This is really bad, I need to get on with my essay. It’s terrible. Although, I am now 20% through my essay, which is a full 5% closer than last time. The house is full of housemates’ music and it’s really hard to concentrate!

I’ve been a little disturbed at my exclamations of late. For those that don’t live with me, I’m prone to shout things out at random intervals. They express mild annoyance (i.e. TV being crap) or frustration (i.e. essays being crap).

Recently my exclamations have been centred around predicting death. For instance; “Oh, we’re all going to die!”. Technically, these exclamations are true. At some point, we will, all of us, die. At least that’s the justification. But anyway. They’re not meant to be maudlin or depressing, and as long as I don’t do it in front of strangers or anything I think it’ll be OK.

I bought Belleville Rendez Vous on DVD the other day. I’m so looking forward to it! It’s a French animated film (by Sylvain Chomet) and it’s about a cycling champion who is kidnapped by gangsters. It’s deliciously surreal and slightly dark in places, and I can’t wait to see it again! (I saw it a few months ago on TV, late at night, and really enjoyed it then).

Over here, in Britain, we’ve just had “bonfire night”. Also called “Guy Fawkes’” or simply “fireworks night” (or even just “the fifth of November”). This is when we celebrate the ruthless and bloodthirsty torture, subsequent confession by, and execution of our best-loved scapegoat traitor, Guy Fawkes. There’s even a song!

Remember, remember
the Fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
Remember, remember
the Fifth of November,
Something that rhymes with ‘and plot’*.

(Apologies, I have forgotten the last line…)

Families gather round bonfires and burn effigies of said traitor, and fireworks are lit all over the nation. This gives the most wondrous impression of being in a warzone with the city all around you being mortared (or shelled, whichever you prefer) by terrorists. You do get to see some lovely fireworks, though.

The history behind this event is this: In 1705, Guy Fawkes and some other (Catholic) conspirators made a plan to blow up the (Protestant) king, James I, on November 5th. They laid a store of gunpowder under the houses of Westminster but were stopped when someone received what we would call today an ‘anonymous tip-off’. The conspirators were then tortured until they signed a confession, and exectuted.

Isn’t it quaint, British culture.

I think I’ve found a new meaning for the word ‘shaving’. I discovered it this morning, and I will be submitting my findings to the Oxford Concise English Dictionary people.

Shaving

v. to re-open old wounds

I was going through my files today when I came across a graph that I’d half-drawn and then given up on. It’s quite funny.

Also found this, which is amazing:

Nelson Mandela, Inaugural Speech, 1994

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

And this, which I thought was beautiful:

Hymn to Osiris

I have come home. I have entered humanhood, bound to rocks and plants, men and women, rivers and sky. I shall be with you in this and other worlds. When the cat arches in the doorway, think of me. I have sometimes been like that. When two men greet each other in the street, I am there speaking to you. When you look up, know I am there — sun and moon pouring my love around you. All these things I am, portents, images, signs. Though apart, I am a part of you. One of the million things in the universe, I am the universe, too. You think I disguise myself as rivers and trees simply to confuse you? Whatever I am, woman, cat or lotus, the same god breathes in every body. You and I together are a single creation. Neither death nor spite nor fear nor ignorance stops my love for you.

“Awakening Osiris — The Egyptian Book of the Dead.” Copyright © 1988 Normandi Ellis.

Well I’m doing some reading for my ecotoxicology essay, and I’m reading an article entitled Assessment of sublethal endpoints for toxicity testing with the nematode Ceanorhabditis elegans. Oh yes, I’m a real scientist.

Anyway, one of the authors is called Windy A. Boyd.

It’s a bit ungracious of me to say this, I guess, because it’s his article which is gonna help me with my essay, but I just thought it was a funny name. No offence, Mr Boyd ;D

Today I made some observations. Well, one, really. And that is that over-eating makes you sleepy. Really really sleepy. I ate more than I usually do at dinner and I think I might have broken my stomach. I feel really full even though I ate ages ago, and now I feel stupidly sleepy.

It’s like the food is squeezing its way out of my stomach in great thick blobs and just going straight into the bloodstream. Although this is impossible, because I would be dead, what with having massive blockages in my veins. But anyway, I am finding it really difficult to keep my eyes open and I’m trying to read things for this essay and I really can’t because i just fall asleep every time I try to!

Anyway, last night I went out with next door! It was one of our neighbours’ birthdays and she invited us to join her for her birthday. It was really nice to finally meet some of our neighbours and actually get to know them rather than just be annoyed by them. Not that nextdoor’s annoying! They’re not! It was our previous neighbours who were annoying…

10:55 pm

All is solved! It was quiche! Just been speaking to my housemate and he ate the same quiche last night that I ate today. It must be evil quiche or something. Either that or just quiche with loads of stuff in it. Well, I’m glad I know what it is now.

I’m supposed to be writing an essay in French: Doping: The future or the death of sport? which in itself is difficult. How can doping be the future of sport?! But anyway, I found a passage in my reading for the essay that made me laugh. It’s from an article about how sport in general has been becoming less and less professional. It gives particular incidents and their dates.

Sun, 31 January at the ‘Bocca’*, Division 2 meeting between Cannes and Nice. The referee, Sébastien Chabbert, who comes from Cannes, is hit by a metal boules ball. He lies, spread-eagle on the ground, unconscious. Boules, mobile phones, tin cans, scissors… are strewn across the pitch. The President of Cannes FC stops the match saying ‘This is no longer sport, but war.’

* I don’t know what this means, I think it might be a sports stadium, but I’m not sure.

I just thought that was funny. And here’s the French!

Dimance 31 janvier A La Bocca, rencontre de D2 entre Cannes et Nice. Le gardien cannois, Sébastien Chabbert, est touché par un boule de pétanque. Il gît, inconscient. Des boules, des téléphones portable, des boîtes de conserve, des ciseaux… jonchent la pelouse. Le président du FC cannois refuse de reprendre le match. « Ce n’est plus du sport, c’est la geurre. »