I now have a new revamped blog at http://mutualinduction.blogspot.com.
Hope you enjoy it.
03 July 2007
16 June 2007
Hell on paper
Oh the slightly precedented relief, the exams are not quite over. Whilst everyone else finished theirs with Physics today, Jingo and I both have the second Business Studies paper to complete next Thursday. Despite being told to cram like hell for five days before by our manic 20 year old teacher, I will certainly be taking it easy this weekend and next week, even going to see live stand up the night before. Blimey, he will not be impressed by that.
So back to the past; here's a run down of all of the exams thus far:
Citizenship
I checked about four times to make sure I hadn't been given the easier 'foundation paper'. 'Foundation' of course being the euphemism for "Oh my God you retard! Ha, the best grade you can get with this is a C!"
English Literature
Really not sure how well I've done on this one. The Carol Ann Duffy and Robert Browning poems were OK but I think I might have screwed up the Of Mice and Men essay a bit. Apparently if you got an A* on the coursework you only needed 70% on the exam for an A* overall. We'll have to wait and see what August brings.
ICT
By far one of the funniest and easiest exams completed. One of the questions was about supermarket barcoding relating to RFID tags that might combine to form an evil network. Beware the RFIDs. Apparently the film is coming out soon.
Geography
The first paper was alright, but the second was a bit more tricky to master. Some of the questions were a bit vague and I'm not sure I've pushed all the right buttons. Full marks in coursework mean that I'm already set up for good things...
English Language
I decided to take the plunge and do a Describe question for the first time ever, thinking I could at least manage to describe my own house. Lots of imagery relating to smell and touch should guide me to a decent grade - I hope. The comprehension was reasonable but my persuasive argument for a teenage magazine (never read one in my life - I prefer 'adult' titles :-) was probably a bit weak.
Biology
One of the best exams on the calendar. The test was quite hard but I felt I knew almost everything and identified with a smirk which questions the rest of the field would stumble on. I am being optimistic about this one.
Chemistry
Strewth! What a little piece of shit. That was quite difficult but 29/30 on coursework should help me a bit. It annoyed me that there were no titration calculations or questions involving 2,3,carboxyethyl-4-octanoic acids. Damn.
Business Studies
I woke up on Thursday morning thinking: "Wouldn't it be nice if we got a case study about a camera shop (since I am quite big on photography - purchasing a D-SLR in the next few days :-) so I can cram my answers with tons on contextual terminology. And that's exactly what I did. God bless Dave the redundant photographer and a desire to be his own boss.
Additional Maths
Thursday was one of only two days when we had two exams on the same day. It was worse for Nick though, he had History followed by Business Studies followed by Additional Maths. The first two involve writing and writing and writing, reams and reams of crap, altogether directly contributing to deforestation. Fortunately (ha!) I only had the two in the afternoon. And bloody hell I'm annoyed I did Maths a year early. That was pure, distilled, concentrated and refined whoop ass grade hell on paper. For two hours I sat there thinking: "Fuck! How the hell to I do this? Differentiate, integrate, complete the square for x?" I will personally eat all my hats if I pass that.
Physics
Today's exam was a mixture of easy and fairly tricky questions, but I think I knew most of the stuff. Similar feeling as Biology: beware the uneven surface other candidates.
So all in all, I think I did OK all in all. Please inform me on the comments if my persistent :-)ing at the end of brackets titrates, sorry, irates you.
So back to the past; here's a run down of all of the exams thus far:
Citizenship
I checked about four times to make sure I hadn't been given the easier 'foundation paper'. 'Foundation' of course being the euphemism for "Oh my God you retard! Ha, the best grade you can get with this is a C!"
English Literature
Really not sure how well I've done on this one. The Carol Ann Duffy and Robert Browning poems were OK but I think I might have screwed up the Of Mice and Men essay a bit. Apparently if you got an A* on the coursework you only needed 70% on the exam for an A* overall. We'll have to wait and see what August brings.
ICT
By far one of the funniest and easiest exams completed. One of the questions was about supermarket barcoding relating to RFID tags that might combine to form an evil network. Beware the RFIDs. Apparently the film is coming out soon.
