Snowed Under

I have been neglecting my journal. Bad OctoberPoppy.

The reason is simple:

Inbetween rehearsals at Cuths Choir, Mandarin Class, Debating Society, French Society, trying to find inspiration to write something (anything!) for the uni newspaper, the mountains of reading I have to do, the piano practice I'm supposed to be doing, washing laundry, ironing, shopping, cooking, washing up, lectures, seminars and tutorials, socialising (networking is very important - the friend of a friend of Timothy's daddy with an indoor pool, flat in Knightsbridge and second country home may just be my future employer one day)- oh and doing the work I'm set every week for the degree I'm reading (and English, French and History is a pretty hefty work load) and finding time to sleep, my day isn't exactly packed with available slots to sit down and write a journal.

See that picture? See that picture? See that? Do you see it? THAT'S how I'm feeling right now.

No longer do I have time to watch the television or surf the web (I log on, check my emails maybe twice a day for five minutes and then log off). But I think this is a good thing. Not so good is the fact that ALL my reading is now 'literary criticism', 'Native Americans in Revolution', 'A Longman History of the United States' and a plethora of weighty French Grammar textbooks. I haven't read a SINGLE novel since I got here. I haven't done a piano practice in two weeks and I haven't warmed up or done any singing practice other than what I do in choir since I got here (!)

Despite my neglect in certain departments though, I'm enjoying myself. I'm going to a Halloween Party tonight at 24 North Bailey Club, complete in my witchy ensemble of extremely big pointy witch hat, all black and red vamp lipstick. *Cackles* Seriously, here I find you can just about wear anything and no-one will stare. On Saturday I went to Cuths Halloween Night at the bar, thinking I was being daring and 'out there', only to find no-one batted an eyelid at my admittedly outrageously over-the-top makeup (I think I was outdone by the person who went as Spongebob Squarepants in a room full of people brandishing plastic axes, wearing pretend fangs and dripping with fake blood, or maybe it was the guy wearing a tiny red tanktop, red tights that revealed everything and flashing red devil horns. Yeah, that's pretty much Cuths). We did admittedly get a few stares when we ventured into DSU (Durham Students Union) and our oddly dressed ensemble (it was only Halloween Night in Cuths, so everywhere else= dressed 'normally') proceeded to play pool and scoff chips and tartare sauce complete in hooded capes and Darth Maul rubber masks (although to scoff said chips masks obviously had to be removed- attempting to eat chips with masks on would just be plain silly *tosses mane with distain*).

Well anyhow. I have the thrilling topic of 'Gothic revival' to research (no really, actually- it IS thrilling, or at least I think so; while everyone around me snores gently and drools onto the desk I seem to scribble away). I am also going to go and make myself a peanut butter sandwich before my stomach ravenously eats its way throught my spine (or at least that's what it feels like) and who can argue with peanut butter?

Ni hao ma? Wo hen hao

Returned from Mandarin class. It's two hours straight, rushes along at breakneck speed and boy does it kill my head. My mind aches from the onslaught of information. Conversely I'm enjoying this fast speed too. It's a challenge. It's bringing back memories of my start in French though. Now I just take it for granted. It's an offhand "oh yeah, I'm studying French at university". I take it for granted that I can speak full sentences or that sometimes I don't even have to translate in my mind- I just think and speak French before I even think of English; when I look at an object and see 'le feu' instead of 'fire'; 'la glace' instead of 'mirror'; 'le bureau' instead of 'desk' (that doesn't happen that often, but it's a real confidence booster when it does). I'd forgotten, though, how long it took me to accomplish this semi-fluent stage (I say semi-fluent because I haven't lived out in France...yet, give me two years and I should be out there on my year abroad!!) Learning Mandarin has taken me back to the days where instead of proferring forth suggestions in French and being able to fully understand the tutor, I used to look down at the desk, my guts churning, hoping, really hoping that I wouldn't be asked a question. When I had to speak, I would be tongue tied, watching the clock, willing the fifty minutes by until the lesson ended, and I would be out of there like a rocket, breathing a sigh of relief that the ordeal was over. If you'd asked me then, I would have said "Do a degree in French? No WAY!! I'm dropping it as soon as I can!" I looked at my teachers and thought Gosh you must be mad to like grammar and verbs and to have put yourself through such torment. Are you a masochist??? Then I don't know what happened. Something just 'clicked' and I discovered that I did have a capacity for languages after all. (I've never learned to like grammar but) French actually interests me. I like the sheer poetry and metaphorical sentences; the way the lines run; the way the words feel on my tongue. I like the drama of the language (unrestrained in a way tha English is not) and, if I'm honest, being able to brag to people that I am a linguist and speak French at them in a way that makes them go 'wow' and satisfy my (wretched, often terribly inflated) ego.

