Saturday, October 22, 2011

All work and no play makes me fairly indifferent.

Well it's Saturday night. The night for fun. The night for drinking. The night where dancing like this:

becomes acceptable, if not recommended. Yet here I am in my room with iPlayer and more M&Ms than sense. Go big or go home I suppose. Before people jump to the conclusion that I am so hated that people would rather stab their eyes out with forks than spend their weekend with me I want to make clear that I did have an invitation to go shake my thing (and/or stand awkwardly in the corner and fake text until my Phone battery died). I nearly went. Very nearly, but then I remembered that going out and drinking isn't half as fun as being bright eyed and bushy tailed for writing an essay on a Sunday afternoon in October. Also, if everyone goes out on the hallway I will have the place myself so I'll be able to coat the hallways with melted chocolate and kittens and roll around nude singing Westlife's greatest hits. Although, if it turns out that people are actually in I might have to scale down the operation and perhaps go watch something in the TV lounge, or buy myself a Fresca from the vending machine if I'm feeling a bit reckless.

I don't mind though. Luckily I spend so much time being whiny and sarcastic about every other element of my life, I tend to find that I don't have enough bitterness in my cold, cold heart to really be that bothered about staying in or going out on the weekend. I was told yesterday that I am a cold person, this should have bothered me, but given that I was being cold for criticising the Hull nightlife, I actually took it as a compliment. Anyway, in the text I was reading today it said that it is best to be nonconformist and that being inconsistent is the best thing if you use your intuition. Yesterday I felt like going Downtown. Today I don't. This basically makes me on par with God. Not to say that everyone who goes out on the weekends will go to Hell, but I mean if one of us is going to be saved in the rapture it is probably going to be me.

Today was good though. I went to Kelsey's with some girls from my floor today. When they invited me to Kelsey's, I did the "Yeah. Sure. I know what Kelsey's is" nod and I think it worked..

This is the Kelsey's logo. I think it is meant to be ironic judging by our 40 minute wait for the table, but I'm not going to sue them for libel...this time. The dinner itself was nice, except for the cramped table and the 10ft long menu which didn't really get along well with one another. Ordering also is still a somewhat terrifying experience. There are so many choices and extras and sides and sauces and and I'm still basically 10 years old so I need things to be simple and preferably done for me. It was educational though. I learned that Canadians pronounce 'parmesan' as 'parmarjarn'. An 's' should never be allowed to make a 'jar' sound, but I suppose nobody every corrected them. I found that in some of my classes too. I gave in a piece of group work and in the work (I wasn't the scribe) the word 'horse' was spelled 'hoarse', the word 'disappear' was spelled 'dissapear' etc. We got 100%. I mean I'm happy with 100%, but I also felt that maybe the prof. should have pulled us aside and said "Come on guys. This is second year English...horse isn't exactly a hard word. It isn't a shit hard word like onomatopoeia." This story was definitely not an excuse for me to show off the fact that I can spell onomatopoeia. However, it isn't a word I get to use very often, so I like to throw it in there while I can. Oops! Just dropped by book and it made a bang (onomatopoeia!).

Alright, enough about onomatopoeia and a little more about another pet peeve I have developed. I say 'pet peeve' at this rate I will be able to open a petting zoo. This wasn't a very funny joke using the word 'pet' which is a shame, especially because it reminded me that I still don't own a kitten despite having thought about kittens at least once a day for the last week or so. But anyway, the pet peeve. It started off with just one of my lecturers doing it, but my American Lit did it for the first time in my last class and it made me feel nervous and afraid.

Notice that I said 'in my last class'. This is acceptable. If I said 'my American Lit did it for the time on last day,' you would probably have to say this is sick, wrong and wholly immoral. If you have class on Wednesday and your next class is on Monday to say "The essay is due for next day" is not an acceptable way of informing the class that the essay is due for the Monday. It is ok though. I fully intend to take it up with the Canadian Prime Minister asap. and his name is .........................................waiting for google to load...........is Stephen Harper. I have noticed that I tend to look condescendingly upon people who don't know everything about Britain, but I still know anything about Canada.

Anyway, I think it's time to get this party started. Reading? iPlayer? TV lounge? The choices are literally three. Have a drink for me, and I'll have a bowl of M&Ms on your behalf.

Oh shit. Just thought about cats again


Thursday, October 20, 2011

Something light.

I have realised that this blog seems to contain a lot of negativity, and I would like to disprove the presumption that the trip to Canada has been one big pile of moose droppings. I also felt it appropriate on a day where not everyone has had the best of days. So here is the epitome of comedy in Canadia. This might be one of the only jokes I have heard since I have been in Canada...well except for ones about how British people were just horrible egoistic rapists, and that homosexuality reduces life expectancy by 20 years - that was a classic...

