Rambles, rants and raves

A lot of opinions spilling out of my brain


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Snow

Yesterday snow fell in England, enough to make an ankle-sized snowman but not enough to fully enjoy it.

Admittedly, I am not the biggest fan of snow – mainly because it’s a nuisance and I cannot copy my cats and just stay indoors in the warm, only going outside when and if I choose. I was once hit with a snowball that was more rock than snow. I blamed the snow as I never got my hands on the individual. My thirteen-year-old pride was so bruised that I’m still not over it. Another reason for my slight hate of snow are children. Children become slightly evil and completely terrifying when they realise they can use snow as a weapon.

Oh and my sense of balance is zero – what comes with snow is ice. I hate that snow is so insecure that he has to bring ice along wherever he goes. Ice ruins everything. Apart from drinks in the summer-time, then it’s okay.

My old car coped surprisingly well which is more than I can say for the town which I live in. The council were forced to apologise due to the dangerous roads and crazy amounts of traffic that ensued. My mum took two hours on the bus and never actually arrived at her destination by bus. She wasn’t eaten. She just decided to walk. I actually arrived in town before her to go to classes. It would have been funny had it not been so damn annoying.

The excuse was that the council were caught by surprise, although if they’d just turned on the BBC news and waited for the weather report they would have heard about the snow forecasts. Those freaky presenters were talking about chances of snow for about a week. Maybe they don’t own a television – who am I to judge my local authority?

The snow should not cause as many problems as it did. It should not have been that big of a deal. After all, England has experienced plenty of snowfall and much heavier than this, in the past. The problems on the road were bad but they were nothing compared to how it was described by locals on social media. At first I thought the mayans had got the end of the world wrong and Armageddon was actually upon us. Then I looked outside and was slightly frustrated and a little concerned. That was the extent of my initial reaction. I got a little more annoyed when I was stuck in traffic but not enough to feel like I could warm the car with my anger.

If it snows, it is to be expected than even with gritted roads, congestion will increase. England is a country that is not fully prepared for extreme weather. I think, and don’t hold me to this, that the reasoning behind this is that it isn’t financially viable to be so fully equipped when it doesn’t happen often enough. We can hardly compare our snowfall to Canada’s and so we shouldn’t really feel the need to compare how both countries handle it. If Canada wasn’t prepared for snow, then it would probably end up being an inhabited place. Or a great skiing resort – I can’t decide which.

The council should have been more prepared, drivers should be more careful and people should stop for a minute, look at how pretty it is and then moan. That second of appreciation will enable the moaning to be a little more subdued and less dramatic I think. It’s no big deal, and before you know it, summer will be here and you’ll be complaining about how hot it is. Not me though, I’ll be wishing on stars that the snow never comes back.

I would enjoy the snow a lot more if I had the time to create this and laugh as people cried with fear. Is that mean? Oh well, so are snowballs.

I love Calvin. I would enjoy the snow a lot more if I had the time to create this and laugh as people cried with fear. Is that mean? Oh well, so are snowballs.


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One miserable day with a hint of sunshine

Today it’s raining. My bicycle, having been ridden everyday with the boy for about a week (the novelty of learning to ride is yet to wear off), is sitting locked away in Spider Kingdom aka The Shed. It’s dark already at 4pm and the lights are on, my feet are cold and the boy has left to go home. Today starts the year of weekend visits.

This looks a lot happier than I feel.

 

That’s better. This is more how I feel. Poor puppy, I feel your pain.

 

It is a miserable day.

Let me explain: I’m feeling sorry for myself. I won’t deny it because, well, it’s true.

Today has been a crazy week. I’ve had family from Portugal over and that, naturally, promoted me from eldest daughter to taxi driver for the family. I love my car, but even I was getting sick of making two trips everywhere. (Two because there were too many of us for my car. Should have bought a limo for situations like this).

