I am hopelessly failing in Ancient History
I am helplessly flailing in Ancient History
I am horrendously falling in Ancient History
I am humourously phallic in Ancient History
A phallus is funny and the mood needs lightening
27 September 2006
26 September 2006
Quotes of the week, emerging from that bountious, intelectually abounding, idealogically nurturing, undwindingly nutty intstitution referred to affectionately as 'school'.
'Yes, I went to my scan. Yes, the baby's fine. Has all fingers and toes etc. Yes, it was an amazing experience. It does look like a piranha though.' Mrs M, English
'You were definitely there Joe. You were! You must have the sheet, I expressly remember you being in that lesson. It was the sheet that I then copied off you later.'
'You copying off me?! Then I definitely can't have been there! That'll be the day, when it's me doing the work and Kirky doing the copying.' Joe, Ancient History
'My report is crazy!!! Have you seen what they said in English?!!! In the target and aims section it said that I should seriously try some relaxation exercises!!! Isn't that hilarious?!!!!' Barnsey, said a million miles an hour
'I hate her! She is such a slag. The Wife of Bath really is a whore!' Harry, English
'Yes, I went to my scan. Yes, the baby's fine. Has all fingers and toes etc. Yes, it was an amazing experience. It does look like a piranha though.' Mrs M, English
'You were definitely there Joe. You were! You must have the sheet, I expressly remember you being in that lesson. It was the sheet that I then copied off you later.'
'You copying off me?! Then I definitely can't have been there! That'll be the day, when it's me doing the work and Kirky doing the copying.' Joe, Ancient History
'My report is crazy!!! Have you seen what they said in English?!!! In the target and aims section it said that I should seriously try some relaxation exercises!!! Isn't that hilarious?!!!!' Barnsey, said a million miles an hour
'I hate her! She is such a slag. The Wife of Bath really is a whore!' Harry, English
'Noooo! Not active learning again! Active learning is craaaaap.' the English class, en masse
Mr S: So, does everyone now know what they're meant to be doing?
silence
Laura: Yes
Mr S: Thankyou Laura! The only person who ever actually listens to me
Laura: Sorry, what?
Ancient History
'Right, so the Roman Emperors, in order, were Augustus, Tiberius, Gaius, Claudius, Nero, Galba, Otho, Vitellius, Vespasian, Titus, Domitian, Keith.' Sarah, Ancient History
It is therefore worth going in sometimes.
20 September 2006
Astro physics for idealists
Warning: May contain traces of soppiness
A rather lovely notion happened upon me at meditation this evening. We are all, as humans, essentially pure and clear just as the moon is. When we behave in harmful or offensive ways, or act badly, it is a result of the passing clouds. These clouds can confuse us and our judgement can go awry. Things happen that disarm us and distort our pure natures, but they will pass as clouds pass over the moon, with it emerging with brilliant clarity once more.
This struck me as A Good Thing.
Mind you, the same school of thought also talks of rubbing only parts of the elephant. So there you go.
A rather lovely notion happened upon me at meditation this evening. We are all, as humans, essentially pure and clear just as the moon is. When we behave in harmful or offensive ways, or act badly, it is a result of the passing clouds. These clouds can confuse us and our judgement can go awry. Things happen that disarm us and distort our pure natures, but they will pass as clouds pass over the moon, with it emerging with brilliant clarity once more.
This struck me as A Good Thing.
Mind you, the same school of thought also talks of rubbing only parts of the elephant. So there you go.
17 September 2006
A sore subject
Stage one of my initiation into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is under way. Having long harboured a passion to join the pizza eating, sewer dwelling, weapon wielding foursome, I am finally beginning my transformation. In that my skin is turning reptilian.
Okay, so I am trying to glamourise my rash. Rashes are not glamourous. And I don't get them. At least not until now. It is slowly but surely taking over my whole body so will soon resemble a strawberry with legs. Also becoming fidgety, scratching all the time in that distracted, irritating way that always leads folks to be suspicious of one's sanity and hygiene. Like old cat ladies. Which is what I will end up no doubt.
