Mel is a geek

 

ooh er.

Does the fact that I haven't written here for ages meant that:

 

a) My life has become far too exciting to leave me time for such things?

b) Nothing at all of interest has happened for me to report?

c) Nothing in the least profound or witty has crossed my mind?

d) I have just become rather disorganised and sort of forgotten to find any time to do this?

e) I have lost both my hands in a cider-press and can no longer type?

 

The answer is d), with a bit of all of the others thrown in.

 

Apart from the cider-press. Although I did get a pretty bad papercut the other week.

 

Things that have happened... let's see... I almost went punting, but it was called off due to flooding. So that was exciting. I did get to teach my work colleagues how to play croquet instead, so you know, not a totally wasted day. Discovered a really nice part of St Johns for the first time that I never knew we were allowed in when I was a student. Ho hum. The Standard Seven were all reunited for that weekend, which was lovely indeed, it was good to see Captain Clean and Fairy Boy taking their customary roles in the washing-up process.

 

Geoff loves being called Fairy Boy.

 

My young nephew Joel has been growing into a big fat pie in the meantime, and can now do a good impression of "amused/a little scared" if you pull a funny face at him.

 

A few weeks ago, Lou, B and I took a road trip to Dr Newell's new place in Kent, which is beautifully in the middle of nowhere.. we rambled in the rain to (apparently) the real site of the Hundred Acre Wood, and the others did a pretty good impression of Winnie the Pooh characters.

Guess which is which. I'd be amazed if you could. I just wanted to make them look silly, in all honesty. 

 

I've been finding out that I really quite enjoy making bling Powerpoint presentations. Oh yeah.

 

Lou has left the Bulan to become a tree-planter in the mountains near L.A. for the summer. As you do. Good to hear she's enjoying it thus far, but it's the end of the line for Bulan as we know it! About a month til I move out, and it'll be rather sad, as I do now think of this place as Home.

 

Will that do for now? More important than all these things is the pressing question of whether the Daleks have exterminated the Doctor. I might not sleep now...

 

 

Having never been to Ireland in any way, and not knowing any of my Reps there yet, I jumped at the chance to represent the office at the Latin Link Ireland conference on Saturday. And what a grand bunch they are, so they are.

 

Basically my main preconception about Northern Ireland, having met several people from there at uni, was that it had a population of about ten and they all live in the same house - they all seemed to know each other, and/or be distantly related. I thought this would probably be disproved by a trip there, but no, this notion was proven very much correct - seriously, everyone does know everyone. "Oh aye, I know his mother". "Och yes, I used to teach his brother!" and so forth. Ballymena, Ballymoney, the whole bally lot of them.

 

But what a beautiful place... a holiday there is definitely in order in the summer. It was something of a cross-cultural experience really. I've never before been to a Presbyterian church, which must have seemed very weird to them. And the hospitality culture is alive and well there and really lovely to experience. I was put up, fed and watered, and driven around by several different families and people who had only just met me. The old ladies greeted me with genuine enthusiasm and wanted to know all about my life. I guess these are things that I have almost come to take for granted when I go to visit Christians anywhere - there's always a bed, and friendly face, and more food than you can eat, wherever you are in the world.. But I don't know, people all seemed somehow more genuine and a lot less cynical over there, especially in church.

In fact, the Irish were so hospitable that I missed my flight home due to enforced apple pie.

 

My flight was booked for 3:10pm on Sunday, thinking this would give me time to visit a church and then skedaddle. First surprise was that over there, out in the sticks, services start at 12 to give the farmers time to have a lie in, milk their cows, and then walk a hundred miles to church. My Northern Irish colleague Elma said, "all right, but we'll have to go to church and then go straight to the airport while the others have lunch. That'll be all right."

 

"It won't be all right," the minister replied, "because you won't have any lunch. You won't go home without any lunch. You just won't," he declared, as if heading home slightly peckish would be a mortal sin. "We'll head back early and make you a quick bite you can eat and then run to the airport."

 

We reluctantly agreed to this. Arriving at the Manse and expecting a swift sandwich, we were both somewhat horrified to be faced with full table settings and a the unmistakable signs of a full three course dinner. Uh-oh....

 

"We've really to be going now, so we have," said Elma as we wolfed our roast dinner.

 

Then out came the apple pie.

 

As we slowly drove back to Elma's family house, having just missed my flight, she ruefully reflected, "we both knew. But we still ate the pie."

 

After the initial shock, I was mainly rather amused that my plans had been scuppered by the determined hospitality of Irish Christians. "No! You'll not go without lunch!" But I got rather less amused as, after having got on the next (much later) flight, I paced around Birmingham airport all night from 11pm til 6am, trying to pass the time with crosswords, trying to lie down comfortably on a steel bench, and counting down the hours before I could get a fried breakfast at 4am. You see, for some reason, Birmingham airport doesn't run trains to anywhere between about 10pm and 6am. Presumably if you arrive on a plane in the middle of the night you are just expected to undergo four hours pacing around its air-conditioned foyers.

 

Anyway, hopped on the first train home and got to Bulan at 8am, just as my housemates were leaving - the sheer look of confusion on their faces as I came in from somewhere was rather amusing.

 

"Don't ask. I'm going to sleep." And so I did, until 3pm. Actually, after about 14 hours sleep in 21, I felt significantly more sprightly than I normally do on a Tuesday morning.... so I did.

