mostly harmless...

Drink 'n' Drive Thru

2008-08-09T18:45:00.000-07:00

I hear there's a drive thru law firm down the road doing a special on DUI's...

A Very British Summer Solstice

2008-06-23T03:38:00.000-07:00

To be continued...

2008-06-12T03:02:00.000-07:00

Ah, yet again I have been hopelessly lapse at keeping you up-to-date on the trials and tribulations of a girl called fi. However, I have had reasonable excuse... umm, Ruth and I got legally wed, civil-partnered, handfasted, whatever you want to call it - we are now legal, or at least we're legal in the handful of countries that recognise gay partnerships... I'm *almost* about to submit my PhD thesis at long last, and apart from the odd major burn-out where I've professed that I no longer give a sh*t about conservation and am instead going to persue a souless corporate money-hungry career in business analysis, I think I do know that a postdoc in this field is the next step... and umm, we're currently gearing up for a big life move to Australia together. Bring on the sunshine. Oh, and to my shame, I discovered facebook so have been doing my online dork duties elsewhere, but I figured this new chapter in Oz would be a good place to pick up my blogging again. So watch this space.

More fun with the ironies of religion

2007-12-14T07:47:00.000-08:00

cath - o - lic [kath-uh-lik, kath-lik]

adjective

1. broad or wide-ranging in tastes, interests, or the like; having sympathies with all; broad-minded; liberal.

2. of or pertaining to or supporting Catholicism; "the Catholic Church".

[Origin: 1300–1350; Greek katholikós: general, equiv. to kathól(ou): universally]

Ba humbug

2007-11-30T04:31:00.000-08:00

Mince pies, late night shopping, and counting down days til Christmas? No thanks. I'd rather go with the dancing, drumming, fire & nudity.

So that time of year is upon us yet again. Where piped, joyless, 'festive' carols blare out at you from every angle, along with overly commercialised 'sentiment'. Its hardly surprising that suicide figures soar at this time of year with the likes of Bing Crosby and Sinatra determined to depress us enough into contemplating it ourselves.

I think we had the right idea back in the good old pre-Christian days, when the main winter festival was the celebration of Samhuinn on November 1st; the ancient marking of the end of summer, and approach of winter. That's what you want in a seasonal festival: fire, fighting and excessive amounts of body paint.

Edinburgh has a very active Beltane Society who mark the four seasonal pagan festivals with processions and performances. The main theme of Samhuinn is the battle between light and dark, summer and winter, embodied as two characters who fight to the death, winter overcoming summer as inevitably as the seasons.

The Blue Man leads the procession down the Royal Mile to where the Horned God (2nd) will do battle with the summer lord.

Fire, body paint, strange figures in hooded cloaks, people dressed as wolves, and small bands of protesting Christians armed with placards trying to save all the devil worshippers (Bless them), its seasonal cheer to warm the cockles of your heart.

But even I can't be a total Scrooge about Christmas.. mostly because one of the things I love most are bright, colourful, shiny lights, and at this time of year, Edinburgh has them dangling off every branch of every tree throughout the city. Even I will admit that the effect is fairly breath taking..

Although part of me can't help but wonder if all of the colour and light isn't just a slightly bastardised version of the slightly less health and saftey friendly (and Christian friendly) ancient penchant for fire and light.

Tuscany

2007-10-03T12:22:00.000-07:00

When is an acceptable time of day to drink wine? Well, apparently its 11 am if you're staying in the grounds of a castle in the Tuscan hills with its own vineyard and wine cellar, especially when they happen to produce some particularly fine chianti classicos. Surely it'd be rude not to?

But in our defence, when the view from your stunning apartment looks like this from one side...

..and this from the other..

And the view from the poolside, just meters from your door, looks like this...

We could hardly be blamed for getting carried away with this most idyllic holiday setting.

So Ruth and I went to Tuscany on the pretence that I had a conference I was presenting at. We both jumped at the opportunity to make the most of the only few days holiday we're going to get for a long while, and so went a few days early so we could take some time out to relax before the conference started.

We flew in to Pisa, so it made sense to spend a touristy first day eating ice-cream, looking in tacky souvenir shops, and taking photos in front of bizarre architectural anomalies.

So yeah, The Leaning Tower. Amazingly and quite surprisingly, it really does actually lean. Its only when you get in viewing distance of the thing you stand back and think "wow, that's really .. errr... wrong.", and then curse as you see you've blobbed yet more ice-cream down your front when you've not been looking. Note to self: don't wear white when visiting tourist attractions.

