Changing the world

This evening, I settled down on my comfortable couch in my cosy pyjamas to watch a group of children describe the indescribable. For those of you who can't guess what I'm talking about (and that certainly includes anybody not in the UK), I watched a television documentary that interviewed some of the children of Beslan, survivors of the Russian school siege of a year ago. Part of me is angry that someone came up with the idea of creating a TV programme, using the kids to provide entertainment for the likes of me in our safe environments - sitting watching with horror and the odd tear, maybe it'll be talked about for a few days, the odd line quoted. And then we'll move on.
There's the other part that thinks yes, okay, it is important to talk about these events, make them known. There is the argument that we can't change otherwise. But dear God, if we haven't changed as a result of all the films of all the atrocities that have taken place already, one more painful hour of footage isn't going to make the difference.
Take the American high school shootings. Would there have been more than one if the first had never been reported? Take England at the moment - there seems to me to be a bizarre spate of horrendous killings: we have people being killed by axes, by knives, by guns in the hands of children. Is this just that for some reason the media are suddenly picking up on these occurences more, or because it is actually happening with alarming frequency?
What - we have to ask - is wrong with our world??
I remember a line I heard once: 'We have not inherited this world from our grandparents, rather borrowed it from our grandchildren'. If everyone were not so intent on getting more, having more, principally because 'others have it so I should too', we'd be fine. It is the greed of a few that cause the suffering of many. Did you know, and this is true, that the eight richest INDIVIDUALS (i.e. single people) have more wealth than the forty-six poorest COUNTRIES put together? Read that a few times and tell me there isn't something wrong.
But then there is the inherent corruption in the Aid agencies. The BBC recently published some figures for how aid money in Malawi has been consumed in contractors fees, entertaining bills, hotel stays. The people who desperately need the food that money could have bought get a little bit hungrier and the supposedly 'good' people of the agencies get a little bit plumper. I loathe this attitude, and I despise anyone who works under the shadow of an Aid agency and brings them into disrepute - particularly those major ones, such as the UN, WFP, MSF. People DIE, they literally give their lives, to alleviate in some part the suffering of others. And other people who barely deserve a place on the same planet, mean that those who die have done so for politically motivated aid efforts, or because the people at the top simply didn't care enough. This angers me and simultaneously terrifies me: it is the area of work I hope to go into, and to be surrounded by hypocrites would be suffocating. And evidently pretty damn dangerous.
There are various people out there - some of you reading this, you'll know who I mean - who make comments along the lines of, there is no point my trying to make a difference in the world. I argue that however futile my efforts, however apparently insignificant any changes I procure, I would rather come to the end of my life and know that hell, at least I tried. I didn't give in at the first hurdle.
I have met people who will never have any opportunities in their lives and I have sworn to them and to myself that I will do what I can. And no cynical, snide comments from anybody are going to alter my view that it is the duty of those who have more to help those who have less. We live in a world of bitterness, revenge, anger and mistrust. Those of you who just accept this: how, and I don't ask flippantly, do you sleep at night?

Back by popular demand...

Well - I didn't realise until I stopped posting just how many people actually bothered to hop on here from time to time with the intent of reading through my woes, rants and general complaints.
I'll just give you a brief summation then of my recent few days in Oxford. Seeking desperately for some form of accommodation that is acceptable at least to the point that I'll not want to kill myself each evening upon heading home. There are some seriously depressing houses with rooms available: Oxford seems to specialise in dark, pokey terraces that in all honesty I never dared enter to check out the rooms, but then my soul would have been destroyed within days if I had to go into one of these places on a regular basis so it would have been a pointless exercise.
After a day of trudging around the streets becoming increasingly disillusioned with the world, the option became available - never mind how - that perhaps I would be able to get a one bedroom apartment. All to myself. Me. Just me. Nobody else's hairs in the shower, nobody else's dishes in the sink. In other words, what I'm used to and - frankly - what I'm sure you'll all agree I need. A further day's searching, starting out with bounding enthusiasm and ending in crushed drunkenness, resulted in total failure.
I am currently clinging to the hope that the nice lady in my college wasn't lying through her teeth when she said there was the remotest of remote possibilities that I could still live in Linacre accommodation.
On the other hand... I do rather fancy living on a narrowboat. Remember reading an article in National Geographic years ago about a Cambridge student doing this, which proved that what I'd thought of years before that was feasible. I've just spent the evening getting overly enthusiastic about some beautiful little numbers with my Mum and the aim of tomorrow is to convince my lunatic of an aunt that she wants to invest in one of these. Mooring fees seem to be cheaper than paying rent anyway - and come on, who wouldn't live on a houseboat given the chance??
Currently having lovely images of being moored right by the college boat house; someone can just give the porthole a tap when they've arrived and are ready to row and I'll ease my way out of a suitably snuggly bed and set off in an eight.
Not entirely sure about car parking for narrowboat owners... Hmm...

