Masterpiece

Tut! It's been a week again. Bad blogger!

It's been a heavy week, because I've been working my butt off to get my last assignment done in between shifts at work.

But behold! 'Tis complete!! (Although technically I also have to finish off the 750 word rationale that is supposed to accompany it, but shhhh.)



It took ages to get it to look right and stupid Publisher was annoying me because it refused to print without white borders (why? WHY?? Probably now someone will comment telling me exactly how I could have overcome that particular difficulty).



But actually, Publisher was nothing - N.O.T.H.I.N.G - compared to the problems I had at the copy shop! For one thing I was charged an unbeliveable amount of money which, despite me having shown them my student card, I don't believe for one second they actually gave me the discount, but just tried to get as much money out of me as possible.



Not only that, but because the Publisher issue meant I had trimmed the edges and therefore the double pages were slightly less than A3, the kid who served me copied them so that the pages didn't actually align on each side. When I went back he reckoned he was going to charge me again, but I nearly broke down in hysterical tears and the new copies came free of charge after all. Of course, this was after I showed him how, if you line the fold in the centre of the page up to the halfway mark both times, then both sides will be aligned. How clever! What genius! How ironic that I apparently know more about photocopying than someone who actually works in a photocopying shop, who told me that the only way to line it up was to scan it into a computer and print it out at £10 A SIDE! and that if he didn't push the paper right into the corner of the photocopier it wouldn't copy. SURPRISE! It did. Clearly I am a photocopying genius and should give up my teaching career to join the lofty heights of copying. Judging by what they charged me, I probably would actually make more money!

Conversations on the patio

"It's funny, I don't look like someone who talks about poo."

"And what? I do look like someone who talks about poo? You totally look like someone who talks about poo. Every time I look at you I think of poo."

I live with some charming girls! ;)

The logic of fools

So, Friday night Milly and I were having some people over. We went to Asda to get wine and nibbles and a few other essentials we would need during the week - as we frequently do, Asda being the biggest and cheapest supermarket nearby.

We got to the checkout and divided our stuff from the trolley, splitting the stuff for that night so we'd each pay for a bottle of wine and a couple of bags of crisps. Milly's stuff was put through first and I went to help her pack and fit it in the trolley, which we had already loaded up with our purchases from other shops.

As the cashier scanned the bottle of wine she turned and asked us both for ID. It's pretty much a nationwide policy to check for ID if the person looks under 21, even though the legal age for buying alcohol is 18. I can't really decide if I'm flattered or annoyed at being asked for ID now that I'm 26, but I got out my driving licence anyway and showed her. Milly had forgot hers and she rifled through her purse trying to find it to no avail.

"Don't worry," I said, "I'll pay for the wine."

"I can't sell it to you," said the cashier. "She hasn't got ID."

"But I have," I replied. "You've just seen it. I'll pay for the wine."

"No I can't let you do that. I need to see ID from both of you. It's the law."

"It's NOT the law!" I raised my voice a bit, uncertain if I was actually correct.

She called her supervisor over.

"We have to see ID from both of you," said the supervisor. "You can't buy wine for her if she's not got ID."

"Fine," I said, "but I can still get the bottle of wine I was planning on getting, right? The one that's with all my shopping here?"

"No, I can't let you buy that either."

"Why not? I'm 26 years old and you've seen my ID, why won't you let me buy a bottle of wine?"

"Because you're together and she hasn't got ID."

"Right, so if I load all this into the car and come back in on my own, with my ID, then I can buy some wine."

"No, because you've just been refused."

Steaming and wineless we left Asda. I spent a while Googling when I got home because I could not believe they had refused me just because I was with Milly (who is, incidentally, 21 and more than old enough to buy alcohol even if she did forget her ID). What if I'd been with a child who obviously wouldn't have been old enough? Would they have refused to serve me if I'd come in with a little kid? Then again, children are allowed to drink in their own home at some ridiculous age over here. I think it's 5 or something. So I could well be buying alcohol with the intention of giving some of it to a child. Plus, my understanding is that if I were to ever have a moment of stupidity and buy alcohol for some of those kids who hang around outside off-licences and try to get adults to buy beer for them, I'd be the one who was liable for prosecution, not the shopkeeper who sold it to me.

