A bone to pick...

Dear Somebody in the NHS,

could you please explain and subsequently justify the reasoning behind the following two facts:

1. If you live in Wales, you only pay £4 for a prescription. As oppose to over £6 in the rest of the United Kingdom.

2. If you live in Wales and are lucky enough to be under 25, you get a free prescription. In the rest of the United Kingdom, this is only true for those under 18 (oh, and in full time education).

Seriously - there is no logic to this. It is English-ist, Scottish-ist, and N.Ireland-ist. I am exceedingly cheesed off with the situation.

What is the point in having a democracy if people are going to be treated differently? HUH?

Please could you also confirm if, whenever I need a prescription, I can merely pop over the border into Wales and collect it, thus saving a noticeable sum of money.

Regards,

Ranting Jane.

Boredom has a use, then

Well - a brief post to accompany the photo that should be appearing beneath this. I finally decided that look, for goodness' sake, this adding pictures to a blog business couldn't be so hard as it had appeared on first attempt. So I devoted some time to work out how to put on here a fairly awful picture of me, taken a mere six hours ago in fact. Hot off the press. The dress is one I may have blathered on about to you, poor dear Reader, and is looking decidedly creased in this photo; accompanied with my eyebrows raised for no apparent reason and sun shining (yes, even in England) at a particularly annoying angle so you can't see the colour properly, I thought I'd add it despite all this. Well, it was considerably better than the photos taken earlier of me in full sub fusc - that would be the poncy gear you have to wear at Oxford on various occasions. And yes, I look like a total duffus, muppet and clod all rolled into one.
This is exciting - I can now add photos of 'around the world' to go with my posts! Oh, arent you oh so lucky to be living in this technological age!
P.S. And I'm not blocking your ability to post Comments in fear of evil remarks coming from anyone, rather because I seem to be getting 'Spam Comments'. Anyone have any ideas why, and how I can stop this?? Unless you'd LIKE to see random remarks on things such as renting limos in LA...

New formal dress 

Goodbye, Mini...

Yes - tomorrow, Mini and I shall part company. Mini is being replaced by a somewhat disturbing pillar box red VW Polo. Anybody who bothers to add comments saying, wow, fun car - go away. I am in mourning.
On another note, I was introduced to my residence for the next ten months. On the top floor of a three storey building (and that is a depressingly high number of stairs that I am going to be lugging boxes of books up shortly), thankfully with sloping ceilings to add some element of 'character', I have a very - er - 'yellow' room. With somewhat worn red carpet and faded blue curtains, but with a spot of my usual decorator-designer flair (add as many books as possible) it should be liveable inable. I'll be installed as of next Saturday, the 24th September, giving me a week to build myself up to anything work-related.
Speaking of which, I'm absolutely terrified. Had an email from a course convenor saying that we, the future Women's Studies people, have a meeting for an hour and a half the first day of Fresher's Week. Made the mistake of googling some of the names - some of which are darn obscure I can tell you and I seriously hope there are two bods wandering around with that title because otherwise I'm up against an Indian published author and a journalist who is the editor of a paper.
CRIKEY.
Any spelling mistakes, put down to the fact I'm only wearing one contact lens. Am squinting at the screen and doing my best here.
Tough life, eh.

A quick recommendation...

Just thought I'd make use of blog space to recommend a movie to you all. Not for the faint-hearted or those in need of being cheered up, as advance warning. 'Hotel Rwanda' is one of the more incredible films to be produced in recent years (in my not so humble critic's opinion), and I defy any of you to watch it without at least coming close to tears.
Watch it, learn from it, maybe even do something about it. Check out the report published today by the UN on International Development if you're really interested. Use this link:
http://www.undp.org

I have a home!

A cheerful Jane logging in this evening to say, hey folks, I have a home! To clear up any possible confusion there - you can wipe out images of me curled up in a cardboard box for a start - I haven't actually been homeless, it was a potential issue in Oxford.
To cut a long, wittering story short: my college emailed me today and said that a room had come free (some poor sod had been unable to get the funding required and thus couldn't go. I will take full advantage of this and leap eagerly into their designated spot). I'll be living wonderfully close to the college boathouses - so close, in fact, I fear that I may be dragged for 'early morning runs' rather than sitting on my bike and letting it guide me in the right direction. Hmm, will have to put my foot down firmly from the start here.
I've never shared before (a brief, hellish experience in Australia I have attempted fairly successfully to block from my mind) but - being the total snob I have been accused so frequently of being - think this will be fine because it is a, with Oxford University students and b, more specifically, with Linacre students. Both factors coupled together mean I'll be co-habiting with graduate and postgrad students, who are forking out tidy sums to get a damn fine further degree and are therefore in the vicinity for one reason in particular: get that degree. I'm therefore fairly hopeful that requests to 'turn that music down, I have an essay due tomorrow' will be listened to and fully understood. Plus, and this is one of the best parts, because Oxford students are generally useless on practical levels, we have a housekeeper to look after us - clean the kitchen, bathroom, do our washing, that sort of thing. Wouldn't like such tedious chores to get in the way of our 'little grey cells' functioning, would we.
Anyhow, I'm remarkably happy - and on the money saved by NOT spending a fortune living on my own, I fully intend to take multiple short breaks. Plus, I now have the means to go to India for a month at Christmas: fantastic. Not only will this give me a much needed sun tan boost, I'll also be a darn interesting place work-wise. (University work - not 'real world' work. Heaven forbid).
Right, I'm off to plan a brief sojourn in Guernsey with Mum. We've both decided we need a break and deserve one so will pop over there. I'm intent on heading to the beach with a pile of books, and she can - I don't know, sit in a hammock. With a pile of books.
After a few days (dare I say weeks) of a life verging on pure hell, it seems I'm coming out the other side again. The Gods remembered me. Whoop whoop!

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...