Anyway, I have narrowed it down to the following things to which I could be allergic...
Buses: a lot of time spent on public transport recently. Carpet seats a hazard, not to mention the pungent air freshener.
Work: am back at school and therefore doing far too much with those little grey cells.
Having fun: arguably too much of that this week what with various celebrations. My bodies reaction to a little normal life.
Bad telly: by which I mean mindless, yet brilliant, tosh. Usually straight after the aforementioned 'work' of school.
Lack of Friends: hence the bad telly. Haven't watched an episode in days. Withdrawel symptoms.
Lack of friends: all buggering off to pastures new, leaving us poor souls to aimlessly drift amongst the deserted streets of Hexham.
Cleanliness: perhaps a delayed reaction to having a clean house now that it is Pammed weekly. Body not used to this. It needs dirt, dust and festering mould for the old immune system to function adequately.
Alternatively, it could be the hairband I was wearing the other day. Whatever the cause, the bizarre mottled markings are both fascinating and grotesque. I may volunteer myself for experimentation.
Okay, so I am trying to glamourise my rash. Rashes are not glamourous. And I don't get them. At least not until now. It is slowly but surely taking over my whole body so will soon resemble a strawberry with legs. Also becoming fidgety, scratching all the time in that distracted, irritating way that always leads folks to be suspicious of one's sanity and hygiene. Like old cat ladies. Which is what I will end up no doubt.
Anyway, I have narrowed it down to the following things to which I could be allergic...
Buses: a lot of time spent on public transport recently. Carpet seats a hazard, not to mention the pungent air freshener.
Work: am back at school and therefore doing far too much with those little grey cells.
Having fun: arguably too much of that this week what with various celebrations. My bodies reaction to a little normal life.
Bad telly: by which I mean mindless, yet brilliant, tosh. Usually straight after the aforementioned 'work' of school.
Lack of Friends: hence the bad telly. Haven't watched an episode in days. Withdrawel symptoms.
Lack of friends: all buggering off to pastures new, leaving us poor souls to aimlessly drift amongst the deserted streets of Hexham.
Cleanliness: perhaps a delayed reaction to having a clean house now that it is Pammed weekly. Body not used to this. It needs dirt, dust and festering mould for the old immune system to function adequately.
Alternatively, it could be the hairband I was wearing the other day. Whatever the cause, the bizarre mottled markings are both fascinating and grotesque. I may volunteer myself for experimentation.
9 September 2006
Hit me with your rhythm stick
I am living in a percussionist's wet dream.
Not a moment passes when there is not some inane, mindless noise emanating from some corner of the house. And not just mere mumblings or tuneless humming either, but window pane cracking, foundation shaking, ear drum piercing noise. Whistling, furniture slapping and thwacking, top-of-their-voice singing, bizarre other-worldly yelps, squeals, and beatboxing all issue forth from developing larynx's and acoustically astounding mouths of the brothers.
I suppose this perpetual noise must be interpreted as: 'Please on no account forget that I am here, notice me, pay me attention, yoohoo, hellooooo, I am here by the way, have you noticed me because I am very much present, I must make it known that I. AM. HERE.'
Heaven forbid we cease to acknowledge this.
However, it has the adverse effect as the consistent bashings and bangings mean that when something important or noteworthy does have to be said, it merges in with all the other background noise that I have learnt to live with and come to expect. Silence is rather a foreign concept, throwing me for six if ever a moment of it chances upon my bleeding ears.
I have accepted it as inescapable; noise occurs when they are in good moods (celebrating life in all its glory and revelling in the multitudinous manners of noise creation- mostly the singing is on the menu at these times), and bad moods (shouting, swearing, door slamming, electric guitar thrashing, drum whacking and all manner of other joys on these occasions).
This morning J actually took a brief break from the eternal quest to produce the highest decibel sounds from a mere mortal ever to be heard, but only to yell at N to 'Shut up, for Christ's sake!'