 

 

Before I collapse into bed (16 hours, seven trains, three cities, all day on my feet)... It is with great pleasure and thankfulness that I can say

 

 

From his coolest Auntie Mel :o)

Oh yes... my blog. Sorry, almost a month's absense, lamented by many far and wide, I'm sure.

Well, not sure what to report really - I'm still not an Auntie and if you give any more advice to my sister on how to induce labour, she will probably sumo-wrestle you to the ground. So we're in limbo about that really. In the same week I turned down a ticket to the FA cup final in order to work. That is dedication. Okay so the work is in Belfast which was the main appeal.

I spent all day in the beautifully hot and sunny parks yesterday, and found that May 10th can be my friend, or at least not my mortal enemy - good opportunity just to chill and think and pray and be in God's company properly, and allow some designated time to think about my brilliant friend for a few hours. Was good. And "Love Oxford" this morning with The Church of Oxford in the street was pretty kickass. There was something very cool which I can't put my finger on about people geting baptised in front of the whole gathered Christian community of Oxford. Felt more like one family together, perhaps.

So the next weekend should hopefully bring a new (blood) family member and my first trip to Ireland, and in the meantime I will have a counselling exam, more househunting, another Wednesday as Ollie's servant at the King's Centre, and probably some more sunburn. 

aka the "not involving any kind of predation at all" mural in my future niece/nephew "Hugo"'s nursery... Painted with the help of my "I trust you but don't touch it while I'm not here" assistant Tamsyn.

 

 

 

I didn't really have any plans for Saturday, so obviously I ended up going to the Oxford Folk Festival. This was largely (but not exclusively) crowded out by men with beards drinking cider - tons of people in the Town Hall having a whale of a time. I went to see the excellent Alice and Jamie do a proper gig.

 

I didn't think I was particularly a fan of folk music unless you class (as some do) Damien Rice, Jose Gonzales and friends. But they really were excellent, I was much impressed, the only band of the day to get an encore, plus Alice's never-before-heard singing voice wasn't half bad!

 

 

It was only on Tuesday night that I went to the pub with some friends - a pub I've never been to before - and found that one end of it was full of blokes loudly watching Liverpool v Arsenal, and the other end was full of people clutching bagpipes, violins, and, I kid you not, a hurdy gurdy. I was just thinking how crazy they looked when one turned round and cried, "Mel! Yes, wherever there is folk in this town, there is Alice Little. :o)

 

I've never seen a hurdy gurdy before. They are pretty cool. If you like that kind of thing.

 

The folk fesitval enabled a bit of laughing at morris dancers (including teenage girl morris dancers, who'd have thunk?) on Cornmarket Street in the middle of town, thus bringing all the ordinary fun of a road trip to Simon and I without having to go anywhere. Once again, thank you my dear, bizarre Oxford.

 

I have just spent a rather lovely weekend in London Town. Managed to see a lot of people whom I love and rarely see, along with two ridiculously amazing central London flats. Leggy's abode in Middle Temple with its wood-panelled study, ancient law books, frecoes, turret and view of Big Ben tops even Oxford's student accomodation. Absurd.

 

More absurd though was my Sunday activity. Ratboy Heald informed me that "the Olympic torch relay is going to pass by the end of my road - do you want to come early and watch it?" Now Ratboy is a big sports fan; I am not particularly, and assumed that we were very likely to be the only people who turned out in the snow to watch a flame carried by a psuedocelebrity pass by probably on a bus.

 

I was mistaken. Lining the street outside the British Museum were thousands of Chinese people waving flags, and a surprisingly heavy police presence. What we didn't know was that earlier in the "Journey of Harmony", some bloke "disguised as a member of the public" (our favourite quote from the news there) had tried to wrestle the torch from the hands of Konnie Huq off of Blue Peter. So we were a bit surprised when a very small group of people silently carrying a placard saying "Free Tibet" down the side of the street passed by, to be met with loud boos and then a rendition of the Chinese National Anthem from the crowd. At this stage, Calum and Fergus trotted off to go and join in the protest, while Ratboy and I stood there mildly interested by the goings-on, reflecting that we had never heard a "Don't Free Tibet" protest from a crowd before.

We didn't really see the torch go by - the thirty Chinese officials, policemen and bodyguards surrounding it in a three-person deep ring, followed by police on bikes and motorcycles rather obscured the view. As they ran past they yelled "get back!" to the highly dangerous people who had come to clap. This was when we became rather ashamed of Britain. What a farce. The Tibet supporters and the China supporters were standing right next to each other in the crowd and all they were doing was cheering or booing - there was not a hint of violence anywhere. Even a man trying to snatch the torch, a man using a fire extinguisher, or some people throwing eggs hardly constitute a major security alert or even a risk of any physical harm. You wouldn't think that by the way the police were tackling people to the ground, though. This all just seemed to be a massive overreaction. A good day for those trying to get Tibet on the agenda, because it certainly disrupted events enough for the world to take notice - well done. But the thing is that they didn't really do it - it was the reaction of the police and authorities that made the whole thing into a big deal and allowed it to cause disruption. There really was no need for the thirty policemen. So, beamed around the world will be these nice pictures of the "Journey of Harmony" - the Olympic flame representing the unity of all nations obscured by a massive bodyguard trying swat away anybody exercising their freedom of speech and right to protest in a frankly very peaceful way. Kind of ironic that those demonstrating against China should be treated that way...

 

We spent about the next three hours watching the live coverage of the relay on BBC News 24. It was strangely compelling - like watching the Marathon but with the added interest of a potential ruckus. Who'd have thought that I would spend my afternoon glued to something I had thought would be a dull ten minutes? You never do know.