Guilt

I've just been chugged.

"Chugging" is what those people with clipboards do on the streets, grabbing people and asking them to donate to whatever charity. I think the term comes from Charity-Mugging. I was recently chugged by a guy from Action for Medical Research (see the link at the top of my page for the baby petition and the link to the right for more information). He put forward such a strong case that I was happy to help. I am going to change the amount I'm donating every month, as it's a little more than I can really afford, but I was happy to sign up.

However, I've just been chugged again and now I feel guilty. I was wandering down Tottenham Court Road on my break from essay (I'm now back in the library) and a guy stopped me. I said I was in a hurry (sort of, I was hungry) and he said it wouldn't take long. I pointed out that I was a student and had no money and he asked could I not afford £1.25 a week? I said that I already supported a number of charities and anyway, I can barely afford to pay my rent this month. He looked awfully sympathetic and then complimented me on my bag.

"Nice bag," says he, "Where did you get it?"
"Thanks, " says me, "Oxford Street."
"Oh, very nice. Quiksilver I see?" says my friend.
"Yup"
"Oh well, have a nice day..."

Leaving me to wallow in my guilt. Blatantly his point was "Nice, sort of designer (in the very loosest sense) bag, and yet she says she can't give me £1.25 a week?".
No, I can't. I have a nice bag yes, but this is so I can carry the mulitude of books to lectures/library every day, along with all my dancing stuff. I give to three charities regularly (Amnesty, National Trust, AMR and Action for ME) and I run 5k for Cancer Research every year, last year raising more than £400. I can't afford to pay my rent (well I can, just, if I don't eat for a few weeks), and it's Christmas, and my credit card bill is due. I can't afford to give any more to charity. I really can't.

So why do I feel so guilty?

Miserable

Ok, I really have nothing to complain about. But, I'm going to moan anyway. If you lose any respect for me after I've had this moan then I apologise, but hey.

Its cold, it's wet and it's miserable. We still have mice, and the heating, after a brief spell of working, isn't anymore. I got SOAKED coming home from the library at 7pm, where I had been since 1pm, without seeming to get much done. Because of the impending holiday to South Africa (which I am really excited about, don't get me wrong), I have to write 3/4 essays before Christmas. I am not at home, or even at Phil's house, being fed lovely warm food, but in my house in London, freezing cold. I won't see Phil much this weekend because I am working tomorrow, and at a rehearsal all day on Sunday. I can't cook anything because my housemates have left the washing up for 4 DAYS. I am being resilient and not washing up, because it's not mine, but it's really beginning to get to me.

Rant over.

Good things - leaves are turning exciting colours, I have found a new blogging friend (Shirl), and I have one interesting essay to write, out of the 4 (effects of reading on children with cochlear implants). I am loved, fairly healthy, and there is food in the fridge (though I can't cook it). Will stop moaning now...

Exciting Day in London

Yes, this weekend I had an "exciting day in London" with Phil and Steve. Steve had come up from Southampton for a mutual friend's birthday, so Phil and I decided we would take him round all the London sights... These included: The Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey and The Science Museum, including the Space Exhibition and the Flight exhibition, where Steve showed off his geeky side by telling me the names of all the different types of planes, and identifying their engines...
All good fun, though very tiring (for me anyway). This weekend I have exciting fireworks to look forward to... I'm such a small child!

All creatures great and small...

I've just had my first confrontation with the small, brown and furry... Yes, in my house we have an infestation of mice. I always thought mice were sort of cute and fluffy and I would never ever want to kill them....

However, now that I am sharing my house with small furry vermin, I am less inclined to be friendly. One has just run across the kitchen floor as I walked to have a shower (we have a strange set up in our house), and I screamed like a little girl. I refrained from jumping up on a chair brandishing a broom, but, yes, I did scream like the female stereotype that I am...

Its not the mice, so much, as the "mice mess". If they were toilet trained (and had clean feet), then I'd be happy to accommodate them (so long as they didn't eat my food). But they're really, really, really, not. And we've tried humane mousetraps (cos, really, who wants to deal with a dead mouse?), but they're just not playing ball. So tomorrow the landlord is bringing over some slow acting poison...

Let's just hope that the Buddhists don't have it right, and I'm not going to end up coming back as a stagbeetle because of crimes against rodents...

Fluff plague

In an attempt to distract myself from reading (there's a theme here, can you spot it?), I have, this morning, put some washing on. This was mainly so I can wear jeans that fit tomorrow, but also for something to do. I have just rescued the washing only to discover that I am being plagued by fluff.

Pink fluff.
Blue fluff.
Fluff coloured fluff.

Forget your locusts and flying frogs. The fluff is everywhere. All my clothes are covered in it, and I can't get rid of it. It all comes from buying cheap towels at Tescos, in bright colours, and then washing them. It's the washing that does it.

A fluffy plague on both our houses...

Granny Wars

I was just waiting in the Post Office to send a parcel to Hannah, and was witness to a moment too amusing to not blog....
There was a considerable queue at the Post Office (I don't know why this always is, can anyone shed any light on it?), and there was, in front of me, a small old lady, with a wheely trolley. In front of her were two younger women, chatting, and just genrally waiting for the queue to move. Slowly, but surely, I watched the old lady push her trolley subtly in front of the women in front of her... She was very subtle, and the women didn't notice it happening, so it was just me, left in my indignation.

In fact, she was so subtle that by the time the next number was called (which should have be the women), she was in front of them, and drawing her pension as quick as a flash! The women either didn't notice or were too gobsmacked to say anything!
It amused me at the time, mainly because she got away with it by looking like a little old lady who wouldn't hurt a fly. So, be warned, watch out for old people with trollies... Lethal in the "queue jumping stakes" !!

Am I being petty?

Sorry, this is a completely self indulgent moan...

My housemates went out clubbing on Monday night, leaving a fair amount of washing up from dinner. I left it, as they said they'd do it when they got back, or the next day. I left the house yesterday (Tues, confused yet?) at 4pm. Still no movement of the mountain of dishes, but, I assumed this was due to the hungover state of housemate A and would be rectified

Now, on my way home tonight I got a message from housemate. "Sorry about the washing up, I've not been feeling well since Trash [the club]". This is a good 24 hours after I was last in the house, and not only have the dishes still not been done, but even more have been added. In fact, the sink is full of dishes, in cold minging water. So someone has filled up the bowl, and put the dishes in, but has not actually washed them. Which, frankly, is unhygenic.

I am currently sulking in my room (the house is empty, so I can't moan at anyone but you, my poor readers), quite hungry, but aware that cooking would involve washing up someone else's dishes (we're low on cooking equip in our house!). I would also like to point out that I have not cooked anything in the house since before they went out clubbing, so none of it (well, maybe a mug) is mine.

Now, I know I am probably being petty, and please feel free to tell me so. But, it really annoys me, and I've only been in the house about a week and a half.....

Rant over!

PS: Stress/ranting/sulkiness levels maybe higher than normal due to stressing about The Play. It'll all be over soon!

PPS: Ironically the picture has been borrowed from a BBC Health article about ME...