Christmas

It's predictable, yes, but I would honestly like to wish you little lot a very happy Christmas. I hope you've had good days, and will enjoy the next few too.

Two of the many many highlights of my day (I got so many amazing presents):

A rhyme which was on the gift tag of a present from a certain friend; his family have a tradition whereby each gift is adorned with a rhyme/riddle that describes either the person it's for, or the object enclosed within. It's the first time in 8 years of friendship that I have been honoured enough to get a riddle! So I thought I would share it with you...here it is:

In 40 years, when you are old
(if I may be quite so bold)
when you have a housewife been
to the needs of children seen
then from this you'd take a sip
and as it passed across your lip
you would think "how right for me!
This housewife drink that I here see!"
By now you will have guessed, I fear,
what lies within the paper here.
So all I say is raise a glass
to 8 years forward
and 8 years past.


And another highlight- my aunt and uncle and cousins gave me some beautiful bracelets, and they wrapped the box in French newspapers, and string- they told me they'd saved a special page for me, and this was it:








And now I shall go back to watching Doctor Who! Best wishes to you and yours.



When the days are the shortest, the nights are the coldest,
The frost is the sharpest, the year is the oldest,
The sun is the weakest, the wind is the hardest,
The snow is the deepest, the skies are the darkest,
Then polish your whiskers and tidy your nest,
And dress in your richest and finest and best...
For Winter has brought you the worst it can bring,
And now it will give you
The promise of Spring!

Love, actually?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/edinburgh_and_east/7784366.stm

I am swamped by essays, so I will simply ask you to read, and tell me what you think!

Cosmopolitan

I know, I know...two blog posts in as many hours, bad me!

Anyway, I have a confession to make. My name is Claire, and I have an addiction to glossy magazines. Company, Elle, Glamour...but especially Cosmopolitan. This is the one magazine that is universally hated by men, and I can be oh-so-cynical about the women who read these magazines, but to my shame, I am one of them. I just love the mindless laziness of curling up with a cup of tea and 304 pages of girlyness.

However. I just laughed myself silly at an article in the December edition. Sadly it's not online so I shall have to type up bits from it...

All I want for Christmas...

...isn't a boyfriend, thank you very much, says Tracy Ramsden.

Okay, fair play. Christmas is a time of couples and love, and sometimes it's bloody depressing to be single.

...But the more I thought about it, the angrier I felt about the negative messages dropped on us during December. There'll be the obligatory EastEnders scenes where the latest Albert Square dumpee drowns their sorrows in a whisky glass, and newspaper articles banging on about how to 'survive' the loneliest time of year, all because there's this myth that single equals miserable. But the truth it, it's not 2001 anymore and Bridget Jones is long gone. Single girls won't be spending Christmas day alone in their PJs and a crumped up paper hat watching The Vicar of Dibley with a bottle of wine and a family pack of mince pies.

At this point, I was thinking "yeah! Girl power!" and other 90s catchphrases...

...And Christmas is the season of hope. While your coupled-up friends have Christmas all planned out, we have no idea where we'll be or even who we'll be waking up with. And that's got to be more exciting than arguing with your boyfriend over who's going to stuff the turkey.

Er, right, because all couples argue over such things...but never mind, she's still being positive and advocating being happily single...

If you can rise above the niggles, you'll see Christmas really is a time for giving and recieving (phone numbers, hopefully!).

Wait, what? Suddenly she is planning to hook up with a man for Christmas? I thought she didn't
want a man...and so the backtracking and confusion begins...

I once met a cute guy (who I later dated) after he let me wear his jacket in a freezing-cold taxi queue. You see, you never know who might pop out of your cracker!

...Aaaaand it's all over. She has predictably slipped straight back into "never mind dear, you'll find someone soon. He'll probably be a drunk twat who will eventually break your heart, but hey, it's better than being alone at Christmas!" mindset that characterises Cosmopolitan writers. And then, the article ends with an absolute gem:

Next month: Tracy goes in search of Mr January!

Ugh. Clearly this woman is distinctly unhappy being single, but for the sake of pop-feminism, has tried (and failed) to make it seem like not having a boyfriend is great!

Newsflash, people. Being single can be great. Being in a relationship can be great. Being single can be shit. Being in a relationship can be shit. And now I'm off to read my christmas horoscope with extra added lovescope!!!111!!1!1!oneone111!!

I feel...

...Utterly detached from the majority of the student population.

Today, I would quite liked to have put up a massive sign, informing (admittedly, a minority of) the female population up on campus that university is not, in fact, the fashion parade they seem to think it is.

Yes, I'm sure that boy in your seminar is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and you would do anything to catch his eye, but it is raining. It is also bloody cold. Tiny shorts and goosebumps are not a good look. Nor is your best party frock that barely covers your bum, and stiletto heels that you cannot walk in without looking like a pregnant duck. In front of me. Very slowly. When I am trying to get to a seminar.

Newsflash, ladies: a coat keeps you warm, and dry! Miracles will never cease. Add a hood or an umbrella, and some kind of footwear that does not comprise of a scrap of cream coloured satin, formed into a ballet-pump shape to this, and perhaps you will not find it neccessary to totter around with your girlfriends, holding a Media Studies textbook over your head, squealing that your hair is getting wet, and your beautiful cream shoes with diamante hearts are turning grey, muddy, and very wet.