Mandarin though is different. I don't cringe inwardly as I did with French. Maybe this is because I have been through the language thing once before and this time I understand that it isn't going to be easy in the beginning, but when it 'clicks' and I start to think fluently in the language it's all worth it. On Durham University Open Day I went along to an Arabic taster session, because I've been thinking of picking up a third language for a while (Italian was my other choice, but as my mother rightly pointed out, I can teach myself that so why not go for something more exotic, more challenging?) And I hated it. Hated. I felt like I did at the start of my French quest, all over again. Looked down at the desk, praying the teacher would pass me over. Watched the clock and the minutes tick excrutiatingly by. So I thought again. Signed up for classes at the Language Centre (ie: extra, not part of my degree of English French and History). I thought of Mandarin as a 'go along and see what's it like', but I think, even though it's only been two lessons, that I'm in it for the long haul...

Whether I will be saying that in a couple of weeks when the fun really starts and I'm collapsing from information overload (we're already onto full sentences: "Is this a female toilet? Where can I find a female toilet?" (Don't ask me to put that into Pinyin) Already! Sentences! In the SECOND lesson!!) is another matter...

Worked into a lather

It had been two weeks. I hadn't done any washing. I surveyed my drawer. Two and a half pairs of socks. Two and a half pairs of socks?? Is that IT?? Well obviously it was. I am used to socks 'magically' just appearing at home, as a magic fairy* washes and dries them for me. The thought crossed my mind, briefly, that it might just be time to locate the campus laundrette. But then I remembered the mile long list of things I have to do and pushed this impending crisis to the back of my mind. "I'll worry about it later..." I resolved.

Three days later. Confronted with the remainder of one sock and absolutely no clean clothes (the best being a crumpled sweatshirt, no-so-white shirt and a pair of muddy jeans), I realised that it was futile to resist: even though I'd been dreading this moment since arrival, I was going to have to face my worst fears and figure out, for the first time in my life, how a washing machine works.

DUM DUM DUUUUUMMMM!!!

So, armed with my washing powder, clothes carefully stowed away in a Waitrose bag-for-life, which I'd purchased earlier that morning (ha, I can relish in my Blue Peter moment- see my moment of triumph, that's forward planning!) I picked my way past the rubble on my bedroom floor down to the laundrette. The laundrette is at once a comforting and horrifying place. Comforting because it is the one college room which is even messier than my study-bedroom: you have to navigate your way through piles of crumpled garments that have been chucked out of washing machines so they can be used by other people, while three broken beds are randomly stacked against one wall. Horrifying because, well, the machines are so complicated. They're snazzy! And have flashing buttons! And a million options- Delicates! Whites! Lingerie! Spin! Hot! Cold! Warm! I pressed 'warm' tentatively, because I had vague recollections of Mum telling me that's how you wash jeans, and you know what? The machine beeped at me! Beeped!! I asn't expecting a response!

So anyway. I managed to load my clothes into the drum without any problem. I managed to press the right options. I managed to shut the door without issue. I had remembered my washing powder and my fabric softener. I was starting to feel a little more confident about washing my own clothes by my very own self. Thoughts of "Yes, OctoberPoppy, you can DO this!" began to chase through my mind.

And so I got over-confident.

I was liberally shaking some powder into the powder drawer, when a guy ran over, arms flailing, gesticulating wildly.

"Nooooooooo!!" He cried. "What are you doing??? You DO NOT put washing powder in there! It's clearly labelled rinsing agent!!" I dumbly followed the jabbing of his accusing finger and read the sign at snail pace. It did indeed say 'rinsing agent' (remind me again why I can comprehend the finer aspects of romanesque architectural features, but not operate something so simple as a washing machine?) This was not the worst however. After the debacle of pouring washing powder in the rinsing agent drawer, I carefully positioned my bottle of fabric softener on top of the washing machine, to read the instructions. "Full load...cap....pour one caps worth of Comfort...ok...I can do that" I muttered to myself. Confident of my ability to pour the fabric softener in the right partition (I checked this was the right drawer this time), I reached over.

