Archive for Awst, 2012

          Most Saturdays are exclusively functional – they’re about getting the groceries in for the week ahead, straightening the house up…and, until just recently, miserably typing away at my thesis/ amendments for said thesis. But the thesis is behind me now and, this weekend was different; the refurbishments over at Dotereo, Sandstone City’s very chic shopping department store, have finally been completed (after months of disruption due to hideous drilling and shifting about of counters. This means that the exclusive, free-to-Orchidee-loyalty-card-holders facials are back on, and I just couldn’t miss out! (After all, we could eat cheese-on-toast for a few days…couldn’t we?!)

         Having unsuccessfully tried to avoid eating pancakes for breakfast (and I didn’t even have any nutella so I had them with lemon and sugar!) I jumped in the Clio and sped off for Sandstone City; there I spent a pleasant hour or so, perusing. I eyed up some clever and inexpensive shoes in Next, and somehow spent 70 odd quid in Boots – on holiday essentials! And then I also bought quite a few things in Holland and Barrett, all with the idea of turning myself into a rural-life goddess for my splendid honeymoon.

          As it drew towards 11.15am I drifted in to Dotereo and up to the Guerlain counter. Andrea was there waiting for me and took me up to the new beauty room. It was all decked out for an Orchidee experience, with fluffy white Guerlain towels and deep-pink orchids, in white ceramic pots. Thanks to all the disruption, my last facial was just a few days after I had handed in my thesis – when I was a burned out husk and I’d fallen into a deep sleep right there on the lounger! This time I had so much news to tell Andrea that at first it was hard to lie still (arms a-waving, head bobbing up and down as I told her all my news). Of course, the big-graduation-Miranda-moment was described in detail, and elicited much amusement as well as the appropriate level of sympathy.

           I then started dwelling on what had caused the whole debacle, blaming myself for my smugness and such, when most people just rented the gown. To my surprise and relief, Andrea not only completely understood why I had wanted to buy the gown, but told me her own tale of how, when her daughter had graduated, she had wanted to buy the gown for her…but that her daughter had chosen to rent her gown since this was what everyone else would be doing.

              My relief was immense. I couldn’t think of a single person who had so completely understood my decision to purchase – not even any of my fellow PhD chums; even Wendy had expressed surprise when I’d bumped into her whilst packing away my old desk – and she had heard that I’d bought it, on the grapevine! Zakia and Crystal, in my old office in Sandstone, had been the closest – but even they were initially shocked and had had to reason forth about what people chose to spend money on, and subsequently had shown empathy with my situation. But Andrea just got it – no need for lengthy explanation or subplots.

          And so it was that this turned out to be an even better Saturday than I had anticipated (and I’d been counting down the days in my diary); not only did my skin get a luxury make-over, but so did my pride. So on reflection, maybe I’m not such a ridiculous woman after all? I just needed to find the right person to tell me so!

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            Okay, I’m slightly concerned now that my final trousseau item – the black Oakley bikini – still hasn’t arrived. My concern comes partly following the arrival of a package today, which turned out to be the ‘Incognito’ mosquito spray, which I ordered at least a few days after I’d finally plumped for purchasing the overly-priced-skimpy-snorkelling-wear as a must-have. I have just 3 more days left in work (well 3 and a half, counting today) and I arranged to have it delivered here since otherwise it might end up trapped at the post office in Forotown (the market town nearest our village) with me trapped in work unable to rescue it.

            Although, I suppose, on reflection, we’re not actually leaving until next Wednesday, and I am coming into Limestone City next Monday to have my all important hair-do before the holiday – so I could always come over to the office that day…but what if it still isn’t here by then? I know, I know, I sound like the whingeing sister in Dirty Dancing:

Lisa Houseman: Oh, my God. Look at that! Ma, I should have brought those coral shoes. You said I was taking too much!
Marjorie Houseman: Well, sweetheart, you brought ten pairs.
Lisa Houseman: But the coral shoes match that dress!
Jake Houseman: This is not a tragedy. A tragedy is three men trapped in a mine, or police dogs used in Birmingham.
Baby: Monks burning themselves in protest.
Lisa Houseman: Butt out, Baby.

(It’s amazingly easy to google quotes these days!)

…but I want my black Oakley bikini…and what a waste of money in these cash-poor months if it doesn’t come in time…tsk!

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                       Fennland is a peninsula, and Bakea (our village) is about a mile inland from the estuary. Since the water at the front is silted we get lots of mosquitos; they are further encouraged by the fact that we have a pond in our Dominican-style garden. I am a sun worshiper and love being outdoors – ‘sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy’ etc.

