Revelation~

In the past week or so, physics has repeatedly blown my mind. It's been like a massive, sudden destiny-driven speight of learning facilitated by a combination of a gift, a purchase, a brainwave and a moment's coincidental scanning of the Sky TV listings.

At risk of going on about how 2011 is a year of change in my life, not simply because of inevitabilities such as Uni, but also because of my determination to approach things from a Zen perspective, this year has already given me so much more reason for positivity than last year.

My good chum Anna (who I mention a lot, and who is possibly my lone reader) and I had a (mildly pissed) discussion about how, at this age, things start making sense, and I can say from experience of the past month or so, that this truly is the case.

Time (the relativity of which I have recently got my head around) makes more sense - I am becoming more organised. Writing and language (which my wrestle with my portfolio has increasingly unveiled) is logical and sensible and not at all as complicated as I have, until recently, tried to make it. And all the weird and wonderful mysteries of the universe are much more exciting, as though my brain has been in an eight-year car-wash and now emerged sparkling, fresh and raring to go.

The past month (though it is not the end of the month, so I oughtn't to be summarising) has seen me forcing improved public confidence, exploring new philosophical ideas, meeting new people, embracing adultular responsibilities and somehow coming to terms with the fact that, actually, maths isn't as bad as all that. I have, however, had little success in doing mornings (but let's not run before we can walk, eh?)

I have a mug which explains, in the words of Oscar Wilde: 'Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.' This is entirely true - but does not count if breakfast is taken after 11am.

I have just had a phonecall from my Granny and, despite knowing she wasn't actually calling to talk to me, we had a good chat about how exciting the world is, and how yes, I can borrow her books about atomic theory. Just when I thought it was impossible to be more of a nerd, it's snuck up on me like a hungry bear.

And you cannot understand how hard it was not to allude to Shakespeare there; such urges prove my point.

In any case, life is an exciting ball of quarks, gluons and bits of invisible fluff, and long may it remain so!

Grabbing adulthood by the horns.

Today, thus far, has been one of my newly established 'admin days'. This, I believe, is a very important part of adult behaviour which I have never really had to face much before.

In the past few weeks, I have had e-mails coming out of my ears demanding my presence here, here and here. My dad also bought an unprecedented amount of tickets to shows and functions and things for Christmas presents, so already my calendar is overflowing.

Anyone who knows me will probably know this is very odd - I tend to be the one with little going on, who can say very quickly off-hand whether she's free one day or another. No more, apparently.

So I have spent a while organising my calendar, sorting it out with a diary, and filling in forms and e-mailing people about things. It's freaky, and I've had to put on a tweed blazer just to put me in the right mind-set.

I have also, as part of The Month of No Procrastination (i.e. January) FINALLY sent off my Driving License application, with the right money, with the right photos, documents and various approvals of people who, worryingly, consider me mature enough to drive. To drive, maybe - to fill in a simple form, throw it in an envelope with some cash and sufficient proof of my existence, not so much. Haha.

But the pressure of having to ask for lifts to absolutely every one of my sudden callings took its toll, and I have finally bitten the bullet.

Look out, kids. In about two weeks time, I cannot guarantee your safety on Her Majesty's roads. (The queen owns the roads, surely? Or is it the government? A debate for another, less busy day.)

Tata for now!

Stranded at school

I am stranded at school. "Why?" you may ask with great concern, to which I would eloquently reply, "Because I am being cultural."

Tonight I am going to the theatre to see Translations, a piece about Gaelic signposting or some such excitement. In order for this to happen, however, I have to hang around at school - supposedly doing work - until the bus arrives. Joy of eternal joys.

Good thing there are bookshelves, I think.

What A Week (Part the Second) + The Brink of Adulthood

The brink of Adulthood is where I am speaking to you from right this very moment. It is the strange sensation of feeling both old and desperately young at the same time. This week I have built up my transition to being an adult proper through embracing the opportunities given to me, first, becoming a cub leader, and now taking up my new vocation at Delapré Abbey.

I had my first day at the latter today and needless to say, it was a little bit daunting. At the same time, it was, however, hilarious. Let me tell you why:

Imagine a crisp November morning. A young (but also almost old) lady arrives at an old (but also very new to her) ex-nunnery-cum-stables-cum-wartime-base-cum-tea-room. She sees the door is closed and that no signs are out and therefore assumes she is the first to be there. Commence knocking on door, stepping back, peering through windows ad nauseum. After making a lengthy dick (ooer) of herself, she tries the door and finds it is in fact open and everything is GOING ON inside.

