(no subject)
Friday, I went down town in the morning and popped my time
sheet into work. I also wandered into Virgin Megawhore to ask whether they had
my album I'd ordered and how come they never called me - it'd been put out on
the shelf, and the guy on the counter knocked some money off because of that.
This was my copy of Storm of the Light's Bane, the sum total of Dissection that
I've owned to date being Live Legacy, because I'm a noob and I suck etc. Then I
had a rather tortuous train journey up to Nottingham, including a stint on what
I'm going to have to rename The Grim North Train which terminated in Newcastle
and went through the Mids on the way there. It was really, really filthy and
cramped, lot of respect for the non-southern customers being shown there ;). It
was also utterly crawling with disgusting Geordie charvers being unpleasant to
little old ladies and so on. On getting to Nottingham I walked back into Costas
and got the usual bowl of cappucino with two handles so it can be safely picked
up (the guy knows my order, I don't even get why I bother telling him it - to
make myself out to be less of a caffeine junkie than I am?) Then I bought a
blouse. Normally this is the stuff I wouldn't bother mentioning (again) but it
was A Special Blouse as it's from Bravissimo in a 10 'super curvy' (the largest
bust size they do). The waist was still waay too big. I asked the fitting lady if
there were 8's in super curvy, and she pointed out that although the waist was
too large, the buttons were straining across the bust and so I'd end up with
the same old problem if I went for what I my size presumably is. It's not just
the boobs - I also have a broad ribcage, like an hourglass shape. Oh well, I
guess sewing machines were invented for a reason ;). After having bought this, and
doing my usual of worrying about money although smart blouses are actually a
necessity for me, being a working girl ;) and so on, I bumped into Andrea
(conspiracychild) and Sam Dale hanging about town. Andrea got me a coffee and
put up with my swearing, and then we gave Ben a welcoming committee at the
station, possibly scaring the crap out of the poor guy.
The actual party was fantastic. I met some awesome new people, saw old friends, heard a lot of good music (thankyou Damian for one decent set and one amusing one) and was bowled over by the costumes. Please, please can official type people sort out a second place prize? The funeral procession ought to have won something! God only knows how much time and money went into sorting that out. Similarly, I’m not sure there was a clear single winner with the girls’ outfits! In any case, this year the costumes were so good that I barely recognised anyone when I first walked in. Kudos to Hannah as Arwen, Dawn and Cazzy as brides, Babycham with the necro panda outfit, Allan as 118 guy, Pervy as Liono and whoever the hell that was as a suicide bomber (couldn’t see your face honey, sorry). It’s been ages since anything amused me this much. The new freshers from both uni’s seem nice…. not least for all mistaking me for an eighteen-year-old. Keep that shit up…. lawd knows it’s in keeping with my mindset in any case. I gave an emo advice on house hunting, breathed a giant sigh of relief at drinks prices that won’t bankrupt me, and actually spent about as much time during the night lurking and watching people as actually talking - it was so amazing to be around other people of the same age and mentality again. When I come back again, I will try my damndest not to leave - or at least, not to go too far. All of you are ace.
As for what I was wearing, I’ve not bothered with a costume since I was a first year, but I know I must have been looking very good since a large lady saw fit to stamp on my foot - bloody cow! One of my toes doesn’t move properly and doesn’t have any feeling other than a kind of dull pain. GrrrrrRRR!
Saturday I didn’t really do much. In fact, fresher lurgy had claimed me, either that or the bird flu is already here on our shores. I finished off Graham Greene’s ‘Brighton Rock’ (I always, always underestimate how fast I read, and should have brought two books with me), and Ben proved to me that there are no green, men’s t shirts in Nottingham that aren’t a crappy looking style or lurid, wheelie-bin colour. I stand very much corrected, which is a shame because they do have them in Swindon, a fact that’s no use to you whatsoever. That evening I went over to Dawn’s house and had cocktails, but sorry Dawn if I talked shite, and about not moving my stuff out. As soon as I’ve got transport, it will be sorted out, I promise.
