Writings after too much coffee in a noisy library.

Is this what hell is like? My hands are shaking from too much coffee, and in a second, with a should, all is noise and sharp breaths spreading across the room.
What started it? The loud manoeuvring of trucks outside? The hushed sound of someone else's stifled laughter? A friend returned? Any which way, they seem oblivious that everyone can now hear their conversation, that one noise is not a cover for another.
Be more silent! Do not let another's failing social graces justify your own- stop the chain reaction in its path.
The truck is gone. Shouts slowly drop to whispers. Giggles swallowed, shamefaced. A phone call- French. And suddenly we all look round to judge.


----


Though in my head I always classified us together- for as a trio in public we were and are unstoppable- that I remember there was only really one time when we spoke together privately. Then it was all seriousness and earnestly and self-defence and general bitchiness- characteristics I have filed under questionable in all of us- but very clearly, also them and us, he and we- a solid group, mutual opinions, an acknowledgement of somehow being as a three, a little separate from the groups we entertained.
But maybe all that really was just me, putting an overly subjective spin on what was, in fact, just friends talking. Though I hope not.

A Little Walk About Campus

It rained today, the first proper, unending, torrential rain we've had since I've since I've been back at Exeter. It is wonderful. Campus, it seems, is deserted, lectures easily identified by long lines of umbrellas trailing from the buildings. My Trusts lecture was shockingly empty, people unable to piece together the urge to fight the wind and wander up the hill for two hours of a lecture which is unfailingly podcast.
- Which reminds me, it seems that the social norms amongst the 2nd years (to call them 3rd years is to admit my great age- the 'new generation,' perhaps) is not to leave seats as a buffer against those you don't know and instead cosy up all along the rows. Understandable in 1st week, but confusing today, with the Moot room half empty. I personally like stranger space, not only as a guard against forcing the smell of damp felt into another's face but also because it gives me somewhere to put my folder and water bottle &c. Besides which, in the space of a seat one can fit two bags and coats and scarves side by side, instead of trampling them or pushing them down to the row below. But I digress -
I like rain- proper, poetic, wholesome rain, not icy mizzle or bratish sprays- especially as a vehicle for procrastination. On Mondays I like to walk from Amory to Devonshire House to pick up a paper and a treat - today a large coffee, which I have managed to smuggle into the library. It's a nice walk up to the Great Hall, as the developments have lead to the refurbishment of the paths through the wood, which is gorgeous and peaceful and today looked like something out of a romantic fantasy. It was made even better by the sheer lack of people- even in the Ram Bar, even in Coffee Express, which is normally unapproachable from 12-2, there was a basic lack of students. Plus the Student Shop was selling the Guardian again, which made me happy.
Somehow, though, the rain doesn't appear to have scared the lawyers away- after very proudly sneaking my coffee in through the library doors, I found them all packed in chorals 3 or 4 abreast.
Rumour has it that most of these keen students are not even lawyers- the downside of the developments is that studying in the main library is effectivelyreading in a building site, which has driven many students to the serene quiet of the law library. For myself, the greatest downside of this is not only the noise but the lack of good seats. On a rainy day like this I like to sit by the window and watch. But no matter. Reading awaits- and caffeine is kicking in.

To Be a Law Student in Exeter in the Autumn

Have I mentioned how much I love English law? If so, it's most likely that you were cornered by a very over-excited Jess, possibly wringing a tea towel or beret, and subjected to a long and high pitched comparison of American and English legal systems and lecture styles, which no doubt devolved into a session of "did you knows" until you desperately excused yourself and made a note to buy a deadbolt for your door. I won't do that here, and I am truly sorry for the trauma I may or may not have caused.
What I will do though is subject you to a long and no doubt rambling discussion of my courses. Because you clearly care so very much.

Trusts

I've been thinking for a while that Trusts and Estates might be an interesting and useful area to qualify in. I liked Trusts in 2nd year Land and in Family Law, and so far I'm liking them as an individual subject. Although this is a little worrying, as typically the courses I get the lowest grades in are those I think I understand. We shall see how the formatives go, I suppose. Trusts also has won the case-quote of the week/month/year with "Look you here, I give this to baby." Hurrah!

Company

Again, so far I like it. It's like contracts, but with non-natural persons, and everything fits logically and my lecturer is the happiest, most wonderful person in the world. I'm hoping that this will prove the Family Law of my 4th year- the course I took as a filler which I found I actually loved.

Commercial

And here's the dud of the year. I've been told about 7 times now that the best way to deal with this most complex of subjects is to avoid all term 1 lectures and work from the giant of a book instead. Which doesn't seem like fantastic value for money, but apparently our term 1 lecturers simply serve to further confuse matters. It's a little annoying; the course used to be taught by my 1st year Contract lecturer, Prof. Tettenborn, who is fantastic, but unfortunately for us all he's upped sticks for Swansea. No matter. What I have learned of Commercial so far does seem to be exciting and logical- I just wish that the lectures were a bit more upbeat!