Hurricanes...

If any of you are paying ANY attention to what I say on here, or anywhere else for that matter, you will be aware that I have a hurricane rapidly approaching the place I am staying. In order to set aside any fears you might or might not have, I thought I´d drop a quick note to say don´t panic - I managed to get a flight out of here. On Sunday morning, I will escape to Atlanta - original flight was on Monday (absolutely TYPICAL, of all the days of the year I choose, I choose the one with a hurricane scheduled). Despite originally being told the change was impossible, I have friends in High Places who managed to organise it for me. So a big round of applause going out to those people.

No, I didnt anticipate being maimed/killed/hurt by said hurricane, but I was fully aware that flights out of Cancun for the days immediately after the storm were going to be a nightmare and wouldnt have ended up with any time in Atlanta with friend there. Plus would have been stuck in Cancun, shudder, for last few days which would have finished me off even if the hurricane didnt.

I HAVE A COLLEGE!

Finally, I feel a part of Oxford University. Linacre College - complete with fantastic boatclub (men's and women's crews in 1st division) and beautiful accommodation in buildings old enough to suit even my requirements (yet complete with the modern facility of car parking). Brief post just to say I am busy bouncing about here - don't expect many of you to understand the significance of this for me, but trust me: it is very exciting news.

Off to Eat Cake and Celebrate.

On Golden Sand

Decidedly little to report but thought would hop online to say that. Baggage did arrive, by the by, albeit forty-eight hours later than myself. Have since spent days generally collapsed on a beach getting burned in a variety of places and to various degrees of painfulness. Isla Mujeres can hardly be defined as the ´Real´ Mexico but the heat and sunshine are real enough to keep me here for another few days at least principally because I just can´t be bothered to gather the energy to move. Today, I forced myself to venture forth and go snorkelling - nowhere near as impressive as Cuba and Jamaica experiences of a few years ago but then perhaps I was spoiled there. One should generally find parrot fish, barracudas and purple waving fronds of coral pretty damn awesome, at a guess.
Ah, the jaded traveller...
Torrential rain forecast for two days´ time, perhaps as well as skin is in need of a break from being slowly cooked under the palms. Although that does mean will be incarcerated in a hostel with a group of people principally consisting of girly girls (shudder) and guys who wander around with their shirts off, chests puffed out (what little element of ´chest´ they are in possession of), and endless exceedingly dull conversations to tune into.
But hey, it is better than England. Mustn´t grumble.

On a beach without a bikini...

... Mexican equivalent to being up the river without a paddle. For some obscure reason, my bag is in Miami. The TACA employees in Cancun are as mystified as I am as to why it ever reached there since I came to Mexico via Costa Rica.
Brief analysis of last 24hrs:
Arrive to Mexico City airport 2230 exhausted, stand for two hours to get through immigration (although better than the poor Brazilians who are herded into a seperate pen, have their passports taken, and then they are all interrogated individually) and make it through to baggage hall and distinct lack of my bag. After form filling in and a spot of ranting (and embarrassing teary moments) ended up in the main hub of the airport that is essentially a construction sight right now. Apparently for my own good - but frankly, since I will never fly there again, I cant see quite how. Embarrassing 1am call to friend in America who did his best to deal with a bawling Jane on the end of the phone. Ten mile trek around the airport - almost literally - eventually found me giving up and going to ludicrously expensive hotel. Managed to bargain a USD400 hotel room down to USD110 so that was remotely satisfying, I suppose. Shame only had five hours in it.
Early rise to get flight to Cancun and have conversation with Taca who assured me my bag still existed in their minds, if not mine. Arrival in Cancun airport and massively uncooperative staff who three hours later managed to get through to officials in M.City airport to establish that bag was in Costa Rica and hadnt been put on the flight today either. Contact with Costa Rica airport determined that bag was in Miami. No explanation whatsoever. Bag is travelling more than I am...
Apparently, it will be delivered to the hostel at some point tomorrow. Apparently. Trust Taca about as far as I can throw one of their stupid aeroplanes. Forced to buy bikini but only managed to find remotely acceptable bottom half so currently wearing that, sports bra, and new sarong type like thingie. Stupid thing obviously has no pockets so completely impractical. Oh, was forced to buy these items since - for example - is currently 9pm and about 35 degrees and dont want to think what the humidity level must be. Was obviously travelling in all heaviest clothes that are somewhat unsuitable for this clime.
So there you have it. My week of relaxing has been completely disrupted and my God Taca are going to pay for it. What with the compensation claim from them and Alitalia, will have my holiday paid for. Awesome.

