Regrets...

This rowing lark is really fucking horrific. 3 outings per week- 2 7pm ones and 1 7 am one. The fuckers have now added a Saturday morning session too. Just because the rest of the crew don't have lives to speak of, does that mean I should allow them to erode my packed social calendar? Does it? No it fucking doesn't.

Not only do I spend too much time in a boat, but my crew is ugly. I don't just mean mildly unattractive, I mean really fucking ugly. Why is it that the people who should least wear lycra are the ones that wear it? It's like some sick joke the rowing gods are playing on me. When I rowed in Cambridge, I had a semi the whole time. Here, my nuts have ascended so far into my body, I haven't seen them in weeks.

That was clearly a lie. This morning, I gave my boys a good going over in the name of a testicular self-examination. I haven't had that much fun since my last testicular self-examination. I rock.

The weather is pissing me off.

Currently looking: rather dashing in jeans, shirt, tie, supercilious expression and FLIP-FLOPS.

Currently listening to: A Minha Menina by The Bees.

Encaenia...

But on a lighter note...


http://homepage.ntlworld.com/b.harbison1/argos.htm

Currently listening: The Paris Match by The Style Council (featuring Tracy Thorne)

No flip-flops for me today. Apparently, they don't go with sub-fusc. Twats.

It's too fucking hot...

to do anything apart from watch bad American porn. I'm slightly obsessed with pornography. Not so much in magazines but on DVD. It's the sounds I like almost as much as the images. Muscley American jocks grunting and moaning 'fuck yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck me hard, yeah, fuck me, yeah, harder, yeah...'.

I mean, how HOT is that?

I think I might explore the possibility of becoming a script writer for porn films. I've never done it before but surely anything I come up with will be better than the stuff currently out there, no?

Currently listening to: Best Bit by Beth Orton.

Thank fuck for flip-flops.

The weekend was unbearably hot. Friday involved lots of cocktails, eating, a lame party, more drinking, getting stopped by the police for drinking in the street- swigging from a bottle of wine in Cornmarket is illegal?! Hullo?! It was good wine, too. Cornmarket is full of pikey, thieving chavs, who, whilst not TECHNICALLY doing anything against the law are offensive by their mere presence. And chav females? Sluts. Every single pram-faced one of them. Every fucking Gemma, Kylie, Brittney, Sharon...etc...Do the police hassle them? No! They hassle law-abiding, responsible, respectable pillars of the community like me. Bastards.

Now listening to Common People by Pulp.

Still wanting to lick my flip-flops to show them how much I appreciate them. But resisting.

Anyway, Saturday: felt like shit and caught the sun. Factor 15? Factor nothing! Lazed in various College gardens with Hot Bescher (who, incidentally is leaving me (they always leave me. Why do they always leave me?) at the end of the month. Bastard.

Sunday: had a mate from my Cambridge days visiting for the day. Tedious! Was good to see him but it was far too hot to be social. Far too hot to make polite chit-chat. Certainly far too hot to do tourist shit in Oxford.

Rang my dad to say he's the BEST DAD IN THE WORLD!!! I felt the lie was justified.

This week sees me working my lovely ass off. Again.

Wednesday is Encaenia (look it up, plebs) and Piers Gaveston. Should be good.

Now listening to: Fast Car by Tracy Chapman.

Who's in Oxford over the summer? Be my daddy.

Things in the office are a bit tense. I love the drama. I feed off of it. As long as it doesn't involve me. The woman next to me had a breakdown or something. She works part time and can't cope with that, combined with looking after her children. Lazy bitch. Most women don't have the benefit of a nanny, flexible working, free tea and coffee at work and a fruit table. What's her fucking problem?! Get over yourself, bitch.

The Administrator/secretary person who handed in her notice last month walked out 2 days before she was supposed to. She went to lunch and didn't come back and has left a mountain of invoices unpaid, loads of filing un-, erm, filed, and generally dropped everyone in the shit. Fucking bitch. Not me though. Oh no...I made sure she did my filing as soon as I gave it to her. I jolly well kept her nose to the grindstone.

It's great fun, really it is. People get so stressed here, though. It's fun to watch. I'm such a voyeur.