The boy was also over and we didn’t get as much alone time together as I would have liked. It meant stolen kisses, and time alone was snatched rather than taken graciously. Sounds almost romantic? Nope. It wasn’t. Yesterday we ended up driving around for a place to eat and being rejected from everywhere (our body clocks are awful and everywhere was closed – who knew restaurants closed at 10pm?) I was like a bottle of champagne as I drove home: bubbling, fizzing and wanting to explode. As a careful driver, I was able to do none. Pretty sure I’m due a breakdown within the next 72 hours as a result.

From now on, the boy will be finishing his degree at the university I have just graduated from. I will be starting my intensive course in another town. We’re not far from each other (about an hour drive) but we are busy. Weekends it is. It’s like I’m in prison and that will be my time off for good behaviour. I am dreading weekend visits. Shamefully I am completely in love. As a result, although he sometimes annoys me, I do love to spend time with him; and as much time as possible at that. But this isn’t a declaration of love, so hold off on the sick buckets just yet. What I’m trying to say is that: I’m going to miss the hell out of him and like a puppy, I almost feel lost. I’m independent and it hurts to say that, but it’s true. It is. Awful I know.

Today the family fly back to Portugal too. I will be driving of course, with a crying heart at the fact I’ve already said goodbye to the boy and a screaming purse at the thought of the cost of parking at Stansted Airport. This is one miserable day. The rain won’t stop and I’m pretty sure that Matilda the cat is mad at me even though I’m her favourite.

The hint of sunshine? My work experience starts tomorrow! I am so excited and so nervous simultaneously that I feel like I consistently need a wee. I am terrified that I won’t know what I’m doing and that lovely thing called doubt is slowly entering my brain. It’s making my heart race as if I’m running a marathon and my stomach has decided it’s on a rollercoaster. Brilliant. Fingers crossed I don’t throw up on my way there.


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Several things that make me feel like a loser

Loser: Slang . a misfit

I’m 21 years old, trying to learn shorthand so that I’m more prepared come September, and have more receipts from six months ago in my purse than actual money. I graduated this year with a robe that made me feel like a superhero and a hat so tight it gave me a headache. The summer started really well: I celebrated my 21st and had one of many dreams actually come true.

Sometimes though, the summer sucked because after living with the boy, pathetically, it’s much harder to be apart. The first thing that makes me feel like a loser. I love being at home but if you’re human, which I assume you are if you’re reading this, you’ll know we are a complicated species. Our brain loves to make us continually want. I think it’s a part of the whole evolution process; if we continue to strive and develop for more then we won’t fall behind on the whole evolutionary scale thing and, you know, die out.

The lack of money is also getting to me now and adding to my feeling of feeling like a loser. For three years now I have had a loan and at least one job, at some points two jobs. Money was always an issue because I’m a student and I like to save – two things that are hard to mesh together. I’m not a capitalist, nor do I think money is important. However, having no money means that when I do need money for important things: such as the course books I need for September, you realise that money is important. I’ve been told that due to the course being intensive (a years’ work in 25 weeks) that I should not get a part time job unless it is related to the course. So, work experience which not only does not pay; it is also very hard to find as I have also come to realise. I continue trying and I’m pretty confident it will work out if I do, but it doesn’t detract from me feeling like a loser.

I also feel like a loser when I get nervous on hill starts in my car. It’s not that I can’t do them, and it’s not like my car can’t cope (even if she is old) but I just have a fear that I’ll roll into a car behind me, even if there is no car behind me. I can drive okay, I’ve never actually rolled down a hill since I passed my test and got that beauty of a pink license. But this feat always makes me want to either cry or scream and it always makes me sweat uncontrollably. Whenever I’m in traffic and we’re rolling up a hill I begin to grip hard to the steering wheel and chant myself, “don’t let me stop here. Just over the hill. Don’t let me stop here. Just over the hill…” You get the picture.