Also...in a seminar on the politics of ingestion of tobacco and alcohol, I felt embarrassed, twice, and I don't think I should have done. The line "I mean, who in this room can honestly say they've never tried a cigarette in their life?" was voiced by a girl much like the ones I described above. Er, that'd be me then. "SERIOUSLY?!" Yes, seriously. No, my friends didn't try with any real effort to pressure me into it when I was younger. No, I wasn't intrigued. No, I didn't think it seemed cool and grown up. Luckily I was not alone on this, there was one other girl (from Zimbabwe, with a very Christian upbringing) who hadn't smoked, either.

The seminar continued and the aforementioned girl came out with a very similar line; "Who in this room would honestly rather have one expensive glass of wine than a load of vodka and red bull?!" It was meant to be a rhetorical question...everyone laughed, smiled, and nodded. Apart from me. I would rather have one nice bottle of wine than three of Lambrini. I would rather drink gin and tonic than vodka and red bull. I would rather end the evening mildly tipsy and happy having had an evening of enjoyable conversation with people I like, than being put to bed coated in my own vomit, various men's saliva and beer, and god knows what else.

I realise I sound incredibly holier-than-thou, which is probably unfair of me. I spent a large proportion of my first year very very drunk. On vodka and snakebite and turboshandy and alcopops and Corky's and Sourz and all manner of revolting things. I did the evenings and nights of downing a shot of something bright purple or blue or green, pulling a face of utter revulsion and screaming "wooooo, another!" I'll probably do it again, on occasion. But I swear the people in my seminar would have been less surprised if I'd said that on weekends I like to dress up as a bumble bee and skip around town.

Oh, I'm probably just getting old. According to my 14 year old cousin yesterday, you become no longer young at the grand age of 21. Live with it, folks...

Third year musings

Do you realise that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realise that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realise the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

This morning, I was sent this link. The person who sent me it quite often sends me links to posts by this guy, and I quite like him. He's down to earth, and funny. But reading the blog post above today, I smiled ruefully and sighed and thought "if only it were that easy...he has no idea how much work I have to do!". Over the last couple of weeks, I have found myself turning to people and saying "it is harder this year, isn't it? I'm not just imagining it?" and they all agree. However. There is no real reason why my third year should be harder than second year; all but one of my modules are mixed 2nd and 3rd year. The only explanation for this percieved rise in difficulty of the work in both my and my friends' minds, is that we are working harder. That we are putting more and more pressure upon ourselves to perform.

The air is full of panic. Occasionally talk turns from essays to exams and inevitably to post-graduation plans. We talk, briefly, and then there is a pause in which we all consider ourselves doomed to a life working in McDonalds, and then one person will say "anyway, let's not talk about that!" and we giggle in a terrified way and smoothly glide into safer waters.

Simon Stevens, the author of the aforementioned blog, wants us to take a deep breath and stop for a moment. To take the time to enjoy life. To slow down and stop racing towards the finishing line at breakneck speed and to appreciate all that is here and now.

What do you think? Is it that simple?

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

The Social Politics of Food

The above is the title of my wild module this year, and I am taking a break from essay-writing ("'Eating disorders need to be understood in the context of the meaning of the body in high- or post-modernity'. Discuss.") to write this blog post (hey, it's better than Facebook!)

Many women who would not describe themselves as having particular problems with food share the same feelings about eating and femininity. "I have quite a good appetite really, but if I'm out with a new boyfriend, I always pick at my food - you know, as if I wasn't really interested in food. I mean, it's not very romantic really to eat like a pig, is it?'"

This intrigues me. Because I have always thought that men prefer someone who eats like she's loving it (ironic that that's almost the McDonalds jingle). Within reason, obviously...grabbing handfuls of chips and forcing them into your mouth isn't particularly attractive in anyone...but I have ALWAYS thought a man would prefer a girl who likes food, who eats heartily, who enjoys the taste and the act of making and consuming food.

Obviously the above quote was spoken by a woman with anorexia, who was (I think we can safely say) clearly not in the most logical frame of mind. But there are a lot of people who feel like her.

I sort of liken this to the same mindset that some women have with relation to sex: lights off, or at most, flattering candlelight, holding your tummy in, hiding your bum, hoping to hell that the guy you're with won't notice your cellulite/stretchmarks/that mole you've always hated/the fact that you haven't shaved your legs. To (totally mis-) quote Belle de Jour (my absolute favourite woman of the last few months); "Holding in your tummy is not sexy. Slapping your ample behind and inviting him to ride the wobble, is."

This is all potentially a result of thinking I am too skinny, of having always believed this. Some photos recently appeared on Facebook of a school trip when I was 14. General reaction from the people around me (none of whom knew me back then) was shock, and comments like "god, you were really skinny" and "I wouldn't have fancied you back then". What's interesting is that I still believe I look like that, despite logically knowing that I am perfectly capable of inviting an abstract gentleman to ride the wobble.

Perhaps if I had always been the opposite; had always struggled with losing weight, as opposed to putting it on, I too would feel like the aforequoted anorexic woman: that men like self-restraint; that women should be contractive. Having read around the subject for this essay, I know that 21st century post/high-modern Western society dictates the above. Women should be contractive. There is (one could claim) an epidemic of corporeal disenfranchisement. We should all be aiming to master our selves.

And so, I find myself once again wondering if my mindset is absolutely, completely, totally, truly-madly-deeply, 100% off-kilter with the rest of the population. And if so, why?

Chivalry and feminism

Today I got thinking about chivalry. This was prompted by a few events: a man let me onto the bus before him, and then a different man let me off the bus before him. A bit later, my (male) friend opened a door for me to walk through first. I said thank you to all of them, but then I pondered the fact that I'm sure some women would be massively offended by these acts; inferring that the men were implying I am incapable of standing in a queue, or opening a door by myself.