On closer inspection of course, you discover its disgustingly infested with t-o-u-r-i-s-t-s (cos like, we don't count as tourists oursleves of course), who are all taking *amusing* pictures for the folks back home. Cue: comedy scenes of en masse Tai Chi, with people swarming over the nearby surrounds looking for the right angle to look like they're holding up/leaning on,/pushing over the tower in C-O-M-E-D-Y photo poses. Oh those crazy crazy kids. Naturally the thought to do something similar hadn't at all crossed my mind.

Disappointingly, and somewhat ironically though, all of the snow globe shakers on sale had particularly straight and upright Leaning Towers. Which just seemed plain wrong.

The highlight of that day was discovering on our way to catch our train on to Siena that I had managed to lose the single most important thing I had to ensure the safety of for the entire trip (after my passport) ....my scientific presentation poster ..i.e. the whole excuse, I mean, reason for our being in Italy in the first place. Thankfully I managed to cadge together enough Italian to ask the bemused toilet attendant (a very pleasant and seemingly wholey amused old man) if he'd found my long cylinderical tube. My gesticulations and mimes generating exceedingly amused smiles from the very large queue of people behind me.

The smug: I-know-where-my-poster-is, shot.

So after we'd done the obligatory tourist bit, we eagerly found our way to our 16th century castle-come-vineyard in the Tuscan hills east of Siena. And for three days we did n-o-t-h-i-n-g. Not a single thing, save for feeding oursleves, and getting up to replace the vino when it ran dry. This was just what we needed. And the pace of life certainly suited the landscape of sleepy peaceful vineyards & olive groves as far as the eye can see.. the late-summer sunshine.. and the fragrant aromas of rosemary, lavender and mint being carried on the breeze. Sigh. Buuuut, seeing as I was there to actually "work", after three nights there, we headed in to the city of Siena so that I could attend my conference.

Siena, even so late in the tourist season (late September) was fairly heaving with tourists, but the crowds and the noise seemed fitting once the sun went down and the historic central plaza came to life with people, much as it no doubt has done for centuries.

Of course the conference itself was very interesting, and unfortunately I came back with far more Bright Ideas for my research than I have neither time nor money for, but its definitely reassuring to be surrounded by others so geekily in to your own subject matter. The droppings of wild animals are a surprisingly niche interest. Go figure...

The only thing about Italy I thought was an exciting novelty at first, but which soon gave way to despair, was the food. Or rather more accurately: the lack of anything that wasn't bread, tomato and cheese based. Which for me as a carnivorous type, soon lost its appeal. Although their was at least one of us who never looked so happy than when she had a pizza slice the size of her head in front of her ;)

2007-09-13T05:06:00.001-07:00

Weekend camping ticket to Connect Festival - £125

Return bus travel to Inverary Castle, Argyle - £18

Sleeping bag and carry mat - £15

One pair of wellies - £15

One bottle of Aberlour Whisky - £22

Several pints, numerous hot roastbeef rolls, & bowls of porridge etc - £61

Band merchandise - £18

One lost pair of sunglasses - £12

One lost RAB waterproof jacket - £140

Watching Regina Spektor on a sunny day, in front of a fairy-tale castle, by a Scottish loch, surrounded by stunning mountains, and arm-in-arm with my gorgeous girlfriend - PRICELESS.

There are somethings in life money can't buy...

...for everything else there's a reckless disregard for credit ratings, an escalating and burgeoning student over-draft, and a maxed out Mastercard.

2007-09-09T05:32:00.000-07:00

Sunday Drivers

2007-07-01T07:58:00.001-07:00

I really shouldn't be let behind the wheel of the Berlingo-mobile.. probably ever again, but especially on a Sunday.

Last weekend I cunningly managed to leave the lights on while Ruth and I had lunch in a pub. By the time we returned, the battery was so flat that even the starter coil wouldn't heat up, so we couldn't even bump start it. Thankfully I did my best Damsel In Distress act to some blokes in the pub who saw us right.

Today I managed to get the back end of it stuck in a ditch after slipping off the sodden road in the deepest darkest depths of the forest. Unfortunately this time there were no helpful middle-aged men at hand, and even worse: I had no mobile recption so couldn't call for help. Which in some ways I'm relieved about, as the only person realistically who would have been able to do something is Raymond, the forester whom I first encountered after writing off my last car on only my second visit to my study site. Needless to say the cheeky chap has had a field day with me since, and the last thing he needs is more ammunition.

