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Today's seminar (Western Counter- Terrorism to be specific) marked the last time i shall ever attend class. Twenty or so years later and i'm finally done with academia. I am two exams, one short essay and a dissertation from finishing my MA, none of which require any more class time.

That is actually it. I'm finished.

Huh.

Apparently, today marks 105 years since the birth of Theodor Geisel (Dr Seuss to you and me). Personally, i missed out on the wonders of Dr Seuss in my own childhood. But one of the great things about having a sibling almost a decade younger than you is that you can relive your childhood through them. So for a good few birthdays and Christmases my brother Jamie got Dr Seuss books from me, and only we were allowed to read them. They were, and still are, the ultimate in bedtime stories.

He still has most of them.

: "I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind. Some come from ahead and some come from behind. But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see. Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!”

three things that are making my weekend that little bit better:

1. The England- Italy match

2. West Indies - England test series

3. The ducks on the Jubilee campus lake trying to navigate the thawing ice.

I don't mind the snow- honestly, i don't. It (generally) puts people in a good mood, so that all at once you're exchanging smiles and comments with utter strangers, and laughing with friends as they try and pelt you with snow off the bushes and trees (i'm looking at you, Ian!)
I like making snow sculptures, and having class cancelled. I'm even vaguely amused at how our nation's capital apparently grinds to a halt, and Nottingham council scrambles to find inventive replacements for snowploughs (because, after all, who thought we'd need them!)

What i'm not so fond of is the aftermath. The follow-up, if you will. The brown slush that gets EVERYWHERE, and how the snow compacts... and then freezes. And suddenly wading through the snow turns into ice skating without the skates, and remembering balancing skills i haven't used since i went skiing when i was 15.

So, Dear University of Mine, i made it in on Monday to work on my dissertation proposal(even if the library staff all went home at 2- thanks for that). I made it in today for political philosophy- in fact I struggled up and down several steep slopes through the snow that was falling pretty heavily and horizontally. I will NOT be coming to class tomorrow, because the Six Nations starts on Saturday, and i'm pretty sure i won't enjoy it if i've broken my ankle/knee/every bone in my leg.

(Composed while sitting in my car, drinking cider- hence the date thing)

A long time ago, before people had really begun to count such things as years, there grew a little hamlet on the shores of the English Channel, near Portsmouth but near Brighton too. And about 400 AD, give or take, the Anglo-Saxons took it over from the Romans… and that was about the last time anyone in Chichester had an argument, something that I hated about it when I was a kid, and absolutely adore now that I’m an adult.

I do, I love Chichester. It’s pleasant, above all things it’s pleasant. Even people who are fighting in the Christmas markets, and for heaven sakes people it’s still only November! Even then, they’re pleasant- they say ‘excuse me’, they don’t shove, they don’t push. The sheets are all cobbled or paved with bricks and the entire city centre is pedestrianised. It is built around the Market Cross, a feat of architecture which is beautiful to behold and sculpted and they’ve recently cleaned it up, and it’s delightful. And North street, South street, West street and East street (not particularly original but still) are filled with the normal high street shops- boots, Marks and Spencer's, Woolworths, W H Smith. There is, or course, at least two Starbucks and three Costas. But there are also shops like Between the Lines which sells handmade cards and designer stationery. And there is a bakery, called Le Maison Blanc which sells the most beautiful decadent French pastries on South Street. There are shoe shops, where I was dragged once a year when i was a kid to buy school shoes. There are at least three separate branches of Marks and Spencer’s, I’ve never quite figured out why they don’t put it in one building, but they don’t. There are a couple of pubs and there is a shop for which I made my pilgrimage today- the Swallow Bakery. Which is an ingenious idea and if I was at Chichester College, or Uni of Sussex even which is the other side of Sussex, I would be here every week.

It’s predominantly a cupcake shop. It sells ridiculously delicious, ridiculously ornamental, covered with sprinkles and crystals and red velvet crumbs, cupcakes. It serves sandwiches which are reasonably cheap and amazingly filling- takes you about an hour to eat one, it serves tea, it serves coffee, it serves what I’m currently drinking- hot spiced apple cider, which if I could marry a drink, could be the one. I might actually leave coffee for this cider, it’s that good. And they also sell cupcake shaped things, so you can get pots of lip-gloss shaped like mini cupcakes, cups that have cupcakes painted all over them. Sugar pots in the shape of a cupcake which in taking of the lid is the same as taking off the frosting, and it’s cute without being cutsie, it’s pretty without the kitsch and it’s not as ohsofashionable and forward moving as the one in the Laines of Brighton. It’s perfect for Chichester, because it is above all descriptive words I could possibly think of, pleasant.

I never was very good at November.

October can be brushed aside because of the newness of university schedules, and getting used to living away from home again. And besides, there’s the newness of the crisp autumn air and kicking fallen leaves and remembering where on earth I put my scarves.

But by the time November forces its way in, all the novelty has more than worn off, and the days are substantially shorter. And it’s cold, no disguising that. Bonfire night aside, November is cold and dark and full of deadlines and there seems to be little light at the end of what feels like a very long tunnel. November tends to be when my so-called seasonal affective disorder kicks in- which mostly manifests itself in either sleeping for longer than should be feasible (not getting up until five in the afternoon some days, and I have no idea why) or cabin fever. Suddenly my room, my flat, the city and indeed the whole country seems too small and I spend hours pacing and fidgeting and trying to convince myself not to use my MasterCard to book a flight to New York, Salta, Cape Town… to anywhere but here. I lose contact with the real world in Novembers, fall slightly out of step with the rest of the world. And the act of being ‘Camilla- the coffee loving, sarcastic girl with curiosity coming out of her pores’ gets harder to keep up as I swing between complete apathy and semi-consciousness and the incessant need to get away.