Geography
The first paper was alright, but the second was a bit more tricky to master. Some of the questions were a bit vague and I'm not sure I've pushed all the right buttons. Full marks in coursework mean that I'm already set up for good things...
English Language
I decided to take the plunge and do a Describe question for the first time ever, thinking I could at least manage to describe my own house. Lots of imagery relating to smell and touch should guide me to a decent grade - I hope. The comprehension was reasonable but my persuasive argument for a teenage magazine (never read one in my life - I prefer 'adult' titles :-) was probably a bit weak.
Biology
One of the best exams on the calendar. The test was quite hard but I felt I knew almost everything and identified with a smirk which questions the rest of the field would stumble on. I am being optimistic about this one.
Chemistry
Strewth! What a little piece of shit. That was quite difficult but 29/30 on coursework should help me a bit. It annoyed me that there were no titration calculations or questions involving 2,3,carboxyethyl-4-octanoic acids. Damn.
Business Studies
I woke up on Thursday morning thinking: "Wouldn't it be nice if we got a case study about a camera shop (since I am quite big on photography - purchasing a D-SLR in the next few days :-) so I can cram my answers with tons on contextual terminology. And that's exactly what I did. God bless Dave the redundant photographer and a desire to be his own boss.
Additional Maths
Thursday was one of only two days when we had two exams on the same day. It was worse for Nick though, he had History followed by Business Studies followed by Additional Maths. The first two involve writing and writing and writing, reams and reams of crap, altogether directly contributing to deforestation. Fortunately (ha!) I only had the two in the afternoon. And bloody hell I'm annoyed I did Maths a year early. That was pure, distilled, concentrated and refined whoop ass grade hell on paper. For two hours I sat there thinking: "Fuck! How the hell to I do this? Differentiate, integrate, complete the square for x?" I will personally eat all my hats if I pass that.
Physics
Today's exam was a mixture of easy and fairly tricky questions, but I think I knew most of the stuff. Similar feeling as Biology: beware the uneven surface other candidates.
So all in all, I think I did OK all in all. Please inform me on the comments if my persistent :-)ing at the end of brackets titrates, sorry, irates you.
30 May 2007
Exams!
Bad tidings readers. The exams are literally knocking on my door! Not really. Anyway, the first GCSE (Geography) is next Monday and from then on there are more exams for the next two weeks. 'Expect little more than a sarcastic...' perhaps that one needs a rest for now.
Just a quick note to say that I finally have one plant that has germinated. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the hell it is because I crammed melons, butternut squashes, lemons, oranges and apples into the same tray in my desperation and longing for a mini-orchard. We'll have to wait and see what fruit it bears... if any.
Got to now. My mother has just handed me a large slab of expired Christmas cake.
Just a quick note to say that I finally have one plant that has germinated. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the hell it is because I crammed melons, butternut squashes, lemons, oranges and apples into the same tray in my desperation and longing for a mini-orchard. We'll have to wait and see what fruit it bears... if any.
Got to now. My mother has just handed me a large slab of expired Christmas cake.
23 May 2007
Incredibly Comfortable Trousers
Phew! I feel like the exams are already over. Today we had English Literature and ICT.
The question for Of Mice and Men on the Lit paper was so vague that I hardly knew what to write about. Instead I wrote about everything. There, that should cover everything. But in enough detail? Shit. I'll probably get an A or something crap like that.
The other Literature question was about how language is used in four different poems. I chose to do two by Carol Ann Duffy (A lesbian poet with a CBE that lives in Manchester), one by Robert Browning (famous Victorian poet that lives in a grave) and another by Will Shakey. I kicked arse on these, pausing only to think about how to break WS's gay relationship with an actor to the examiner. According to my interpretations of Sonnet 130, there was man involved in his sexual life, other than himself.
This afternoon we also had ICT. This basically involves distinguishing between monitors and floppy disks and there's you A*. One of the questions asked:
Select two advantages of using RFID tags in supermarkets.
