Entry Thirty-One: Resits

OK, this is truly ridiculous. Don’t get me wrong, I love my university and I’m true to my school, but they’re really good at screwing up. I travelled 189.7 miles yesterday to get here for my re-sits, one was due this morning (Tuesday) and I have another on Friday. I paid £51 to get here and £80 to stay in Halls for the four nights and prepared for my first exam; communications systems.

I met my classmates in the exam room ten minutes before the exam was due to start. Thirty-five minutes later we were still there waiting for the exam to start. At this point we were all becoming restless and I stepped outside to call the Faculty of Advanced Technology Advise Shop and explained to them that we were due to start an exam twenty-five minutes earlier but no examiner had arrived. They thought this very strange and agreed to call me back when they found out what was occurring.

Ten minutes later the gentleman with whom I’d spoken came to the room and explained to us that our course leader was still on holiday, but the university had not known and so they had not arranged for anyone to write the paper and examine us in the belief he would be back for it.

We all discussed the fact we’d travelled some distances for this exam, two of our group had come from Saudi Arabia the day before for it. He was very apologetic about the circumstances but couldn’t do anything about it except take our contact details and get back to us when they get hold of the lecturer.

I; for one, am absolutely fuming at this situation, I’m essentially here three days earlier than I have to be and that is the university’s fault, not mine. I intend to get three of my days’ accommodation compensated, as well as the three days’ work I’ve missed for these exams. Adding all that up means that my university now owes me £178 and eight pence as well, but they can keep that and put it towards being less pathetic.

Of course, if they let me onto the next year of my course and give me a First they can keep the money, but that’s not going to happen, so Glam, where’s my hundred-and-eighty-quid?

Entry Thirty: Mr Andro Lemur

Working is hard! I'd much rather be earning money than sitting around doing nothing all day, but I've done eleven days straight and I've got my twelfth tomorrow. I'm travelling up to Wales on Monday to sit exams on Tuesday and Thursday before coming back home on Friday.

So working all that time whilst trying to organise somewhere to stay, travel stuff and revising on top is very tiring and very stressful. But I work at a zoo - and I love animals.

What this means is I can have an insane day and then go and chat to a jaguar who loves the way I smell. On that note; did you know a recent study showed that big cats like Calvin Klein Obsession for Men above all other scents? It has an attention span of around twenty minutes where other scents are only around five minutes. Imagine my surprise when I rocked up and went on a jag talk on my second day wearing my day-to-day scent!

Anyway, I digress. The animals have a way of making people feel better and the last couple of days have been pretty intense for me. I had one day to gain some experience in the kitchen and then got thrown in the deep end by being left in charge of the kitchen for the past two days.

Two VERY busy days.

Yesterday I got the to feed a tiger, well two tigers, Diamond and Aysha, semi-skimmed goat's milk mixed in equal measures with water. They like it because they were hand-reared on the very same stuff. I particularly love Diamond because he carries the white gene and doesn't produce black pigment, making him look a little funny. Anyone who knows me will know I have vitiligo, I can't produce dark pigment, so we're not so different, he and I.

O.K. ignore the massive differences in evolution and internal structure, vocal abilities, and muscle mass and we're not that different.

So that was amazing. But today was something else entirely. I got in, and heard

"You know when you walk into the kitchen in a morning and smell bacon, isn't it the best thing in the world?"

"Bacon sammich?" Says I.

So I made a bacon sarney for A and M (a keeper and a vet, respectively). And a bit later, when the bacon was cooked, I was asked if I'd like to meet a red-ruff. As I said before I love animals and lemurs rock so I jumped at the chance and spent the while day talking about having a date with a lemur. To say I was excited would be an understatement.

5pm rolls around and A comes to the counter and yells hello. Off we trot to meet my lemur date. As we get to the first gate to the enclosure Andro comes bounding over to the fence gawping at this new person coming to see him. We went through the 4 gates to his enclosure and he jumped on A, said hello and came straight to me at which point he promptly (and expectedly) shoved his tongue up my nose.