Sunday, October 16, 2011

This week, I've been to Hull and back.

Well now that I still have a hefty portion of work left to do, I figure I should blog more regularly to distract me from the monotony of my everyday life. Nah. Things are ok. Well I started Colonel Chabert today and it is whipping me up into the most violent of comas, but I'll cope. I found an English translation online. Who needs to speak French when you've got google. Either way, after a hard morning of copying up work in neat, vague reading and an hour of Battleship madness I'm continuing my Peep Show marathon. In case you are in Canada and don't know what Peep Show is and you think it sounds like porn..well it is. Porn for the mind.

Anyway, getting back into normal life post Quebec feels pretty strange. I still think I'm on holiday, and probably will for the rest of time. I also missed my first class on Wednesday (whooop). It wasn't my fault though. I let "The Boy with the Frog" take me on an adventure to Kanata, which sounds suspiciously like Canada, but also happened to be 35 bus stops away. He was going to get speakers, whereas I was going to get mildly annoyed and bored. He didn't even get the speakers, so at least I missed class for a good cause. I felt like I'd seem MOST of the Ottawa area. It peaked about 10 minutes in, the other hour or so was fairly mediocre.

I did, however, meet a pretty charming old fellow on the bus. He was pretty old. I'm not very good at judging people's ages, but I'd put him somewhere between mildly confused and coffin dodger. After openly questioning the gender of the flowing haired boy I was with, he questioned my nationality. It was a real eye opener. Having lived my whole life believing I was born and brought up in England, I was promptly told by the Wise Old Man (WOM) that I don't have an English bone in my body (that's what she said?). Part of me was doubtful at WOM's knowledge, but as he had an answer for everything - apparently my British passport was one I just found off the street and happened to match all my details - I had to say that he put up an impenetrable argument and I had to cast of the facade of Britishness which had been plaguing my life since birth, and trapping me in its web of deceit. He didn't tell me where I am actually from....please not Belgium..please not Belgium.

Anyway, that was just one day. One insignificant day, which was just a build up to the glory which was Friday night. What was so great about Friday night?? they cry. I'll tell you what. I swallowed my enormous pride and sold my soul to Hull. For the more or English with you it wasn't the Hull that we know and love. Although in some ways I would have preferred a 10hr journey to Hull, UK as opposed to another night in Quebec, Hull. Last night one boy called going to Hull - "Living the dream". I used to think Canada was very optimistic, but maybe it is merely that they don't aim very high If Hull is the dream, then I'm going to stay awake for the rest of time.

It wasn't the worst place in the world, but standing soberly in a 'club' watching teenage girls bent over on all fours rubbing against guys' crotches made spending the night in the deprived slums of India seem fairly desirable. I didn't really get to meet too many of the guys there, which was a shame because I was hoping to throw around some ideas about the rise and fall of communism. It seemed like their kind of scene. One guy had a good stroke of my arm when I was waiting for the bathroom, but after I informed him that I was not a cat he unfortunately left. There was another guy who poured his drink down the back of my top. He tried desperately to apologise to me, but I refused, so instead of apologising as a mark of forgiveness he decided to grind on over to the girl next to me. I hear wedding bells. Jess got dragged off a few times against her will. It was reminiscent of the part in the 1st Harry Potter where they get caught up in the plant thing and are trying to drag themselves out. I wrestled one of the guys for Jess. I won. Thank god I spend all my free time pumping iron.

At least I had my friends to keep my spirits high. Oh wait. "The Boy with the Frog" decided in a drunken stupor that it would be a good idea to headbutt me in the head. It wasn't. As everyone knows I am a pretty tolerant person. I'm happy go lucky and I take everything with a pinch of salt...unless it is someone's head smacking against mine. When I first asked him why he headbutt me (using more fucking expletives) he told me it was because if he didn't headbutt me in the head then it wouldn't have been a proper headbutt. This wasn't quite the answer I was looking for. But after about 18 hours and quite a lot more expletives I told him that everything was fine and dandy. For now. It's ok. He may have a head of steel but I have my lightening fast wit, so he will get an emotional bollocking until I decide that he has served his sentence.

So yes. That was my first (and possibly last?) Hull.

Here is one of the definitions of Hull given by freedictionary.com

b. The enlarged calyx of a fruit, such as a strawberry, that is usually green and easily detached.

Hull is certainly the calyx to the glorious strawberry that is Canada, and a calyx that will be easily removed from my life - permanently.

All my love and more,
Katharine x

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Just a quick thought I had today...

