The plane journey

I’ve just been on holiday. It really was fantastic, but it’s such a shame it had to include a flight. We arrived at the airport four hours in advance of our flight (serious organization/some slight time confusion), and although everybody raves about duty free, it really isn’t that interesting. We managed to buy a few things and we ate a lot to pass the time. We boarded our flight, stood in the aisles for too long waiting for other people to put their luggage in the overhead lockers. Found our own seats, decided who was to sit where, waited for a gap in the stream of aisle-traffic and then proceeded to block it by putting our luggage in the overhead lockers. Sat down, put seat belt on, watched the rest of the passengers find their seats, assessed how annoying we thought they’d be, located children and babies, and perused the on-board catalogue of more duty free items that we didn’t want/need. We were now ready to arrive at our destination. We waited for what must have been a further five minutes. Then at last the plane moved, hurrah! We proceeded to the runway. Ten minutes later we were STILL proceeding to the runway. Eventually we actually took off, but the waiting was not over yet. By this point, the on-board catalogue has been read twice, all the hard-boiled sweets have been eaten and the seat-belt sign is still on so we still can’t listen to music/recline our chairs/go to the toilet. The air hostesses don’t even perform the safety information anymore because it is always shown on the little tv screens. There is such anticipation for the moment when the seat-belt sign turns off. But to what avail? The on-board entertainment system takes half an hour to “teach you how to use it” and by this time, the cabin crew have decided it is time for a complimentary bag of salted peanuts, a drink and that it’s suddenly night time; the blinds are shut and the lights are turned off (there does not seem to be any concept of time on a long-haul flight, except that it is never-ending). By and large, everyone gives up and goes to sleep. HOW? How do people sleep on an aeroplane? Even when I am unbearably tired, when I’ve counted approximately 1475 sheep, when I’ve listened to my “chilled & sleepy” playlist on repeat, I cannot slip into blissful slumber. Invariably, just when I am at my ultimate peak of relaxation, my senses are abused by the smell of “breakfast”. Egg is always included (I have no idea, nor do I particularly want to know how it is cooked). Anyway, eventually time passes, and you’ve landed and you’re on holiday and it’s fine – you forget instantly how bad the flight was (I hear childbirth is like this, but I think that might be an urban myth). Then suddenly the holiday is over and not only have you got to do the whole trip in reverse, but your destination is not even fun. The flight home symbolizes the return to a slightly stale smelling house, to working, to paying bills, to wearing coats (if you’re returning to England), to everything you came on holiday to escape. On the plus side, you sometimes have some interesting post, you understand the language and you get to make a new facebook photo album to show off all the cool things you did whilst you were away.

Things that are better left unsaid

Unnecessary apologies/questions. It’s quite annoying, because invariably, they are actually necessary. But honestly, nobody needs you to apologize for apologizing, nor are they going to deny you access to their toilet.

The news. I was going to list some of the negative headlines of the day, but it would take me too long. Instead, I will tell you the slightly more light-hearted ones… A man was bitten at a Russian council meeting (by another man, I assume). And an “exquisitely preserved” mammoth has been found! On the downside, it was killed by man. I will admit that I struggled to find anything positive (although there was a behind the scenes video of the new James Bond film). If I’m going to be honest, I think I’d rather remain ignorant from now on.

When my outfit doesn’t look good. If I ask for advice, I generally accompany the question with “be honest”. Well don’t. Honesty is brutal.

The ingredients of pate. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with the thoughts of what it contains mid-mouthful. But it just tastes so goooood. I also do not know why supermarkets feel inclined to emblazon the front of every packet of food with a pie chart of red telling you how bad it is for you.  

When I’m about to eat another biscuit and somebody chimes in with, “are you sure you need that?” Yes, I’m quite sure thank you. hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyou.

When my grandmother asks me why I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want to hear the question, and I don’t want to hear the answer.

Anything that could be replied to with, “don’t bite the hand that feeds you”. It inevitably leads to a heated debate about a child’s rights and a parent’s responsibilities. (I hope you’re reading this Mum)

That Angelo’s isn’t up the stairs. I was incredibly excited to watch Channel 5’s Summer Bay Reporter (a VIP access behind-the-scenes tour of Home and Away) when it was advertised a while back, but couldn’t actually bring myself to watch more than the first ten minutes because it quite literally shattered my illusions/hopes/dreams. I only got as far in as the bit where it was revealed that Angelo’s pizza restaurant wasn’t actually up the stairs from the Juice Bar/gym – it was merely a set designed to fool faithful viewers into thinking that these places really exist. I then decided that this programme was not for me. I also recently discovered that Summer Bay is a “mythological” town that doesn’t exist. Moral: The world is a dangerous and untrustworthy place.