Even this year. with the distractions of concerts and nights out, and visits from friends, and enough schoolwork to keep even me legitimately occupied, I’m still sat here at my desk ignoring the book review that’s due in tomorrow and finding as many ways as I can to distract myself and to STOP THINKING.

So when I tell you that I’m counting down to December, and I say it’s because I can’t wait for carols and baking and midwinter festivities, I’m not entirely lying. But really, I’m counting down the days until I’m out of this gods-forsaken month and into the reprieve that will be December and January. Because come February, I’ll be doing this all over again.

Apparently i've not being trying nearly hard enoough to consider myself a fan of the 'Twilight' series. Just when you thought the Harry Potter fans were intense, along comes : http://cleolinda.livejournal.com/674812.html

(This thought was brought to you by my wandering mind whilst reading sarahtales and her (very entertaining, go read) entry on characterisation.)

Is it possible the writers/creators of 'House M.D' had Sherlock Holmes on the brain when they came up with th characters of House and Wilson?

Like i said, just a thought.

ETA: Apparently so, and conciously at that.

If this weather (sun and bitter cold, and only raining late at night) continues, i'm seriously considering skipping straight past Autumn and into Winter. Who's with me?

Anyone who's ever in the Nottingham area and has a free Sunday afternoon? Go to The Otter Pub in Kegworth. There's great food, better red wine, open fireplaces and a canal. Nuff said.

(Yes, i've calmed down. No, this changes nothing)

Last night was one of those nights where nothing extraordinary happened, but i still had a great time. Amy was up for the weekend, and so after an afternoon's coffee with Sandy, I met up with Amy and our old housemates- Emily, Freya, and Rachel, at the Ropewalk . These are the girls I lived with in first and second year (some of them anyway- and technically Rach lived next door) and while it seems a bit soon for a reunion and retelling of 'the good old days', that's exactly what it was.

Amy's now working, Rachel is doing a year of social work for her church, Emily is now a fourth year medic, Freya's back from a year in Charleston, SC, and I've been embarking on my MA. All of which was promptly forgotten as we played Trivial Pursuit and curled into the 'walk's oh-so-comfortable sofas. After, Rachel and I walked home through the Park- Lenton's more fashionable neighbour, complete with victorian lamp-posts and houses with three storeys, stained glass and the occasional tennis court. Em, Freya and Amy picked up KatieLloyd from her work, and included a late night McDonalds' run and we carried on the gossip for a couple of hours.

None of this is particularly startling, but it was enough for a really good night. So i'm writing about it here, so when November swings into multi-essay action, the weather's crappy and i don't have time to catch up with anyone, let alone play board games at a bar, I remember that good times do exist, and i need to keep in better contact with my friends.

(The following is a vent- feel free to ignore.have a nice day.)

Well, it took almost twenty years, but i think i've finally given up. Enough is enough, and this final stunt is but the amazingly-selfish cherry on top of the cake. i don't like feeling this way, and i realise i'm not being totally reasonable, but you can only 'get over it' so many times. This is just going to have to be the proverbial line in the sand, a result of years of trying to make the unworkable work. The realisation that not all battles are winnable nor are all fights worth the fighting. I am so irritated/disappointed/frustrated right now i could scream- probably would if i was home alone.

I hereby throw up my hands in defeat. And, when i've calmed down, i'll eventually be okay with that. Although, Christmas is going to be interesting...

Last Saturday, I joined the convoy. ‘National Duvet Day’, I once heard it called- so called because it’s the Saturday when the UK’s students (most of them, anyway) head off to the various campuses, cars piled high with- among the boxes and suitcases- duvets. The M1 was jam-packed with the students and their parents- and the Watford Gap service station was a veritable rally.

This week, of course, was Freshers’ Week. Although I am now a lofty postgraduate student who looks down on mere first years, and is grateful for the garishly-coloured wrist bands they wear, so I can avoid them (They might tell you that the bands are so you can get into Freshers’ events- we seniors know better).

Still, in between my ‘worldweary-ohsoaboveundergrads’ cursing of their youthful exuberance (I’m going to have the Raleigh Park fight songs stuck in my head for days), I’ve been thinking about my own undergrad degree (I only finished it in June!) and things that I learned in those oh-so-quickly passing three years.
And so…

( Things I learnt in Uni that the BA didn’t cover (with due credit to the various lists that exist out in the internetz) )

 I can't say i've ever agreed with all of the rabid fans et al who claimed that Stephanie Meyer was the Second Coming of JK Rowling, but i think i've finally found one thing they have in common (apart from Cedric Diggory)- they both fell victim to their fans. And not just the expectations of their readers, but they inevitably let all of the hype and hysteria get to them. and then they had to go and read fanfiction about their own books. :headpalm:

I've just finished Breaking Dawn, and GOOD GRIEF. I liked it and all, but could the thing be anymore like fanfiction?

though at least it wasn't as craptastic as Deathly Hallows.

 

so apparently i blinked and missed half of July. huh.

At some point i'll get round to writing a post all about my home and why there is something utterly charming about Sussex, and in particular its county towns.

In the meantime, there's something to be said for a city where i can wander round the streets barefoot,  silver bells on my anklet jingling, dancing along to my ipod, and still no one bats an eyelash. Damn, but i love Brighton