                    Today I am working from home and so I have come out to the glacis, with my new ultrabook, to work on my ethics application. It is far more comfortable here than in the office…the lack of scalding hot pipe directly behind where I am sitting is a huge improvement, whilst the gentle breeze and light which can still reach me underneath the umbrella are the icing on the cake. However the niggling concern about being mosquito-feed must be addressed if I am to concentrate.

                     I have sprayed my feet with Mosi Guard but am reluctant to spray it anywhere else since it does actually smell quite strongly and you get to feeling as though you are covered all over with quite a toxic substance – and I’ve only just had a shower! So I carefully filled the two Citronella oil lamps my husband has installed on the glacis – they are on long iron spikes which are wedged between the sandstone blocks of the floor. Having screwed the tops on I carefully lit them with a long match…and then became alarmed at how big the flames were. One of them was very close to the table and I was scared of setting my hair on fire, so I blew this one out.

                     Having established that I could in fact diffuse the flame on the other one, using the iron top, and having removed a couple of bamboo branches which looked disturbingly too close for comfort, I cautiously relit it…and have resolved to keep this one going…even though I am petrified I might inadvertently set fire to the palm tree directly behind it, the fern to the right of it, and even the umbrella which is a good three foot above it.

                  So all in all I’m pretty comfortable out here and am enjoying the sunshine…but the threat of a Miranda-moment is always just over my shoulder! Meanwhile, I am surrounded by a fabulous sounds-track of bamboo creaking, leaves rustling…and all kinds of birds stopping off in the pond to bathe; Lovely, lovely!


  • Glacis – A Creole Patois word Jean Rhys uses to describe the “paved roofed-in terrace” that runs the length of the house at Coulibri. Okay so mine is a sandstone patio at the bottom of my Dominica-style garden…but it is the closest thing I have to a porch and I do have a wooden picnic table and a large sun-parasol which emulates the best aspects of a porch!

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Last night Ivan Ukhov (Russian competitor and overall winner of the men’s high jump) almost missed one of his jumping opportunities because he had mislaid his vest…it is heartening to know that even gold-medal winning Olympians are capable of such ‘Miranda-moments’…and at least my ‘graduation-cap-debarcle’ wasn’t witnessed by millions of people!

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                Last night, whilst planning for my holiday, I began thinking about having ‘my bags packed and ready to go’ and this triggered a series of memories which resulted in me excavating my John Denver CD from the bottom of the storage boxes in the living room. Having triumphantly retrieved it, and using the stool in the kitchen to reach the top of the dresser, I popped the CD into my ancient ‘ghetto blaster’. Soon I was singing along whilst doing the washing up, and smiling to myself remembering my ‘big John Denver phase’ of about 10 years ago – when I even thought about setting up a fan-website, which I would wittily call ‘Rocky Mountain high’ – until a quick search revealed that several others had beaten me to it! John Denver, it seemed, was a much bigger star than I had first thought – probably because his music is very much about country life in America, whereas here in the UK, especially in people my generation, his music is more of a specialist niche.

               Cringing, I remembered the time when John (Hanlon) and I were giving an introductory talk to the new intake of international students – we were sabbatical officers in the students’ union at the time. Most of the students were from the 18 – 21 bracket, from Spain, Germany or Malaysia, and so the talk was mostly all about student life in Limestone City – the bars, student nights, coach trips etc. When we’d finished and most of the students were filing out of the large committee room, we got talking to a mature student from America. He said he was from West Virginia, so naturally I, quite excitedly, asked if he had heard of John Denver. John scoffed and the student laughed heartily, nodding. I instantly realised my faux pas and felt mightily embarrassed, and mumbled something about very much liking the song ‘Country roads’.

               But it wasn’t all bad, because upon hearing this the student then got a misty look in his eyes and said that it brought back a memory from a few months before, when he and his friends were in a bar (back in West Virginia) and Country Roads had come on the juke box, and the whole bar had started singing along. This was a really nice shared moment and only a minimal-Miranda-moment on my part, of which I can now see the funny side and which all ended well, probably spreading some happiness in the process.

             On a slightly more melancholy note, as the album played out, I was thinking about the part of The John Denver Story (bio-pic) when his wife is counselling a client, and they tell her how Poems, Prayers and Promises came on the radio, just as they were considering ending it all, and that it convinced them not to. Although it’s a gentle little song, the words are strangely apt for convincing someone that life is precious and that it ends too soon anyway – with added poignancy since John’s own story ended too soon, heddwch ei lwch.