A Refreshing Change

After a few negative blog posts (if I’m being honest, I think they are all pretty negative) I have decided to compile a list of things that I like/that make me happy/that I appreciate. I hope I can sustain the list for an adequate amount of time as I am aware of how easy I found it to compose a list of things I do not like…

• Inevitably, it must begin with the cold side of the pillow
• When my fridge at uni has food in it (which is rare)
• When there is money in my bank account (also rare)
• When it’s my birthday and I get presents
• Home and away (and sometimes Neighbours)
• James the giant panda
• 99 ice creams (before they started to cost more than 99p)
• Submitting essays (getting them back should be added to my negative list)
• Falling on the sofa just after the cushions have been plumped up
• The smell of chlorine
• A full tank of petrol (if I haven’t had to pay for it)
• The Wit & Wisdom column in The Week (and obviously all the educational bits too)
• Waking up in the middle of the night and realizing you still have loads of sleeping time before morning
• My youngest sister, Gemma (added on request)
• When my bread isn’t moldy
• When my hair smells nice
• Bananas
• My other sister, Belinda (for good measure)
• Drinking my tea when it’s the perfect temperature
• Looking at everyone else’s faces in the cinema
• Funny youtube videos
• Getting complimented for cooking/just generally getting complimented
• When I understand something in my Latin grammar class (rare)
• Completing a crossword
• Coca cola when I’m hung-over
• Every day that I am not hung-over
• Getting texts
• My potato masher (a JosephJoseph potato smasher – can do no wrong)
• Finishing a book
• Gold fish
• (And talking about myself, evidently)

The Train Journey

There are many reasons why I don't like trains. Here is a handful.

Buying tickets is painfully expensive, even with a railcard. I once forgot my railcard and it was cheaper to buy another one than it was to top up my ticket price. Fortunately I get so scared of missing my train, I generally arrive at the station a solid hour in advance of the expected departure time, so I had ample time to spend £6 (what an annoying number) on passport photos and £30 on a laminated bit of card, made more frustrating by the fact that I knew I had both at home. Usually though, I do not have anything to do in my hour-long wait. I get a coffee from an un-named coffee house and then sit/perch/lean on whatever I can find on the platform. The last train I got was running 27 minutes late. That means I was sitting on the platform for 1 hour and 27 minutes. As a general rule, when the train pulls into the station, human empathy is dismissed and I now know the true meaning of “it’s a dog eat dog world”. I try my best to avoid the kafuffle of suitcases/prams/babies/people ramming themselves into a carriage all at once (type ‘Japanese train station during rush hour’ into youtube). Stress continues for a short while as the seat reservations are invariably out of order, there is no space whatsoever in the luggage racks and even walking down the aisle seems to parody that funny youtube video of a cat getting stuck in a jumper sleeve. I am one of the lucky/sensible ones, who always books a seat. And you’d think that once you were sitting down the stress would be over. Well, it’s generally not. I always seem to end up sitting next to that inconsiderate commuter who eats egg sandwiches and doritos whilst drinking coffee and talking very loudly into their snazzy phone and tapping away at a stupid little mini-computer – whose screen can hardly even be seen – or worse, an iPad. Normally I end up in a backwards facing seat. A noisy child is never far away. Sometimes they have siblings. I am also constantly terrified that I will miss my stop and am sometimes too scared to listen to music in case I fall asleep, despite the fact that my train journey is about 4 hours long. I am also scared I will miss my connection. When I don’t miss my connection (which is always, as I have never actually missed it), I get scared I will get a train going in the opposite direction to Bath, and always have to say a little prayer that I am on the right train. Nervous anticipation ensues. So far though, I have never got on the wrong train, and have always made it home in some manner or other, even if I did once get a lift with a stranger. But that will be a story for another day because I should probably get back to my revision.