Now this isn't like a little bit up there, we're talking like poking my brain. I am told he does it because he's a bit strange, but I've read articles which talk about the nose-to-nose greeting Red-Ruffs practice and, until I am shown evidence to the contrary, I will continue to believe that it's his own form of the documented friendly gesture. Maybe he was grooming me.

When he was done cleaning my nose he put fingerprints and bite marks on my glasses before chewing on my watch for a bit. He dangled off my arm with his feet while playing with my boot laces, sucked the mayonaise out of my shirt and climbed my leg. Of course all good things must come to an end and I had to go back to the kitchen to clean and sign off the check-lists. But cuddling a lemur was possibly the best experience of my life so far, I loved it and I'm thankful the fates played so well into my hands to get me working at the zoo, today, and in at nine this morning.

It certainly made this young man much less stressed about his resits.

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O.K. Mindless plug time - I got to cuddle him for free, but he lives in a zoo with lots of other animals, too. I can't possibly love them all, so maybe you can take a look on the website and come visit us, maybe even adopt an animal.

Isle of Wight Zoo: http://www.isleofwightzoo.com/default.aspx

Entry Twenty-Nine: Rude Rude Rude

There are few things that really tick me off and one of them is rudeness, particularly knowingly ignoring someone.

I live by the creed 'If someone wants to speak to you then they should be able to'. This means if someone wants to talk to me - provided I am not busy, in which case I will inform them of this at the nearest convenient time - I will speak to them.

This was born from my theory that all communication contains the passing of information and I really enjoy the giving/receiving of information. Talking is something we are the only species blessed enough to be able to do well on this planet, so we should flaunt it, yes?

I understand that sometimes you don't want to speak to someone - often there's someone who asks the wrong questions or raises the wrong thoughts in your mind - but when that person doesn't do that then you have absolutely no feeble excuse not to speak to them. It is the epitome of rude and I will not stand for it.

I see it one of two ways; either that person is worth the hassle, you can speak to them every time you get a chance and eventually they will communicate; or they're a lost cause and you may as well just leave them alone. I am not a believer in the latter. I've said it before on my other blog; if I want to speak to you, I will find a way.

Yes I'm an awkward little shit and I am happy this way, it works for me. I am, inspired to write this because of one case, a complicated one involving someone I've not known for long and one of my good friends (who is somewhat blinded by his own disbelief in reality). Anyway there is probably some reason I'm being ignored and in that case they can thrust their interest where the sun no-longer shines.

Good night.

AO

Entry Twenty-Eight: Inspiration

Does not inspiration hit at the worst times?

Dear all-ruling cosmos/being/self(delete as applicable), why is it you decide to make my mind suddenly start working double-time when I have work in eight hours? Now I'm not going to get the sleep I need and I'll cut myself shaving in the morning.

Naturally I'm not meaning to sound ungrateful for having inspiration - a lot of people don't ever get inspired, so for it, I am very thankful. I just think there are better times for my soul and mind to connect so well.

I'm not entirely sure what it is that's inspired me and I've no idea what it is I'm being inspired to do - but I felt the need to document the experience.

That is all - in summation: inspiration is a strange thing that comes in many ways. And it freaking rocks.

To the one fo you who actually read this: Ever been inspired? To do what? What do you think caused it? 2000 word maximum - you have two weeks!

Entry Twenty-Seven: Some owners do 'ave 'em

I am blessed enough to entertain 4 dogs in my little life. Of course I'm referring to canines, although the comparison can often be brought against the females of my own species; monsters and giant squids of anger - for instance.

Anyway back to dogs. I have four of them. But only one has my heart wrapped around her little claw. They say after some time a dog begins to look like its owner, well this one acts like its owner.

Isis - the prettiest dog in the world - is a black lab/whippet cross we picked up when my family was living in Belgium, thick as two-short-planks but very sweet with massive brown puppy eyes. she even crosses her legs when she lays down. She rarely barks, choosing to be seen and not heard, stays out of trouble and doesn't like playing unless it's on her terms.