That's when it happened.

My arm somehow caught the bottle and sent it flying, a pool of fabric softener wooshing out of the bottle...straight into my face and down my front.

I have never been so grateful that I wear glasses. With some lens wipes, my specs were quickly saved. Had it contacted my eyes, which it surely would have had it not been for my wearing glasses, I may very well have been blinded. I stood there, in a pool of comfort, my favourite aqua green jumper rapidly absorbing the half bottle of fabric softener which I'd just spilled. I stood shock still (I think we've already established the fact that I was having a somewhat "thick" day) before it occurred to me that I couldn't very well leave the comfort to completely ruin the garment and that I had no option but to whip off my jumper and stick it into the machine.

If you are reading this, are at Durham University, and have recently been traumatised by the vision of a girl running back to her room attired in nothing but a pair of jeans and bra, I sincerely apologise.

The jumper washed fine, by the way. People have remarked though, on the rather strong flowery smell that my aqua green jumper is imbued with. I don't tell them it's the result of tipping half a bottle of Comfort on it.

*ahem, Mum

Freshers Flu

"Oh my God, you sound terrible!" My mother exclaimed as she came to Durham to visit on Saturday.

It's true: I do.

Fresher's Flu

Has left me feeling

Decidedly blue.

So the mad frantic whirl of socialising, drinking and trying to memorise as many names as humanely possible has been put on hiatus. For practically the two whole weeks I've been here, early nights (I'm talking like 9PM here- the horror!!) have been on the cards, as have comforting hot drinks and sensible evening activities, such as sitting in front of the TV all evening.

No wild parties here. No drunken games of Twister here. No eating jelly out of a glass because every other piece of crockery is stacked by the fridge waiting to be washed up. Nope, not here. Although, saying that, I have joined Cuths Choir, started Mandarin (which is worryingly more interesting than my degree, although God does my head hurt), been to a church service and actually ENJOYED the sermons, joined the debating society, have French society and conversation tomorrow and participated in a film marathon (5 films back to back replete with an entire box of cherry liquers).

So excuse me for not posting here. I think the hacking, chesty cough, sandpaper-sore throat, raging fever and headache justifiably excuses my relative non-activity.

Stayed tuned...

Torn

I think...university is like living in a bubble, where everything is more intense than "real life".

I feel like...I haven't quite landed yet.

This seems like...being on a carousel that I can't get off, but am not sure whether I want to get off anyway, or stay on for the ride.

I wonder...why ALL the good choirs hold their rehearsals on Monday evening.

I feel happy that...my course looks great- I can't wait to get my teeth into my modules (I won't be saying that when it's 5AM and I've been up all night frantically writing an essay).

I feel sad that...I've let my music go and the music side of Durham is not as good as I thought it would be (or is it just that the JRNCM and the Hallé Youth Choir are hard to live up to??)

I worry that...I'm going to lose my musical identity.

I want...to discover a new side of me, the side that is tough and resilient and can talk to anyone. The side that is up for anything. The side that accepts 'oh well, that's life' when I don't get something I want, instead of feeling that every rejection is a personal blow from which I'll never recover (typical Perfectionist trait). The side that is going to study Mandarin; the side that socialises without restraint or embarrassment; the side that will push for writing an article for the student newspaper; the side that enables me to enter a crowded room alone and still make conversation with anybody. Yet, I feel anguish that this discovery and unfurling of a new aspect of my personality means that I as a whole am changing. I want to go forward, but I clutch at my old, comfortable, familiar personality as a child does with a comfort blanket.

Overall, I feel...like Durham was a good choice, but why is evolving and growing as a person so overwhelming?

A Life in the day of a Fresher

“Unnnngggg” a pyjama clad arm emerges from beneath the huddle of bedclothes. The snooze button is located; the piercing drill of the alarm clock ceases; she sinks back into the comforting blanket of sleep. All is well again in her world.

Until five minutes later, that is.