Anyway, faced with either a long walk or doing something about it myself, I opted for the latter. Poppy wasn't much assistance, and its fairly tricky negociating handbrakes, accelerating, steering, and pushing from behind etc when there's only one of you with opposable thumbs. However, with the infinitely useful twig, rock and heather in abundance, I somehow freed myself. Go me. Especially cos I didn't even have to get a boy to help :D

Have to say the engine isn't sounding too great as a result, but meh.. its the work van and I'm giving it back to them in a few days anyway.

Tired of the hum-drum of 9 to 5?

2007-06-29T23:32:00.000-07:00

Things perhaps feeling a little too monotonous? Safe? Predictable? Bored of waking up each morning and knowing, with a fair amount of certainty, that you won't come close to a nervous breakdown that day?

Well do a PhD and you too can experience the rollercoaster ride of emotions from soul destroying, spirit crushing lows, to exhilirating (and horrendously short-lived) highs!

Why settle for a simple, easy-going existence when you too could be having all of your dreams smashed to pieces again and again, in set back after set back, on a practically daily basis!? And then, when you're just about ready to crack, be given a distant, tantalising glimmer of hope, juuuuuuust enough to pick yourself up, yet again, and from somewhere build up your motivation and conviction to start over. And all this whilst knowing that your peers are all earning way more than you, right at this very second, as they enjoy relaxing time off in what's apparently known as a w-e-e-k e-n-d.

Disclaimer: Those with nervous disorders, tendancies for panic attacks, aspirations for any sort of remotely normal relationship with other human beings, or just a milligram of common sense, need not apply.

Ok, so I'm being a little over-dramatic, but really, can't I get a break for once?! I am facing challenges (motivational speak for "problems of an 'orrifc nature") over a piece of innovative technology I've been hoping to trial. These were largely due to some minor tinkering with said technology by one of my martens. And more specifically: her teeth.

So that was Thursday, and since then I thought I had fixed it, and then realised someting else was wrong, on two separate occassions now.

Meh.

On a more positive note though, when all was seeming bleak yesterday evening I happened across a natal marten den (after seeing the mother leave) which was occupied by a single kitten. I then spent a thoroughly entertaining, uplifting, and well.. magical, hour interacting with the kitten. Somewhat thrown by my marten-esque vocal mimicry, she seemed curious about what I was, so came very close for a good look.. all whilst being particularly cute and fuzzy and kitteny.

I guess when working with wild animals you've got to expect lots of set-backs, but as brief as they are, moments like last night really do help to buoy you up to keep sloggin away at it. And as much as I HATE many aspects of the work right now, I wouldn't really swap it for anything. Hmm... except possibly the same but with twice as much money. And a camera phone with a better zoom.

Ducks! ...thousands of 'em!

2007-06-29T14:29:00.000-07:00

I *love* this story I heard about today... the serious environmental impacts aside, but ..rubber ducks! Hee!

Drake's other armada*

It just so happens that I'm off to Devon and Cornwall for a week's jolly with Ruth and some friends. We had planned to do some very geeky tourist attraction visiting (Iron Age settlements, Uther Pendragon's castle etc), otter spotting, and puffin watching, not to mention hopefully catching some waves with my new found love of body boarding. Hovever, considering the ducks have become collector’s items, and are now changing hands for £500 a pop, we may instead be gripped in a "gold fever" fashion and spend the week beach combing... there's 29,000 of 'em out there!

Then we can just sit back and count our millions (14.5 of them!), regaling tales of the great Duck Rush of 2007...

* Disclaimer: I don't, of course, make a habit of reading the Daily Mail! What do you take me for!? After hearing about it on the radio (BBC 4, naturally) I searched for more on the story, and they just happened to have a good piece on it. Now leave me in peace so I can read about Charlotte Church's far from cutting-edge choice of maternity wear...

A black fly in your Chardonnay?

2007-06-06T10:15:00.000-07:00

No Alanis. That's not ironic. What is ironic is managing to get through 18 months of fieldwork without major hiccup, and then losing your most vital piece of equipment 2 weeks before the end. And yet still managing to keep a smile on your face (after the tears and fits of rage have subsided).

..although that may have had something to do with my playing about with walkie-talkies...