A) So police can trace thefts
B) So shopping can be calculated without being placed on the conveyor belt
C) So they can form evil networks
You need not have turned on a computer in your life to be able to see that an 'evil network' can't be a good thing. That, I would say, is actually a general picture of the exam. Its a complete wonder that everyone gets an A or A* at my college. Considering I got 79/80 on my coursework which is actually 60% of the final grade already, I would hazard a conservative guess of my grade at an A*.
The previous Friday we also had Citizenship. The coursework for this was the litter picking you are probably familiar with. That was also simple, although I fluked a couple of the questions on UN summits and Lay Magistrates. Apparently my answers were correct. Then again Jingo is known to get these kind of things wrong.
So now we have 13 days until the next exam, Geography, in 13 days time. In the mean time I'll be spending most of my time revising like crazy the subjects of Chemistry, Physics and Maths. I am taking all of these for A-level so need to get a decent grade. Therefore "expect little more than a sarcastic comment from Jingo to grace this blog over the next few days", sorry that's weeks...
The question for Of Mice and Men on the Lit paper was so vague that I hardly knew what to write about. Instead I wrote about everything. There, that should cover everything. But in enough detail? Shit. I'll probably get an A or something crap like that.
The other Literature question was about how language is used in four different poems. I chose to do two by Carol Ann Duffy (A lesbian poet with a CBE that lives in Manchester), one by Robert Browning (famous Victorian poet that lives in a grave) and another by Will Shakey. I kicked arse on these, pausing only to think about how to break WS's gay relationship with an actor to the examiner. According to my interpretations of Sonnet 130, there was man involved in his sexual life, other than himself.
This afternoon we also had ICT. This basically involves distinguishing between monitors and floppy disks and there's you A*. One of the questions asked:
Select two advantages of using RFID tags in supermarkets.
A) So police can trace thefts
B) So shopping can be calculated without being placed on the conveyor belt
C) So they can form evil networks
You need not have turned on a computer in your life to be able to see that an 'evil network' can't be a good thing. That, I would say, is actually a general picture of the exam. Its a complete wonder that everyone gets an A or A* at my college. Considering I got 79/80 on my coursework which is actually 60% of the final grade already, I would hazard a conservative guess of my grade at an A*.
The previous Friday we also had Citizenship. The coursework for this was the litter picking you are probably familiar with. That was also simple, although I fluked a couple of the questions on UN summits and Lay Magistrates. Apparently my answers were correct. Then again Jingo is known to get these kind of things wrong.
So now we have 13 days until the next exam, Geography, in 13 days time. In the mean time I'll be spending most of my time revising like crazy the subjects of Chemistry, Physics and Maths. I am taking all of these for A-level so need to get a decent grade. Therefore "expect little more than a sarcastic comment from Jingo to grace this blog over the next few days", sorry that's weeks...
14 May 2007
Chrsythansythisieums
Fate, cruel fate. Why do you mock me? It turns out that the lemons that had supposedly started sprouting last week are actually some type of stupid flower whose name I cannot pronounce. Instead of the orchards of orange trees I had hoped would fill my conservatory (yeah right, we barely have a concrete yard), I will be stuck with chrsythansythisieums or whatever some old man in a potting shed decided to call them. Apparently my mother took the liberty of replanting my orange pots with this weird blue flower, but completely failed to inform anyone. So there I was jumping for joy at the sight of 5mm of green shoot erupting from the damp earth that I had nurtured so attentively for the last 2 weeks.
It looks like I will now have to consult some kind of trade journal or other literature on the basis of securing some knowledge of Mediterranean fruits. I once used to be a dab hand at avocados, cacti and small palms but even the most hardy of plants now look weak and shriveled in my room. Reminds me of me.
Elsewhere in my supremely interesting life so far, we have been doing a bit of 'spring cleaning' as some would like to refer to it as. I prefer to think of it as 'Time to get rid of some shit week', as that is basically what it is. My brother and I (yes, the Tracy Beaker one) have bother been at it, clearing out our rooms. It seems 6 year olds get through toys very quickly these days.
Whereas with me it was the same old wooden clothes peg and broken glass bottle that kept me amused from birth till 7, my bother seems to have gone through Postman Pat > Bob the Builder > Fireman Sam > The Shiny Show in a matter of months. Hence the jump to CBBC, as CBeebies no longer has the calibre to amuse him for longer than the time it takes to scroll past it to Channel 71 on Freeview.