It doesn't cross my mind that these men, or indeed any others, would be thinking that I'm feeble and as such need help from big strong men. If a man carried my shopping for me, I'd be grateful, because it would save me from hurting my hands and arms, but I wouldn't expect it. Equally, I wouldn't expect a man to always open doors for me; if I am faced with a closed door that I need to get through, I will open it.

It bothers me that there are women who think that feminism means hating all men. That it means fighting against men and putting them down and considering ourselves (as women) to be better and stronger and more intelligent and...well, generally better than men. It bothers me that it is frowned upon to enjoy being treated in a gentlemanly way occasionally, and to not see it as a huge insult.

I'm waffling, as always. But am I really wrong for enjoying having doors opened for me? For being flattered by it? Maybe I'm being presumptuous in believing that men are less likely to do these things for other men...but I don't think so. Thoughts?

In other news, I am officially getting old. Over the last few weeks I have been heard to say such things as "What isn't she wearing?!", "That's not a skirt, it's a belt", and most recently; "Well maybe if his hair wasn't infront of his eyes he'd be able to see where he was going!" (after an emo youth ("youth"? God, I really am old...) with perfectly 'messily' coiffed hair over one eye and half the other walked straight into me). I am also considering buying thermal underwear. No shit.

Hello CFS.

So, I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. All my blood test results from the other day came back normal, so I went back to see the doctor and he said that whilst there's no test for it as such, he would confidently diagnose me with it. Yay. Mild end of the scale, of course, some people with CFS can't walk across a room.

He told me not to run my half marathon in February. I have never wanted to ignore a doctor's advice so much, as now.

I feel a bit sad that I'm going to have to alter my lifestyle. I'm nowhere near being a typical student, I don't go out and get trashed every night (more like once every few months, if that!), but I do stay up very late talking to friends (I'm up till 2 or 3am most nights) and I recognise that that has to change.

At the moment I can't seem to work out in my head how much of a big deal (or otherwise) this is...so apologies if I come across melodramatic or blasé. Neither is intended.

Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
Your face is all wet and your day was rough
So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, or paint my shelf
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I...

Ships that pass in the night

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle... because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

I have been thinking about the way that people enter our lives, often largely through coincidence, and then leave again. I recently got back in contact with a friend who I used to work with; we were close, but after I went to uni we drifted apart. He is now engaged to his long-term boyfriend (last time I spoke to him, he was single) and is moving across the country to live with him. I'm not naive enough to imagine that we'll magically become best buddies, but it's nice to touch base with him again.

I'm not close with anyone I knew at primary school anymore, though we're all civil to each other and occasionally catch up via Facebook. It's almost the same with secondary school, with the exception of L and K. L and I have that sort of friendship whereby we can go weeks, months, without talking, and then pick up exactly where we left off. It's lovely to know that she'll always be there, but that we live our separate lives. However. She has been having a really rough time lately, and to my shame I didn't know when it was at its worst. In fact, the first I knew of it was when I phoned her from a train for a catchup, and she burst into tears at me. L doesn't cry. It was a shock. I'm now trying to make the effort to hold on tighter.

K had a baby a couple of years ago, and (perhaps to my shame) it is largely thanks to him that we keep in touch. I was with her when she took that pregnancy test, and I feel that her son (and her, of course) is a big part of my life. I wouldn't want to miss him growing up for the world!

I find that living as a student forces you to live in a strange dichotomy- "home friends" and "uni friends"...I often find that when living in one realm, it is painfully easy to loosen your grip on the other. However, as one friend once said to me; "I trust that we have a solid enough friendship that you'll still be there, even after a lack of communication" (or words to that effect), and I suppose it really is all about trust. Trust that while everything changes, your friendship won't change all that much. Trust that you still matter to each other. Trust that when push comes to shove, when one really needs the other, you'd still cross borders, climb mountains, ford streams...that there ain't no mountain high enough; ain't no valley low enough; ain't no river wide enough to keep you apart. For the most part, I think my friends would.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing;
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence.

Canterbury

God, it's good to be back. That's not to say it hasn't been a hard couple of weeks, because it has, but I love being here. My new house is beautiful...



We made purple satin curtains to replace the monstrosities that were originally in our living room (see photo on top above), my room is full of my stuff (see photo above), I have amazing new shoes (almost hidden under chest of drawers in photo above)...they're midnight blue with fuckme heels; I'm not usually a shoes girl (see very expensive trainers next to fuckme shoes in photo above) but these are beautiful. I am in love! We also made three collages out of cards we'd been given, cuttings from magazines, and my photos:







(Forgot to take a photo of the third one, but you get the idea!)

We have worked our way through a little over a litre of Bombay Sapphire, copious quantities of tonic, ice, and limes, several bottles of wine, and a hell of a lot of pasta (our oven is broken so we're restricted to things we can cook on the gas hob). We have flowers and candles and cushions and internet! We have a home phone number. Our sofa is purple. I have learnt to love tea and often switch on the kettle before doing anything else after walking through the door. We have Hotel Chocolat house dark chocolate Batons on the coffee table. We have cheesecake. We have local cider and cobnuts. I joined a gym! Today we went to Choral Evensong at the cathedral and the anthem was Nimrod "Lux Aeterna" from Enigma Variations by Elgar (seriously, nothing could have made me happier).

Last Saturday we had a big night out when my friend Sophie came to visit (along with my housemate's boyfriend, who is a permanent resident on weekends). Cosmopolitans FTW:



(Could I look much happier?! And yes, the bar (Boudoir Bar, it's beautiful) had run out of Cosmopolitan glasses.)