“Where is it? I- oh all right, all right, I hear you, goddamit!” I sigh, exasperated, as the incessant beep of the alarm clock doubles in frequency. (Never mind the trill of “Psycho”, the sound of the alarm clock is enough to send shivers of dread down my spine). The prospect of sleep is now well and truly shot. I cast a baleful glare at the innocuous LCD face of the alarm clock, which so efficiently destroyed my peaceful reverie, before glancing away. Looked back. Is that-? Could that really be-? “NINE O’CLOCK???!!” Yes, dammit, it IS! The planned peaceful and leisurely breakfast quickly descends into a panicked flurry of activity, before I hastily grab my thick winter coat (scoffed at in Manchester, necessary if you want to avoid frostbite here) and exit, only to return 5 minutes later. “Where are my keys? Where are my keys? WHERE ARE MY KEYS?? oh. They’re in my pocket, after all.” After taking a deep, calming breath, I ascertain where exactly it is that I’m going (Durham is not exactly a large place, but it’s amazing the number of times I’ve managed to get myself lost) and re-exit. “Great start to the day, OctoberPoppy”, I mutter grimly to myself as I stride down the cobbled hill. “What a fantastic way to head off to your very first lecture. Oh yes, you’re going to make a marvellous first impression aren’t yoWAAAHHH!!”

Wet slippery cobbles + Impractical shoes + Not watching where one is going = falling flat on one’s face straight into the mud and slush of the cobbles.

Red faced, I pick myself up, desperately avoiding the stares of several glamorous, perfectly made up, pashmina attired students that look like they’ve just stepped out of the pages of Vogue. I stare fixedly at the ground as I walk away, fighting to swallow my humiliated tears, whilst trying to avoid looking at the huge splodge of mud that mars my once immaculate coat. In a daze, I arrive at Elvet Riverside (sounds more like the name of a magical creature from “Lord of the Rings” than a grey concrete monolith in Durham, but there you go), and make my way through the labyrinth of stairwells and corridors to the room where my French induction is being held. To my relief, something is actually going to go well with this day- surprisingly I am not late after all, and I join the back of the queue with something like relief (after the two and a half hours spent queuing the previous day for a campus card- in the presence of chandeliers and carpet in a white tent, oddly enough- you would never think that I’d actually be grateful to see a queue, but there you have it). What a shame this was actually the Spanish queue, not the French one, but I somehow still managed to realise my mistake in time and not be late.

After my lecture (which I enjoyed, shock horror), I journeyed up the hill to Dunelm House for Freshers’ Fair. Oh my dear Lord. Now, now, faced with the swarming crowds, the somewhat flustered appearance of a fellow student who I’d met on the way makes sense. Cattle market is not the word. I manage to battle my way through the hordes and the first stall I make my way to is “LGBTA”. Hmmm, sounds interesting, I thought. Wonder what that stands for? Dumbly, I accept a flyer from the woman at the stall who seems unhealthily eager to prise the money for a life membership from my hand. That’s when it hits- lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender association. “Oh, but you don’t understand-” I cut through the woman’s spiel about how I can feel at ease and comfortable and free to be who I am. “I’m not a lesbian!” “Oh well, if you’re sure-” The woman’s look is disbelieving, ‘ha, she’s clearly in denial’, being stamped firmly all over it. “No, truly! I didn’t realise what you stand for-” I back away as hurriedly as possible and retreat down the stairs, into L’enfer. It’s hot, disorientating, cramped…I quickly lose the will to say “no” and accumulate sheafs of paper, weighty booklets and other paraphernalia. As my arms begin to ache, I realise that a bag is sorely needed. I stop, look around- ah, BSM has plastic carrier bags on their stall! That will do! Purposefully, I stride over and accost the salesman (funny, normally it’s them harassing me) and ask him outright what I have to do to get a bag. Safely signed up for driving lessons I don’t want, with a made-up email address (learn that trick and use it!) I stuff my collection of assorted leaflets into my newly acquired bag, complete with a rather nifty ‘tri-highlighter’ and BSM plastic key ring. (I like the way they say it’s only £20 for a solitary driving lesson- as though it’s somehow not the equivalent of an entire weekly budget for food shopping).