Relevantly enough, I have just got myself some new speakers. And just in case Jingo thinks IKEA have launched a new range of electricals, I got them from Argos actually.
It looks like I will now have to consult some kind of trade journal or other literature on the basis of securing some knowledge of Mediterranean fruits. I once used to be a dab hand at avocados, cacti and small palms but even the most hardy of plants now look weak and shriveled in my room. Reminds me of me.
Elsewhere in my supremely interesting life so far, we have been doing a bit of 'spring cleaning' as some would like to refer to it as. I prefer to think of it as 'Time to get rid of some shit week', as that is basically what it is. My brother and I (yes, the Tracy Beaker one) have bother been at it, clearing out our rooms. It seems 6 year olds get through toys very quickly these days.
Whereas with me it was the same old wooden clothes peg and broken glass bottle that kept me amused from birth till 7, my bother seems to have gone through Postman Pat > Bob the Builder > Fireman Sam > The Shiny Show in a matter of months. Hence the jump to CBBC, as CBeebies no longer has the calibre to amuse him for longer than the time it takes to scroll past it to Channel 71 on Freeview.
Relevantly enough, I have just got myself some new speakers. And just in case Jingo thinks IKEA have launched a new range of electricals, I got them from Argos actually.
06 May 2007
56%
Additional Maths mock-exam results came back today. Boy was that a shocker. It was rather strange though. The test was tough and I knew I hadn't done that well in it. So why was I so disappointed with 56%? It only just gets me a Grade C exactly.
It wasn't as though I was expecting anything higher. Indeed, the entire class broke down in laughter when the new teacher told us at the start of the year that he only got a Grade C in his Additional Maths course. But after completing this solid little piece of shit last Wednesday, I was bloody glad to still get a pass.
That, I'm afraid to reveal, is more than can be said for my good friend Jingo. Seemingly the Maths boffin of the past few years, he managed to get the highest grade in the school in the 3rd year exams. In the Maths GCSE in fourth year he was right up their again (second in the school I think).
But this news seemed to bring him back down to earth with a rather painful BANG! As I was walking home with him out of pity (normally I get the bus with more interesting mates), he hardly said a word. We solemnly strode into Home Bargains (the best discount store in the UK) to purchase drinks and snacks (Blue Coat Redemption still pounding along) and he barely uttered a 'thanks' to the cashier. Mind you he was a rude litter brat, throwing out purchases into bags with some vigor. And then there was the bloke on the till. What a retard.
Just as we were leaving, the silence broke and out came a flurry of "I am gonna revise maths 3 hours a day", "screw everything else" and "watch me get an A in this test" and other such bold claims. Perhaps it was the caffeine in his Coca Cola that spurred this particular outburst. Or maybe he is rather slow and needs time to think about what he is going to say next.
It wasn't as though I was expecting anything higher. Indeed, the entire class broke down in laughter when the new teacher told us at the start of the year that he only got a Grade C in his Additional Maths course. But after completing this solid little piece of shit last Wednesday, I was bloody glad to still get a pass.
That, I'm afraid to reveal, is more than can be said for my good friend Jingo. Seemingly the Maths boffin of the past few years, he managed to get the highest grade in the school in the 3rd year exams. In the Maths GCSE in fourth year he was right up their again (second in the school I think).
But this news seemed to bring him back down to earth with a rather painful BANG! As I was walking home with him out of pity (normally I get the bus with more interesting mates), he hardly said a word. We solemnly strode into Home Bargains (the best discount store in the UK) to purchase drinks and snacks (Blue Coat Redemption still pounding along) and he barely uttered a 'thanks' to the cashier. Mind you he was a rude litter brat, throwing out purchases into bags with some vigor. And then there was the bloke on the till. What a retard.
Just as we were leaving, the silence broke and out came a flurry of "I am gonna revise maths 3 hours a day", "screw everything else" and "watch me get an A in this test" and other such bold claims. Perhaps it was the caffeine in his Coca Cola that spurred this particular outburst. Or maybe he is rather slow and needs time to think about what he is going to say next.
