Bah Freshers!

God, Freshers. Yuck. Can’t believe I ever was one, except that I can remember quite a lot of Fresherdom, which is amazing given the amount of booze I consumed at this evergreen stage of my life…

Anyway, in my guise as nearly graduated Graduate (known as Saduates when I was a Fresher, which proves how ridiculously mistaken a tribe we were) I had to return some thesis-related library books today, or face the financial embarrassment of several pence worth of fine. I’d forgotten it was Freshers’ Week and discovering that it was didn’t fill me with barrels of joy…

I walked library-wards through the campus, where the obligatory Freshers’ Week poster sale was in full commercial force, ready to help your average newbie student decorate his or her bedroom in that studenty, clichéd way: a happy blend of ‘individuality’ and ‘the same as everybody else because otherwise I won’t make any friends and I’ll die sad and alone’, expect without the ‘individuality’ bit. All the classics were there – that black and white shot of workers precariously balanced (or photoshoped) on a piece of scaffolding above New York, the ‘I’m so cultured’ Fine Art staples: Klimpt, Dali, Monet etc etc (LOVE that Buffy episode) and - this generation’s Trainspotting - the Kill Bill posters, etc etc etc.

The library was in sight, but I still had to manoeuvre my way through the hundred-strong Freshers groups (safety in numbers as far as that dying miserable and alone thing is concerned) listening intently to the pearls of wisdom being spouted by the excessively bubbly second year Student Union Reps, helpfully wearing bright coloured T-Shirts bearing their ‘hilarious’ nicknames (Surfy Dave, Rugby John, Hannah Big Tits) to show that they are easily approachable, and, like, totally fun!!!, despite being, in fact, loud and utterly obnoxious. In reality, they spent their first year so embarrassingly drunk that they failed to make any real friends and are desperate to do better this year (except Rugby John, who just needs a fresh breed of ‘fit birds’ to sleep with).

And then finally through the library door whereupon I had to fight my way to the returns desk (weapon of choice: saying ‘excuse me’ in that really irritating snobtastic bossy way), as yet more hundreds of university virgins gathered in packs, fearful of being spotted alone, lest that should mark them out as, dunn dunn dunnnnn, UNPOPULAR! Actually, the library was especially full of over-accessorised girls, who had clearly spent literally days planning their Freshers’ Week outfits, but sadly couldn’t wear them outside, as it was bloody freezing today, and their exposed flesh would turn an unsightly blue (Rugby John’s tip – go to the bar, ladies, and get your beer coats). There was also (and I’m sensing a possible correlation) an excessive use of squealy voices on mobile phones, which, you’ll be surprised to hear, slightly annoys me in a library context. (Note to self: next blog entry to be about my FURY at people talking on the phone in the quiet carriage. CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT PICTURE OF A MOBILE PHONE WITH A GREAT SODDING LINE THROUGH IT?)

Anyway, I managed to hand my library books in, sneer superiorly at the lot of them and head home, so very, very, very glad and relieved not to be going through all that again.

Mind you. University had its moments. Time warp to my second year anyone?

When blog-fame comes knocking…

So I’m relatively new to blogging, but it’s proving slightly addictive (despite obvious neglect in terms of actual real-life blog entries), as I have another two of these bad boys knocking around on the interweb.

One day, it came to pass, that I became quite excessively excited and scared to see, on another blog of mine (basically a slightly clichéd, but oh so post-modern, ironic rant about the irritations that boys unintentionally provoke in girls) an ominous, and grammatically incorrect, ‘1 comments’ was marked. Ooooh, I thought! How exciting yet scary. Oh, I bet it’s just a friend of mine naming the ex I refer to/am slagging off, after my painstaking efforts to make it ungoogleable…

But no! It wasn’t a chum! It was certain davidericks86179953, who really nicely commented “i thought your blog was cool and i think you may like this cool website” (with link attached). Despite a bit of knee-jerk teeth grinding at the unnecessary lower-caseness, I (see, it takes a capital, it’s not a difficult concept to grasp) was quite touched. I was maybe a little less touched by the website recommendation itself - a US based dating service, perhaps neither the most appropriate or practical suggestion for a mean ranty English beeyatch (which is how I come across on that blog), but I appreciated the comedy element, and the apparent lack of awareness that this might be taken for humour by a sarcasm-drenched anglaise. And mainly it was good to think that someone outside of my immediate circle of friends had read my stuff and liked it, even though they patently didn’t get it…

Or so I thought, until I had a look at my other other blog, which is a simple list of books I’ve read, as I never ever remember these things, and when conversations strike up about any random literary marvel or stinker, my face tends to contort into an expression of total confusion (eyebrows a-frownin, pouty mouth painfully swished into the bottom left corner just below my nose, maybe a bit of head scratching to boot) as I struggle to remember whether I have read the bloody book or not. (Hmmmmm, I’m just realising now that the next time this happens, probably at a dinner party of sorts, it’s actually quite unlikely that I’ll have emergency internet access to hand and saying “oh hang on a second, I need to check my blog”, before making a sharp exit, might come across as a little impolite to your average party guest, so no doubt my confused face will have to make a reappearance, but at least I’ll be able to go home and check, and go ohhhhhh yes! I totally haven’t read that.)

So, anyway, I scrolled down my book blog, and lo and behold, under the entry for ‘Loin de Rueil’ by Raymond Queneau, there were three tantalising comments waiting! Three! Gosh. Because let’s face it, even within the French speaking world ‘Loin de Rueil’ is hardly Raymond Queneau’s best known work, and that’s if you know Raymond Queneau in the first place. I ventured a click and braced myself for a pompous rambling philosophizing essay in French by a RQ disciple or three. Imagine my surprise when, instead, I found lucasz telling me:
“it’s so cool to be here, try this link”,

And lucygonzo2898 saying: ‘“i thought your blog was cool and i think you may like this cool website” (hmmm, sounds familiar)

and, most hilariously of all, tim (why can’t you people bloody capitalise your names for gawd’s sake) kindly offering:

“Hey, you have a great blog here! I'm definitely going to bookmark you! I have a spas site/blog. It covers spas related items pretty comprehensively.
Come and check it out if you get time :-)”

Ah. I fear my previous enthusiasm at public recognition might have been naively misplaced. I smell automated blog spamming. Doh! I mean, I get the correlation between an anti-men blog-tirade and a dating website, but obscure-ish French books and spas? Well, it’s a little more tenuous, if not completely incongruous.

But you know what… I actually do have a bit of time now… :-(