The Very Exciting Dissertation

The VED remains very exciting. I love working with my supervisor, I love the research, and I love the field generally. The fact that I may be turning into a Prof. Barlow fangirl is neither here nor there. Admittedly, I still have no semblance of a plan, but I have 2 more weeks of research before one is needed, so I'm sure (??) I'll be fine. Do not ask me about the dissertation though. I get far too excited.

Folk Soc

ICBINI (the mini folk festival) soon. Lots of work and still no risk assessments. Rapper starting on Thursday. Need to get a risk assessment done ASAP. IVFDF Aberdeen 2012. Still no word from Coach Co. or other Unis.
BUT
The great and wonderful James Bennett has finally showed me how to play around properly with this (can you spot the bits that I did? Yeah, thought so), and it makes me happy. Hurrah hurrah.

Life in General

Good. My head hurts, and I am bad at time management, but good. Here's to painkillers and tomorrow solving everything.

The Life and Times of Miss Carter, Law Student, on Being Back in Exeter

Hum, where to start?
I'm back home again. My grandfather died very recently, and it turns out that funerals and death and everything are very messy and confusing and all over the place. I came back to talk through the service, and am staying on for the weekend to sort out things like obituaries and pictures and a family reading.

Death is weird. Like, weird. I've spent most of this evening browsing through poems for something suitable, and I've been completely unable to shake off the feeling that I can't go for anything too emotive, because, you know, it's not like Grandad's dead or anything. It would be silly to be too earnest. Bizarre.

I don't think I'm going to deal with it until the funeral, but that's OK. I've noticed I've started talking a lot more about him and his life and death recently, which I think is a good sign. I'd like to thank my friends for being so wonderful. Especially Hannah and Martin.

I'm also reading far, far too much WWI and general death poetry. I have a collection of favourites. I've tried writing my own. It all gets far, far, too personal, and entirely unoriginal. We've settled on something about moving on and memory, and blah. Angry musings on mortality seem a little out of place. Also too personal. It's silly, I know.


But, in better, more-run-on-sentence news: FRESHERS' WEEK HAPPENED AND WE GOT NEWBIES AND THEY ARE SIMPLY WONDERFUL!
Also I'm taking Company and Commercial and Trusts and a 30 credit Comparative Dissertation on lex loci and same-sex marriage. But shh. Although it is bloody good to be back doing law, real proper bare bones law, again.
And, wonderfully housemates are wonderful and kooky and properly Englishly insane, and dear god, if these 4am conversations with Dave about Hamlet the Musical and Dorchester become habit there is a good job I'm going to end up living in a gutter.

But Freshers. Because Freshers are important. They have come, and they are staying, and we have musicians and singers and dancers general smiley people coming out of our ears, and we love it. Thursday night sessions are proving a success, Monday night dancing had an excess of men, and people are asking about rapper. Thank you, lovely people, and seriously, well done committee.

Next to worry about is Thursday's dissy meeting and ICBINI and exams and IVFDF and so on. But for now, look! Pretty!

Life today

I suppose I should set the scene. I am sat, in my pyjamas, at the dinning room table eating crumpets and honey for breakfast and wondering how long I can put off getting ready. This afternoon we are heading up to London, where we're staying until Sedona's flight on Tuesday morning. Not one of us has packed, and I am not dressed.
Life generally is better. Getting up every morning to take Sedona in really helped, and, amongst other things, I now have an amazing (rusty, fourth-hand, but mine) bike, which I've finally managed to fix up enough to be rideable, and which now has an exciting old-fashioned bell and wicker basket and all sorts of wonderful things! I am looking forward to taking it out and about (read: pushing it up hills) in Exeter.
I fixed up my dance kit, and made myself new wavers, which I think I'm going to attempt to do purple trimming on (possibly maybe). I've personalised it all a lot more: my buttons are now very subtly green and blue and orange, and I have little polka-dotty ones on my sleeves and my wavers are edged in red, green, and blue. All good stuff.
Friday night we went to watch Sedona perform in three concerts at Dartington: a solos performance, an 90 minute operatic extravaganza, and in the Gospel Choir. She was outstanding, particularly when singing gospel. I spent the 5 or 6 hours we were there thinking: about everything and anything, but mostly about feminism and the different moulds of woman. Also giggling a little at some of the more extreme opera faces sported by a select few performers.
Yesterday we danced, and we danced, and we danced. Beltane Border celebrated its tenth anniversary (babies, H&G has been going for at least 25) with a day of massed morris around Topsham. We caught a boat up at 9.45, and danced until 5, when we returned to Teignmouth for a hog roast and ceilidh. The ceilidh was surprisingly simplistic for a morris ceilidh, and the band suffered from a lack of driving percussion, but it was still generally wonderful. Sedona and I danced almost every dance, messed around in Rosa, and sang I Will Survive down the cavernous corridors.