For all this happiness, it hasn't all been marshmallows and blue skies. My first week was bloody hard, and yesterday the Black Cloud crashed down on me far heavier than I expected. My doctor suspects I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but wants to rule out Diabetes first with a fasting blood test (which will be on Wednesday). I have buggered up my knee and I'm not sure how though I suspect the blame lies with the resistance training I've been doing with weights at the gym. So that's my half marathon training set back for a while. Lovelife-wise it hasn't been great either. I realised I'd been messing someone around a bit and had to hurt him. Which sucks. Cruel to be kind, I guess, but I feel royally rubbish about it. And on top of that, it's all very well being sensible and grownup and recognising that life isn't a fairytale, and some things just couldn't work however much you wanted them to, and that it's impossible to know how someone feels, and that it's bloody difficult to tell the truth about how you feel...it's all very well to know these things, and to be these things...but sometimes I feel like Carrie in SATC... I’m looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.

But hey ho. It's not all bad and I'm actually quite content with how it's all panned out. Plus, I had an excuse to quote xkcd, which, even though I didn't mean it seriously, is always a good thing!

I feel okay.

How are you?

Politics, Belief, Money, Sex...

The above topics (amongst many others) are topics that are commonly regarded as dangerous to discuss at dinner parties. I further this to "dangerous to discuss with anyone you don't want to risk arguing with"...I once had a discussion with my driving instructor in which he basically said that all civilians killed as a result of warfare "deserved it" (bear in mind this is only "them", "our" civilians of course are and were innocent); I got so stressed that I almost drove off the side of the road!

How important do you think similar viewpoints on such issues are, within friendships/relationships? I can't imagine becoming romantically involved with someone who had drastically differing opinions or feelings towards such major life-encapsulating topics, though I think a friendship would be easier to maintain despite differences, indeed, I have a friend who I simply don't discuss politics with, because we both end up upset.

Someone once said to me that they didn't care about politics because they didn't feel it had any relevance to their life. I was totally shocked; to my mind, politics is everything. It may be messy and upsetting and downright frustrating that the political state of the country, indeed of the world, is so messy, but I feel that it is our duty to care and to take an interest in it. This is my upbringing, I'm sure, but maybe it's also because I'm female and after years of having the lessons of the suffragettes etc drilled into me, I feel that the right to vote is essential. And that apathy runs the risk of being the beginning of the downfall of liberty and democracy.

I'm never entirely sure where I stand on belief, which is perhaps hypocritical given my perhaps overly-strong feelings about politics. I like belief/faith/spirituality. I don't like organised religion. I don't like the things that humans do in the name of a god.

I find it amusing how uptight we all are in this country about money. It's bad manners to ask how much someone earns, how much they spent on something, how often they go on holiday etc etc etc. Several people think I'm a spoilt brat after discussions on money. I disapprove of the private sector. Money is definitely a dangerous topic.

Sex....'nuff said. Even assuming that homophobia is dying out (and I don't actually know how true that is...), the vast contrast between people's sexual behaviours is astounding, and a vanilla type may be massively offended by someone who's into BDSM.

Combine them all, hold your dinner party, and sit an extremely right-wing fundamentalist Christian billionaire who thinks sex should only occur after marriage next to a fluffy liberal middle-class atheist who's slept with a dozen people. What happens? I'm willing to bet it wouldn't be the start of a lifelong friendship!

Rantble over...how important is similarity of standpoints in founding a friendship?

My new job...

http://cycling.justanotherpairofeyes.co.uk/

:)

Gossip girls and boys

Further to my previous post, I am getting royally fed up with gossips. Quite why it is neccessary to take what someone's said, twist it slightly, and pass it on is beyond me. I am part of a country-wide network/community and gossip travels like wildfire within it. There is no six degrees of separation in it, it's more like two. So if something happens, everyone else knows about it. If something is said, you can guarantee you'll have a text from someone asking if it's true you said it...and more often than not, you didn't!

I'm not saying I'm an angel and that I've never heard something scandalous and passed it on. I'm also not claiming to have superhuman abilities to ensure that I remember things word for word and repeat them as such, without altering any inflection whatsoever.

I just do not understand why it's so effing difficult to keep one's mouth shut, and to not deliberately stir things.

Yours,

Claire "quite pissed off now" Routh.

Secrets

I know I don’t know you
But I want you so bad
Everyone has a secret
But can they keep it
Oh no they can’t...

How good are you at keeping secrets? Both your own and those belonging to other people? Is it better to get them off your chest, as in the concept of "a problem shared is a problem halved", or do you believe it's best to keep these things to yourself?

I am rubbish at keeping my own secrets. Say I like someone- I invariably tell them, and invariably they don't return the feelings, but I never learn! Say I've done something I maybe shouldn't have (in a giggly eye-rolling naughty way)- I tell a friend who then berates me for it. I seem totally incapable of keeping things to myself...I try hard and then I open my mouth and just spill!

Other people's secrets, on the other hand, I'm good at keeping. There's some I've kept so long I've forgotten them, some I'm not even sure are secrets anymore, some are more recent and some I will never stop thinking about. My life revolves around trying to be a good friend- trying to make people happy. And keeping secrets is part of that, obviously, and I often find I'm keeping quiet about something that everyone else knows, anyway!

Postsecret. Clearly, a lot of people have secrets that are eating them up, and they feel they have to share them. Conversely, it may be that sharing helps others;

I think that when we read other people's secrets in your books, on your blog, or at your events, we read a secret we didn't know we had or a new look on things and a greater understanding that we already have and it just takes someone else's story to have it awakened.