On two occasions today alone she proved why we love her so. I came downstairs fuming about my utter failure of a university letting me down AGAIN, and she was straight there, pretty much forcing me to cuddle her and giving me that look that makes me forget everything in the world because she's too bloody sweet! Later the matriarch was a bit upset about something familial she has to deal with tomorrow and, once again, from no-where came Isis, paw on leg, head on knee, velvety soft ears flicking in that 'stroke me now' way only she has managed to master.

We used to have a black Alsatian, she was an ex RMP dog and was possibly the most loyal animal to walk the earth - a fact she proved on more than one occasion. She got to a stage of illness (as many dogs do) where we had to do the kindest thing and I still remember the afternoon my mum came home from the vets on October 5th 2002 with Thor's collar in her coat pocket. From that moment Isis stepped up and stopped being a puppy.

It's very peculiar how attached we become to our pets, but it's even more peculiar how in sync we become with them. Isis is eleven years old this year, she's pretty short sighted and getting arthritic in her back legs, but she's still fit and healthy, she's still got the biggest eyes you'll ever see and eye lashes most women would kill for. She knows when we need reassuring that there is good in the world and she will be like that until the bitter end, a day I hope my parents have the good sense to call me home to say goodbye.

There isn't a huge amount of research on this kind of behaviour in dogs, but Isis saw some pretty horrific stuff when she was a puppy. She arrived about a year before my parents split and had to watch us all go through that - she would've learned from a young age what we look like upset and I put her ability to comfort us down to that.

She's a bit slow and has always had terrible breath, but she's my puppy and I love her to bits. and she's really cute - did I say that already?

AO

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By the way - I am aware that I've ignored this blog AGAIN for like ten months - but I've been busy! Plus I have two other blogs as well. If it helps I do have about eighteen-throusand words waiting to be typed up - I just haven't had a chance to, yet.

--scratch that - I have no discipline, sorry!

Diary Entry Twenty-Six: Ill-Motivation Is Such A Chore

Hello stranger!

I won't lie to you; I've not really been busy, in fact I've had little to nothing to do. I've simply been bone idle and lazy. I'm not proud of it but what's done is done and I can't take that time back.

The trials and tribulations of the last few months are many, life has varied from day to day and karma has been biting at my ankles for over a month. The revelation that very few people read this blog, and most of those who do read it do so only to mock me, probably didn't help my self-esteem when it came to posting my musings for all the world to see. I got over it though, and now I'm back, driven as ever, ready to kick some bottoms.

I've got a lot of blogs coming, many that I didn't finish, but some of them are good.

People believe what they want to believe, the actions you take rest on your conscience only and you should never feel guilty for doing something you enjoy.

Alex

Diary Entry Twenty-Five: Writer's Block

I write a blog; this blog, so I'm going to risk the assumption that whomever may be reading this has already worked out that I'm rather passionate about writing and it's something I'm not afraid to say I'm good at.

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Frank Sinatra's playing; godly. When I was seventeen it was, indeed, a very good year.

If you hadn't noticed by now I have writer's block. I know about what I want to write; paper, but I don't know quite how to approach the subject.

Do you remember my last blog? I sent the original draft along with a lucky 20p, a graffitied train ticket and a scoring from a chess match, not to mention some other bits, to Gwa. When he's not busy working he seems to get pretty lonely, and he has a pin-board so I figured I'd send him a few mementos to remind him we're all thinking of him.

Now I look at it I can see that writing in the Roman alphabet really isn't all that different to writing in morse code. If you consider the two main components of writing the way demonstrated here, straight lines and loopy bits, then squash that and change the orientation of it all we end up with dots and dashes, interesting.

I suppose we can consider this ramble to be my homage to writer's block. My question is why do we get writer's block even when we are inspired?

There are so many things I could write but I find myself only being motivated to write blogs. What's up with that?

The lady over the road was just looking at me sat at my desk. Strange curtain-twitching person, she is. This town is like that though, everyone is in everyone else's pockets, of course it's not crowded or anything negative like that, everyone just knows everyone's business. 

My brother once compared this town to Midsummer, I didn't sleep for a week after. I thought every noise was an apparently frail, helpless little old lady bound to crack open my head with a Le Creuset cast iron skillet then butcher me and feed my flesh to her cats. Yes, it is a rather vivid imagination I have isn't it?