Amazonian Analysis

Coming to you from the airport in Lima...
If there is a slightly disgruntled edge to this posting, it is because the stupid airline company made me check my bag. Having spent two days touring the Lakes in pursuit of the Lowe Alpine Amazon Carry-On, I did somewhat expect it to live up to its name and therefore be carryable onable. Always. The cursed airline decided to check the weight and as was a few kilos over informed me there was no way I could take it aboard with me (despite the fact that the same airline - Taca, to name and shame - accepted it Buenos Aires to Lima mere days ago). Have thus removed laptop, albeit in a black case, and am carrying that around. Not happy.
Far too much from the Amazon to report in one posting. Was a ten day stint with enough for two blogs happening each day but going to have to try to whittle it down into key elements. First one being, never take a bus on so-called Unpaved Roads in S.America, especially not for 26hours. Second one, never believe a boat-captain when he says sure, we will leave in one hour more. One hour more became, in one and two hours chunks, approximately 50hours more. Was thus trapped in a practically non-existent place called Yurimaguas for a few days, bored out of my skull (as was everybody else) but at least had the opportunity to make friends with my hammock. Dont get me wrong, hammocks are awesome - they rock, both literally and in whatever the other terms are - but in the dead of night in the middle of a darn great river, they arent exactly the warmest of bedfellows.
So I have dived in waterpools, recreating those shampoo adverts (although no talking monkeys saying they believe they have been eating the wrong fruit, unfortunately), and trekked in the middle of the jungle. Where there were monkeys, possibly talking about fruit, but more likely cackling at the group of us straggling along slowly drowning in our own sweat. I have coxed a dug-out canoe - with my usual incredible skill - and dived into the Amazon. For ten terrifying days I was also chocolate free, not by choice I hasten to add, and my brain is now buzzing lightly as a result of three Snickers bars I just ate with an element of, hmm, haste. (Well, I had the whole airline baggage scenario to get over...).
Just realised I left my glasses in check-in bag... Curses. And contact lens change is a month over-due so eyes are driving me insane. Sigh. More Snickers are called for.
I will add a few more snippets from time to time as I remember them, but that is generally a brief analysis of the time in the Amazon. Absolutely fantastic - the place is more beautiful every time I come back. To get to see the rainforest as the sun rises over the valleys, wisps of cloud nestling in the tree tops, is magical. I would say out of this world, but obviously it isnt. It is real, it is here - and everyone should go there. Electric blue butterflies as broad as my hand flash past, the most incredibly delicate orchids that nobody else has ever seen and nobody else ever will see appear randomly in the trunk of a fallen tree, monkeys chattering in the trees, birds and insects of colours that I never knew existed. It is impossible to describe the effect the area can have on you: I am actually in danger of becoming, I fear, a tree-hugger. In addition to my vegetarian tendencies I will now protect all flora.
Although since that would mean forfeiting my Mini... Yes, I will just stick to being in awe of whatever it is that created this world. And on that disturbingly positive note, I will leave you as I have a flight to catch to Mexico. Next post, from a Caribbean beach. Take care, dear reader.