25 April 2007
Unsocial Life
It has been another unsurprising week of activity in my busy unsocial life. After all the coursework deadlines were thankfully met before Easter (Spring Break for my thousands of American readers), we still had to complete redrafts to gain those crucial extra marks.
Even more crucial was Citizenship GCSE coursework. It is vital to get as many as possible since we have not actually been taught anything for the past 2 months. It turns out our teacher has been off school not because of a 'damaged knee', but instead due to a nervous breakdown. I'm not sure if I'm just being insensitive or just inexperienced, but I find that rather amusing.
This particular teacher's problems remind me of first year. Back then, all those 4 years ago, our music teacher by the name of Daunt, mysteriously vanished from school. Yes, she was daunting, especially when she threatened to give me zero on a test I was going to miss due to my father's own wedding! About half the class seemed to be absent on this test day and none of her threats came to fruition. Still, I missed the music test and haven't cared a drop for the subject ever since.
Daunt was a great fan of "There was an old man called Michael Finigan. He grew whiskers on his chin-ingin..." - you know the one, or perhaps not. Every single bleeding lesson she would sit at the piano and churn out the worst dirge imaginable just to emphasise a point about some notation thing. Apologies to all those music students reading this, but I don't see the point. Music is for the soul, and you can't learn about the soul.
Rather aside from my boring rant about mentally deranged teachers, my lemons have finally germinated! Yippee! Now I'll just have the wait another ten years for them to be visible over the rim of the pot.
In sports news, Jingo and I poned (is that how you spell it?) Richard and some guy called Colin at tennis today. Taking the set 6-3, the angle of my backhands easily disposed of Richard, and Jingo's smashes obliterated Colin and his feeble serves. We then swapped: Jingo and Rich VS Torquer and Colin, and it was a dead tie at 1 game all when we 'broke for lunch'.
In more local sports news, Chelsea screwed Liverpool 1-0. Bloody Londoners.
Even more crucial was Citizenship GCSE coursework. It is vital to get as many as possible since we have not actually been taught anything for the past 2 months. It turns out our teacher has been off school not because of a 'damaged knee', but instead due to a nervous breakdown. I'm not sure if I'm just being insensitive or just inexperienced, but I find that rather amusing.
This particular teacher's problems remind me of first year. Back then, all those 4 years ago, our music teacher by the name of Daunt, mysteriously vanished from school. Yes, she was daunting, especially when she threatened to give me zero on a test I was going to miss due to my father's own wedding! About half the class seemed to be absent on this test day and none of her threats came to fruition. Still, I missed the music test and haven't cared a drop for the subject ever since.
Daunt was a great fan of "There was an old man called Michael Finigan. He grew whiskers on his chin-ingin..." - you know the one, or perhaps not. Every single bleeding lesson she would sit at the piano and churn out the worst dirge imaginable just to emphasise a point about some notation thing. Apologies to all those music students reading this, but I don't see the point. Music is for the soul, and you can't learn about the soul.
Rather aside from my boring rant about mentally deranged teachers, my lemons have finally germinated! Yippee! Now I'll just have the wait another ten years for them to be visible over the rim of the pot.
In sports news, Jingo and I poned (is that how you spell it?) Richard and some guy called Colin at tennis today. Taking the set 6-3, the angle of my backhands easily disposed of Richard, and Jingo's smashes obliterated Colin and his feeble serves. We then swapped: Jingo and Rich VS Torquer and Colin, and it was a dead tie at 1 game all when we 'broke for lunch'.
In more local sports news, Chelsea screwed Liverpool 1-0. Bloody Londoners.
18 April 2007
Chassen Park
It's been a rather long few days in the Torquer household, so I'll fill ya in.
Firstly I scooted off to Nottingham at the earliest opportunity to get away from my ignorant, insolent and persistent younger brother. After having grown out of CBeebies last year, he has been enveloped in the world of Tracy Beaker, a fictional TV character, young girl, roughly age 12. Her behaviour mainly involves complaining and tugging on other people's hair. Fortunately he does not copy the hair pulling bit, but unfortunately has already mastered sarcasm at the age of 6.