We can look at people in the streets and see something we wouldn't have and think, "Maybe it was that person's secret." and then we feel more connected to people by realizing that maybe we all carry the same secrets.

So many people must have the same, or similar, secrets to other people, and only don't realise because they don't share them. I made a Postsecret once, and didn't send it, because in putting it on paper, it lost all its power, and eventually it came true. I still have it though, ready to send it, if needs be.

Perhaps, all the power of a secret is lost in the telling. Perhaps the power increases. I'm waffling. What do you think?

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this;
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

[...]

Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah...

Heartbreak Hotel

Lately, a lot of my friends seem to be having their hearts broken. Being unwanted, being dumped, getting messed around, being led on, falling for the wrong person, being hurt. Feeling hurt. Pain refusing to fade even after time has passed.

Not sure why now...why this time of year...it's very sad.

Is it just us?


Hey now, if your baby leaves you,
And you got a tale to tell.
Just take a walk down lonely street
To heartbreak hotel.

The right thing

Have you ever really wanted to do something despite knowing it wasn't a sensible idea in the long run?

And have you ever dragged from somewhere the strength of mind to do the right thing, and then felt sick and sad that you hadn't done the wrong thing, even though, as above, you know it would make you sad?

I know it's the right thing. But it feels so wrong.

First, middle, other...

I was thinking (as I am wont to do, sometimes) about middle names. This came about because in the bellringing world, it is sort of an unwritten rule that in formal things (such as lists of tower members, and records of quarter peals and peals), you use your middle initial as well as your full name.


(I've blurred out parts of the names of people who I don't know all that well for their privacy etc, though the above is publicly available on an uber-geeky website!)

Anyway, yes. This was my quarter from last Thursday because it gives me more to talk about than my quarter from the 31st! There's me, Claire H Routh, along with my mum, Maureen D Routh, and the other Firstname Middleinitial Lastname people.

Aside from ringing, I don't use my middle initial much, or indeed my middle name. I sometimes use it online for things when I need a username that I can remember- on DA, for example...but before that, I pretty much never used my middle name, and this leads me to ponder...what is the point of middle names?! It's sort of an outdated thing, but why did we have them in the first place?!

This leads me to my dad's name. As seen above, he is R Hugh Routh. My grandpa is R A Routh, my great-uncle is R M Routh, and various ancestors have initials such as RJR, RHR, RHMR, etc etc etc. The R stands for Robert and is the 'family' name...or at least it was. The idea was that all the men in the family were Robert, but were known by their middle name. I don't think, however, that I know anyone (relatives aside) now who is named in this way.

And some people don't have middle names. I can't help but feel sorry for them, despite pointing out above how pointless middle names seem to be! Roy, in the picture above, doesn't...but he's always said that his parents felt "LeMarechal" was enough for him to contend with! A few of my friends don't.

So, do you have a middle name? Do you ever use it? Will you give your children middle names, assuming you end up having children?

PS. My cousins are Amelia Lucy Rose Smith, and Florence Imogen Fuschia Smith. Overcompensation or what....?!

Titles

In my town there is a service run in the central carpark where a team of men wash cars while their owners are shopping etc. It's quite good value for money actually. Anyway, today I parked and one of the men approached me while I was buying my carparking ticket, and said "Would you like your car washed, madam?". I said no thank you, and smiled, and went on my way. But I was left pondering the way he'd addressed me; 'madam'.

I first noticed about six months ago that people such as ticket collectors on trains had begun to refer to me as 'madam' rather than 'miss'. It always makes me giggle somewhat as it brings to mind images of some sort of "Madam Whiplash" character. Anyway, clearly I look old enough now to be a madam rather than a miss...but what determines this?

Along these lines, about two years ago I applied for a new passport, and it's my first adult 10-year one, so it'll last me until I'm 28. Aside from the fact that I (hopefully!) won't look 18 when I'm nearly 30, I'm hoping that I might have got married by then...in which case I'd get a new passport, I presume. But I spent quite some time trying to decide whether to title myself 'miss' or 'ms'. I went for 'miss' in the end, purely because I liked the sound of it better. But I'm not sure whether I'll still want to be Miss Claire Routh when I'm 28...maybe I'll feel like Ms Claire Routh then instead. It sounds older, somehow...more mature. Men have it easy! Nobody uses 'master' anymore so boys are 'Mr' from when they're born till they die...nothing changes when they marry, and they don't have this confusion of 'miss' vs 'ms'.

So then, ladies...are you a 'miss' or a 'ms', and can you see that changing?

Do you care how you are addressed, be it as 'madam', 'miss', or 'oi, you!'?

Men/boys/guys/chaps/lads...do you wish there was an equivalent of the 'miss'->'ms'->'mrs' progression for you?

And why are men addressed as 'sir' anyway? That's not the equivalent of 'madam'...wait, what is the equivalent of 'madam'?!

Ahh, linguistics... <3

Get over it

When something happens to you...an emotional trauma, be it big or small... how do you deal with it? I find that generally, people employ the same tactics to get over things, time and time again. However lately, I seem to have changed somewhat, and I'm not sure why.


For years, when something's upset me, I've talked it through, largely with friends (online and IRL), and I've found that in the telling, it becomes less painful. A problem shared is a problem halved, as they say...or quartered, or eighthed, or sixteenthed, I guess.


However, this time round...I've found that I don't want to talk about it. At all. Talking about it sends jolts through me and I'd rather just hide my feelings deep down, and trust that they'll go away. But I'm not sure how healthy this is.

