Saturday was spent in the library, and at night we watched 'We are most amused' - a comedy show in celebration of Prince Charles's 60th birthday, and there were some really good acts. Tim loved Joan Rivers, we both laughed at Robin Williams (although it might have been a little too political) and discovered a - for us - new talent. (The Iranian?) Omid Djalili was absolutely great. I especially laughed at: "We from the Middle East, we don’t know much about comedy. We don’t even know basic joke construction. Like, for you, an Englishman, an Irishman, a Scotsman that is a joke. To us, that is a hostage situation."
Other than that, this was one of my favourites:
Funny was also Eric Idle in a tutu, singing "Always look at the bright side of life" (what else?), with a few new lines, like: "When you're sixty years of age, and you're Mum won't leave the stage, it's good to know that you're still Prince of Wales!" Poor man, he'll never become King...
But it is great to know, that even though I have moved to a country with a rather limited social security system, hardly any maternal leave (not to mention paternal!) and poor housing, then at least British comedy is brilliant!
Comedy, ha ha ha!
Subtle hints?
I'm a bit behind on my writing plan already, so I'm not quite sure how to react when I find this in my inbox:
(Click to enlarge.)
Catsitting
We have been catsitting Jim for the past week:
It has been really nice, and we both miss him, now that he has gone back upstairs. The empty food bowl stares back at us, and sitting on the sofa watching TV is just not the same thing without his purring. He is such a social cat, and it is funny how quickly we got used to having him here again. He has really become our baby - we buy him treats, let him eat our dinner, make sure he's entertained, give him the best blanket, and let him sleep on the bed. The bed, yes. Well, that has become a bit of a tricky one. Sleeping on our bed, he soon got used to lying in the middle - thus making me sleep at the very edge, almost falling out - and Tim crammed up against the wall. And still we cannot say no or move him, because we like him there, and want him to be happy. Although there are a few things that in the end got to me: making him breakfast being the main one. Of course his owners normally get up sinfully early, and thus he expects us to get up at the same time. He has worked out that I am the soft one, and that I am the one that should be woken up. So, he climbs on top of me, and then jumps up and down on my chest until I get up and feed him! Getting up at 5.45 on a Saturday morning is not a hit! Also - and this has nothing to do with any kinds of hormonal morning sicknesses - opening a tin of 'super meat' at that time of the day just makes me want to hurl... And still, we both spoil him rotten. We are both starting to wonder how we will do if we were ever to have a real baby...
German dictatorial reference
I think I have reversed back to my early teens. I have an enormous spot! It's red, bright and rather painful. Had it been on my nose, Tim would definitely have called me Rudolph. But it is not. It's right below my nose, above my upper lip. He calls me Hitler...
Christmas
Ok, we have finally taken the bull by the horns and booked our flights to Sweden for Christmas. It took me absolutely forever to book the tickets. Couldn't decide when I wanted to go, with which company, or whether I should travel back with Tim or not. In the one hour I spent on British Airway's booking page, the prize of a one way ticket went from £61, to 29, back to 61, to 93, back to 29, then 61, then 165 and finally 61 again! I gave up on them!
But as it will probably be the last Christmas I ever have when I can take as much time off as I want (now, that's a depressing thought) I'm making it a long one. Will fly out to "Stockholm" (with cheapo Ryanair, thus Västerås) on the 12th and back to England on the 4th of January - so New Year's in Stockholm as well. I am so looking forward to it - help out with Christmas preparations, work a little bit (new exciting research at the Royal Library - no thesis!) and have plenty of time to see everyone. Feel a little bit bad about Christmas, because Tim and I are on a very strict budget, but have decided I can't walk around feeling anxious about that all the time. Denial, it's a great thing! This year I am really going to enjoy the holidays!
Word of the day
My word of the day (I'm very much in thesis writing mode), which is very useful: skriftproduktionsperiod ('writing production period'). Ha! Put that in a sentence if you can!
PhD updates
Ok, I better make this official or there will be no pressure. I have now a dead line: the 29th of this month will be the day I hand in (unless I finish early, of course, but that's not even on the map). I cannot work on this another Christmas (or rather, feel guilty for not working on it), and there's no way I will let it drag into another year. Also, on the 29th, my parents are visiting us again, and the fear of my parents (read: mum) is probably the greatest motivation there is. (Who said you ever become independent?!) I figured, that by making it official I feel even more pressure to finish. So, count the days with me, at this time next month I might be a happy woman!
Weekend report
We had quite a relaxing weekend, much needed I believe. I was supposed to go clubbing on Friday, but ended up not going. Slept in on Saturday, before running some errands. A friend from Norway was in town, but I didn't manage to get hold of him so never met up. Instead, bought four dvd's and three Wii games. It was absolutely pouring down, so it was quite nice to go back home and snuggle up on the sofa with a movie with the rain tapping on the windows. Jim refused to go out. I didn't blame him. Halloween weekend and all, we watched 28 days later. Very good! Had already seen the sequel (28 weeks later) which I enjoyed, as well as the 'comic' version Shaun of the dead (which happens to be one of my favourite movies). Sunday was equally slow. We slept, read, watched Apocalypto, played some Wii, stroked the cat... All the usual stuff. Had planned to go and see a bonfire and some firework, but were in the end too lazy. The weather still wasn't great and the only celebrations we knew about were in Mile End, which is miles away (ha ha ha!). So decided to wait til Wednesday, when the real Fawke's day is. (Read more about that here. It is such a great story!) Some of the biggest celebrations are held in Clapham, not too far away from us, which suits us much better. Hope for no rain on the fifth then and I'll get to experience my first English bonfire night. And as a curiousity, here's a useful poem to read on the day:
Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I see no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Also, I would like to thank you for all the positive comments about the flat! I like it a lot, although there are loads of things I would fix/change if it were ours. At the moment, isolating the windows will have to do (why, why, why will people not use double glassing???). Now at least you know how we live.
Daily observation
Today in the library I sat next to a man with a spectacular hair. [Feel free to here sing anything you know from the musical.] The man, in his sixties/seventies wore an amazing white, curly wig. The hair was just too big and too white to be real, and the synthetic material just glowed. And yes, looking a bit closer you could see some of his real hair poking out at the back of the neck. And I just couldn’t help wondering why he was wearing that? It was so unnatural looking, almost as if he woke up after a particularly tough Halloween weekend, realizing he’d overslept, and ran straight to the library completely unconscious about the fact that his clown hair was still on. (Mind you, I forgot to have a look at his shoes!) It looked like a young Michael Jackson, if Michael Jackson indeed had been white (at that time). Or was he serious? What on earth happened to the old fashioned toupees? And I feel incredibly guilty, but it was really hard not to look.
It was almost as bad as the transvestite we had when I first started college. Nothing wrong with transvestites (I don’t know any, as far as I know, but I’m sure they’re no worse than the rest of us), but he was neither the glamorous gay club world transvestites, or the ‘is it a rather manly woman or quite a female man’ that you run into every now and then. This man was so obviously a man, with an ill fitting dress and poor lipstick technique. He was studying to become a high school teacher. And it always struck me, that no matter how good a teacher he was, he would never be accepted by the pupils (or their farming parents). The man disappeared after a few months. I still don’t know if he gave up his studies, or just moved, but I still hope he eventually found something to do that was right for him. But it was still really hard not to look.