Rachel: 0, World: 1

Later on, after a delightful tour of the building and an introduction to the other staff (further details below) she takes her first order, serves up some darned good looking carrot cake and, feeling superb, suddenly freezes with horror. She's put the bell-jar-lid on another and it is now stuck there as though someone has glued it. After much flailing and (slightly too) loud wrenching, she is forced to concede and request help. Rookie mistake.

Rachel: 0, World: 2

The staff consisted on this particular day (I am informed it fluctuates) of two mid-twenties chaps and two mid-early-forties ladies. The chaps are named Ben and Alex. Now, I know what you must be thinking. Oh God, Rachel, your track record with people named Alex is shocking, keep back! But it was not Alex who was the issue. Benjamin (as I would never call him to his face) is lovely, I'm sure, but also has the quite annoying habit of explaining anecdotes with sound effects, which seems to be a marked trait of Northamptonian chaps who try to chat me up. (This being what he did, in a rather suave and charming, but also, parce que les sound effects, slightly grating fashion). Now, I'm not used to getting chatted up to begin with - on a normal day, this simply does not occur, and as such, it was difficult to know how to respond in the appropriate fashion without looking a) like a dick or b) like I was particularly interested. However, the interest proves that, somewhere, I have some form of feminine charm. Hurrah!

Rachel: 1, World: 2

I also discovered that the tearoom bookshelf is a swap-shop-free-for-all, with optional donations. Score!

Rachel: 2, World: 3

However, I also showed the reason for my dropping maths like a hot-potato after GCSE by proving my inadequate addition-under-pressure skills. What's more, Ben turns out to be something of a mathematical genius. This meant that I had to refer to him for quick-fire addition. He also makes a damned good tea (and for some reason was dubbed by me, in a moment of clear insanity the King of Beverages).

Rachel: 2, World: 4

However, there were comments made about my ability to bring in customers (hopefully not simply my status as a "free and single" young child-soontobe-woman) and I mastered the inclusion of sugar (and dog biscuits!) to outside table orders.

Rachel: 3, World: 4

And finally, I was invited back, and am soon to bash through the glass ceiling of childhood into adulthood, whether my maths and demure-womanly skills are up to par or not!

Rachel: 4, World: 4

It's a draw. Can't take me out THAT easily, world. Bahahaa.

Er, yes, composure.

Anyhow, I am very much looking forward to a lovely dinner with the girls in town, which we will be descending upon in a few hours in various states of dress! I'm sure it will be smashing!

All for now, ttfn.

What A Week (Part 1)

So first Leeds turn around and hate on me, then Newcastle want me to answer questions and then Birmingham offer me a place. It's crazy! But really damned exciting.

Not so gutted about Leeds as they were a plain English course, and because the best thing about them, really, was their lecture hall architecture.

Biiiirmingham, Birmingham, how I love thee. But also, a bit freaked out that they've not taken Film Studies into consideration with my offer, so I have to get 3 As THIS year, or they aren't interested.

This offer is subject to you obtaining

GCE A level
Grade A in English Literature
and Grades AA in any 2 of
Art and Design -Fine Art
History
Religious Studies

Definitely doable, but definitely means I am likely to run around in hysterics with multiple nervous breakdowns in the limbo time between exams and results. Scheisse!

Bloody excited, though, because this means I have two viable places - a proper and a back-up. Thank sweet Mary Jesus and Joseph (and their donkey).

Also, first impression time being a Scout Leader Proper in the village troop tonight. A little bit anxious, but I'm sure it will be fine, providing I don't start swearing among the little kiddies. :D

I have decided to force a massive confidence boost from now through my 18th year on Earth, by forcing myself into situations I would usually crap myself at, and dealing with it.

That is all,

Tata,

Rachel

Who you gonna call?!

Last night was The Compass' annual Ghost Hunt and it was spectacular. Apart from serving 'Venom' and 'B-positive' (green and red beer respectively) at the bar, there were masses of decoration, including a witch's grotto in the outhouse and much dressing-up revelry! And despite being one of the last teams to register, and therefore having to wait an hour and a half before leaving, we all had a bloody good time, pun intended.

The prize for dressing up goes to Georgie, who dressed up as a devil-blood-and-talcum-vampire creature (see the dashing and utterly terrifying photograph below)...

We played a quite fail game of Uno, followed by a few very fun rounds of Articulate, with some very bizarre and hilarious answers and explanations emerging. (eg. "You eat it and it grows on trees..." "LEAVES!" "NUTS!" "BERRIES!" "CABBAGE!") After which, we returned to The Compass to begin the Ghost Hunting proper.