I need to go. Honey is sticky, and I really must pack soon.

On Writing and Thoughts

I really want this post to have a message, a purpose- an underlying theme which seeps through every paragraph and concludes nicely at the end. Every morning on Radio 2 they have a thought for the day segment, where some religious leader comes in and gives a mini-sermon on 'love your neighbour' or 'communicate with your family' or whatnot, and it always starts with something seemingly unrelated, like 'I love [TV show / Food / Activity],' and then ties it all in. My minister-in-training friend Vicky does something similar in her sermons, where she's able to talk about something going on her own life and then tie it neatly into a Bible verse or a globalised phenomenon. I like the idea that once a week I could sit down to Write Something Important, and phrase it in such a way that any readers would spend the rest of the day going 'wow, I never realised before just how much x, y, and z," rather than sending me a Skype message pointing out that I misspelled globalised and also wrote the beginning of the 10th sentence down twice.
At the same time, though, I do enjoy reading (stalking? Never), my friend Lyn's blog, which is a little like a combination between my rambles, a yearly round robin Christmas letter, and a wedding-planner's diary with some cooking thrown in. So I don't know. I do keep this blog 90% for my own sake (without it, all of this would end up on FB, and god help us all if that ever happened), so maybe I shouldn't worry so much.

If we're sticking with writing with a message, though, let me tell you about my amazingly clever younger brother, who picked up his AS results today, and can no longer avoid the fact that he has to go on to take a degree in Philosophy. Our relationship has improved ten-fold since I went to University (although I imagine part of this coincides with him reaching the later half of his teens), and I still find it utterly amazing when we pass a car journey alternately plotting out surreal play parodies, discussing games (please don't judge me) and arguing about politics. But I digress. I went with him to pick up his results, and, well, going back to school was just weird. I'm so not a sixth form student any more. I'm not bitchy enough, I'm not flimsy enough- and I seem to be lacking in the leggings and pumps area. I stood around awkwardly while Josh chatted with his friends, and then went ahead with the whole nervous talking to old teachers thing. What is it about schools which make me act so clumsily and talk so stuntedly?

Words are sticking. There is no message to this, other than that I think too much.

A picture

Because I forgot to put one in the last entry, and on here posts are like buses.


That's me and Vicky and Kerensa in the sea at Sidmouth on Vicky's birthday, I believe shortly after Martin proposed. There is sea and hats and friends, and I love everything about it.

So many hippies

I've just returned from a day at Glastonbury, showing my cousin around and meeting a friend of her family's. Sedona isn't really a cousin, rather one of the many 'children of best friends' I have dotted around all over the world, but we consider her family. I always find it weird when these assorted 'cousins' don't know each other- and very exciting when I actually find a cousin by blood. But I digress. I love Glastonbury. I love it in the way I love all deeply beautiful, historic spiritual sites, by which I mean that I hate having to acknowledge that other people go there, and god help you if you try to talk to me. I wrote a poem on the Tor, but somehow managed to remember paper and not pen, which was daft. I shall have to run away somewhere quiet and try again later. It was weird going back. I put on a super-Sidmouth hippy dress in anticipation of seeing crowds of wizards again, and then felt very out of place when I ended up walking through crowds of tourists in very boring, sensible clothes. Weird looks are well and good, but to stand out that much I'd rather be in my own town. And then we went down a back alley and found a 'Reader,' and dear god I thought Josh was going to explode. Being confronted with that level of spiritualism- well, it made me realise the flaws I have in my own faith (I read tarot, but believe that it's influenced a lot more by projection and generic counselling than anything else), and why I get so defensive when people ask me what I believe in. Like I said, I love Glastonbury. But I think I love the idea of it. I have never, ever, had someone completely blank me from the moment I said that I was a lawyer- and I have never before felt the overwhelming urge to pick apart someone else's beliefs at the seams. It was an interesting day.

Last week was spent at Sidmouth, Folk Festivaling. I had an amazing time, not least because it meant I once again got to be with friends. And sure, I was annoying myself by midway through the week, but we worked through it. I am now an expert at parking cars (minus the dramatic pointing, alas), have a flying pig henna'd on my forearm, and am still hearing the 'diddly-diddlies' wherever I go. And I fear we may have traumatised the lovely Phil, who is a FS associated member, so to speak, and who was silly enough to not make for the nearest exit when three of us first started singing "Oh! Darling." Phil, we are truly sorry, and would really like you to talk to us next year.