Things that I really don't like

• Opening milk bottles
• Busy supermarkets
• Being bored
• Being told that only boring people get bored
• Forgetting to take my washing out of the washing machine so it smells like wet dog and I have to wash it again
• Not having any money
• Needy people
• When you don’t wash up your cereal bowl straight away and then when it comes to washing it a day later, the cereal is caked on like limpets in a rock pool
• BBM – a never ending challenge to pretend to care about someone other than yourself
• When I run out of clean mugs
• When my boiled egg pops and it sprouts a lock of white eggy hair (see recent twitter post)
• Twitter?
• When the wind blows my hair into my eyes/mouth/face/other people’s faces
• Train journeys
• When we ceremoniously sit down to watch a television programme and then talk through 82% of it
• Eating spaghetti or beans
• Damp hands
• Clammy hands
• Saving the best bit of a meal until the end and then being too full to eat it
• The fact that I thought this would be quite a succinct list but that actually I feel I could go on for a while yet…

Sleep: A natural state of rest for mind and body

Spend all day semi-concentrating on life because I’m tired. Decide not to watch to the end of the film I started watching so I can get an early night. Make hot water bottle and go upstairs. Get ready for bed. Get all the stuff off my bed that has accumulated over the past 14 hours. Get into bed. Waste a bit of time on facebook because I don’t like the awkwardness of facebook not being the last thing I think about. Turn off laptop. Plug charger into phone. Turn off lamp. Shut eyes. Oh shit I need to set an alarm. Lamp on. Set alarm for what seems like not enough hours away. Lamp off. Shut eyes. Sleep. Oh wait. No just one more thought, I mustn’t forget tomorrow I need email the joint honours department. But before I do that I actually have to email my personal tutor and ask that question that seemed so relevant at the time but that I’ve now forgotten. And then tomorrow is my last day before my exam so I have loads of work to do. Don’t think about that now, just sleep and worry about it in the morning. But I mustn’t forget to look up that quote that I really need to remember for my exam. Thinking about it, I should probably look up all the quotes that I really need to remember for my exam. Maybe I’ll make a quick to do list. Lamp on. Exercise my incredible capacity to plan my day minute by minute. Eyes accustom to light. Feel awake again. Send a quick text. Wait for response but decide that actually it’s not worth it. Turn out light. Eyes can’t shut. Lying in fear of falling asleep and then being woken up by text. Put phone on silent. Eyes can’t shut. Eyes stuck focusing on phone waiting for red light to flash. Don’t be silly, just go to sleep. Roll over. Have a quick check of phone every 5 mins or so. Thinking all the stupid thoughts everyone thinks when it’s nighttime and you know you don’t really have to worry about them. But then start to worry about them. Then hear a noise. Think of all the possible scenarios the noise could have arisen from. Decide there’s probably someone living under my bed. Hide entire body under duvet and try not to breathe noisily. Get really hot and realize I’m being stupid. Emerge and roll over. Just drifting into much needed sleep. Feel eyes shutting blissfully. See a red flash out of the corner of my eye.

Second to none.

This will only be brief, but I just wanted to quickly highlight the malleability of our perceptions of the world around us. I have recently read a fair few articles celebrating the life of/mourning the loss of the great Christopher Hitchens, and the most successful by far – in its apparent aims and achievements – was Ian McEwan in the Guardian; ‘The consummate writer, the brilliant friend’. Unfortunately, everything I read subsequently seemed inadequate in content, language and reflection. I read one that quite frankly gave the impression that the journalist just had nothing better to do with their time. Similarly, Attenborough’s latest television hit, ‘Frozen Planet’ made it very challenging to remain objective. I could not help but marvel at the ability of a production team to manipulate my emotions so strongly. If I see baby polar bears first, growing up and getting hungry, I completely understand and can utterly justify their need to consume baby seals (they’re not that cute when they grow up anyway). But show me the seals first, striving to grow strong and learning to fend for themselves, and suddenly how could these torturous, beastly, ghastly, grizzly bears tear up a baby seal with such ferocity and then stand so proudly with blood-stained fur and pose in an air of arrogance for the camera?

As much as I understand that the adult mentality should try to remain objective, and see every aspect from all angles, it’s not always that easy. So this is just a note of recognition for all the things you see second. I salute you for bearing such prejudiced opinions thrust upon you by bad journalism and television producers.