Furthermore, as I was in Nottingham, I noticed that everything seems to be much better there than in Liverpool. They have a 5 city centre cinemas, 60p bus fares, more frequent recycling collections, nicer scenery and even a Primark. The only aspects that Liverpool beats it on is 2 cathedrals and less gun shootings. They even have a Muji for Christ's sake.
Frequent readers of my blog (i.e. once a year) may remember my trials traveling to and from Nottingham over Christmas a few months ago. This time the train went wrong again. We were only waiting for an extra twenty minutes while some guy with a watering can topped up the coolant, though. However, this now means that I have had more unsuccessful journeys (being delayed, cancelled, no seats etc.) than successful ones aboard Central Trains services. A sign of the times, shall we say.
On the return leg from Nottingham, I called in at my other relatives in Manchester. Gratefully they do not live in Moss Side (like Toxteth but with more drugs) but in the quaint suburb of East Didsbury. Sigh, endless green avenues of trees in blossom, endless crunching of litter as you tread over it...
I stayed there one night, and, lets just say that bathroom is a bit, well, one star. I did manage to amass a large of amount of assorted confectionary and fruit for some reason.
So, lugging this heavy load down to the station the next morning, I consulted the departures board and went, as it indicated, to platform 7 for my train back to Liverpool. Now this platform is one all on its own at the side of the station. You can't actually see any of the other platforms/entrance/departure boards from there. I set my stuff down and waited with no-one else for about 15 minutes in silence, with silence all around me. I decided I fancied a quick snack form the extortionately priced vending machine at the end of the platform. I chanced leaving my bags unattended and hurried over for a 70p Twix (Innit! Bloody expensive or what?). I turned round and saw that the departure board had changed and my Liverpool train was apparently waiting to leave on the other side of the station: platform 1!
I legged it back over to my stuff, hurled the Twix into my bag and belted up the steps to the gantry. "Ah bollocks! Stitch for Christ's sake!" I cursed through the commuters, gathering surprised looks. I suspect people were thinking about how unorganised modern teenagers are ... always late ... tut tut. How totally unfair. I threw myself onto the train with moments to spare, almost giving an old man a heart attack.
"Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the 15:29 to Flixton, calling at Urmston, Chassen Park, Humphry Park and will terminate at Flixton."
I nearly cried.
Firstly I scooted off to Nottingham at the earliest opportunity to get away from my ignorant, insolent and persistent younger brother. After having grown out of CBeebies last year, he has been enveloped in the world of Tracy Beaker, a fictional TV character, young girl, roughly age 12. Her behaviour mainly involves complaining and tugging on other people's hair. Fortunately he does not copy the hair pulling bit, but unfortunately has already mastered sarcasm at the age of 6.
Furthermore, as I was in Nottingham, I noticed that everything seems to be much better there than in Liverpool. They have a 5 city centre cinemas, 60p bus fares, more frequent recycling collections, nicer scenery and even a Primark. The only aspects that Liverpool beats it on is 2 cathedrals and less gun shootings. They even have a Muji for Christ's sake.
Frequent readers of my blog (i.e. once a year) may remember my trials traveling to and from Nottingham over Christmas a few months ago. This time the train went wrong again. We were only waiting for an extra twenty minutes while some guy with a watering can topped up the coolant, though. However, this now means that I have had more unsuccessful journeys (being delayed, cancelled, no seats etc.) than successful ones aboard Central Trains services. A sign of the times, shall we say.
On the return leg from Nottingham, I called in at my other relatives in Manchester. Gratefully they do not live in Moss Side (like Toxteth but with more drugs) but in the quaint suburb of East Didsbury. Sigh, endless green avenues of trees in blossom, endless crunching of litter as you tread over it...
I stayed there one night, and, lets just say that bathroom is a bit, well, one star. I did manage to amass a large of amount of assorted confectionary and fruit for some reason.