Argentine Postal System, the Sequel

I had vague recollections that I didn't exactly Bond with the postal system last time I was here... had forgotten the sheer torture one has to go through in order to send a parcel. Okay, first let me deal with Box. Box and I took a cab miles away and finally located the entrance to the post office. One guy inside measured Box - exciting, intimate moment there, Box is getting more action than I am - and established that he (definitely male, as just damn stubborn and kind of annoying) was too large to post. The string of expletives that issued from me at that point essentially convinced the guy that he really should just ignore the rules on this occasion or him and Box were going to become somewhat more intimate than either of them had ever planned, and I proceeded to the counter for weighing etc. All going hunky dory until it came to paying, and for some obscure, unknown reason the Argentine Postal System doesnt accept Visa card. After establishing my horror at this revelation, I set off in pursuit of a cash point... which I eventually found. Anyhow, yes, I did send Box. Hopefully we'll meet again, some sunny day. Or rainy, not fussed.
Then today... well yes, another of those 'I should have stayed in bed' days. Set off to post small package, post office round the corner was closed due to power failure so had to walk a ridiculous distance to the next, where I was informed my parcel was not wrapped correctly for postage. Asked the lady how she expected me to wrap it, if not in brown paper with tape, and apparently - APPARENTLY - they want me to glue the paper down. Who in their right mind is going to send a parcel half way round the world that is merely glued together?? Especially one which contains a damn ball-gown?? This means I will now be carrying around in my rucsac, along with a laptop, selection of feminist books, series of Jeeves and Wooster DVDs and the other usual travelling gear, a ballgown.
Have retired to my room for the rest of the day, primarily to download as much as possible because I don't know when I'll next be able to use my laptop on the internet. Would be armed with selection of empanadas (essentially miniature pasties, to enlighten the Brits reading this) but the bakery had no vegetarian ones today. Not one. See? Just not my day.
And this is the last post on here for a week - I'm heading into the Amazon. Replacing really rather luxury hostel room with a hammock. Praying for no close encounters with either crocodiles, snakes, piranhas, bird-eating spiders, jaguars... the list is endless. Just wish me luck. And never, never come to Argentina with a view to posting anything. Words of wisdom for the day from Jane.

Argentine Postal System

So Argentina generally moves at a slower pace than the rest of the world. Well, except for the taxis and buses that hurtle along desperately competing to break all land speed records. Had a demonstration today of just how badly organised some things are though when I went to post a parcel today... Okay, in fairness the parcel is a large box - named, with great insight, Box - that has essentially vast amounts of clothing inside and the odd bean-bag (minus stuffing) for good measure. The usual stuff when you pick up when you travel, eh. Anyway, lug Box to post office, haul up to the counter, and tell the guy there that yes, I want to post it to Inglaterra. Guy informs me that there is only one post office in the whole of Buenos Aires that posts parcels over 2kg and that is on the other side of the city and closes in ten minutes.
Have thus returned to hostel armed with Box, that is mocking me gently from the corner of the room. Cursed thing.
Good news of the day: think new dress may actually work. Had my doubts, still having doubts in some part of my mind, but will get to see the completed item tomorrow and assess it properly. It is so fitted I hardly dare eat incase I put on a scrap of weight in the next few months... hardly dare eat, she says, surrounded by chocolate wrappers and yogurt pots. Close call between 'keeping strength up' and 'not becoming lardy'. Need a gym. Sigh.
As an aside: really, who does the writing for Dawson's Creek. Absolutely horrendous. Know I've written some rubbish in my time but nothing close to the overly dramatic statements and guaranteed tears-every-episode trash that is churned out here.
That's it. Off to floss. Discovered the Fun Of Flossing the other day and have rapidly developed addiction. Good stress-reliever, and doesn't have same negative impact as chocolate. Can one over-floss??

Brief addition

And justice has been done. Michael Jackson: Not Guilty on all counts. Excellent - having read through all the evidence as it came out etc. and followed the case, firmly believed he was innocent. Bit of a fruitcake, but innocent. Am very glad he's been set free from this hell. WOOHOO, in fact!

No longer connected to the world

Today has just been horrendous. With no signs of getting any better. Started off with that feeling you can sometimes get that is telling you no, stay in bed, the world is being hateful. Having Stuff To Do, I thought had best set feeling aside and so headed out in pursuit of shoes.
Innocently crossing a road, when a car appeared as from nowhere - as is their wont in Buenos Aires - evidently intent on killing me. While diving out of the way I slipped, landed with full weight on right hand and I have done something to my wrist because it hurts like hell. Decided to use the food-trick to cheer myself up so headed for a particularly nice mall where selected vegetable souffle and suitably delectable looking salad; heading for a table when some stupid bint charged into me and yup, food went flying. At this point I just want to curl up in a ball and burst into tears.
Return to the hostel where think nothing else can go wrong, to an email from someone I had a brief version of a 'thing' with. Basically telling me never to contact him again (making it sound as though I hassle him on a daily basis which frankly I don't - haven't contacted in months) because he had to make a decision between me and his girlfriend and on this occasion had to choose her. WHAT? I was not made aware that I was being decided over.
Have decided that all men I have ever known are currently in the throes of going completely mental. Am off to check out the entry requirements for nunneries on the internet. Failing that, will forward my application to St Hilda's college in Oxford and take the risk of being mobbed by women.