My dancing is incredible. I am Beyonce, better even. They are moves that are completely out of this world. When I dance on my own in the house, my dance ability increases ten fold. Especially when I’m checking myself out on a mirror or the glass patio doors. Some people may consider this to be part of the things that make me feel like a loser. It doesn’t I feel like a goddess when I dance. Then I saw myself taped dancing and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; it was when I was on my own: uninhibited dancing. Hasn’t stopped me though.

Not being able to ride a bike. This makes me feel like a loser the most, I feel my parents are partly to blame for never teaching me properly. I have evaded the question of being able to ride a bicycle or if I want to go on a bike ride. I’m not even one of those humans that doesn’t want to learn. I do, I really do. But my core balance is worse than that of a…I can’t even think of what, it’s that bad. My ability to ride a bike is the same as a two year olds to recite all of Shakespeare’s sonnets by heart. It’s the one thing that always makes me change the subject, the one thing that causes me to blush, the one thing that I’d rather lie about than be honest about. That’s the key to it making me feel like a loser: the shame. I actually went to look at the two bicycles we have in the shed at the bottom of the garden (also known as Spider World). They looked rusty and were full of webs, once bought by my father in the naive hope that my sister and I would be able to learn. Every bit of rust, every bug caught in those many webs around those two bikes (which look terrifying by the way) was like a shameful secret. I can’t ride a bike.

This could be me. Look how happy I could look, with my hair being blown in the wind.


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Buying a car is like burning money

My car is old, very old. In fact she is a granny. I love her but she is. She shakes if I go to fast, not because she can’t go that fast of course, more because she is warning me to slow down: just in case. Because that’s what grannies do. She has just turned 11 and I bought her when she was a decade old. Yes, I decided to buy a car in her twilight. She hasn’t let me down either, she’s been reliable and happily taken my bad parking when up against terrible building. (What’s the point of ankle reaching walls I ask?)

She had her first MOT yesterday with me as her owner and it’s fair to say that having a car is a lot like burning money. Except it’s not as traumatic as actually burning much needed money. Luckily my car is not addicted to petrol and therefore a little goes an average sort of way (not a long way, that would be a lie), however a tire burst when I parked too close to a spiky wall (why would people make spiky walls in the first place?) and so that had to be replaced, she had to have new tyres as soon as I bought her because hers were smooth enough that I could just slide my way anywhere,  no need for driving.

Taxing on a car is a ridiculous amount too. How clever of the government to imply such a law that a car must be taxed if it is to be driven. I looked through all my car’s previous tax disks and the price of it (for a year) has been raising by £10 every year. Soon I will have to sell a kidney/ rob a bank/ steal a tax disk/ get someone else to buy it for me to even be able to consider getting myself a tax disk. I don’t mind paying for insurance, to me it seems logical that you would on a car. I don’t need to insure my laptop but my car: yes, I can see why I’d bend the rules on my views on insurance there. An MOT however stressful, is also useful to an extent. If a car is too dangerous to drive then an MOT can point that out. But why the hell does it need to be so expensive? I’ve seen what they do. They hook it up to a machine that looks like it could be a robot if someone drew eyes on it. The computer does all the work, they just sit and wait. Mechanics deserve to be paid for their miracle hands at saving old cars like mine, but not for a damn MOT. Even if you pay for the electricity used it wouldn’t come to £55. And that is actually what some garages charge. It’s even worse when you’re told you’ll have to pay an additional life’s earnings to fix it. (Thankfully I was not told that, but I believe the hyperbolic statement has a point).

Buying a car means you must be prepared to burn money on a monthly basis. I have been a lucky one and although I bought an old dear, she hasn’t really cost me much apart from buying replacement tyres. But I live in constant fear that she will start smoking and die on me on a motorway. It’s not due to lack of faith but more due to the fact that I know as soon as you buy a car, it depreciates in value. And as soon as your car hits the five year mark you better hold your breath for big bills. I’ve been too lucky with this eleven year old beaut of mine.

If I smoked, this is effectively what I would be risking by buying a car as old as mine...