Speaking of food shopping, I remember after the ‘fun’ of Freshers Fair, that the cupboards are empty, the fridge contains nothing edible and it’s reached that marvellous time- shopping (Unless you are able to concoct an evening meal consisting solely of Worcester Sauce, Pineapple and a battered can of Chopped Tomatoes- if so, you are obviously a better cook than myself). I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated home as much as I do now. I have learnt that it really isn’t the best move to throw things in your shopping cart, get to the checkout, panic and hope desperately that you have enough money. I have also learnt that saving money on Supermarket own brand goods isn’t always preferable to spending more but getting a superior product: Tesco Value stick-in-your-throat, consistency-of-glue, Peanut Butter doesn’t really cut it for me. I have learnt that the teabags which just “appear” at home actually cost money (shock horror!) and that, when self-catering, it is sometimes necessary to weigh up “Do I spend my last pennies on another pint of Snakebite in the college Bar, or do I actually eat tomorrow??” The final, and perhaps most important, thing I have learnt is that it is all too easy to fill your shopping trolley in the supermarket with “essentials” (hey, I desperately needed those Andrex toilet rolls and kilo bag of pasta twirls!) but lugging home six heavy shopping bags is no easy feat (and trust me, when you puff and pant home, laden like a pack horse, red in the face, feeling the necessity of stopping for a break every 10 steps, you WILL get odd looks).

After shopping and my culinary efforts in producing dinner (which involve the highly strenuous task of cracking open a frozen pizza box), I hurriedly retreat to my bedroom to begin the (very important, you understand) task of choosing what to wear to the bar this evening. I have to say, I am regretting my decision to leave the LBD (girls, you know what I mean) out of the suitcase and am instead left with the choice of a lowcut polka dot dress (no thanks, I don’t want to expose my entire cleavage to the nippy Durham air, thankyou very much), jeans and a top that isn’t actually stained with the residue of my attempts to concoct Sweet and Sour stir fry (a burnt, congealed mess that ended up being chucked to the bottom of the rubbish bin- you can see now why I stick with the frozen pizza) or- well actually, those are my only two options. As I stand before this veritable plethora of choice, the thought strikes me, delicately…for Christ’s Sake, OctoberPoppy, it’s only a drink in a dimly lit, smoky bar! Who’s going to be looking at you? (Who said I had high self-esteem??) So I opt for the sensible option of jeans and top- the going out, having a drink and socially mingling is more important than wearing a pretty dress which I am sure to contract Pneumonia in. After all, after a day like today, I think the drink is sorely needed…

Update

Well I arrived here safe and sound. To contrary belief, going to university wasn't the trial of the century, or akin to climbing Mount Everest after all. I don't know why I was so stressed at all. My train was on time (I feared I'd miss it- I took a gamble and bought a student getaway on a specific train); nor did it blow up (I had visions of Potters Bar or the Madrid fiasco). In Durham I didn't collapse on the cobbled pavement under the weight of my luggage (although I almost killed myself dragging home my shopping from Tesco- home delivery is calling my name!) and the taxi on the other end was only £3 and the driver put my (very heavy- whhhhyy did I buy saucepans and textbooks in Manchester????) luggage in the boot for me (UNHEARD of in Manchester, where drivers deliberately take the longest route and sit and pretend they don't see you struggling with a huge suitcase into the back). My room is really nice and modern now I've got all my posters and wall hangings up (although please, do excuse the huge black mark on the floor- not my fault; it was like that when I came, honest).