Signed soul away - well, temporarily

It is a fact of life that trips will always go over budget. However generous I am with the figures while ensconsed in a suitably snuggly duvet back in England planning an escapade, I am never quite generous enough. As a consequence of the budget for my current trip frankly waltzing off into the sunset and being completely forgotten, I have been forced to sign my soul away already for when I return to the UK. Will be working again for a legal firm back in Plymouth - ´working´ in the loosest sense of the word: it basically involves typing about an hour a day and the rest of the time I can do battle with the likes of Kristeva, Cixous and Beauvoir. While watching my inevitably formidable suntan fade slowly away...
Lancaster folk: I will be invading between around 18th and 31st August, intent on spending the majority of that time in a boat. If the weather forecasters have lied about the forthcoming heatwave, I will not be impressed.
Anyhow, nothing much to report. Have bought more clothes than will know what to do with and am off today in pursuit of shoes and - somewhat randomly - a brace of chocolate brown beanbags. Any Special Requests for items from Argentina to reach me by next Wednesday morning at the earliest as will be shipping everything back on Thursday. Recommend any designer labels, shoes, leather goods (although will not be shopping for gimp hats, sorry people - get your own) and CDs. All so bargainous it is painful to leave the place.
Rant of the day: why did the government take away student grants? With a grant I would not be needing to slave away as a legal secretary, and rather would be able to devote my time to preparing appropriately for Oxford. Well, that or spending Quality Time with my guy. Chuckle.

On Illness and Irritants

First off, I am USELESS at updating this thing when anything is actually happening. Nothing going on? I will write a post most days. So I apologise that when I do have something remotely exciting to report, it is crammed into a brief blog (brief by my standards) and seems all a bit ´busy´.
The American girls who I volunteered with actually managed to be WORSE than I had previously thought possible. Which has to be impressively bad. Ended up some days when I really could not be bothered to exchange even the most basic of pleasantries. The fact that the group I worked with were so disorganised as to not provide bedding of any kind meant that we all had to sleep wearing every item of clothing we had thought to bring (generally not much between us as northern Argentina wasn´t exactly going to be chilly), thus resulting in my acquiring uber-cold that is still causing the odd lung-related issue.
To use all the clichéd lines, it was an ´interesting and rewarding experience´ that I am glad I had. Gave me far too much to think about for a while, but along with the generally depressing conclusions I also have the inevitable ´wonderful memories´ (hate that it is so hard to sound sincere these days...) that I attempted, as do we all, to capture in photos. Actually dislike the concept of photos: invariably they are taken with a view to making something seem what it is not, unless you are snapped by some passing stranger in which case chances are you wont see the picture. Photos are planned, people poised with the appropriate look on their faces to indicate ´having a good time´. If we all had such fantastic times as our photos indicated, depression surely would be a thing of the past. We would bounce around being disturbingly happy bunnies, strolling along rose-petal strewn pathways in our floaty white skirts.
Good lord.
Additional issue of the last few days has been that an ex has attempted to re-appear on the scene, and admittedly it did take me a few days to firmly establish him in my mind AS an ex and in the future as a friend. I have my navy guy - who makes me want to descend into sickly sweet overtures on here every time I mention him but I just about manage to avoid that. I think. Don´t think he reads this stuff but if he ever did, if I´m not careful his ego will swell to an insufferable size and I will never get any sense out of him again.
Hope this finds you well, dear readers, and prospering in your various parts of the globe. As ever, I promise more frequent and more interesting updates - keep hanging in there, one will come along yet...

Argentina, finally...

