D8 BuT tEh RaBbIt!

Let it be known, that I now believe in the power of the lucky rabbits foot. On the way here, my Dad almost flattened one, and it miraculously survived! Thinking about it, most of the wildlife in Whitters seems to be quite lacking in brain power at the moment. It was only yesterday that my mother was telling about the pheasant that ambushed her while she was trimming the grass in our garden. Flew up into her face, all because it was frightened to death of the carrier bag she uses to scare off the wood pigeons. ¬¬. We're not even sure why it was there; in Whitters, the pheasants live on the side of the village. I can't help but think it was lost. Mother asked grandad - he was a farmer in his youth - and he says they're probably roosting. So great - more pheasants, on completely the wrong side of Whitters, smack in the middle of Fox territory ^^b.

It's not only the pheasants that ambushed my mother of late. You all have them, don't you? Weird neighbours; the kind you see on Escape to the country, who're dead set on retiring to the midlands and setting up a vegetable patch? Enter Chicken George. For years he's been stealing land, getting rid of the horses at the top of our garden and of late we wondered why. Well, it all became clear when i was summoned awake on Sunday morning by my mother's screams. Peeking through my mum and Dad's window, I was much amused to spot four and twenty chickens flapping round the garden - my mum flapping with them, spade in hand, yelling 'GAREEEEEEE'. It was like chicken run - only funnier.

Seems Chicken George moved to the midlands and stole all that land - for a chicken coop.

I remember (Reflections of the First Year)

It's been a crazy year, what with adjustments and workload, I suppose the best way to fully conclude is the same way I did here. So here goes...

I remember the box of food in our front room expanding in size and worrying what would happen if I didn't get in.

I remember being ectastic I was accepted for all the wrong reasons.

I remember cooking my first meal and proudly phoning my mother to tell her all about it.

I remember spending all or at least most of my time on a cushion chair in Pizza Hut.

I remember being worried my Chii ears wouldn't arrive.

I remember standing in my kitchen with Laney, putting onions on cocktail sticks.

I remember one of the first creative writing classes and the flush of despair (zetsubou shitaaaaa) when I didnt have any important objects to put on the table.

I remember having my picture taken for the Derbyshire times to celebrate my achievement and having my hair blown all over the shant ¬_¬

I remember the first (and prolly only) time I visited Mosh.

I remember visiting my friends at Christmas and wondering if I had changed as much as they had.

I remember my Carley rage.

I remember the first time I visited the oriental supermarket.

I remember my first taste of Pocky.

I remember the first assignment I did and how worried I was that it would fail.

I remember the first assignment party.

I remember there being sheep.

I remember being a psychic over animal transformation.

Emotionally blackmailing the poetic license since 1792

Proof that my talents lie not only in the literary field, but the visual one too.

Of Pizza and Pebbles

Our trip to Zizzi's today was preceded by a short, sharp shower of rain. Laney panicked that she would not be able to straighten her hair in time, only to poke me on the shoulder on the corner of her accommodation building as I fought most ungracefully with what can only be described as a mangled umbrella. Sod's law states that of course it should rain drastically on the day we decide to do something that involves going outside.

By the time we actually found the place (I had terrible visions of us turning the corner at Fenwicks, and getting completely lost), it wasn't actually open. Luckily, the nice waitress lady let us in anyway and we ordered drinks (thankfully not water).

Discussion fell to Laney's recent trip to the Somme, which you can read about here; we soon found humour in our personal fail powers. Returning home from France, Laney's coach broke down half an hour away from town, a seemingly recurring event. This brought a smile to my face, as I also have extremely bad luck on motorways, once getting stuck for three hours on what should have been a twenty minute journey.

Hmmm...Laney has the power to stop coaches. I have the power to stop the motorway...What is this; Captain Planet?

Anyway, most of the reason we were in Zizzi's was because of the coupon my dad got for me; i.e it is not the kind of restaurant I would otherwise have heard of. The reason for this became very clear as soon as I sat down and ordered drinks. The glasses our drinks came in were ice cold, and the waitress bringing the drink filled it from the glass in front of us. (the fact that i'm impressed by this shows just how primitive i am).

It was a very oddly decorated place, pretty, but odd. Behind my chair there were a number of pebbles, which if anything, were reminiscent of a feng shui - strange to see in an Italian restaurant.




The strange decoration didn't end at the tables, it also extended to the bathrooms. On our way out we had difficulty finding them because of the odd signs on the doors.



