Some things never change

There are some things about me that I’m pretty sure will never change. I guess they’re probably key personality traits or something. Or integral psyche components. Or whatever. (I don’t do psychology, sheesh.) The only thing that really changes is how I express it.

For example, my slight (hah!) obsessive tendencies. These days I express this by making food plans (no joke), obsessively planning all my train journeys (meh), and cleaning my room/bathroom all the time. Not tidying it though, oddly enough.

I’m also counting exactly how many portions of pasta you can get out of each bag, but I guess that ties in to the whole food planning thing.

It’s 6, in case you were wondering.

I’ve apparently started hoarding carbohydrates too. At the time of writing, I have 1.5kg fusilli, 1kg spaghetti, 1.5kg rice, and 500g risotto rice. So… um… I’d like to say I didn’t see that coming, but … I sort of did. So now I have a carbs + cider shelf. (I guess I’m preparing for a really weird sort of party. I … don’t even…)


My life in Sims

Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I were in Sims. Sim 3, I think, because I’ve managed to transition from child to adult and I have a lot more in the way of career options. Oh, and people keep aging even when I’m not at their house.

Is that a good thing? Maybe.

But what that means, basically, is I’m going around thinking things like “I don’t even know why I’m talking to these people for ages, must be the player spamming ‘chat’ to build up my social meter”, or “I’m not hungry, but I’m cooking. Must be trying to build up my ‘cook’ meter”. And it explains so much! Like how when Esther tried to cook food at the wrong cook level and she burnt it just like on sims 3.

And how sometimes I end up cooking the same food a bazillion times in a row. It’s just the player trying to get one of my wants. Apparently I wanted to make meatballs 5 times.

Sometimes I wonder where they’ve left the autonomy bar.

It keeps me up at night.

Recipe for disaster

Something I’ve discovered this week (due to circumstances mostly beyond my control) is that 5 times in one week is too many times to eat meatballs and spaghetti. Yeah. Its been a really… delicious experience. Really loved it.

The first time they were a teensy bit pink on the inside. The second time most of the sauce boiled away. The third time they were perfect. Then I got meatball fatigue*.

Food fatigue, the bane of my existence. As a reasonably lazy person who can’t be bothered to worry about food all the time (hahaha I practically obsess), I have a tendency to make similar meals on subsequent days. In a sort of, “I’ll make twice as much risotto today and then eat half tomorrow” way. It never tastes as good the second time, have you noticed? No? Just me?

Soup fatigue is the worst.

However, this has led me to discover a few things about myself:

  1. There is no dignified way to eat soup with noodles in
  2. People find my dedication to eating real food to be impressive
  3. People think my dedication to meatballs is weird
  4. No matter how full you think you are, there is always room for cookies
  5. If you wear the same hoody at the gym that you wore while cooking, all you’ll be able to smell will be yesterday’s curry
  6. Porridge is bloody boring

*For the record, I had nothing but meatballs left. It’s not like I can’t cook anything apart from meatballs, don’t worry about that.

And now, I will make a vow:

I will never, ever, ever eat the same thing five times in a row. Apart from porridge. And maybe cake.

How to: All the things you need to know to get through uni life

How to get lost in 7 easy steps

  1. Choose route.
    For bonus points, make it a route you’ve walked so many times you basically know it off by heart. For more bonus points check the route on google maps before you start
  2. Get stuck behind a really slow walker
  3. Continue to be stuck behind the slow walker
    Bonus points if the slow walker notices you.
    More bonus points if other people notice.
  4. Turn right before you meant to to get out of the awkward situation with the slow walker
  5. Realise you’ve never been down this road before
  6. Realise you don’t recognise any of the other roads
  7. Pick a road at random and pray

Congratulations, you are now lost

How to be awkward on the underground

  1. Take up the bassoon or other huge instrument
  2. Become proficient at the bassoon and get lessons at the RAM
  3. Go to RHUL to study music
  4. Get on appropriate tube with bassoon on back. Make sure the tube is packed
  5. Hit someone in the face with the bassoon
  6. Accidentally stroke someone’s hair as you grab one of the poles

Congratulations, you are now awkward beyond belief.

Procrastination is my final destination

Yes, I admit it. I chose that title purely because it rhymes. I’m a terrible person, I know.

You know what I should be doing right now? My assignments, that’s what. I hate to admit it, but one of them is due in on Tuesday. Tuesday. What have I become? What manner of evil have I stooped to that means I’m writing blog posts instead of doing work? What strange being does laundry and cleans the kitchen instead of doing their assignment?

Admittedly, that’s my general life ethic. When I write essays, things like this happen

The Protestant Reformation impacted all aspects of life throughout Europe, including the ways in which music was performed and written. from the strict Protestant regime of Edward VI, to the devoutly Catholic Mary I, and back to the moderately Protestant Elizabeth I.

What is that last sentence even doing? I don’t know, it’s like the time I randomly wrote ‘coul’ on an assignment and couldn’t remember why. Why, coul. ‘Coulson’? ‘Could’? ‘Couscous’?

Problem number 2: Capital letters.

What do I do. How do I do? Do I capitalise ‘Church’? ‘Protestant’? ‘High Church’? I don’t even knooow

Also, it’s very easy to waffle. All you really have to to is add extraneous unnecessary words and before you know it the word count has leapt sky high.

(not literally, I haven’t been throwing my laptop around)

I hate the abuse of adjectives, but I find myself writing about the ‘strength and warmth’ of the bass line, the ‘haunting’ soprano, and the ‘magnificent echoing effect’. That’s another word I’ve abused. ‘Effect’. Poor thing. I bet it doesn’t even know what it means anymore.

