me.
The next day, awoke bright and early to yet more bacon. Is this a St Andrews thing? Again, passed off the bacon to Dad an ate Special K instead, feeling smug and healthy.
So, St Andrews university. Erm... buggar. My Inner Socialist and My Inner Little Girl are going to come to blows over this. My Inner Socialist is horrified at the decadence of the place. The whole place gives off a distinct Mallory Towars feel - all jolly hockey sticks and lacrosse. Actually saw people with lacrosse sticks, terrifyingly enough. We were shown around one of the halls of residence - catered with a dining room and a high table. God, how very Hogwarts. And they kept on going on about academic families, and all the 'hall balls' (ARGH!) and the robes and I just wanted to cry. That's all s above my head. I can cut the mustard academically, but... that's not who I am. I'm a boring, middle-class girl with an accent that's a weird combination of Scouse and Wiganese. I have never been to a public school, for obvious reasons I never will.
My Inner Little Girl, however, fell in love. I've wanted to go to a boarding school since I was 11 and I started the horror of high school. Dad has reasoned that I can, actually, just go self-catering and skip a lot of the formal stuff, but... I don't know if I'd fit in. You couldn't move for the cut-glass accents ("Oh, ya, ya, darling") and everyone was... erm... if I was American I'd call it preppy. I think. Where were the band nights at the student union? The flared jeans? The safety pins? It's just... so different to what I am.
Either way, the real bright side of the day was spending it with Simon, discussing pirates and zen monks.
On the way home I merrily ate far too many Fruit Pastilles and tried not to think about university too much. I don't know what I'm going to do anymore. Dad seemed to sense this, and didn't talk about it. Instead, concentrated on the scary wind. Eeek! There were all kinds of leaves skipping around the motorways, and Dad pointed and basically went "MOUSE!"
I had no idea what he was on about until I saw the leaves for myself and I did the same thing.
"Well, it's not going to be mice. Unless it's like extreme sports mice, flying into the windscreen."
I did have a mental image of a mouse going sploosh. Bad Colleen. Bad paused.
"Well, it's better than badgers hitting the windscreen. I can see badgers doing extreme sports."
The ensuing conversation spawned the quote I headed this post with.
Now I'm home. Yesterday I watched Peter Pan with Andrew, which was a lot better than I thought it would be, and then I had chinese and slept merrily. After trying to do some of my media, I failed and went to bed. Homework situation is getting desperate - I'm off out with Clare in a minute, I'm going to see Keane tomorrow (SQUEE!) and I don't think I'm actually going to get it all done. My own fault, really.
So, yes. That was my frantic few days.
~Hathy_Col~
It all started going downhill on Monday evening. I was dying my hair, and it's supposed to come out a sort of dark, vibrant red. Erm, yeah. Megan was painting her room, and just as I was about to apply the dye in perfect timing to remove it for the second ad break of Battlestar Galactica, I got thrown out of the bathroom so they could clean the paint tray. Well, poot. So, I watched the first section of BSG, ran and covered my hair in the gunk, went back, washed it out in the second to last ad break. Yeah. Silly, silly mistake. I have orange hair, and it's not even equal coverage.
On the bright side, rather good eppy of BSG.
Woke up disgustingly early on Tuesday and wandered around the house in a zombie-like form. We left, roughly, on time at about 8, and the RAC site assured us that we'd be in plenty of time. I made sandwiches and everything. This is quite a big thing for me, anyway. So, we made it up to Scotland with some ease. We continued onwards, and then the RAC site lied. I was stuck on a tiny little A road in the midle of nowhere. We could have taken the motorway - it's Edinburgh, ergo there are going to be motorways - but no. The best part was seeing a sign that read, quite simply:
"BADGERS!"
Well, fair enough. We decided that your average badger would probably kick your arse should we actually hit it with the car, and as such the sign was more of a "BADGERS! IF YOU HIT ONE DRIVE ON AND HOPE IT DIDN'T MEMORISE YOUR FACE!"
Badgers went on to be a feature of the weekend, as did a resurgance of the theory about the international car theft werewolf ring. I'm telling you, it happened. It was full moon - and there were no cars because they'd all been eaten and the cars were taken away!
So, despite the "BADGERS!" we continued onwards with the occasional text from
hammer_strike. To prove The Colleen Show, we had ended up at the two same Open Days. Sp00ky, etc. Made it Edinburgh, and I leapt out of the car, past the religious nuter with a signpost and dived for a loo. Then I did university type things with Simon, leaving Dad to sleep in the car. Except the one talk I wanted was twenty minutes long. Unwilling to tell Dad that we had driven to Edinburgh for a twenty minute talk, I went on a little walk around Edinburgh. It really is a lovely town.So, there I was with Dad a little while later, and he declared he was a grumpy old man.