Apologies for the ramble. How do you get over things?

I don’t wanna talk
About the things we’ve gone through
Though it’s hurting me
Now it’s history
I’ve played all my cards
And that’s what you’ve done too
Nothing more to say
No more ace to play

The winner takes it all
The loser standing small
Beside the victory
That’s her destiny

I don’t wanna talk
Cos it makes me feel sad
And I understand
You’ve come to shake my hand
I apologize
If it makes you feel bad
Seeing me so tense
No self-confidence
But you see
The winner takes it all.

1260 Grandsire Triples

I realise this means nothing to the average person but tonight I rang my first quarter peal- 1260 Grandsire Triples, on the treble, in 41 minutes.

I am tres happy, to say the least!

Change

Do you ever get the urge to change your appearance drastically? I get it every 6 weeks or so, then half chicken out and end up looking exactly the same as I did before. Yesterday I booked myself a haircut, went this morning and for once, went through with the change.

It feels so good. My wallet is £40 lighter but my head feels lighter than that and I love how my hair looks!

Sometimes it's worth biting the bullet and going for it...

Friends and family

The most important thing in life is your family. There are days you love them, and others you don't, but in the end they're the people you always come home to. Sometimes it's the family you're born into and sometimes it's the one you make for yourself.

The other day my mum said something about family meaning more than friends. To say my parents aren't big people people is something of an understatement...they're both happy having family ties, seeing their parents a couple of times a week, and other relatives a bit less, and neither of them place much stock on friends at all. They both have friends of course, don't get me wrong, but to them, family is more important. I can't imagine either of my parents ever saying they love their friends.

However, and I don't know if this is a generational thing or not, I totally disagree with my parents. I love my family, that goes without saying. But I have friends (for the sake of listing them without naming them, there's R, L, K, E, J, A, C, E, and E, just off the top of my head) who mean as much to me as family. I suppose I could narrow that down to the ones that just the thought of losing them makes me get all choked up, and that would be R, C, and E.

These friends, I think of them as extensions of me. They are my friends, and hideously possessive as that sounds, it's not quite how I mean it...in the same way as I can't imagine life without my parents, I can't imagine life without these three people. They are a part of my life, and therefore a part of me. I would do anything to protect them, anything to make them smile (proven by my love of spending money on friends, and of trying to find the perfect gift). I know they know how much they mean to me. I am proud of their achievements and when they're sad, I feel sad for them...when they're happy, I'm happy for them. I want them in my life for a long time yet to come.

I'm rambling. But is this just me? I often wonder if these friends feel about me how I feel about them...I know they like me, at least sometimes, but I fiercely love my closest friends.

Do you love your friends? Or is love and that kind of bond purely reserved for the realms of family?

It's hard to find people who would love you no matter what. I was lucky enough to find three of them.

Scented

What do you smell like?

Yesterday, I went for a ridiculously long run to a friend's house and when I got there an hour and a half later, I showered. After I had dressed etc, the friend hugged me and said "you smell like post-exercise shower". He didn't mean that I simply smelt clean and freshly showered, nor did he mean I smelt of sweat (or so he maintains...!). I have no idea what he actually meant.

Also, a couple of days ago I was in a posh jewellery-and-other-things shop and the lady who runs it asked me at the till "what are you wearing?". I hesitated for a moment, pondering my choice of clothes, before I realised she meant my perfume. "It's not Angel, is it?" It's not, and luckily I managed to remember what it is called on the spur of the moment! (Lancome Miracle Forever, for those of you who wish to buy me perfume).

The smell of a person has always been a big factor in my attraction to a person. A guy who didn't smell of Lynx Africa when I was 15 was a major novelty and a major attraction! I have been known to steal items of boyfriends' clothing purely to sleep in because they smelt of the person. My stomach still flips when I catch a scent through a crowd which matches the aftershave my second boyfriend liked to wear. And I'm dreading it happening with the aftershave my most recent ex wore, because I know it'll bring back a plethora of memories that I don't want.

One of my friends used to wear Dior Addict and her then-boyfriend made the critical error of saying "you smell like my mum"!! (She smelt like my mum too, to be fair...clearly Dior Addict was popular amongst mothers...) Note to all guys: Never say this to your girlfriend/potential girlfriend/bit of stuff, unless you don't want sex ever again.

I remember reading/hearing things about how the smell of a person, or rather whether you find it attractive or repulsive, determines how healthy the babies you'd have if you were to have sex would be...something to do with genes...anyone want to help me out here...?! (I'd Google, but I'm in a rush to go out!)

I suspect it's not just me that cares this much about a person's smell....

A roomy bandwagon

(I'm going to punch Blogger soon for not letting me format this how I want...grr...it's only the last three photos that are of my room in Canterbury)

Here are some areas of my room at home, which is a permanent mess. One thing you should know is that I like stuff.






























































And a few of my room at uni last year...

Things

Today, I sang infront of someone I have known for a good 7 years for the first time. That's not entirely true; I've sang infront of him in a jokey way several times, not to mention screaming lyrics such as "WE ARE THE ANGRY MOB, WE READ THE PAPERS EVERY DAY" at Werchter last week. But today I put myself on the line and sang seriously, and dear god it was scary and now I'm wondering how his eardrums didn't bleed...

This made me think about how, when we are little, we don't worry so much what people will think of us. Most people don't draw or paint on a regular basis, or indeed at all. And yet when we were younger, we all drew countless pictures involving mummy, daddy, brothers and sisters, Rover and Felix, with a big blue stripe of sky and a big green stripe of grass. We also all sang, and danced, and ran and jumped. But then somewhere along the line, someone said "you can't sing/paint/dance/run...you're rubbish" and that stuck and we took it to heart and even now I'll tell people I can't sing, I can't draw and I can't dance. I can run, but I think I'm rubbish and very slow.