And how long would I have had to wait before I could go in and buy alcohol there having been refused? If I'd driven the car away and come back 2 hours later would that have made a difference? They can't possibly refuse to serve me alcohol in Asda for the rest of my life because I once tried to buy a bottle of wine with a 21-year-old who didn't have any ID. Plus, there are so many checkouts at Asda I doubt they would have even realised if I'd come back in and gone to a different one.

Google didn't tell me anything conclusive, but nowhere did I find proof that an adult should be refused because they are with someone who may be underage. I know we have a dangerous culture of youth binge-drinking in this country and I think it's great that supermarkets are joining the fight to somehow prevent it, but there comes a point where it really has gone too far.

Footballers have problems too! Who knew?

(Sorry about the subtitles. Only decent copy I could find.)

I have seen this advert twice recently and both times I have felt...well...sickened really.

Honestly, what do Adidas' advertisers think they are doing sticking this sort of rubbish on our screens? I mean really, I know I find hope in the fact that David Beckham can get over what happened in 1998. After all, tripping an opposing player in a moment of adolescent-type stroppiness really is a "dark time". I don't know why people moan about their lives, when really none of us have experienced anything as awful as that. There is a lot of suffering in this world - people are abused, hurt, beaten, lose those they love and experience overwhelming depressions - but Becks knows what it's like to sink to the depths, after all, he did cry for almost 5 or 10 whole minutes! That is true despair. I can't even imagine how awful it must have been for him to cry for that long. And only have his millions of pounds and wife to comfort him.

I really have no idea what kind of idiot came up with the concept for this commercial but they seriously need their head examining.

Once again my uni surpasses itelf!

It has been a crazy week. I had Dorthe staying until Friday and the weekend has gone in a complete blur, so much so that I got very confused when my alarm went off this morning and I really wasn't sure what day it was. I am up to my ears in coursework and, of course, I'm off to Denmark in a few days (we leave Saturday!) and before then I also have to do things like get money changed up and make sure I have everything I'll need for a week in a foreign country.

Despite being so busy last week and feeling the constant pressure to entertain my guest, I did manage to grab a couple of hours whilst the exchange students were in school to get my RE assignment done. None of our assignments we have at the moment are due in until April, but RE seemed the simplest so I thought I'd get that thousand words out the way so I could concentrate on the other 5,500 (and the children's book) I have to write before the end of April.

This week is 'Themed Week' at uni. I'm pretty sure it's more or less a time killer between the two exchange weeks, but whatever, it means we're only in uni two days this week and I'm pretty happy about that. Yesterday was a day off so I spent a good portion of the day writing notes for my English Diversity and Change essay. This morning I came in early, all ready to hand in my RE, just needing to print a header sheet off the student portal as all work must have a personally-barcoded header sheet attached to it so it can be scanned in and they can print you a receipt incase they, you know, lose your work - which actually seems to happen far more than you'd suspect.

HOWEVER, the joyousness of my university is that it seems to delight in irritating the life out of me. So of COURSE, the one header sheet (and the only one) not available on the portal at the moment is the RE one. TYPICAL!!!

Oh well, I'm off to pick up my plane ticket to Denmark in a little while. Scary!

Stick Stuff On Your Head Day 2007

Well, according to Mr Cactus over there, it's Stick Stuff On Your Head Day 2007. And who am I to argue with the logic of a prickly pear? It's true, we all need to take a step back and not take life so seriously from time to time. So, without further ado:







PS: My photos from the weekend are now up at Flickr!

And so it begins...

Yes, the packing has begun. I have spent most of the day doing it and what do I have to show for that? Six boxes. Which doesn't seem like very much in the grand scheme of things. Particularly as I look round my flat and realise just HOW MUCH STUFF I HAVE! WHAT IS WITH ALL THE STUFF? SURELY I CAN'T POSSIBLY NEED IT ALL? AND HOW WILL I EVER PACK IT?

Okay, enough with The Crazy and on with the grind. Overall, I am pleased that I have had a productive day as we all know what I'm like with the procrastination and the staying in bed til noon on my days off. Well, I'll have you know I was up before nine today. Before! Nine! On my day off! Well, I was impressed with myself.

I went into town, got some stuff done and bought some more bin bags because I just know I will need plenty this week as I am bound to find loads of stuff that can and should be thrown out. And I packed six boxes. Of course they are six boxes I can barely lift myself, but that's why you should always employ the talents of some fairly strong boys come moving day. I will be liberally inviting all and sundry from the church student and 20s contact list to come and help at my "moving party".

(See what I did there? Clever huh? Call it a party and they'll come running!)