                It then occurred to me that this would be a nice song for my funeral…since it combines many of the elements that are important to me – poems and rural life generally; then I had to smile at myself as I started bringing in associated rural life details, including a patchwork quilt over my coffin, where some people would have a flag. Anyway, hopefully this will not be for a long time yet, at least so that there’s plenty of time for me to learn how to ‘quilt’ properly, and fashion something suitable…

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          At the moment I am bat’leth-ing my way through the research ethics process for the study I am currently working on. Whilst the study is exciting and the process necessary, it…well…isn’t the most exhilarating part of the research; in fact, it is the part of the research which makes you remember that you are working. Combine this with a hotter-than-hell office, a sunny afternoon you are missing by being in said office, and unexplained symptoms of extreme fatigue, and you have a tough day ahead.

          However, most of us develop little perks which can help take the sting out of the tail (battle the humdrum etc). Mine are as follows:

  • Glass of ginger ale, whilst pretending it is champagne (and thus it is important that it is ginger ale not beer – my preference is for ‘Canadian dry’…with a slice of lime)
  • Running down the stairs, from the 4th floor, right the way to the posh sitting area on the ground floor, with plush red seats and lots of dark wood…like I expected all Universities to look like when I was young and impressionable…I just like looking at it and the exercise wakes me up a bit!
  • Rooibos tea (most permutations of)
  • Unusual fruit – today it was lychees
  • Making Star Trek references – even if this is to myself, as shown here!
  • Knowing that I have a fridge full of Marks & Spencer’s, delicious Demi-cooking at waiting for me at home, from which I can prepare an appetising evening meal later, without zapping all of my energy
  • Looking forward to watching The Walking Dead on my comfy new couch, with my husband, without feeling like I should offer to join the cast…
  • Daydreaming about writing my own ‘Zombie apocalypse’, set in the UK, and being offered a book deal, and then a TV series option, and its being revered…and all of the exciting things I could buy with the money – including a Fiat 500 (in cream with leather seats)

Back down to earth – I must finish this section today or I’ll lose my thread and tomorrow will feel like groundhog day...so I’ll just make a cup of Rooibos breakfast tea, and then I’ll get on with it!

Glossary of terms:

* Bat’leth (Sword of honour) = a traditional Klingon blade weapon.

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I have just read this on the University of Manchester website:


On the day of your Graduation Ceremony you are also invited to a Graduation Reception hosted by the School of Social Sciences. This takes place in a Marquee located at the side of University Square after the degree ceremony. There will be scones with jam and cream and fizz and pimms.


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                             Ever since I learned what ‘trousseau’ meant (I was about 7 as I recall) I have dreamed about what my smartly-packed trunk would contain; this list often resembled the one Jean describes in the ‘Black exercise books‘, with its many different coloured dresses and gloves and hats.

                             It’s funny how I had taken everything for granted back then: I would no doubt find a suitor; definitely get married; and there would be no problem at all with buying a whole new set of special clothes for our honeymoon – a long holiday (a month or so according to dictionary definitions) that would begin just after the wedding, where our entire focus would be on each other.

                             The reality these days though is that, sadly, many never find the love of their lives, and even if they do they might not get married (and that’s sad assuming, of course, that they want to get married, and that it isn’t against their feminist principles etc.). Now since I’m a traditional sort of girl, as I approached 30 I had a definite quarter-life-crisis, the full wobble, and even penned a Welsh-language poem about reaching this age and having achieved so little…and to cap it all off, I was not even married!

                              But then all of my dreams did come true, and I did get married, to the love of my life, the year that I turned 30, and we had a lovely wedding in a splendid old hall – complete with poufy-gold, Mrs Anna-style dress, a chocolate fountain and a Band gwerin; my inner-Cinderella was well and truly exorcised! We did have a honeymoon and it was very appropriate – 2 days in Portmeirion, the perfect combination of Sci fi and Welshness. But I was in the middle of the PhD and I even took a copy of Byrne and Long’s ‘Doctors talking to patients’ with me! Then we were back to work/ PhD…and I hadn’t even had time to consider a trousseau.

                              Happily, three years later, with the PhD safely behind me, I am looking forward to an idyllic snorkelling trip in the Maldives at the end of the month – and I see this very much as our PhD-delayed honeymoon and am hugging myself with delight at the prospect.

                              There won’t be much call for fancy hats, gloves and dresses where we’re going (is there ever, really, these days?) but I am amassing a nice collection of bikinis and water-proof flip-flops for strolling along the beach; and whilst I absolutely cannot afford to buy anything post-laptop-purchase…I may just have to justify one final, black, Oakley bikini from Surfdome…on grounds that this is, after all, my trousseau!

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