Today I had an even more random train journey home since I had no less than four changes for what should be a very short journey (this is what happens when you try and screw over GW Trains by getting an affordable ticket). At Leicester I bumped into Gandy, who was getting the same train to Brum as me and provided some much-appreciated company; Brum to Oxford I was alone, and keeping a close eye on the passing landscape because I was half-asleep and worried about missing my stop; Oxford to Didcot, I was accompanied by a really sweet Northern guy who tried to convince me to join the RAF and had just come back from seeing the Happy Mondays (funny combination there). I saw the Flying Scotsman at Didcot, then came back to Swindon, happy to get out of what’s basically five smokestacks and a station that physically rattles every time a train goes through. Back in Swindon and passing The Furnace, its questionable rock club, I noticed that not only are HeadOn playing next weekend - and my mate Mark, who’s in the band, doesn’t even know I’m back in Swindon, which should be a nice surprise for him - but Mastodon are indeed playing and their support are High on Fire. My reaction to that requires no description. While I would never go to Furnace on a club night as the music’s really, really appalling and the people there are worse, it has started to establish itself as a live venue - something that started when Napalm Death played there. I was, when moving away from Nottingham, gloomily resigned to this being a dry year for gigs, but since there are some dirt cheap ones on my doorstep, that will not be the case. With this news I really can’t justify MDB in London, especially since I don’t know what job I will be doing by then and what my wage is liable to be. I am hopeful on the job front: tomorrow morning another agency are seeing about customer service work for me, which may be a better bet than the business - to - business sales, but we’ll see. In the end it boils down to which pays better and is more long-term - each is stressful as hell, so there’s no real contest on that front. At the moment, though, I am of the opinion I could do anything I wanted to.
The actual party was fantastic. I met some awesome new people, saw old friends, heard a lot of good music (thankyou Damian for one decent set and one amusing one) and was bowled over by the costumes. Please, please can official type people sort out a second place prize? The funeral procession ought to have won something! God only knows how much time and money went into sorting that out. Similarly, I’m not sure there was a clear single winner with the girls’ outfits! In any case, this year the costumes were so good that I barely recognised anyone when I first walked in. Kudos to Hannah as Arwen, Dawn and Cazzy as brides, Babycham with the necro panda outfit, Allan as 118 guy, Pervy as Liono and whoever the hell that was as a suicide bomber (couldn’t see your face honey, sorry). It’s been ages since anything amused me this much. The new freshers from both uni’s seem nice…. not least for all mistaking me for an eighteen-year-old. Keep that shit up…. lawd knows it’s in keeping with my mindset in any case. I gave an emo advice on house hunting, breathed a giant sigh of relief at drinks prices that won’t bankrupt me, and actually spent about as much time during the night lurking and watching people as actually talking - it was so amazing to be around other people of the same age and mentality again. When I come back again, I will try my damndest not to leave - or at least, not to go too far. All of you are ace.
As for what I was wearing, I’ve not bothered with a costume since I was a first year, but I know I must have been looking very good since a large lady saw fit to stamp on my foot - bloody cow! One of my toes doesn’t move properly and doesn’t have any feeling other than a kind of dull pain. GrrrrrRRR!
Saturday I didn’t really do much. In fact, fresher lurgy had claimed me, either that or the bird flu is already here on our shores. I finished off Graham Greene’s ‘Brighton Rock’ (I always, always underestimate how fast I read, and should have brought two books with me), and Ben proved to me that there are no green, men’s t shirts in Nottingham that aren’t a crappy looking style or lurid, wheelie-bin colour. I stand very much corrected, which is a shame because they do have them in Swindon, a fact that’s no use to you whatsoever. That evening I went over to Dawn’s house and had cocktails, but sorry Dawn if I talked shite, and about not moving my stuff out. As soon as I’ve got transport, it will be sorted out, I promise.
Today I had an even more random train journey home since I had no less than four changes for what should be a very short journey (this is what happens when you try and screw over GW Trains by getting an affordable ticket). At Leicester I bumped into Gandy, who was getting the same train to Brum as me and provided some much-appreciated company; Brum to Oxford I was alone, and keeping a close eye on the passing landscape because I was half-asleep and worried about missing my stop; Oxford to Didcot, I was accompanied by a really sweet Northern guy who tried to convince me to join the RAF and had just come back from seeing the Happy Mondays (funny combination there). I saw the Flying Scotsman at Didcot, then came back to Swindon, happy to get out of what’s basically five smokestacks and a station that physically rattles every time a train goes through. Back in Swindon and passing The Furnace, its questionable rock club, I noticed that not only are HeadOn playing next weekend - and my mate Mark, who’s in the band, doesn’t even know I’m back in Swindon, which should be a nice surprise for him - but Mastodon are indeed playing and their support are High on Fire. My reaction to that requires no description. While I would never go to Furnace on a club night as the music’s really, really appalling and the people there are worse, it has started to establish itself as a live venue - something that started when Napalm Death played there. I was, when moving away from Nottingham, gloomily resigned to this being a dry year for gigs, but since there are some dirt cheap ones on my doorstep, that will not be the case. With this news I really can’t justify MDB in London, especially since I don’t know what job I will be doing by then and what my wage is liable to be. I am hopeful on the job front: tomorrow morning another agency are seeing about customer service work for me, which may be a better bet than the business - to - business sales, but we’ll see. In the end it boils down to which pays better and is more long-term - each is stressful as hell, so there’s no real contest on that front. At the moment, though, I am of the opinion I could do anything I wanted to.