"Oh, you're not that bad. You do understand some modern stuff."
"I don't understand women's clothing," he said thoughtfully. I left this scary topic alone - evidently he is puzzled by my sister and her dress sense, understandably - and moved on.
"Well, you understand some stuff. Like music, and stuff."
"Well, John Peel is a grumpy old man," he said. "And he understands some modern stuff too."
We got into the car, and turned on the radio to Radio 1. There was Colin and Edith, sounding serious and sad.
"Okay," said Colin. "After the next song, we're going to Newsbeat for some breaking news."
John Peel is dead. Oh dear. He was a cool and grumpy old man, and it's scary that my Dad managed to say those words seconds before we heard that he'd died. Anyway, John Peel having died is a genuine shame - he was fairly young and generally a Cool Old Man.
Time marches on. And we marched to St Andrews. Well, we drove, looking carefully out for "BADGERS!"
We were staying ina pub by the name of the Tudor Inn. It was nice, and big, unusually, for the cheapness. We booked in, dumped our stuff, and went on a wander around St Andrews. Well, it's small. Smaller than Ormskirk, albeit far more prosperous. Oh, and with less pubs. Ormskirk has 32, though, so never mind. We walked around twice before we twigged that yes, we had seen this bit before. As such, we went for dinner. There was bacon on my chicken. I wibbled and flung it to Dad in fear and told myself resolutely that it was just like smoky bacon crisps. Bad fake vegetarian!
I stayed upstairs in my big cold empty bed, watching the TV Awards. Would have been Too Posh Too Wash, but I had chocolate and the atheletes foot was putting me off. As such, indulged in texting Clare before passing out. I slept quite badly though, unusually for me.
The next day, awoke bright and early to yet more bacon. Is this a St Andrews thing? Again, passed off the bacon to Dad an ate Special K instead, feeling smug and healthy.
So, St Andrews university. Erm... buggar. My Inner Socialist and My Inner Little Girl are going to come to blows over this. My Inner Socialist is horrified at the decadence of the place. The whole place gives off a distinct Mallory Towars feel - all jolly hockey sticks and lacrosse. Actually saw people with lacrosse sticks, terrifyingly enough. We were shown around one of the halls of residence - catered with a dining room and a high table. God, how very Hogwarts. And they kept on going on about academic families, and all the 'hall balls' (ARGH!) and the robes and I just wanted to cry. That's all s above my head. I can cut the mustard academically, but... that's not who I am. I'm a boring, middle-class girl with an accent that's a weird combination of Scouse and Wiganese. I have never been to a public school, for obvious reasons I never will.
My Inner Little Girl, however, fell in love. I've wanted to go to a boarding school since I was 11 and I started the horror of high school. Dad has reasoned that I can, actually, just go self-catering and skip a lot of the formal stuff, but... I don't know if I'd fit in. You couldn't move for the cut-glass accents ("Oh, ya, ya, darling") and everyone was... erm... if I was American I'd call it preppy. I think. Where were the band nights at the student union? The flared jeans? The safety pins? It's just... so different to what I am.
Either way, the real bright side of the day was spending it with Simon, discussing pirates and zen monks.
On the way home I merrily ate far too many Fruit Pastilles and tried not to think about university too much. I don't know what I'm going to do anymore. Dad seemed to sense this, and didn't talk about it. Instead, concentrated on the scary wind. Eeek! There were all kinds of leaves skipping around the motorways, and Dad pointed and basically went "MOUSE!"
I had no idea what he was on about until I saw the leaves for myself and I did the same thing.
"Well, it's not going to be mice. Unless it's like extreme sports mice, flying into the windscreen."
I did have a mental image of a mouse going sploosh. Bad Colleen. Bad paused.
"Well, it's better than badgers hitting the windscreen. I can see badgers doing extreme sports."
The ensuing conversation spawned the quote I headed this post with.
Now I'm home. Yesterday I watched Peter Pan with Andrew, which was a lot better than I thought it would be, and then I had chinese and slept merrily. After trying to do some of my media, I failed and went to bed. Homework situation is getting desperate - I'm off out with Clare in a minute, I'm going to see Keane tomorrow (SQUEE!) and I don't think I'm actually going to get it all done. My own fault, really.
So, yes. That was my frantic few days.
~Hathy_Col~
no subject
Date: 2004-10-29 08:54 am (UTC)Sat on the train, a couple of the lads - for whatever reason - starting cracking Princess Margeret jokes. Cue some evil stares, none of us knew she'd died the previous day...
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 07:43 am (UTC)