So, lugging this heavy load down to the station the next morning, I consulted the departures board and went, as it indicated, to platform 7 for my train back to Liverpool. Now this platform is one all on its own at the side of the station. You can't actually see any of the other platforms/entrance/departure boards from there. I set my stuff down and waited with no-one else for about 15 minutes in silence, with silence all around me. I decided I fancied a quick snack form the extortionately priced vending machine at the end of the platform. I chanced leaving my bags unattended and hurried over for a 70p Twix (Innit! Bloody expensive or what?). I turned round and saw that the departure board had changed and my Liverpool train was apparently waiting to leave on the other side of the station: platform 1!
I legged it back over to my stuff, hurled the Twix into my bag and belted up the steps to the gantry. "Ah bollocks! Stitch for Christ's sake!" I cursed through the commuters, gathering surprised looks. I suspect people were thinking about how unorganised modern teenagers are ... always late ... tut tut. How totally unfair. I threw myself onto the train with moments to spare, almost giving an old man a heart attack.
"Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the 15:29 to Flixton, calling at Urmston, Chassen Park, Humphry Park and will terminate at Flixton."
I nearly cried.
06 April 2007
Departure of the Train Cowboy
Its that time of year again folks. Any kind of 2-week or more holiday from college means I must make the tri-annual trip to visit assorted relatives across the country. Therefore, expect little more than a sarcastic comment from Jingo to grace this blog over the next few days. I will be back in full blown typing action in under a week. Do go away, but do come back.
Want a taster of my experiences with national transport? The Return of the Train Cowboy (January 2007)
Want a taster of my experiences with national transport? The Return of the Train Cowboy (January 2007)
31 March 2007
Tardis Cafe
What a week it has been. Unfortunately, due to circumstances well within my personal control, I have been unable to write anything on this tardy blog for the past few days. Only on the Friday before last were we told that all coursework must be handed in the following Tuesday. This sparked a frenzy of activity amongst the GCSE students. I have always sniggered at the people in older years who are being chased by ruthless teachers for coursework around this time of year. "It can't be that hard, why do you always leave it till the last minute?" is a frequent question on my mind. Now I know exactly the pressure these people are under.
That's not to say of course that people snigger behind my back when mad Australian Geography teachers chase me for work: they have much more obvious things to laugh at me about. Take for example the mangy locks circumnavigating my head in a drunken fashion. Jingo said to me about three weeks ago: "Gosh, you need a rather viscous trim." I replied: "Gosh? I may need a haircut Jingo, but we are not in an Enid Blyton novel you know."
Further to the point, I was in town on Saturday morning enjoying freedom from work for the first time in roughly a month. My mother and I (for she had tagged along to try and absorb some of my über-coolness) ventured into a small cafe near the Met Quarter (the apparently trendy end of town - but lacking in character) for a quiet drink and a danish pastry. This place was owned by a bald, bog-eyed, fat Italian man wearing spectacles similar to those in a 1960s Michael Caine movie. He is actually an genuine guy. He used to be the manager of Costa Coffee in Waterstones, but about a year ago he started complaining about the shit food this franchise was selling: four day old sandwiches, warm soft drinks and the most appalling Cappuchinos (I could make better coffee drinks. No really I could - I took my work experience in a café) to ever grace a chipped Costa mug and wrong sized saucer.
So instead of putting up with the customers' complaints and bad publicity, he decided to go it alone. In fact, he complained so much to the owners that he got sacked. After a bit of research and locating suppliers around his home town somewhere in the north east of Italy, he set up the cafe that I presently sat in. I had the most exquisite carbonated orange juice from a can that even had a foil seal on top so as to stop dirt getting around the rim, and subsequently down your oesophagus. It was a but pricey (95p) but I didn't pay for it anyway. What goes in must come out, so I set off the find a toilet. The Italian dude informed me that it was through the door at the back. I took his advice and swung it tenaciously open.
It was like a friggin' Tardis. I nearly wet myself. On the other side of this cheap panel door was a hair salon, in full blown Saturday trade. I stood and gawped for at least half a minute at high-rollers having cut, wash and blow and all the rest of it. Eventually someone noticed me looking bemused. A rather attractive looking hairdresser came over and asked: "Would you like to get started?" I turned and replied: "I need a piss."