I have been in Durham for four days. I feel as though I've been here two weeks. I've done SO much it's untrue. On arrival day we had a formal dinner (complete with tubs of playdoh-how random) and then Karaoke. The next day was spent decorating my room, journeying out on an expedition to Tesco (and Aldi, although I shouldn't admit to that- I got bananas, apples and oranges for £3! Bargain!) and on Band Night in the evening. I also had a 'party' late at night in my room (no music, just intellectual conversation and a glass of red wine with some really interesting people- I met this Norwegian guy who lived in Houston, Texas for 6 years and in Paris for one year and speaks 3 foreign languages fluently, how amazing is that??). Yesterday, I collected all my registration forms (which I have to do today), went to my introductory speech for my course, Combined Arts, signed up for classes at the Language Centre in Mandarin (so altogether I'm studying English, French, History and Mandarin...it's starting to sink in now that maybe, just maybe, I'm being a tad ambitious...) and dressed up and went to the Grease themed Evening in Cuths Bar (not to sound like a gushing schoolgirl, but they had a disco and a bouncy castle and everything!) I have also learnt how to cook on an electric cooker; that Waitrose really is expensive (I didn't believe the people who told me it was until I actually had to shop there!); that when cooking sausages it is better to overcook them and be safe rather than sorry- I certainly don't want to spend the entire evening worrying whether I've given myself food poisoning again- and I have also met hundreds of people (my voice is starting to give out a bit from having to shout over the really loud music in the bar when talking to people!) I haven't been clubbing (having never been, I wanted to see what it was like) but to be honest, I'm happy with meeting people in the Bar and at the College Ents and so I don't think I've missed very much. The people in Cuths are really very friendly- everyone says hi and smiles and and I get on ok with my flatmates (I don't have much in common with them and they're into clubbing, which isn't my scene, but it could be a lot worse). What else? I have tried drinks I have never tried before- my favourite so far is Snakebite (cider and blackcurrant, it's nicer than it sounds!) although I suppose I've only ever had two alcoholic drinks in my life (that and Barcardi and Coke). Seriously, I am SUCH a lightweight- the other night, after half a pint of snakebite and half a glass of red wine I was really giggly and found it a bit difficult to walk straight!!

There are some negatives, however. While my flatmates are reasonably quiet, the people above me have a love for dance and techno music (played so loud that my whole bed vibrates from the force of the bass) and when they get drunk it's invariably played until 5AM (although I went up to see them about it and they've switched it off earlier and had it on quieter since then, so last night I just slept through it). From what I've asked around the college, it's pretty much noisy everywhere- lots of people are having late parties everynight and coming in drunk, so what can you do?? Also, I put two frozen 'emergency' (ie: if I'm ill and can't go shopping) boxes of pizzas in the freezer and one of the boxes 'disappeared' overnight!! I didn't say anything, as my flatmates have offered me things like a glass of wine and I'd feel like a cheapskate, but I'm glad I've found out now, as I won't be putting anything nice in the freezer or fridge from now on, unless I eat it on the day I purchase it!!

I spent today queuing for various modules (luckily I got everything I wanted- 2 English Modules-Intro to the Novel and Intro to Poetry- 2 French modules- French Lang and Language, Power and the making of the French Nation- and one History module- racism in C19th America). I also spent two hours this afternoon registering for my campus card (now I am officially a student at Durham University. Strangely enough, it doesn't feel too different to previously) in what was basically a big white tent, with chandeliers and a carpet, oddly enough. The only positive is that I met lots of people in the queue from other colleges oh, and also, it's a NUS certified card so I can get student discounts with it- I'm glad I didn't pay for the 'NUS Extra' card now! My feet still kill from all that standing around, but at least I've done all my registration and can enjoy tomorrow (Matriculation and Freshers Fair). There's a Toga Night on in Cuths Bar this evening (where basically everyone wanders round in a bedsheet with a few strategically placed safety pins) but I don't think I'm going, as firstly I don't have a bedsheet, secondly I have nothing to wear beneath a bedsheet even if I bought one (and I don't think the entire student population of Cuths Bar would want to see me in my undies- in fact I'm sure they'd be scarred for life) and, thirdly, I am really tired! I think I've come out of my shell a bit more at uni and I'm a lot more confident when it comes to asking for help and directions. I'm finding that with a smile and 'hi' you can pretty much talk to anyone. However, I also feel really really old and disgustingly sensible- I want to go to bed early (before midnight) and I don't know how others stay up partying until 5AM and then wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed at 9! I'm also cooking proper meals (although when lectures start and I'm cold, tired and hungry, the option of picking up a fattening, empty calorie meal of a pasty and iced finger from Greggs will probably be too tempting to resist!) while my flatmates are subsisting on meals of cereal morning, noon and night. I don't know how they do it! Any less than 8 hours sleep and OctoberPoppy quickly transforms into the grumpy monster, never mind running around all day and then going clubbing again night after night and surviving on 4 hours sleep!

Overall though, I'm enjoying my time here much more than I thought I would, although I miss my family and am looking forward to them visiting. Anyway, I'd better dash, as I have to go and start tea (that's 'evening meal' for non-Brits; I've confused many an international student with that one)!!