Today I was so British it hurt.
I was down reading by Parliament which is where I read regularly, and then I thought to myself "I'm starting to feel a certain ownership over this place."
Note to self - Must stop trying to colonise the shit out of everything.

More wise words to come over the weekend. Prepare thyself.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

The Elephant(s) in the Room.

Fists down. Fists down. Let's begin.

Well hello there again world. It has been a while since anything of any substance has appeared. As you have probably already guessed my social calendar has been entirely booked up and I've barely had a chance to breathe inbetween my high society luncheons and my evening prayer meetings. Lies. I've had work. Veritable work. It has been grim, but I have finally finished the 400 page extravaganza which is the Last of the Mohicans. I started it a month ago. Excellent. And to think all it took was a 6hr bus ride and a bench by the river. Yeah. I wrote these thoughts in Quebec (later to be transcribed for the internet world to marvel at). Waiting for the bus back to Ottawa listening to the sweet melodies of Shania Twain. his is Canada at its best. I know everyone (all 3 of you who read this) will want the juicy details about this trip, but you will have to wait a day or two until I have invented said juicy details I also need to stop saying juicy as it is making me feel nauseous - even more nauseous than I already feel from just eating what was claiming to be a sandwich, but tasted like seasoned shit. To be fair I'm probably just suffering from withdrawal symptoms of not having had pizza for the grand total of 4 days. For those who wish to send me congratulations cards, please find my address on my Facebook page. If I don't have you on facebook...what are you doing here? How can any of this be interesting for you??? Why won't you tell me your name so that we don't have to hide our true feelings from one another any longer.

Anyway, let us rewind and revisit times prior to these. Ready? Are you on the chill level? If you are...please tell me what the chill level is. The past few weeks have been a mixture of being on the chill level and of being so unchilled that I was convinced my blood had turned to lava (it can happen...probably).

Many things have happened, as far as I can remember, but most pretty unexciting. I did my first test - in pencil??!, I laughed out loud at a book before scolding myself thoroughly for my plebbish behaviours. But I think the highlight so far was the toga party.

Reader: What toga party, fair Katharine?
Fair Katharine: I have literally no idea.

This was going to be it. This was the party that was going to show the world who we are (3rd grenville for the less knowledgeable of you). It was going to be the party that would put us on the map. On this surface this seemed to be a pretty reasonable assumption, but due to a mix up in the organisation the only map we were able to get hold of was a map of Belgium..and not even a good map.

To be honest, given that people here get documented for walking 2 metres to someone elses room with an open can of beer, a 4 room party extravaganza was never going to be that likely. Yes. You heard me England. If you work in the hall with an open drink enough times you can technically get deported. It would make for a fairly tame episode of Border Patrol UK. Part of me wants to though. Just so I can stand next to the drug dealers and tiger smugglers (thats a thing right?) and me with a personal sized bottle of wine.

But, ANYWAY, the party. I think it took less than an hour and half before security rolled up with their notepad of doom. Beer pong room was the 1st to go, later followed by Mingle Room 2 (gone, but not forgotten), and all that remained was Mingle Room 1 and the walkway. Of the 3 minutes I spent at the party (Hey. You can't say I didn't try. That 3 minutes felt like a long time). the walkway was probably the highlight for me. My experience of the Mingle Room was standing awkwardly, togaless of course, in some unknown liquid, as strangers were happily a grinding. I think all the people I was with (yeah..I got people...But don't tell them I said that) were pretty content to make like snooker players and take our cue to leave.

To be fair the night wasn't that bad. In many ways the toga party brought people closer together, as they ventured to stay away from the toga party. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows though. The main reason being that the party occurred during the nighttime, and sunshine and rainbows are both very uncommon during the night...unless you are in Norway. The second reason was that I have come to realise the sad thing that seems to unite all the nations of the world is that no matter where you are, people seem to think that "fat" is synonymous with "deaf". I would now like to forever put this myth to rest. This shebang is the rather clever reasoning behind the title of this blogpost - feel free to chuckle. Jess also took a few verbal bullets, but "The Elephant and the Bitch in the room" doesn't really roll off the tongue so well, but it's ok dear Jessica. I'l always remember that you are a bitch :) The whole affair did call a certain degree of tension, although you could say that this element of feud has made us closer to a real family than ever.

Anyway,  as the party that is today comes to a close I think it is time to wrap this bitch up. Don't fear. My next post shall be of jovial Quebec things. I even got to see a whale..and NO! I did not just look in the mirror.

A bientot chez theyearirodepolarbears.blogspot.com. Tell your friends..that they aren't welcome.

Nacht x

If I haven't posted anything by tomorrow....

Everyone who sees me can punch me in the face. Once. Bare fist. No knuckle dusters.