Today, I have been mostly feeling: hangry

2007-05-31T09:59:00.000-07:00

han - ger [hang - ger: hāng - gûr]

-noun
1. a strong feeling of a sudden, violent, displeasure or rage illicited by a compelling need or desire for food

2. the state of being hangry

3. the irrational belligerence aroused by the painful sensation, or state of weakness, caused by the need for food

-verb
4. to feel hanger, be hangry

[Origin: GEEK Nerdish R. M. C. 2007 AD, from Middle English anger, multiplied somewhat exponentially by hunger]

Ping Island Lightning Strike Rescue Op

2007-05-25T00:15:00.000-07:00

Just to add to the intrigue; this post could have just as easily been entitled; "Things To Do In Wales ..With Neoprene", or indeed; "A Viking Farewell".

You see anything can happen when Richard The Monkey Boy and I get drinking. Singley, we're both quite tractable, and thoroughly encouragable as it is, let alone in each other's company, or under the influence. Or both. And so when Dan was up visiting Edinburgh a while back, and happened to mention that it was Ellie's birthday in a couple of weeks time, and that she was planning on celebrating with a weekend of surfing in Wales - it was fairly inevitable that we would invite ourselves along for the trip. The 1260 mile trip. The 1260 mile trip for a whole two nights of camping. Completely inevitable in fact.

However, it all made even more perfect sense when we factored in that Eric, our resident viking, was due to sail back to his homeland to continue his plundering ways, and that the weekend in question was to be his last here with us. So that was that, we were sold: one last random jolly for Team Zissou together again (...until next time).

After ruling out the ridiculous expense of rail travel *resists temptation to rant about the mess that the privatisation of British Rail has left us in, and merely makes do with making angry growly noises not disimilar to those of an unamused baby panda* ..and flights were a bit of a logistical nightmare for then getting to Deepest Darkest Wales at odd hours of the day or night without a car. And so piling in to Richard's spacious Toyota Yaris for the 10 hour drive was the obvious solution. Obviously.

Oh and wouldn't you just know it would be one of the hottest, sunniest days on record so far this year. Perfect weather for long car journeys. And being the shortest of the three of us, guess who got to be in the back seat the whole way... Actually, it was quite a fun road trip in the end, mostly for the hilarity of seeing the bemused expression on Richard's face on encountering real motorways, with like, 3 whole lanes on each side and everything! Not like these silly little pot-hole infested ones we have up here... with the donkey carts and dubious delineation of road boundaries. Even the descent into something akin to sibling-esque squabbling was high comedy value... arguments over who's turn it was to be in charge of the iPod, a generally unenthused response to Richard's suggestions of "I spy", throwing of peanut M&Ms, and Richard refusing to stop the car for a toilet break until HE needed one.

Long car journeys... cranky kids... kiiiinda makes you wonder howcome your own parents didn't just totally abandon you in some lonely, remote French petrol station years ago...

We arrived in the dark at about 10pm to find that we were the first ones there. Ali and Dan were shortly behind us, after driving over from Bristol, as were Ellie and a couple of her mates. By the time they arrived though, we were already on the wine and able to watch with amusement as they put up their tents whilst hearing choice comments such as "yes.. its umm, missing a pole actually, I'm sure it'll be fine though...", and then thought to be slightly more helpful and cooked burgers for everyone.

What with the darkness, we had to wait til morning to see the sea, but I think we were all a little taken aback with just how stunning it was. The beach, backed by impressive cliffs, seemed to go on forever, with clean, pale, fine sand. And the surf was most definitely up. Apparently. To me the waves looked just a liiiiittle bit big and scary to be honest. Hmm.

So we hired our boards and wetsuits and hiked off towards the water before squeezing in to them, whilst trying not to dwell too much on the thought that they were indeed hired wetsuits, and have therefore had countless other bodies squeezed into them. Because we all know what the best way to warm up a wet suit is. Especially when submersed in freezing cold water. Nice.

Tick followed tock, followed tick, followed tock...

Annnnd obviously some people took it seriously and looked more the part than others...

Ali geared up in full Lightning Strike regalia

You'll notice how there is a complete lack of ANY photographic evidence of me in a wetsuit. Not by accident. It actually took me a while to psyche myself up to go in to the water (this was after prolonged psyching myself up to get in to the wetsuit and avoid being in camera range). This was part due to my having nearly drowned once while learning to scuba dive, the fear of which I've not yet gotten over. And partly because I am so very irrationally scared of sharks (and salt water crocs. Go figure) that I even manage to freak out and have complete hissy fit panic attacks about them in quiet swimming pools *ahem* I'm an intrepid zoologist right, but only in the terrestrial sense. I lay no claims what-so-ever to any sort of intrepidity when it comes to marine biology.