Nobody but nobody is to even attempt to outdo him in the noisy stakes. N gives it a bloody good shot however.
This, nevertheless, is the soundtrack to my life. The air would surely resonate with emptiness and solitude without it, with only my thoughts, doubts, fears for company.
Sounds rather lovely. Music to my ears actually.
Not a moment passes when there is not some inane, mindless noise emanating from some corner of the house. And not just mere mumblings or tuneless humming either, but window pane cracking, foundation shaking, ear drum piercing noise. Whistling, furniture slapping and thwacking, top-of-their-voice singing, bizarre other-worldly yelps, squeals, and beatboxing all issue forth from developing larynx's and acoustically astounding mouths of the brothers.
I suppose this perpetual noise must be interpreted as: 'Please on no account forget that I am here, notice me, pay me attention, yoohoo, hellooooo, I am here by the way, have you noticed me because I am very much present, I must make it known that I. AM. HERE.'
Heaven forbid we cease to acknowledge this.
However, it has the adverse effect as the consistent bashings and bangings mean that when something important or noteworthy does have to be said, it merges in with all the other background noise that I have learnt to live with and come to expect. Silence is rather a foreign concept, throwing me for six if ever a moment of it chances upon my bleeding ears.
I have accepted it as inescapable; noise occurs when they are in good moods (celebrating life in all its glory and revelling in the multitudinous manners of noise creation- mostly the singing is on the menu at these times), and bad moods (shouting, swearing, door slamming, electric guitar thrashing, drum whacking and all manner of other joys on these occasions).
This morning J actually took a brief break from the eternal quest to produce the highest decibel sounds from a mere mortal ever to be heard, but only to yell at N to 'Shut up, for Christ's sake!'
Nobody but nobody is to even attempt to outdo him in the noisy stakes. N gives it a bloody good shot however.
This, nevertheless, is the soundtrack to my life. The air would surely resonate with emptiness and solitude without it, with only my thoughts, doubts, fears for company.
Sounds rather lovely. Music to my ears actually.
1 September 2006
Tears before bedtime?
Within the blink of an eye, yet another party is being prepared for. What party animals us Kirks must be. It must be that father of mine, encouraging such wild child behaviour and raucous activity. He leads by example naturally.
Anyway, this is one legendary Kirk event that I do not intend to be present for. I think the boozing/smoking/drugging will be far too hardcore for the likes of moi. It is a fifteenth birthday party after all. A swig of beer (alcohol content= negligible) and the mayhem is sure to ensue. Best I stay out of it and head down the pub I say (more chance of getting myself a drink there too, without those fired up, hormone riddled gannets pilfering it all), making my return only after the house once again looks habitable, the inevitable friction, disapproving looks, and resulting argument with the homeward bound dad is over, and all traces of teenage boy smell, girlish giggles, and inexperienced snoggings are vanquished.
Sigh, they grow up so fast don't they. Those were the days. Cider in the park. Fiddling awkwardly with lighters. Vomiting, dizziness. Fizziness of bacardi breezers. So fleeting are these youthful moments of sheer delight. The excitement of really living.
Thank God I'm past that.
Anyway, this is one legendary Kirk event that I do not intend to be present for. I think the boozing/smoking/drugging will be far too hardcore for the likes of moi. It is a fifteenth birthday party after all. A swig of beer (alcohol content= negligible) and the mayhem is sure to ensue. Best I stay out of it and head down the pub I say (more chance of getting myself a drink there too, without those fired up, hormone riddled gannets pilfering it all), making my return only after the house once again looks habitable, the inevitable friction, disapproving looks, and resulting argument with the homeward bound dad is over, and all traces of teenage boy smell, girlish giggles, and inexperienced snoggings are vanquished.
Sigh, they grow up so fast don't they. Those were the days. Cider in the park. Fiddling awkwardly with lighters. Vomiting, dizziness. Fizziness of bacardi breezers. So fleeting are these youthful moments of sheer delight. The excitement of really living.
Thank God I'm past that.
