Happy Holidays

Happy Easter and all that.

This holiday was, according to one of our teachers, not actually a holiday, merely a span of time in which to revise. Well, so much for that, as the past two or three days have been the only time where I’ve been physically able to touch anything related to schoolwork (computer notwithstanding, obviously). Much of it has been spent doing graphics coursework, though my progress has been halted due to the fact that I don’t own a laser cutter, can’t find a craft knife anywhere, and don’t have any white A4 card. On top of that, the school’s amazing new system which lets you access the server remotely is completely buggered, and I was rather relying on it’s functionality as some bastard nicked my USB pen.

Onto slightly more interesting issues, and the Tuesday just gone saw me, and three friends (including Emily), having an ‘Easter party’, of sorts. Admittedly, it was more of a ‘get together’ than anything else, but it was fun nonetheless, featuring such games as ‘pin the egg in the middle of the nest’. Needless to say, the act of spinning the blindfolded person got a tad out of hand, to the point where it was physically impossible to stand up, and one egg in particular got stuck to the wall about thirty centimetres wide of the nest.

The lack of alcohol was a bit of a disappointment; I’ve never actually got drunk (as far as I’m aware, at any rate), but it definitely helps to break the ice. The fact that the ice was already broken isn’t relevant, so shut up.

After a walk round the ultra-lively centre of all things exciting that is Bamford, which involved feeding ducks, we returned home to eat spaghetti Bolognese. One of the aforementioned friends, Heather, was reluctant to visit the ducks at first, fearing that ‘they might have bird flu’. However, I pointed out, as I’ve said in one of my previous entries, that she had, to my knowledge, no intention of kissing the ducks or fondling their faeces, and that the chances of them all leaping out of the water to cough on her were a gabillion to one. This seemed to snap her out of her state of rabid paranoia, and pretty soon we were all on our way to the duck pond, eagerly anticipating the adrenaline-filled thrill that is throwing bread into a bit of water. When we arrived at the pond, how many ducks were there? Two. Yep, despite the overcoming of birdfluophobia, the scrounging of bread, and the walk, only two of the lazy bastards could be arsed to poke their heads out of the reeds.

I’m joking, ducks are great really, but it is slightly disheartening when you’ve brought a feast for a few hundred of them and only a couple turn out. Nevertheless, we fed them, and I probably injured one of them as well. Without giving away too much information, let’s just say it got in the way of the bread.

At this rate I’ll end up with a book on duck-feeding, so I’ll stop.

Following the duck encounter, we walked along the footpath, across the river, and to a big field. Without my knowledge, it had somehow been decided that Heather and Emily were going to run to one end of the field and back. Really, I have absolutely no idea why they decided to do this. I can only hazard a guess that they were trying to make themselves hungry or something. Anyway, they set off, leaving me and Olivia stood at the edge of the field laughing at the way the other two ran.

On their return, Heather went home to start the spag bol, and me, Emily and Olivia went to the shop to get drinks and some natural yoghurt. Yoghurt became something of a discussion point between us; to them the thought of putting it on spaghetti Bolognese seemed absurd, but to me it just seems natural. If I was Richard Madeley I’d probably start a text-vote on who eats spaghetti Bolognese with yoghurt. However, as always, I’m not (thank fuck), so I won’t.

After much confusion and general hilarity as Heather’s lounge was, piece by piece, taken apart and rebuilt into four beds, we sat, or lay, rather, down to watch a film. Final Destination was our original choice, but Heather decided she didn’t want to watch it, which led to my creating a compromise, ‘Let’s just watch till the first death’. For those of you unfamiliar with Final Destination, this is someone being asphyxiated by a shower cord. Moments earlier, the same person had decided it would be a good idea to try and shave with a dry razor, no shaving foam, and a dry face, and then practically shoved the razor into their neck. Quite why anyone would be so immensely stupid is a mystery, but there you go.

The second movie, One Night at McCools, was, it has to be said, very good. Though, having said that, I was extremely tired and in the end the only thing keeping me awake was the woman in it. Really though, it’s a great movie, especially if you’re into men dressed in chains and jock straps getting crushed by big garbage cans. Class.

Well, I’ve expended far too much energy on this entry. I know this because WinAmp has played through two-and-a-half full albums while I’ve been typing, as well as Dani California by Red Hot Chili Peppers, which is an awesome song.