Anyway, once I got over the horror of the potentially shark infested Welsh coast, and the temperature of the water, I thoroughly enjoyed myself! Go me and my not drowning too! Woo! Needless to say I am now a huge fan of both surfing, and perhaps more so of body boarding. Less so of skim boarding, as I seem to have spent most of my time flying nose first into the sand when trying that. But there's only so much fun one can take with a board and some neoprene in one day. But yes, generally jumping and splashing around in the surf and the waves IS as much fun as its looks on the tv ...right before the shark attacks.

I have to say though that splashing around in the surf wasn't the highlight of the weekend, that was still to come. Richard, in his admirably ambitious cooking plans, decided that your regular BBQ fare wasn't enough for us. No. He insisted on buying a whole leg of lamb (as I stood n the supermarket with a look of complete perplexion as my gaze flitted between the huge joint of meat in his hands, and the tiny disposable BBQ foil tray I held in mine) . Got to give credit to that boy though - he knows what he's doing when it comes to meat! After the surfing, we all headed to a spot on the beach where The Boys did their manly dues and went about constructing a pit BBQ by burying white hot firey heated rocks and ashes in the sand. Raarrrrr!The levels of testosterone were quite something. Me and my girly sensibilities were positively overcome and swoony in their presence *sniggers*

Ah. Hairy, smelly, hippy boys. God love 'em.

But as I said, credit where its due: I have not ever tasted lamb quite so juicy and tender as that. Its the perfect way to slow cook a joint if you happen to have about 3 hours of time to spare ..and a deserted beach at your disposal.

Meeeeeeeeeaaaaat!

And naturally we got drunk. Laughed so much it hurt yadda yadda yadda fun fun fun play play play....

Team Zissou

Short of setting sail to a burning a long boat though, I'm not quite sure what could have been a better send off for our Eric. He came to work with me for 3 months, and yet it was a pleasure to have him for 6. And the Lodge just hasn't been the same without him. There's no-one to torment the dog for a start. And who's going to be my personal transportation aide from now on huh?? Did you think of that Eric?? Huh?! Did you???

We'll all hopefully get back together as Team Zissou in August when Eric is back visiting Edinburgh. There's some vague mention of a coast-to-coast mountain bike ride. We'll see. It may depend on whether Richard offers to do the en route catering and meat provisioning or not. In the meantime though - just a big THANK YOU for all your help Eric. Not to mention thanks for the knife - which I'm still more excited about just sitting and stroking rather than actually cutting stuff... except my own fingers of course. Ooooohh.. Preeeeeettty knife *rocks back and forth in chair stroking hunting knife*

You are a star. A slightly odd one. But a star none-the-less xxx

I know.. I know.. I'm rubbish...

2007-05-24T17:05:00.000-07:00

The paradox of keeping a blog is that having exciting and enthralling news to write about generally involves being out and about doing exciting and enthralling things, which unfortunately, doesn't lend itself well to having time to sit down and write about them. Especially for people like me who take an age to write anything, what with my well constructed sentances, carefully planned paragraphs, and short attention span.

Soooo just to fill you in on what you've missed: basically I have been, and still am insanely busy, what with acquiring girlfriends, bouncing around at various gigs, lots of toing and froing about Scotland and the UK and somehow managing to fit in a whole heap of clever PhD type stuff to boot. Speaking of: at the mo I have a whole 3 weeks and counting left of my field work and data collection Up North (EEEEEK!). Whilst trying to coordinate all this, I also moved out of Stirling for good, and have since been looking for somewhere to move to once the fieldwork finishes. I chose Edinburgh. No. The fact that Ruth lives there has NOTHING to do with it... no really... its because the Forestry has offices there. Actually. Shut up.

And so yeah, I alwasy knew flat hunting in Edinburgh with pets to house was going to be a barrel of laughs, but clinging to my inane belief that everything will work out in the end I carried on searching regardless. Which became another excuse for my lack of blogging, as I diverted all my attentions from blogspot (well, those which weren't already diverted towards Ruth, and otherwise general frivolity and adventuring) to gumtree instead, where I have been permanently glued to the flatshare ads. Oh the joys.