Threesomes
When bored I think in threes (or in extreme cases, fives. Threes will suffice for now however)...
Three favourite desserts:
Pavlova
Ginger Hedgehog (a quaint yet delicious Kirk speciality)
Mum-made Chocolate Mousse
Three effective swearword-avoiding insults:
Spoon
Div
Pleb
Three things I would rather do than return to school tomorrow:
Watch the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice (the exact length of a school day if watched back to back - no coincidence)
Be exorcised of woes with Philip and Fern on This Morning
Prise out my toenails with tweezers then liberally douse with lemon juice
Three possible names for a future child of mine:
Esme
James
Olivia
Three things that grate on me:
J stirring his lemsip with a teaspoon, clunking the side, then proceeding to drink it unimaginably slowly and loudly
The predictability of the state of the sofa cushions
Mum's ineptness at locating the word she requires at any given time
Three programmes that make paying the TV licence worth the money (not that I pay):
Neighbours
Midsomer Murders
Friends
Three of my favourite words:
Stoic
Cribbage
Lugubrious
Three things guaranteed to make me smile:
Anna Picard/JonnyB/Lucy Mangan
Adam Roberts (just generally, especially his face)
French in the good old days with the many Gaffneyisms
Three things I am ashamed of:
Laughing at Adam Roberts
My love of gossip magazines
That I once put a piece of chewing gum back in my mouth after it had dropped on the ground (having had one too many)
Three things I am proud of:
Coming from a liberal (if dysfunctional) family
My unceasing and inexhaustible patience with said family (I truly am an angel)
My high insteps
Three useless body parts:
Appendix
Ear lobes
Tonsils (if they are so very useful, why are they always being removed?)
Three things that make me feel physically sick:
The taste/smell/thought of martini
Finding other people's toenail clippings on the sofa
Speedos
Three geeky pleasures:
University Challenge
Listening to Dad pontificate on any given subject
Watching period dramas endlessly
Three things that should last forever but alas cannot:
N's excitement and optimism regarding highschool
An idyllic childhood
This list of things that have been thought of in threes
Three favourite desserts:
Pavlova
Ginger Hedgehog (a quaint yet delicious Kirk speciality)
Mum-made Chocolate Mousse
Three effective swearword-avoiding insults:
Spoon
Div
Pleb
Three things I would rather do than return to school tomorrow:
Watch the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice (the exact length of a school day if watched back to back - no coincidence)
Be exorcised of woes with Philip and Fern on This Morning
Prise out my toenails with tweezers then liberally douse with lemon juice
Three possible names for a future child of mine:
Esme
James
Olivia
Three things that grate on me:
J stirring his lemsip with a teaspoon, clunking the side, then proceeding to drink it unimaginably slowly and loudly
The predictability of the state of the sofa cushions
Mum's ineptness at locating the word she requires at any given time
Three programmes that make paying the TV licence worth the money (not that I pay):
Neighbours
Midsomer Murders
Friends
Three of my favourite words:
Stoic
Cribbage
Lugubrious
Three things guaranteed to make me smile:
Anna Picard/JonnyB/Lucy Mangan
Adam Roberts (just generally, especially his face)
French in the good old days with the many Gaffneyisms
Three things I am ashamed of:
Laughing at Adam Roberts
My love of gossip magazines
That I once put a piece of chewing gum back in my mouth after it had dropped on the ground (having had one too many)
Three things I am proud of:
Coming from a liberal (if dysfunctional) family
My unceasing and inexhaustible patience with said family (I truly am an angel)
My high insteps
Three useless body parts:
Appendix
Ear lobes
Tonsils (if they are so very useful, why are they always being removed?)
Three things that make me feel physically sick:
The taste/smell/thought of martini
Finding other people's toenail clippings on the sofa
Speedos
Three geeky pleasures:
University Challenge
Listening to Dad pontificate on any given subject
Watching period dramas endlessly
Three things that should last forever but alas cannot:
N's excitement and optimism regarding highschool
An idyllic childhood
This list of things that have been thought of in threes
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