Aside from that ... I don't know. My life is kind of falling apart. I never seem to get anything done while I'm at home. I have a list- nay, a timetable- of all the important things which I need to get sorted, but every time I try to enact it something else happens: Sedona, Sidmouth, 'can you tie up the broken down barrel?', etc. Dona does start a week (read flat out 7 days) of vocal training at Dartington tomorrow, which may help. I've volunteered to take her in every day, which means decent o'clock rises, and then long, empty days. The list includes my parents' accounts (to pay for trains and contacts!), FS stuff (ARGH ICBINI ARGH), and emptying and repainting my room. I can't help but feel it would be much easier to do this if I was actually allowed to get rid of half the random crap I have in my room.
TL;DR version: I am bad at Doing Things and Projects. Money isn't behaving itself either, and there are other things happening, but they do not make for interesting whinges.

Oh, and I have awesome hair (red! and blonde! and dark brown! multi-tones!), and am excited because in just over a week I get to go up to London and then to finally visit the 'E' house of my friend Iain. I can't help feeling that, having invited myself, I am more excited than he. I may take a good book. And Joshua is back, which is amazing, because now I Have A Brother, and this is wonderful.

And one of my best friends has just announced her engagement, and this is terrifying and yet so exciting, and she's the same age as me, and dear god relationships are weird.

I need to phone a caterer. And I talk too much. Until next time.

Nails and niggles

Since about May of this year I don't think I've seen the actual colour of my nails for anything more than 5 minutes. While I was in Virginia I got my hands on a number of different brightly coloured polishes, and since then I've been hooked, painting my nails every colour under the rainbow. My last run consisted of red, white, and blue nails for 4th of July, which were hell on the whole OCD symmetry but rich enough in colour to make up for it. I've also become a sucker for dark reds and bright turquoises (sometimes together), and have created a colour-blind nightmare of turquoise-red 'eyes' on my toes. I had been planning on doing something with green and blue next, but, well, that's not going to happen.
The whole pride-goes-before-a-fail thing came and bit me on the backside, really. I have very weak nails at the best of times (I have calluses on both hands because I can't and won't strum like normal people), and it turns out that nail polish, while making things pretty, also dries them out, and so now I have very fractured, very damaged, above all very boring nails. Which is why I'm now typing with fingers drenched in almond oil. Apparently it helps, and I'm banking on it, because I intend to play guitar at Sidmouth if at all possible, even if that means sacrificing my pretty colours.
Instead, I'm looking at brightly coloured temporary hair dies- because as yet my hair hasn't managed to fray. Since my last haircut it's been something of a managed mass of frizz with a curly set of bangs. Bizzare, but workable. Now I want to put green or blue or something in it. Maybe I'll just have to substitute brightly coloured clothes.
Next time- my lovely day out on Dartmoor with Kerensa and why Josh's philosophy symposium is going to be the death of me.

The Paris Rant

Yes, I have a brand new blog. A brand new, very pink blog. The pink is surprising. I can't, and I won't, guarantee that it will be updated regularly, but my UConn experience got me into the habit of posting rambling updates on my life to the interwebs in genera,, and hey, currently the summer is looking infinite. Anywyays.

I want to go to Paris. I really do. I've been a Francophile ever since my parents welcomed mon grand frere Laurent (a French exchange student, but I was 2), into their Colorado home. My spoken French is appalling, and my writing is even worse, but I still continue to have a love affair with that glamorous land across the water. Aside from all that, though, is the fact that in a few days' time the UConn girls will be meeting there for what will hopefully be the first of many reunions, and, due to money and stupid weekend job, I can't go. I want to go, but I can't. This was how things stood yesterday. I was annoyed, yes, but there wasn't a lot I could do about the situation.

Today, everything changed. I've been putting off admitting that I can't make Paris because, well, that's what I do. I finally put it in writing in my grand, end-of-blog post yesterday on my Going to Connecticut site. Today, then, while talking on Skype, my Dad told me that he would have paid, had I told him sooner.
Gah is the phrase I would normally use in a situation like this. Gah and bother and humbug. It's too late to sort it out now- too late, and too expensive, and also I kind of have this unfortunate weekend job stacking shelves and communicating in grunts at the local Tesco's which should, fingers crossed, be starting on Saturday. (I hope. I really hope. Because if it doesn't I am going to be doubly pissed.) So I'm upset and annoyed with myself and also reconsidering all the things which I will now be missing. Bother bother, people. Bother bother.

Next week, if I can be bothered, I'll update you on the aftermath of all this. I might also talk about Teraria / Glee / accounts / writing (lack thereof) / shelf stacking, or none of the above. We will see.