It seems sad to me that our carefree younger selves were stifled by a careless comment and we grew up into caring adults who worry what other people think us, perhaps too much.

In other news, it became painfully obvious a week ago that whilst it takes two to tango, it only takes one to stop dancing.

Dance like nobody's watching, love like you've never been hurt. Sing like nobody's listening, live like it's heaven on earth.

I try...

The force of habit

I was thinking about the way that habits and routines make actions habitual and routine. This was prompted by being in the shower this morning. As a general rule, my routine goes like so:

1. Get wet (Ben, stop smirking)
2. Shampoo hair
3. Rinse shampoo off
   
4. Put conditioner on hair
5. Wash body
6. Wash face
7. Rinse conditioner off

I do this every day, at least once a day, and have carried out this exact routine for, ooh, 9 years or so? Every time, exactly the same. Why, then, this morning did I find myself with a handful of conditioner before I'd shampooed my hair?! I can't claim that I had been distracted or daydreaming or thinking about something else- or rather, I can claim that, because I was- but I daydream/think every time I shower...I don't talk myself through the showering process, so why did my ritual/habit fail this time? Oh, and the bottles are at opposite sides of the shower and one is white, one is red- so no confusion there.

On a similar topic, driving. I've only been driving for 6 months (well, I passed six months ago. I was learning on and off for 6 months before that, so a year in total) and yet already, most of the time when I drive, I drive on autopilot. Occasionally, though, I still go to change gear, and pause with the gearstick in neutral, going "Shit! Which gear do I need to be in? Which gear was I in?!" because my mind's gone completely blank. Of course, it only takes a second to look around me and at my speedometer and make a logical decision as to what gear I should be in. This one would be easy to explain away as being a result of a relatively new (and perhaps absolutely shite!) driver, save for the fact that in the past week I have witnessed both of my parents doing the same thing, and they've both been driving for 30+ years. My dad, I suppose, doesn't drive a manual often, so perhaps the auto-pilot part of his brain can be excused for similar reasons to mine, but my mum drives her car just as much as I do. And she has years of experience. And yet we still get 'blips' in the auto-pilot 'programming'.

We rely on these habits and auto-pilot functions so much. Pouring a drink, you don't think "get glass...unscrew top...pour...screw top back on...put back in fridge" or anything, and yet you do it perfectly. (Having said that, I got the wine bottle out of the fridge last night, then got a tumbler from the cupboard. Looked at both, and thought "....er...that's not right...". Must drink wine more often!)

Another facet to my ponderings on the topic of habit is the concept of universal habits. I was discussing with le boy the other day how absolutely everyone puts condoms, other sex-related-paraphenalia, and indeed all 'personal' items in their top drawer, preferably by their bed, but yeah...always in the top drawer. And then we realised that this is because it is the underwear drawer. And then that led to the realisation that everyone puts their underwear in the top drawer. And then tshirts etc in the next one. After that it gets a bit hazy, with jumpers, trousers, sport-specific items etc in the other drawers, but I don't know of anyone who puts their underwear in a drawer other than the top one! Who teaches us these things? Is this what mothers are taught at ante-natal classes...rather than "how to change a nappy" and "when to wean your child"...they teach "clothing-in-drawer-arrangement 101"?!

Habits are very strong. I cook in much the same way as my mum does. I fold clothes the same. I drink similar drinks to my friends. So perhaps all these things are pure social conditioning. Thoughts?

Wandering

Apologies for the slight vanishment off the face of the blogging world. No real reason for it, save that I haven't really had much to say! What have I been doing...?

• I spent a long weekend further north than I had ever been before (I am shamefully geographically-stunted when it comes to the UK), with a boy...well...with my boy! :)

• I've been working for my dad's business Monday-Friday, 9-5, doing some very boring stuff but earning myself a nice amount of money with which to pay off my overdraft.

• On Saturday I ran the Cancer Research Race for Life in Brighton...I'd never actually managed to run the full 5k in training without walking some of it (furthest I'd done was 4.2k) and the fastest time I'd run/walked the 5k was 39 minutes. Anyway. I ran it in 36 minutes, 34 seconds absolutely non stop and it was bloody BRILLIANT. Hehe. And in my post-run madness, I decided to run a 10k in September.

• Today I got my stage 2 exam results. Combined with my coursework marks, I averaged a 56 this year- a solid 2:2. Which is, y'know, okay. But just okay, that's all. So that sort of spoilt my day today.

• I also had my hair cut today which was good cos it was looking really bad. It's all lovely and short again :)

This entry is astoundingly dull, I'm sure. But here we are, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth!

Confusion

I don't generally write posts like this but I'm feeling mixed up and figured this was as good as place as any to splurge it out.

Bit of background history: My godfather, Martin, has never been around much- after my christening the first time I saw him was when I was 4, and then not again till I wrote to him when I was 12ish, and he came to stay. Then we wrote regularly for a few years, and I saw him again when I was 16...dad and I went to stay with him.

Martin drinks a lot, and when we stayed with him, he got a bit...I dunno. Aggressive isn't the right word. Forceful? Basically, we ate...finished...and then Martin tried to convince us to have seconds. We said no, and he picked up a fork with food on and tried to force it into my dad's mouth. I was a bit shocked and I didn't like the way he was acting, tbh. So anyway. I haven't seen him since then, and contact has been limited. He phoned me about a year and a half ago. I sent him a christmas card this most recent christmas with my current uni address in it cos I wasn't sure he had it, and he didn't write.