However, the end is finally in sight because *drum roll* I have a flat! Wooo! Annnnd the best bit is that the animals will be completely legal, seeing as I decided to 'fess up to the landlord ..which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I found out he lives in the flat upstairs.

So as of the start of July I will be a resident of Newington, Edinburgh. Hurrah! The flat is an ennnorrrrrrmous old traditional tenement. Seriously large, bright, sunny rooms, high ceilings, original window shutters etc etc. Its right in the city centre, but still handy for getting out to Arthurs Seat and the Meadows for dog walking and generally getting muddy (I will have to get my fixes somehow once I leave the countryside). Its surrounded by delis and cafes and shops and bars, and the whole area is just vibrant and, well, lovely! The only slight oversight is that its a four bedroom flat, and as yet we are only two, me, and Gio, an Italian PhD student I randomly met while flat hunting. But these are minor details, and I'm sure the flat will be no problem at all to fill *ahem* I'm totally confident and not at all worrying about that one.... Totally.

So there will probably be more lapses in blogging frequency over coming weeks as I frantically, simultaneously try to coerce the martens to be good cooperative martens, and fit in with my very tightly timed schedule, AND be engraciating to hordes of potential flatmates, whilst trying to coerce them into moving in with me and my menagerie.

By mid July though, life will be pretty much settled back to normal, and I will no doubt be busy thinking up new and inventive ways of avoiding actually sitting down and starting my write up. I mean 6 months is plenty of time to write a PhD thesis anyway.......!

Vertiginous

2007-05-24T16:15:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned, umm, several times actually within the past couple of blogs, my "friend" Ruth... which was no doubt an indication that there may be something more going on than I was letting you in on. Well, I didn't say anything at the time because I knew that she read my blog, and we were supposed to be just being friends. And my saying how much I really dug this chick I'd never met in person may have sounded a little premature. Especially considering how much she'd been telling me how she loved being single...

You see we'd actually met through the magic of Gaydar (see "How Gay Is Your Star Sign?" below), and had been chatting online since October. And when I say chatting I'm kind of making light of the fact we got to the point of sending essay length emails on a daily basis. And I'd just like to point out that my correspondance with Ruth during those months was purely the reason why my blogging got so slack, for even *I* have only a certain number of geek hours in me per day. So yeah, blame HER.

Annnnnnyway. Yes. So. Our first meeting In Real Life happened a whole three months ago now, back on February 24th, quite randonly down in Manchester. Ruth moved to the UK (a whole week before we met) to find fresh talent after working her way through the female population of not only her native New Zealand, but Australia (her surrogate nation of the past 3 years) too.. although of course she would claim it was something to do with expanding her horizons, history, culture, blah blah blah... u-huh, yeah, right ;op

But anyway, we were meeting in Manchester AS FRIENDS, and under the pretence of going to see some live bands together and generally hanging out getting to know each other without the aid of laptops to hide behind. Eek! I had never been more nervous in my life.

Annnnd yes. Without letting this blog descend into some pretty gushing, loved-up, sappiness ..which, as we all know, is not like me at all *ahem* lets just say that I am so pleased that Orvil and Wilbur Wright had the foresight to run along and invent the world's first successful aircraft, so that a whole century later, the person I had fallen in love with over the internet could use one to get over here and finally meet me in person.

Major, major feelings and ..stuff *shifts awkwardly in seat looking extremely self concious and blushing lots* she's just kinda really cool, and umm, yeah.. Go me for scoring such a hot, witty, intelligent girlfriend! :D

Anyway, I don't really want this blog to become a running commentary of the life and time's of a diminutive, Antipodean, emergency department nurse's (mis)adventures through Europe, and document her every last move "...and then she ordered the vegetable frittatta, and then she said.." I just wanted to introduce her, so that I can hopefully get back to blogging with something close to regularity. And because no doubt there will be the occasional reference to her in amongst it all. Just the odd one or two. Here and there. When I'm stuck for other things to write about...

Oh. It was also blatently so I could plaster her face across my blog :D

Another year... another spot...

2007-02-13T07:39:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning to find that my face had decided to celebrate my 27th birthday by having a wee party of its very own ...in the form of a spot.

I think this is a sign. As long as my body keeps acting like a teenager, I will keep treating it like one!

:D

Happiness is a perfectly formed poo.

