SIMs and Soap
I've spent a fortune on photocopies this week. Let's hope it pays off when in August I get the results for the essay I haven't yet written. I've also scanned a few billion books to save precious pennies, hurray for Optical Character Recognition software I say!
It's been quite an odd first couple of weeks back at uni. Rather a lot of politics for my liking, and complaining too. And demands for attention from people, so many demands in fact that at the weekend I make the dramatic decision to change my mobile number. Ok, so strictly speaking that's not quite true. The fact is I had another SIM card lying around, dating from the 18th century when I had my first breezeblock-sized vibrating keypad with a scaffold pole sticking out the top of it. I would just turn my phone off, but then I wouldn't be able to gaze longinly at the screen's 'desktop' picture of *cough* looking rather cute. So yes, come Thursday, 12pm when my final class of the week is over, it's out with one SIM and in with the other. I've also re-recorded my answerphone message telling ppl not to leave messages 'because it's broken'. Which of course it isn't.... Hah!!
I broke a hinge on my darling laptop last week, what a poo. The screen still stays up by itself, but only if it's at an angle of exactly 90 degrees from the keyboard. Grrr. Akihabara Here I Come.
*Cough* and I are doing well. In a bid to balance the ever-present demands of study and a desire for 'our time' we have instigated a new plan of action. This involes *Cough* only staying here at weekends (as opposed to about 6 nights a week), and Saturdays as our day when we go and do something exciting together. I haven't really been anywhere in the North of England (despite having lived here for 1/4 of my life) , and of course, nor has *Cough*, so every Saturday we're going to go somewhere and explore. This Saturday it's
The bar of soap by my sink split in two today. It's a sad moment when that happens. You know, you sense it a day or two before it actually occurs. You see your little bar weaken every time you wash your hands, until one day, no matter how tenderly you turn it in your moist palm, it can bear the tension no more, and what was a slight crack becomes a searing tear through its heart, leaving two annoyingly small bits. I get attached to my bars of soap. I can remember exactly how many I've had since I moved in here (3). Mind you, I can't recall how many I got through in my last house. Toothepaste is the same. Not that I actually wash myself with toothpaste, that would be a bit silly, and quite costly too.
My flatmates, the two young-uns, have started leaving our ground-floor french-windows open. The ones that open directly onto the street. It is difficult to comprehend how they could be so stupid. Then one remembers that they go to Sheffield Hallam Uni (the old polytechnic)... I've put a little notice up that requests, in very polite language, that they not be so bloody idiotic. If anyone was to climb over the little barrier between the pavement and the doors, and nicked my suihanki (rice cooker), magimix (mixer) or Avichan (avocado plant) I would be mightily peeved. It's bad enough that they subject the rest of us to regular bouts of Rubbish & B*llox (R&B) and Mariah Carey's screeching.
Oh dear. It seems they are determined to piss me off tonight. Not only has "I will always Love You" come back on the virtual intercom, but now they are running up and down the corridor with one of those foul chemical-packed aerosol air-freshener things.
Kids eh, who'd have em?
Ok, well grumpy grandpa best get on with some work now. Tattaa!