Week 5 Day 1: The Day of the Sun

Today the sun came back. Not in the way that the sun does every day where it just sort of casually saunters above the horizon, but in the way that the sun sometimes does when it’s in the mood to troll you; suddenly the sun will shine brightly down on you just when you thought it was cold enough to wear a coat. Yesterday, it was. Today, wearing a coat is basically signing your own death warrant.

Fortunately, the sun saw the error of its ways and by lunchtime it had gone back into hiding, lurking ominously behind a cloud and threatening bloody vengeance upon the whole of humanity. But we’re ready for it; we’ve been preparing for this all summer. Soon it will strike. Soon.

 

 

Anyway, other things happened apart from my apparently completely losing my mind. Tomorrow I have to play in my solo performance lecture. It’s not too stressful (hopefully) because it’s basically just a masterclass where the lecturer tells us what we need to do to improve our playing and we unlearn all our bad habits. My worst habit currently is pointing myself completely off to the side and showing the audience my lovely left side. It’s clearly my best angle, but sometimes they do like to see your face apparently.

This performance would be a lot less stressful if my bassoon reed weren’t on its last legs from a combination of a) old age and b) me boiling it to combat the old age. The boiling sort of worked, but again, it also shrank the end that goes on the bassoon crook. Wish me luck for tomorrow, because I have a feeling it could all go horribly wrong. I mean, there’s a pretty huge chance that everything will go wrong and I’ll just end up fleeing for my life chased by a horde of angry pedestrians.

what’s even going on today. I’m so weird.

It’s elementary, my dear Watson

Ok I’m sorry, I know that Holmes never actually said that in any of the ACD books. My sincerest apologies etc., but this seemed like a neat way to introduce this. You see, I’ve defected. Not in any particularly treasonous way – although I’m sure that Moffat and Gatiss might disagree – so you don’t need to feel alarmed or threatened or as though you need to call the police right now.

It’s Elementary.

That is to say, I’ve defected from the Sherlock camp and moved into the Elementary camp. They have better biscuits.

And that isn’t to say that if I really hated Elementary I wouldn’t stop watching it, or that I couldn’t watch Sherlock again if I desperately felt the need or if someone told me it had randomly improved for the fourth series (ha!). It’s just that I’ve heard pretty good things about Elementary, and the BBC series has made me want to throw small to medium sized bricks at Moffat.

I’m about halfway through the first episode at the moment, so I couldn’t really comment on how good it is. So far so good though.

also Sherlock just admitted that he googled something about Joan, which is pretty hilarious. Can you imagine Cumberbatch!Sherlock ever admitting he sometimes does that?

A standard issue train journey, with a twist

So, as I so often do, I had the delight of a train journey to York on Monday. To make a change from my usual starting point of Egham, I ended up going from High Wycombe instead. (I briefly debated going from Marlow and then decided that the tedium would be too much for 8:00 on a Monday morning. There’s no need to make it awful AND boring, is there?) Despite our best efforts, the Handy Cross traffic ensured that we only arrived at the station 40 minutes before the train was due at the station. I was gutted, let me tell you. The stress, the trauma, will I make it? Will I be forced to get the next train, and still make it to the station on time anyway? THE DRAMA. THE TENSION.

I even went so far as to walk from Marylebone to Baker Street, something I’ve never actually done before. Handy hint: it’s about as long as the tube journey, just with a bit more walking and probably less falling over. Unless you have an inner ear problem, in which case you’ll be falling over however you go so you might as well walk and save £1.60. Yeah, I had to use my Oyster card, because my ticket was glitching in all the ticket barriers and I just wanted to make sure I actually got to King’s Cross sometime before Christmas. My suspicion is that there was some problem with the computers on the Underground, because it worked fine for the last ticket barrier at King’s Cross. Weirdly, they had them open for half an hour before they closed them again. ?? There is no sense to this madness.

The train journey started as they so often do, although I was delighted to discover that the seats that had been booked around me weren’t due to be used until York, so I didn’t have to sit next to anyone. Dead chuffed, I was. Well, until I suddenly gained a headache and nausea. Then I was just sort of… moderately pleased. (Turns out I was just thirsty. Who’d have guessed on such a warm summer’s day when I’d spent the morning on stuffy trains?) And of course, that was when something unexpected happened.

An American couple, who I discovered were there after they had been to a wedding in London and were now taking a ‘vacation’ to York, sat down in the seats opposite me. I guess they couldn’t get seats further down the train or something, but they broke the first rule of trains: they talked to me. I managed to scare them off by answering with short sentences and looking generally fatigued, so they went back to looking at the countryside (which looks like America), and comparing our windmills to theirs (ours are shorter, apparently). Still, at least they were happy. Not like the four people sitting across the aisle who never spoke to each other despite being in a big group.

So now, here I am. Yorkshire. It’s actually cold, sort of, except for when it’s being kind of warm. Suffice to say I have no idea how to combat this with clothes so I’m just going to keep both sunscreen and a raincoat handy and hope for the best.

It was fine at first, but now it’s just getting awkward

It’s weird, how self-awareness changes so many things. well, maybe it isn’t weird if you’ve had it for a while, but I’m fairly new to the whole knowledge-of-own-identity thing, so it’s odd. Odd in a good way, usually, but also a bit odd in a bad way.

Anyway. All my flatmates now have tinder, which on it’s website describes itself as “like real life, but better”. Basically, you use tinder to find hot guys/girls/squid and then you like them, and if they like you back you’re a match and then you can find out if they’re just in it for the sex or if they want to go out or whatever. A bit like seeing someone in the street and running up to them all like “hi! Wanna go out with me?” Obviously this method does leave you open to a lot of … erm, sadness? Especially if a ‘hot guy’ turns out to be a total dick-head.

That’s not the awkward thing. The awkward thing is when they turn to me and ask ‘is this person hot?’ Yes, generally the person is a bloke, I’m not gonna lie. It’d be fairly surprising if Josh or Chi went on tinder, but hey, I wouldn’t judge them if they did.

But that’s not what’s important right now. The really important thing is that my female flatmates will occasionally turn to me and ask “what about this one?” That’s the key thing. And I’m beginning to see that when I say “oh, that person looks ok” I geenerally mean they look fairly clean and somewhat symmetrical. I don’t think those are the key features of hotness. Sometimes I even think, “that person’s eyes are pretty” but I don’t know if that’s why you’re even on tinder.

I don’t really want to make the whole of this about being aroace, but I am and in this case (haha rhyme) it happens to be relevant. And I have no idea if I should maybe mention it to them. It does seem a bit odd just to tell people so they’ll stop talking to me about tinder. I dunno, what do you think?