If you want an accurate image of the scene, think of a bunch of disastrously unsubtle, torch-wielding, fox-barking and slightly overenthusiastic female types wandering about down dark alleys and being jumped out at by randomers in ghostly garb. Apart from answering questions (which I think we managed quite well, considering) we also had to find various items on our travels, including a walnut, a bottle top, sweet wrappers etc. Excellent, as Anna and I had already compared the detritus in the bottom of our bags - pegs, lip gloss, pen lids - as essential ghost hunting equipment.

Afterwards we wandered back for drinks at the pub and to wait for the results. While we did not win - I think we won in terms of catching the ghosts before they caught us, and also a gold star for enthusiasm. :D It was at this point that my good chum Sunshine bought her first ROUND of adulthood which, as we know, is like being christened, just with more Southern Comfort and Cider than holy water.

Hurrah! :D

In which I say boo to a goose...

Last night I slept a ridiculous amount - 7:30 right through the night - and, as I could have expected, I woke up with a splitting headache. I also woke up early, which meant I managed to blitz most of my recorded telly and some tidying before ten, at which point I began to get a little bored.

So I proposed to mein vati that we all go on a little jaunt down to Delapre Abbey, as I recently sent off an application to volunteer in their delightful little tea room.

The place itself is lovely; sweeping fields, gorgeous wizened old trees and a lake which, unlike that near Six Fields, is as clear as molten glass.

We wandered around the grounds and gardens for the best part of the afternoon, wading through the autumn mud, and being boggled at the burnt-up fishing tent we found by the lakeside before heading over to check out the tea room (where I saw a sneaky Robert Harris book which I covetted but which was not a BookCrossing book, so I could not has). It was small, but cheerful, though they spelled fruit 'friut' on the sign, which we had a little giggle at.

After this, and deciding that our stomachs were much too empty to be sated by potatoes or soup, we meandered over to the Toby Carvery on the way home and had some rather scrummy roasts and cherry bakewells with custard.

Interestingly, got asked for ID on ordering some cider. Now, I was, and have been since I started ordering alcohol with meals in pubs, under the impression that, at 16, you are allowed a glass of cider or wine if under supervision and with a meal. This seems to have changed recently as people have been asking for ID here, there and everywhere when they hadn't been before. Ironic, really, as I am older now than I ever have been, and yet am being ID'd more and more. Boo! Roll on adulthood, I say, roll it on!

We are the stars' tennis balls...

Thursday saw the trip to see the Duchess of Malfi at the Royal with schulefolk. This involved a combination of new experiences, several of which I shall elaborate on, here:

The first of these was being driven by Jess. Jess being the sort of person who, now she has the ability to drive, wants to drive all the time, almost as though simply to prove she can, has been offering lifts left, right and centre over the past few months, but this was the first time I had taken her up on the offer. Luckily she was also picking Ellie up, so the hurdle of her finding her way to my house was easily jumped. Getting to the theatre itself, however, was another kettle of fish.

Now, not being a qualified driver myself, it is probably not my place to say, but I don't think I've ever been driven by someone so inclined to shouting while driving. Some drivers shout abuse from their windows, others tell their passengers to pipe down, some even shout at the radio as they drive, but Jess, Jess shouted at her car, or herself, or both. Though her driving itself was impeccable (this coming from a girl who thought she had broken the thing after stalling twice in as many minutes) the scenario itself was pretty amusing.

The second new occurrence, which made me feel (rightly) like one on the cusp of adulthood, was the opportunity of sidling up to the bar and asking, suave as you like, whether I could please order some drinks to be delivered at the interval. Sure, I didn't request champagne on ice, or a half-crate of cordon blanc, but it felt dashed professional getting a reciept and later coming out of a packed theatre to find my coke, ice and lemon-slice awaiting me. :D

The play itself was pretty darned good. Very religious, very symbolic and quite dramatic to boot! There were bits of Caravaggio painting here and there, and a little group of singers chucking madrigals left right and centre - my favourite of which was the counter-tenor (i.e. practically castrati man) who could sing higher than I've ever seen a man sing in my life. The chaps playing Bosola and Ferdinand were fairly dashing, and ridiculously tall, and the acting was superb, even if they did fluff the occasional like (*cough*Duchess*cough*)

Overall, though, beautiful - I have had Morro Lasso in my head ever since, and now have the really amusing image of Georgie dressed as the pope, as per her plan for my birthday shindig.