"Ah, you've come from the cafe. Take the escalator up to the third floor. It's straight ahead of you from there." She turned and began stacking bottles of conditioner on a table next to me.
Slowly, I stirred back into motion and groped along the walls to the lift. I pushed the button and the doors sprang open. It was like something out of a Carlsberg advert. Inside were five identically dressed and beautiful hairdressers. I stepped inside assertively and pushed '3'. Slowly their welcoming smiles inverted themselves as their eyes were drawn to the mess sitting astride my large head. By the time I reached the third floor, I think they could smell the sweat that had quickly seeped through the layers of my clothing, and had turned to face the other direction. I disembarked quickly and sprinted through to the lavatory ahead, just as promised by the woman downstairs.
After relieving myself with rather poor accuracy, I managed to break the tap. Those crappy continental taps are obviously not built with the brutal tendencies of the average scouser in mind. As I left, a hairdresser waited patiently outside. I'm sure I heard a yelp of disgust as she entered behind me. How would you feel if there was piss all round the rim and no way of washing your hands?
That's not to say of course that people snigger behind my back when mad Australian Geography teachers chase me for work: they have much more obvious things to laugh at me about. Take for example the mangy locks circumnavigating my head in a drunken fashion. Jingo said to me about three weeks ago: "Gosh, you need a rather viscous trim." I replied: "Gosh? I may need a haircut Jingo, but we are not in an Enid Blyton novel you know."
Further to the point, I was in town on Saturday morning enjoying freedom from work for the first time in roughly a month. My mother and I (for she had tagged along to try and absorb some of my über-coolness) ventured into a small cafe near the Met Quarter (the apparently trendy end of town - but lacking in character) for a quiet drink and a danish pastry. This place was owned by a bald, bog-eyed, fat Italian man wearing spectacles similar to those in a 1960s Michael Caine movie. He is actually an genuine guy. He used to be the manager of Costa Coffee in Waterstones, but about a year ago he started complaining about the shit food this franchise was selling: four day old sandwiches, warm soft drinks and the most appalling Cappuchinos (I could make better coffee drinks. No really I could - I took my work experience in a café) to ever grace a chipped Costa mug and wrong sized saucer.
So instead of putting up with the customers' complaints and bad publicity, he decided to go it alone. In fact, he complained so much to the owners that he got sacked. After a bit of research and locating suppliers around his home town somewhere in the north east of Italy, he set up the cafe that I presently sat in. I had the most exquisite carbonated orange juice from a can that even had a foil seal on top so as to stop dirt getting around the rim, and subsequently down your oesophagus. It was a but pricey (95p) but I didn't pay for it anyway. What goes in must come out, so I set off the find a toilet. The Italian dude informed me that it was through the door at the back. I took his advice and swung it tenaciously open.
It was like a friggin' Tardis. I nearly wet myself. On the other side of this cheap panel door was a hair salon, in full blown Saturday trade. I stood and gawped for at least half a minute at high-rollers having cut, wash and blow and all the rest of it. Eventually someone noticed me looking bemused. A rather attractive looking hairdresser came over and asked: "Would you like to get started?" I turned and replied: "I need a piss."
"Ah, you've come from the cafe. Take the escalator up to the third floor. It's straight ahead of you from there." She turned and began stacking bottles of conditioner on a table next to me.
Slowly, I stirred back into motion and groped along the walls to the lift. I pushed the button and the doors sprang open. It was like something out of a Carlsberg advert. Inside were five identically dressed and beautiful hairdressers. I stepped inside assertively and pushed '3'. Slowly their welcoming smiles inverted themselves as their eyes were drawn to the mess sitting astride my large head. By the time I reached the third floor, I think they could smell the sweat that had quickly seeped through the layers of my clothing, and had turned to face the other direction. I disembarked quickly and sprinted through to the lavatory ahead, just as promised by the woman downstairs.
After relieving myself with rather poor accuracy, I managed to break the tap. Those crappy continental taps are obviously not built with the brutal tendencies of the average scouser in mind. As I left, a hairdresser waited patiently outside. I'm sure I heard a yelp of disgust as she entered behind me. How would you feel if there was piss all round the rim and no way of washing your hands?
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