Ways to know you’re winning at uni

  1. You know exactly how long it takes to make porridge in the morning, so you can grab a few minutes extra sleep
  2. You’ve started peeling and cutting vegetables over the bin to save on washing up
  3. You’ve basically memorised the long (and complex) address people need to use to send you things
  4. You’ve made friends with the cleaners
    4a. The cleaners are now on such good terms with you they’ve left you a bottle of viakal for the kitchen
    4b. You’re using it
  5. You’ve stopped panicking when your flatmate almost sets off the fire alarm, and your first response is to leap for the tea towels and open the window
    5a. Simultaneously
  6. Your frozen goods/fridge rotation is bang up to date
  7. You’re on daily speaking terms with the administrative staff in the music department
  8. You’re recognised by most of the staff in the shop as the one who occasionally mass buys pot noodles
    8a. Even though you don’t do it anymore
  9. You sometimes walk to lectures with a massive mug of tea
  10. You’re no longer fussed when people stare into your kitchen while you’re having lunch
    10a. In fact, you sometimes wave at them
    10b. Sometimes they get embarrassed and stop
    10c. Sometimes they wave back
  11. You’ve mastered a ‘pity me’ face to persuade people to help you out in times of difficulty
    11a. Like the time when the launderette wouldn’t take any of your coins
  12. Your “I’m totally paying attention” face is better than ever
  13. You count going to bed before midnight as a solid achievement

Why my legs now feel like jelly

… or, The Day I Went to the Gym. Capitals totally necessary.

It started this morning. Well, technically it started during Fresher’s week when various flatmates said they had bought gym membership and I decided I wanted arms useful for tasks such as a) picking things up and b) moving objects, so I got Gold membership, i.e. you can go whenever you like and do whatever classes take your fancy. Platinum includes Be Active (sports teams… I guess?), and free tennis and squash. Silver is basically gold buuuut only before 3:15pm. Most classes are before 3:15pm. Shrewd. Very shrewd. And last but definitely least, Bronze, with gym and classes between 10:00am and 2:00pm. That’s when most people a) eat lunch or b) have some kind of lecture. Well played, gym.

So anyway, this morning I foolishly turned to Veronica and said the fateful words:

“Let’s go to the gym this afternoon.”

Yes. Let’s.

It started well; the walk downhill was easy enough, as downhill walks often are, and we managed to successfully walk down a flight of stairs and a car park. The path to the gym was also downhill. Thumbs up Narrowly avoiding construction workers, we entered the gym.

At which point it turned out I had forgotten to tick some box on my online application form. Oh, and the lady got confused and thought my membership had EXPIRED ALREADY. It hadn’t. Obviously.

She told me about how gyms work. It was reasonably self explanatory. i.e. it’s a gym, wear shoes, don’t dress like a prat, remember what you do when fire alarms go off, NO JEANS, don’t let people in if they don’t have gym membership.

I started with the bike, moving swiftly(ish) to the leg curl, followed by the cross-trainer, then some arm weights. That took me about 50 minutes. (I haven’t really done exercise in… um… a while?)

The hill was steeper than I remembered, and I was a gentle shade of crimson when I got back to my flat.

End of week 2: Reading

It’s the end of week 2. Dun dun duuuun. It’s not actually that long, actually, but it feels like I’ve been here for ages and ages. In the good way, rather than the bad ‘oh my god I’ve been here my whole life and I wish I could do something else’. More in the ‘yay I’ve stopped getting lost everytime I leave my flat and I’ve finally learnt which dial corresponds to which hob’ sense. That’s good, for me.

Lectures have been pretty cool, so far. I’m thinking that’s because we’ve only actually done introduction lectures so far. The seminars were better once we worked out how to talk to each other, and we had a different seminar leader who didn’t just monologue all the time. Oh, those PhD students. You’d think they’d know better.

Apart from the hill on the way to lectures (it’s like a free gym, only more depressing and with a humid room to get to. It’s the other way round from a gym, really.), everything’s basically great.

But there’s just one thing. All the damn reading. All. the. damn. reading. It’s a music course! Why have I got 6 chapters to read by next week?! I swear I’ve only had like four lectures? How did that happen?


Those aren’t just any squiggles. That’s me demonstrating a type of harmony. Yeah. That’s how I do my notes.

Kind of boring looking, if you can read it. Anyway, it turns out some chapters are manageable lengths, and some are so long you stop caring about Early Music and the role of the composer by the time you get halfway through.

#nowIhaveacold #butitmightbeFresher’sflu #mythroathurts

‘Welcome’ week recap

Freshers’ week. The week where all the new uni students (and some of the older ones), are meant to get wasted every night and sleep through the day, existing on a diet of pot noodles and pasta, downing paracetamol to cure their drinking-induced headache. When you put it like that, it doesn’t actually sound that great.

Fortunately, all my flatmates are nice. And I’ve witnessed at least 3/4 of them eat real food over the week and a half I’ve been here, so that fixes that problem. (I got bored of the pot noodles pretty quickly)

We sometimes sit in the hall eating dominoes pizza (50% off for being a RHUL student! I know! well… if you spend over £30. Let’s face it, you can’t really avoid it with 4 people) and watching films. My favourite was the Hairspray and Grease evening. It sounds a bit like a terrible hairdresser, doesn’t it? Hairspray and grease. ugh

And of course I managed to polish off a packet of club biscuits over three days. Don’t judge me, I was stressing about my bassoon lessons! ah, sweet sweet memories…

Last night we played monopoly and I got overexcited every time I won any money. Shame it’s not real money… I ended up with more than I started with, so Thumbs up from me.