And yes, I realise this has developed into more of a 'diary of Jane's somewhat disturbing thought processes' rather than the ranting that was originally intended to appear in this space. But never mind, I am sure anybody bothering to read wont actually care either way - you are clearly bored out of your skull if you still log on.
Brief summation of last few days: on Saturday, sat and froze half to death at HMS Drake waiting for 1 x large ocean going vessel to be brought into dock. Possibly in the slowest time this procedure has ever been achieved. Was well worth it as hey, got to see my guy and be half of one of those really annoying couples who wander round in the middle of the day and clearly are incapable of existence without being attached to the other half. Went out in evening which was awesome except for the first part where made total arse of self by being overly paranoid regarding a mutual friend - and you know who you are if you are reading, and I am sorry. Seriously. Blame it on mother-related stress levels. You should understand that one.
Had to return him, unfortunately, on Sunday evening - and since then I have essentially been on an aeroplane, asleep or eating. An element of rant entering here: dont you just HATE how after a long haul flight your ankles suddenly become the size of water melons? Totally disgusting. Fortunately they have now resumed normal size and can wear shoes without being in pain.
Sat next to decidedly delectable model throughout the flight (also decidedly gay) who will be taking me clothes shopping in a few days and generally recreating my somewhat dire wardrobe (although I still expect a strong focus on black, that being the way forwards in the world). Anticipate finding dressmaker to produce for me 1 x gorgeous dress for this ball thing I should be attending in August - in combination with inevitable suntan from forthcoming Mexico trip, should generally give the right impression. I hope. Dear God, am worrying already...

The Stresses and Strains of Sharing a Bed

Fair enough, this isn't so much a rant as a general observation on an area that can potentially lead to so many problems it is ridiculous. Scenario 1- friend comes round to visit you, between you a bottle of wine disappears, friend can't drive home, friend needs somewhere to sleep. No spare bedding and all that, so friend hops into bed with you. Two females? That's fine. But as soon as is a guy, there are problems. Scenario 1A - guy is somebody's boyfriend. If their girlfriend finds out about sharing bed, even if you both passed out through alcohol and snored in entirely seperate slumbers for the night, you are both in trouble. Scenario 1B - guy is single. Guy therefore thinks he stands a chance with you, due to presence of contents of bottle of wine inside him, and you therefore spend entire night panicking that he'll make some sort of move.
Scenario 1B can of course be broken down further - I mean, if you are single then it isn't such a bad deal (provided the guy is not total munter). But if you have boyfriend, then spend entire night panicking about any contact being made. Not that I have a boyfriend as such - treading in dangerous water here so will escape - but I did recently pass a night wide awake, didn't get a wink of sleep, because was terrified would either a, have unwelcome contact made by guy who was in my bed or b, I would wake up in night and think 'oh, that is _____' and turn over, pulling them to me. Therefore ended up in foul mood due to tiredness and absolutely shattered when said non-boyfriend-guy arrived the next night, thus arousing suspicions and generally being too tired to care who was in my bed anyway.
Am heading to London in a week and will be staying with a guy for two days who in the past has found excuse to approach me, and no, I'm not interested. Exchange of emails implies my sleeping there will require my being in same bed. I am already sweating gallons and panicking about this, and the thought is passing through my mind to spend a small fortune on a hotel room for myself instead.
I guess it all comes down to trust, doesn't it. Ah, that glorious bond which ties the dodgiest of relationships together. It is SO HARD to have to erase all the times that mean you don't trust one particular guy and not transfer them to a new guy; in fact, I just can't. I'm useless at it. And in all honesty, dear reader, I'm slightly concerned this could mean I end up losing someone before anything has really gotten started. Sigh. Let's all just get single beds and be done with it.

A few 'Shout Outs', and baths for oldies

Have had an extremely crazy day, filled with moments of hating most of the world followed closely by thinking everything is fantastic. (Are these symptoms of manic-depression?!). Anyhow, would just like to make a few shout-outs to people today. And in no particular order we have...
Sameena. Chica, you rock. Sam is and always will be, no doubt, one of the least successful rowers of all time (sorry girl, but its true), on occasion can be fantastically 'up herself', but as a general rule simply rocks. At uni she worked way too hard - well, she actually did work which from my view is doing a tad too much - and still managed to fit in hours at the gym each day. She is possibly the greatest ego-boost on the planet and this shout out is to say thank you so much for keeping me a version of sane, particularly over the last few weeks. Although I still haven't forgiven you for trying to drag me into Ann Summers...
Niall. Irish accent of course to die for. In addition, total charmer who manages to make me smile however cheesed off with the world I am. Has ability to talk put up with hours of MSN ranting, and Jane in the depths of depression. Can't believe am actually becoming one of those cheesy people who is being converted to the concept that 'friends make the world go round' but Niall is certainly dragging me round to that way of thinking. Cheers, m'dear.
Steph. Final one. As anybody who knows her will say within the first sentence of a description, she is an absolute lunatic. With a scary degree of German-drive and determination, she generally scares the crap out of pretty much anyone and is thus highly suited to her future lawyer-profession. Steph is possibly the ultimate person to complain to about guys, us both being massively unsuccessful in our own special ways. Don't get to see you often enough, girl, but next time we meet up we have a date in a double. (Non rowers, ignore that).