Now listening to Gabriel by Lamb.

Oh dear flip-flops, how I love you so...you are more dear to me than life itself....beautiful, fragrant flip-flops, how do I love thee...let me count the ways...


Foot fetishist. Pervy bastard.

Lunch time. Back later...

It's free...how could you not get one?

http://www.chavband.com/index.php?ref=9569

My arms hurt...

too much to type.

Currently listening to: Pure Shores by All Saints. Stupid bints.

Go away reader, go AWAY.

Row, row, row your boat...

Gently down the Isis...

I have my first outing in a boat today. Not my first ever but the first in a long time. I'm very excited. The only downside is that it's a 4. I HATE rowing in a 4. The only time I've ever capsized was when I was rowing in a 4.
I did tell the coach I've not rowed in a while. He'll probably be expecting someone of Steve Redgrave, Matthew Pinset, Rory Maxwell standard though. Bastard.

Quiche is a funny thing.

Currently listening to Supergirl by Reamon. Again. Fuck-off-good song.

Yesterday, Hot Bescher cooked dinner for me. It was delicious. I had my reservations as Bescher isn't generally known for his cullinary skills (unlike me). We watched Location, Location, Location. It's one of my favourite programmes. And Kirsty Allsop is hot. Despite the distinct lack of penis.

I went on an Assertivenenss Training course yesterday for 3 hours. Part II is in 2 weeks. It was the most ridiculous thing I've experienced in a long time. The trainer (I use the word loosely) looked like Shrek but with worse hair and was big on the Oprah school of assertiveness. Lots of 'I'm feeling...' and 'I don't appreciate it when...'. What a load of wank.
The thing is, everyone on the course (there were 12 of us) was lapping it up. Fools. They were all just so wet. WET.

Now listening to: Head Over Feet by Alanis Morisette. Canadian, you know...

My new HEALTHY EATING, HEALTHY LIVING LIFESTYLE begins today.

I downed a pineapple Actimel (by Danone. Actually) this morning. If the adverts are to be believed I should be doing cartwheels all over Oxford.

I had a reasonably healthy lunch of swede, salad and quiche. I said REASONABLY.

I've limited my coffee intake to 3 cups and have drunk 3 litres of water.

1 banana

2 slices of toast made with flaxseed bread.

I'm really hungry though.

Damn.

Does anyone care what I'm listenig to as I type? Too fecking bad.

Currently listening to: Summer of '69 by Bryan Adams. He's one of my people too, you know...

Wednesday...

is hump day.

Is anyone familiar with that expression or is it a Canadian thing?

It's a BEAUTIFUL day in Oxford and I'm in a very pleasant mood. Had a long chat last night with Nate, my Washingtonian friend who is coming to visit in August. That's HOT.

Currently listening to: Talisman by Air. Wicked band. French you know...

Currently wearing: jeans, shirt, tie and flip-flops. Hot.

Evil Bosslady wasn't joking when she said she wanted me to take on more responsibility. Disaster! I've also been put on some high-achievers fast-track management course. It's supposed to catapult me into a senior management position in the blink (well, many blinks as it takes about 3 years) of an eye. The only problem is that I'll have to work quite closely with some quite odious people and I'm convinced the other people on the scheme will be retards. I probably shouldn't use words like 'retard' now I'm a responsible grown-up person. But fuck that.

Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard, Retard.

So there.

Now listening to: All I Need by Air. French, you know...

Still wearing: jeans, shirt, tie and flip-flops.

Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!Nate's coming!!!

Em is lost. Presumed missing in Selfridges. Damn.

Last night, I consumed an alarming quantity of cocktails. The Perfect Manhattan is a thing of beauty.

Anyway, back to me...

I'm amazed that this Blogging phenomena has grown so quickly. Admittedly, most of them on here aren't as good as this one but still...

It's all very well having a job and doing a bit of academic stuff on the side but I miss the mental stimulus of being a student. I've been looking at doing an evening/weekend diploma course through the Department of Continuing Education http://www.conted.ox.ac.uk/

I'm thinking either the History of Art or Latin. My great fear is that it'll be full of middle-aged housewives and no one with whom to have a giggle at the back of the class. I'm not saying middle-agged housewives aren't fun but I keep having flashbacks of The Graduate. SCARY.

