June 12th, 2006


One night drunk

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I thought Peterhouse choir dinner would be a mostly-pleasant but slightly awkward affair in which I made polite conversation with Fellows and tried not to feel left out while the students talked of supervisions and exams. I did not expect to end up draping myself around a young don in an attempt to distract him from the fact that I was trying to steal his cigar. I blame the port. It's always the port that's to blame, really, though in this case the previous champagne, white wine, red wine, and dessert wine may have contributed...

I staggered home at some unimaginable time in the morning, not really having realised quite how late it had gotten, and I am lucky that addedentry was more amused by my sorry state than cross with me for not giving him any good idea of when I'd be back. I am even luckier that he looked after me and helped me to (eventually) get to bed despite (apparently) much resistance on my part.

Saturday morning was completely wiped out in feeling miserable, alternately sorry for myself and cross with myself, determined to get well enough to go out but unable to walk more than three steps without feeling queasy... but we finally made it to taimatsu's picnic at about 5pm, having (I now realised) missed several nice people but being in time to see lots of other nice people. There was enough food to feed an army, and lots of folky singing, and general lazing around in the sunshine.

Sunday was the last Evensong of the year, and we went out on a high note (metaphorically at least), with a robust reprise of Stainer's I Saw The Lord (which we'd done last term) and a moving a capella rendition of the lovely "Christ be with me, Christ within me" bit in the middle of Patrick's Breastplate ("I bind unto myself today..."), which, incidentally, is the BEST HYMN EVER.

I also took the opportunity on Sunday to apologise to everybody for anything I might have said or done on Friday, and got an awkward blushing grin from the senior organ scholar (I only hugged him, honest, but he probably thinks I'm a scary predatory older woman -- sometimes I forget that I'm seven years older than the oldest of these people) and a chuckle and a general-purpose drinks invitation from the nice young don (who's very Peterhouse, so I really don't think there's any danger of us confusing each other there).

The moral of the story? When life gives you port, drink port.

Why don't we get together and call ourselves an institute?

I will be at the Institutional Web Management Workshop 2006 from Wednesday to Friday this week. Obviously, if any of you reading this are going to be there, do speak up! Or just sidle up to me in the bar and say "You are j4 and I claim my five pounds."1

I haven't posted much about work here (largely because it's all crazy internecine politics and second-guessing people's hidden agendas at the moment) but hopefully I'll come back enthused enough about the stuff that isn't politics to be able to say something interesting about the thing I spend 8 hours a day doing (by which I don't mean LiveJournal).

In the meantime, on a more frivolous note, I've just spent far too much money on nice clothes that actually fit me so I can at least look cool and professional (rather than scantily-clad and/or sticky) in this weather. If only I could put that on expenses.

1 There is no actual five pound prize, though I might buy you a drink.

Lost and found text

Last week I 'upgraded' my Blackberry-alike P900 to a Nokia 6230i, a simpler and smaller phone that still probably does everything I want (and still probably doesn't sync with the Mac) but takes up less space while it's about it. I'm liking the new phone so far; but that's not what I came here to talk about.

While struggling to extract the information I've stored on the old phone over the last couple of years, I came across the following, scrawled while on a train journey:
Grey skies, yellow machinery "SEEARO PLANT", green/brown fields leaning bleakly away from the wind, & a tall factory chimney in the distance, a plume of smoke etched into the sky above it.
And I can still remember the scene, though not where it was; I can still see how flat and far away from each other the colours seemed, cold-shouldering each other into the distance, and how the alien word SEEARO seemed to sear itself into the landscape like a relic of a forgotten civilisation, some wretched intergalactic changeling of a word that could be the name of G*d or could mean nothing at all.

So I thought I'd put it here, on this shore where all kinds of words wash up, to fend for itself along with the other flotsam and jetsam rattling around in this wind-bleached skull.