SO. Those three sprung to mind because today they've been responsible in entirely seperate ways for my not throwing myself off a cliff. Not that this would necessarily be a bad thing - yes, I heard that thought filter through your minds...

On a totally different note. 'Bath Knight'. I mean, come on, who came up with the concept that it would be a good idea to put a door in a bath? Everybody knows you run the hot tap first, then the cold to bring to right level - old person using fancy bath may not fall over getting in or out, but will receive first degree burns from sitting in boiling water for ages while bath fills. Does bring beautiful image of slightly doddery oldie filling the bath THEN opening the door to get in... Why, out of interest, can they not cope with showers? Its a mystery.

Builders

For the last few days, I've been woken at the crack of dawn by work-men. Who are supposedly sorting out a leaking window but who arguably spend more of their time drinking cups of tea, shaking their heads making tutting sounds, and telling me they're just 'popping off to get another tool' then returning two hours later. On a general basis, I object to workmen in that they have no respect whatsoever for your belongings - 'bit of plastering wont make that much mess, luv', as I chokingly make my way to the nearest exit - and leave the place looking like a bombsite, however small the job in the first place. Additionally, being female, I actually don't have a clue what they're doing. 'Oh, a bit of sponge filler? That stops water, does it?' And there was I thinking sponges sat around on the bottom of the sea or on the edge of my bath. And a 'lead tray'... well, sounds useful, I guess. But did they have to un-build half the end wall in order to insert said tray? Seems somewhat drastic to me.
And after all that, you get a whopping great bill that you have no choice but to pay. All this because the person who built the sodding house in the first place didn't bother to put the lintel in properly and the subsequent owners had patch jobs done that essentially made the whole thing worse. In cases such as these, it should be tracked back to that original builder and he should damn well have to pay up himself. Why the poor sod who happens to have bought the property in good faith and then ends up shelling thousands for shoddy workmanship?
A few other issues this house has had:
1. The washing machine wasn't initially connected correctly, result being that it leaked under the floor for months before I finally noticed water seeping between the cracks on the laminated floor. Which resulted in hell of having to have that replaced - all because a tap wasn't tightened.
2. The shed door now cannot be locked, because the idiot who constructed it initially couldn't be bothered to do everything up properly so now it is leaning sideways at an alarming angle and the padlock just doesn't ever line up. Have moved padlock four times on shed now and as keeps slipping more, still doesn't bolt.
3. Leaking shower. Surely SURELY when someone installs a shower they can think to ensure that water stays in the shower rather than goes all over the damn place. Result: more laminate flooring having to be replaced and an entire new shower fitted.
Am seriously considering taking a course in basic construction/maintenance so that can do these darn jobs myself. But that doesn't work, does it? Because there isn't TIME to do everything. So ultimately unless you know someone in the business, you are going to get screwed. Non optional.
My other conclusion is: any workmen out there looking for a wife? I'm available. And if you screw up our house you will incur the wrath of Jane. Yeah - that's not good.

Motorway Nightmares

Plymouth - Lancaster, simple enough. A38, M5, M6. Motorway, essentially, all the way. Surely mid-week, leave at a decent hour in the morning (by anybody's standards, not just mine), it should be a trouble-free amble, right? Bearing this in mind, and the fact am making good time, I decide to hop off at Stafford to see friend there (shout out to John here) and leave with large pile of blank DVDs - that I am informed are 'poor quality' but who cares provided they do the trick. Anyhow, digressing.
Saunter casually back onto the motorway, get about 400yds before hitting a wall of traffic. Which I proceeded to sit in for five hours - FIVE HOURS - on, just to make life better, the nicest day of the year. This was all due to the fact a lorry over-turned. Now, my point is - this couldn't happen anywhere but in the UK. Surely. Have one minor problem and the whole traffic system comes to a complete standstill. Take the States, for example. Huge freeways, endless options - not an expert, but can't see them getting tailbacks like this. We are clearly far too small a country with too many cars and, in my opinion, not enough roads. And to hear some Green Party lunatic going on about, 'we have proof that more roads leads to more traffic' is just ridiculous. How many people trog along one day, see a shiny new bit of tarmac, and exclaim that good God, they need a car? I mean, seriously.
Oh yes, one other thing. For some obscure reason in the slow-moving traffic my speedometer (and, oh damn, milometer) died. Darn annoying. Had to pay fifty quid for the privelege of being leered at on multiple occasions at the garage, and eventually getting the cable fixed. 'Men' (I use the term loosely) who work in garages should be kept in cages. Along with those who drink cups of tea on scaffolding all day - sorry, labourers - and taxi drivers who hang around in gangs. There is a vague element of comedy to having five guys peering into the bonnet of my Mini simply because when I arrived I was clad in a pair of figure-hugging jeans, but honestly. GROW UP. No wonder this country is full of depressed people. Jeez.