To be fair, aside from the christmas card, and a couple of letters I've sent, I haven't made much effort to make contact either. I know he's 'only' my godfather and I see one of my godmothers just as infrequently and it doesn't bother me- there's just something about Martin...we get along really well and the fact that he doesn't care much about me really upsets me for some reason.

Anyway. To the point. This morning I got a text from an unknown number, and I am 99.999% certain it's from him (can't see who else it would be). It says this:

"Hi Claire it's Martin. Sorry it's been so long etc. Hope to make a trip to Cant soon hope you may have time to get social! Let's talk soon. Mx"

And suddenly, randomly, I feel really mixed up and confused. Happy that he's contacted me, but so many other things too. I haven't replied...not sure what to do.

'Ampshire Haccent

Yesterday, I paid a water bill on the phone. I needed to give my home address for final statements to be sent on to. My house is called Mill Cottage. The conversation went thus:

Me: Mill Cottage
Her: Knoll Cottage..
Me: No, Mill.
Her: Knoll?
Me: Mill. M...I...L...L...
Her: M...O...
Me: No, no...MILL. As in a water mill, or a wind mill. M for Michael, I for Indigo...
Her: Oh, okay.

Bit later...

Her: So your card is registered at Knoll Cottage too?
Me: No, I'm sorry, I think you've still got my address wrong. It's MILL. Like a windmill.
Her: Oh, MILL! Sorry, it's your accent, I can't understand you.


My what?! I don't have an accent, thank you very much! ;) She was the effing northerner with a stupid accent. I have no accent. My voice is neutral. Normal.

:P

Discuss.

Black and white and shades of grey

Recently I've realised that as I get older, things become far less black and white. Decisions are harder to make. Things aren't so simple. This is prompted by a Facebook quiz (okay fine, I'm a bit of a loser) in which it asked "what would you do if you found out you were pregnant?". Well, firstly, I'd cry lots, and be in a fair amount of shock, and wonder if I was carrying the next Messiah, but aside from that...I don't know. I know you can never really know how you'll react to such things until they happen, but if you had asked me that question when I was 15, or 17, or indeed 18...I would have said that I would abort it. But now...well, it would hardly be great timing. I'm single. I'm a student. I have no income. But having said all that, I would be better equipped now to look after a child than I was at 16. None of this pondering matters anyway, since (I feel I should point out) I'm not pregnant.

But it's not just this question. So many others become grey and fuzzy and the borders between what is possible and what isn't have changed. Being able to drive has changed a lot of things, because I can take myself places (dependent on the use of Mum's car, dammit), and do things by myself. My expectations of life have changed and I feel more able to do...well, anything. I'm rambling, I know.

Other people have noticed this, right? Getting older makes life, and decisions, more complicated. Nothing is as simple anymore. "Impossible" isn't neccessarily so, anymore.

Ugly Day

I'm having an Ugly Day. This has led to me not feeling like going to see my grandparents, to me snapping at a shop assistant who asked me for ID (fair enough, I probably don't look 21, though I like to think I might look 18), and to me generally feeling annoyed and pissed off.

There are direct correlations between me having an Ugly Day and the following factors...whether or not I've bothered to dry/straighten my hair properly, how much makeup I've got on, and what I'm wearing. Like many girls, I reeeeally can't be arsed to put on full slap in the mornings etc, and this morning I went for a run and when I showered I just wanted to relax, not put on makeup and spend time drying my hair nicely. Plus,. it's raining, so there's not much point anyway!

When I have Ugly Days, people often tell me I look fine, and actually, they're probably being honest. I'm a firm believer that we notice our own flaws far more than anyone else does (which is why only about 2 people know what it is that I hate most about my appearance...if everyone knew, they'd all notice it all the time). But should my appearance really contribute to my mood that much? After all, beauty is only skin deep, right? And I'm not going to magically become Disney-Princess-beautiful just because I put a bit more makeup on or because I straighten my hair. But the point is, it does affect how I feel about myself, and other people, and I can feel very tense and uncomfortable if I feel I look ugly.

Do boys have Ugly Days? Are theirs worse because they generally lack the arsenal of concealer, eyeshadow, powder, mascara, lip gloss, and my new genie-in-a-bottle, Lip Plump (Benefit, go buy, go buy!)? Or does appearance only affect me in this way?!


People are all the same
And we only get judged by what we do
Personality reflects name
And if I'm ugly then
So are you.

Bittersweet

To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do

Yin/Yang is a chinese concept that there are two opposing and yet complementary aspects to every situation. Essentially, in every light there is a little dark, and in every dark there is a little light.

In one way, this is good. It means that when things seem impossibly dark, there is a little hope left, a tiny part of goodness that keeps us going.

On the other hand, every good thing that happens is tinged with something bad, stopping it from being perfect. I guess, today, I just feel a bit angry that life is like this. Good, but bad. So bittersweet.

Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess

In lieu of packing...

I have been reading.


Ian McEwan: On Chesil Beach. I really, honestly, truly, recommend this. It's short; I read it in one sitting today, but Ian McEwan fits so much emotion and tangibility into a single sentence that it doesn't need to be longer. And, I feel, it teaches a valuable lesson. Read it, and if you've already read it, I hope you loved it as much as I did.

(I also bought Belle De Jour: Secret Diary of a Call Girl as trashy train-reading last weekend, and it was actually really well written, strong and lingering. Read that too, if you don't mind a bit of filth.)