It took us a good fifteen seconds to figure out from the sign on the men's toilets - the same, but upside down - that it's actually a W for woman. But seriously, in what way does that make you think 'toilet'?

At the back of the restaurant there's a giant firey oven, where the chefs stone bake your pizza. It's directly out in the open and if you're seated close enough you can watch your food cooking (wanted a pic of this, but neither of us dared get close enough - which is a shame because it really was enthralling - I've never seen anything like that before).

On the subject of the food we devoured mercilessly? Well worth the effort ^^

Possible Powers of the Magic Water

POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER ONE

It could be a Veritaserum! What better way to get an honest review from your customers?


POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER TWO

It could be a ploy to convince customers that they take an active interest in the field of diet schemes.


POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER THREE

It could be a transforming potion for malignant customers. One sip and they'll turn into a buffalo - both economical and satisfying.


POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER FOUR

It could be infused with an extremely powerful drug that opens your imagination. (That would explain the price at least)


POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER FIVE

It could be a lifechanging reminder of the statement...'The best things in life definitely aren't free, especially not water'.


POSSIBLE POWER NUMBER SIX

...Maybe it actually is gin.

Shadows

I leave the flat soon; it doesn't seem so long since I first arrived here. At the time I was in two minds about the whole thing; I was happy about arriving, about leaving Whitters and taking the first steps towards becoming someone better, but at the same time I wasn't happy at all. No matter how often I complain of how little there is in Whitters, it is a far cry from the truth - everything I hold dear is there.

By coming here I would be far away from my family, from the friends I had come to know, from everything I had come to love in eighteen years of life. Whitters does not have a shopping center or internet access, but it does have so much more.

My shelves are all but empty now, resemblant of the flat much of the time. Three of four flatmates have long left and I assumed i would be long gone before the fourth returned. A few days ago, I was watching a film when the door to the flat sounded, along with voices that still sounded distant to me, possibly because I'd been away from them for so long. It wasnt until the next day and an investigation of the fridge that I understood who it was that had returned. It was Carley and from the looks of things, she wasn't going to be leaving any time soon.

I go to an Italian restaurant tomorrow with Laney; my dad found a coupon in the newspaper for 50% off main courses, which wasn't surprising, considering he works in a newsagents. Anyway, having looked at the restaurant webpage, my opinions are entirely positive, though confused by the pricing system of the drinks. According to the menu, the most expensive soft drink is water, at 3.50. Cola, fanta and even gin are cheaper! I cannot help but wonder if it has magical powers.

Concerning music

There are a great number of things I call a sanctuary in my life: my books, my films... of all of these, however only a couple of things were established before birth. During my early childhood, my mother adored telling me how I would kick in time to Gary Numan - fitting, as my parents were avid concertgoers.

When my dad got me my first CD player I was about 8 years old; up until then I had been hanging around his with my Spice Girls CDs, waiting for him to finish with his Death metal so I could listen to 'Wannabe'. (I didn't mind this very much, he let me look through his lyric booklets, which almost always were filled with naughty words.) I remember him plugging it into my room and telling me that if I had it on so loud that the neighbours complained he would pack my new toy away in the attic. I considered it an instuction in responsibility, though thinking about it now - he probably just didn't want to hear the Spice Girls anymore.

Taking his instructions into account, I was careful to keep my CD player on the lowest volume as possible; careful to analyse the beam that was our attic (just in case our neighbours decided my music somehow was too loud).

Recently, Laney and I got into a debate over our intrument of preference: I prefer the piano whereas Laney prefers the violin.

The truth is, I've always loved piano - back from when I first got my CD player.
Our school had few resources, so made an effort to teach students classical instruments. Our village is known locally for it's brass band and drama association (leave the county and no one has heard). The intrument I loved the most, though was the piano. Our headmaster stood at the front of the hall in assembly and used one to play the hymns and somehow it mystified me, as if somehow it were jumping to life and singing along with us.

i even joined band, not because I was any good, but because I wanted to stand close to the piano. Of course, this proved a bad idea - I was so focussed on the music of the keys that my own performance fell to a shambles and I left within a month.



In my final years of school, a friend of mine began to play the violin. I only ever heard her play once and decided I wasnt as enchanted by her performance as I should have been; to me the violin sounded tearful - its performance sounded like a sobbing kind of mantra.



I would love to learn to play the keys; I hear my grandmother played, so it's in my blood at least. They say it's never too late.