Tax Office

So I had one of those days where I decided to get all that boring crap out of the way - which included a two hour visit to the tax office. Worthy of a mention in that one guy actually lost the plot he'd been in the queue so long, walked over to the reception area, picked up enormous 20" monitor and hurled on floor before charging out, kicking glass out of door, and disappearing into the wilderness of Derriford. Office went crazy with shouts of, 'God, we need some help in here!' , females screeching, and one guy importantly snatching up the phone yelling, 'Get me the police!'. Too much excitement for one day.
Have had to endure hours of hold music, recorded messages, and people with a total inability to speak English. I'm all for employing those of non-English backgrounds, but dear God at least make sure they can speak our language. Example conversation: 'I want to cancel my mobile phone contract.'....'You want to complain about your contract?'...'No, I want to CANCEL my contract.'...'You can't do that.'...'Look, I know I can, I asked someone in a shop two days ago and they said I COULD.'....'Oh, you said CANCEL? Of course you can.'
JEEZ. At which point need to start requesting new phone as have hurled old one across the room.
Anyway, was all worth it in the end as discovered hidden stores in my bank account, uncashed cheques, and tax rebates really are worth all the hassle. Am celebrating getting everything done by going up North for a couple of weeks - see a few people, some more than others... Maybe even stick a blade in the Lune. Wow. Rowing. Not done that in ages. Beware ducklings, Jane is on the loose. (Beware ducklings, beware other rowers may be more apt). Will ensconse myself in Maidencroft for a fortnight, armed with multiple extremely tedious sounding books and attempt to develop an honest interest in Women's Studies. Any comments on how this is to be achieved would be appreciated (er - guys, keep it clean. Jeez).

Naval 'Do'

And I'm back, after enforced absence due to lack of internet access. Not entirely sure how I survived so long without being able to hop online but I'm here, shaking and withdrawn, but here. So anyway, I'll start on the 'good news'. Went to a full-on Naval Ball on Friday evening - theme was apparently 'round the world in eighty days' which essentially justified the organisers using any decoration from the last hundred years as all were going to be relevant in some way or other. Since I'm meant to rant, I will mention that the food was AWFUL. As vegetarian gluten-free, I'm obviously a damn picky eater and had requested this beforehand. 'Starter' consisted of an onion salad, which I managed to stagger through half of before rejecting in favour of an unseen main course. Which turned out to be a larger portion of the same onion salad. Given that I was eating in the second sitting and had had three hours of drinking time before then...
Yes well, nobody else was sober so its okay.
Despite being terrified beforehand that wasn't dressed to a suitable standard of ponciness, I think I passed that one. Did mean to take photos but was such a nervous wreck entirely forgot - D'OH. Since am potentially going to the even poncier centenary event in August, I will make note to get photos then.
Spent most of yesterday massively hungover entertaining my highly energetic seven year old niece. This is not recommended after about two hours sleep and more champagne than I care to remember.
Went to Oxford last week to check out future 'alma mater'. Nothing to complain about there.
Wish I'd thought of this years ago - create a website on which to rant, and then am presented with remarkably little to rant about. Did have a miniature rant with friend Ed this morning (the 'Man' referred to in coffeekat's blog if anyone is interested) regarding the useless nature of shop assistants in this country. Particularly hate it when you walk up to a group of them yabbering away about their social lives, you start to hover with clear intent to ask a question, and none of them deigns to acknowledge your existence. How to Cheese Jane Off in one easy move, that would be. Frequently sees me going, 'Oh for God's SAKE' and storming off, making it blatantly obvious one of them just missed a sale.
Returning to veggie/gluten free point. WHY DON'T AIRLINES OFFER THIS AS AN OPTION? One or the other, if I'm lucky. I say that because every time I book a flight my agent assures me that they have requested that and they never bloody have - which reminds me, must ring up to see what I'll be expected to consume on my flight to BA in a month.
GRR.
Oh good. A bit of a rant. Feel much better now :D