Currently listening to 99 Luftballons by Nena.

The moron who helps out in the office (filing, stapling, photocopying) though my ipod was a dictaphone. She's a large lady and laughs at everything. I mean EVERYTHING. At first I thought it was a nervous laugh as she didn't know me very well, but no. She's just a freak. Nice but dim.

Invite to the Summer Garden Party landed on my desk today:

"The Vice-Chancellor and Registrar request the pleasure of your company at the Garden Party in Somerville College (by kind permission of The Principal and Fellows) on Friday, 24th June 5.00-6.30pm."

Last years was good fun. The crowd was very definitely split into the 'haves' and the 'have-nots'. Or should that be Chavs and the Chav-nots?
The academics and senior members of the University (many of whom are graduates of Oxford) on one side of the garden and the clerical, library, secretarial, parks, gardens and ancilliary (most of whom are Oxford born and bred chavs) staff on the other side. It was interesting to see but sad too. Despite years of working together and the University being such an enormous part of the city, the distinction of 'us' and 'them' still exists. It's very Upstairs Downstairs.

It was quite amusing to see the Chav-nots sipping Pimms and discussing the latest gossip in small groups whilst nervously looking at their watches as they had to collect little Jemima and Hugo from school or go home to relieve the nanny whilst the Chavs were loud and boisterous and called across one side of the garden to the other, knocking back glasses of Cava and shovelling canapes down their gullets (very clearly on a mission to make the most of the free booze and drink). The Chavs also had a distorted idea of correct garden party attire. They appeared to think that garden parties are held in nightclubs.

I've taken up rowing again. I used to row in Cambridge but gave it up in favour of cycling as it got me out of Cambridge. When I moved to Oxford I joined a gym, but it's just not the same as being in a boat early in the morning or on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Think I might head up to Edinburgh for the Festival in August. Anyone else going?

Now listening to Bermuda Highway by My Morning Jacket. Beautiful song. Get the album.

I'm off to lunch...

Mysterious...

It seems, there is a phantom shitter at work. Although, it would probably be more accurate to say that there is a phantom non-flusher at work.

The last few times I've been to urinate, there's been a turd floating in the bowl. No loo-roll, just a turd. Today's was particularly nasty as it had started to deteriorate and break up so the water had turned brown. I imagine this is what our tap water looks like before it's been cleaned.

Anyway, I can't imagine any of the people I work with leaving unflushed turds (and walking around with unwiped, shitty arses). My great fear is that THEY will think it's ME. Most people who know me well (and now, presumably, people who don't know me well...) will attest to the fact that I am exclusively a pre-shower-dumper. Post shower dumping is wrong. I never do it and look down on people that do. Freaks.

The strange thing is, this isn't the first time I've encountered shit in strange circumstances. When I was at Cambridge, there was a phantom defecator at work in the UL (University Library). More than once, I came a cross a decomposing turd amongst the stacks. There are parts of the UL, which I'm sure, haven't been used for ages. I often used to go to those bits as they were quiet and my friends and I used to toss a frisbee around when we needed a break from work.

The UL is also a notorious cruising area. There were specific books in specific sections with slips of paper in them. You were meant to specify a date and time to do NAUGHTY things. I've actually caught people with their pants down. Not really as erotic or as fun as it sounds. And it's always gays. Do breeders not get the urge amongst the books?

The UL is verily a scat lovers PARADISE.

I've not heard of such things happening in the Bodleian. Damn...

Currently listening to: Sanctus from Mass in G by Schubert.

Currently regretting: hanging my washing out to dry. It's PISSING down in Oxford.

Currently mourning: Desperate Housewives (well, not yet but the finale is this evening. Then I'll mourn. Where does one get black armbands in Oxford?).

Currently revisiting: the rank toasted panini roasted vegetable and goat's cheese thing I had for lunch. It's repeating on me...

Now listening to: Everything Will Flow by Suede. Any fans out there?

Currently wearing: my new jeans. I look HOT. Not really...
Currently looking forward to: A night out in London on Friday. Oxford is okay, but it's, like...soooooooooo provincial. But I love it.