2007-02-12T01:16:00.000-08:00

Those of you lucky enough to be in regular communication with me, will no doubt have heard that I managed to misplace my beloved mobile the other day. OK, so "misplaced" maaaay be stretching the truth ever-so-slightly given that I maaaay have been drunk at the time of it being misplaced *ahem*

Anyway, among with the minor inconveniences of losing my mobile; having my ties cut to the outside world ..my entire life having to go on hold ..being forced to make use of conventional forms of communication (shouting really loudly, telepathy, clinging on to peoples' legs so they can't get away incase I need them again, and *gasps* speaking in p-e-r-s-o-n) ..not to mention losing the hundreds of contacts, both work and social, I have built up over the past few years.. Most annoying of all is that I have lost my phone's photo album.

You see, for some reason, I seem completely incapable of taking a digital camera out of my rucksack to take pictures with, despite there being one in there at pretty much any time (in my defence, its case does have a rather complicated fastener to contend with ...what with it being made of velcro n'all *coughs*). So I have always relied on my trusty mobile, which has a fabby 2 mega-pixel camera, and is always safely, snuggly tucked away in my pocket at all times (except when misplaced. Obviously).

I had diligently been building up an extensive collection of photos of pine marten poo over the past few months. Rather than this being yet another perversion of mine, I was actually trying to document the assortment of guises marten poos can take, dependent on their diet, for my methodology write-up. Most books will show you a black twisted scat as being typical of a marten. However, marten diets are plastic, reflecting their opportunistic and generalist feeding patterns, and so a large proportion of scats are far from "text book" in appearance. I wanted to provide pictoral evidence of the variety of shapes, colours and textures to demonstrate how caution should be taken when identifying scats based on their morphology alone. I had quite a comprehensive collection built up, and then I go and lose my bleedin' phone. Grr. So here I am, starting the collection again, everyone's gotta have a hobby and all that...

You have to wonder though, if my phone was found by someone else, why they wouldn't just take pity on the owner and return it to me - the handset itself was covered in scuffs and scratches, including a rather large crack right down the front of the fascia, but more than anything: wouldn't you wonder about the mental state of someone who's phone was filled full of photos of poo??

Things that make me sad.

2007-02-11T01:14:00.000-08:00

Burning my tongue so I can't taste anything.

Having a cold so I can't taste anything.

I currently have both and am seriously contemplating just ending it all.

What is the point to life without the ability to TASTE!?

How gay is your star sign?

2007-02-10T00:48:00.000-08:00

I will be the first to admit that it really doesn't take a whole lot to distract me from the task at hand (bright colours, shiny objects, pretty girls...). And bearing in mind that I happen to be doing some particularly tedious lab work at the moment (involving genetics and molecular biology and horrible things like that - bleurgh!), its hardly surprising that my wee brain wandered off on a complete tangent. Yet again. But this particular tangent drove me to distraction to the point where I actually went to the library, acquired some statistics software, some books on how to use said software, and proceded to re-learn stats, all JUST so that I could satiate my curiosity ..and then blog about it. None of this pansy-assed procrastination for me! No, no, no! Mine really embraces my inner geek. My inner uber-geek as it turns out. But I guess at least its been mildly productive, in that I really did actually need to pick up my stats skills again sooner or later, and naturally that wasn't about to happen with just my own boring old ACTUAL data as an incentive. Not when I could have a pointless and completely-unrelated-to-ANYTHING-I'm-doing topic to focus on instead.

So this all stemmed from a recurring observation that cropped up repeatedly over the course of various conversations I'd been having online with my friend, Ruth. It turns out that every other lesbian we know is called Sarah. Seriously. It has to be the GAYEST name. Out of the four Sarah's in my email address book, four of them are gay. I also live with another Sarah - also gay. Ruth's sister, Sarah, is a gay. As are her friend and one of her ex's. So that's 8 Sarahs, known to just 2 people, who are all gay. Now that's GOT to be more than just a product of Sarah being a common girls name in general. Try it at home - how many gay Sarahs do YOU know??

DISCLAIMER: Ha ha! Sorry Belgish, but it was about time I made a comment about this, but I'm not intending to poke fun at you directly. Much. Merely observing *points and laughs at the freakishly common gay Sarah*

Anyway, so, in conclusion, Sarah is THE gayest name. For lesbians. Obviously. (I imagine its slightly less common among gay guys). This got my mind ticking over, and it didn't take long before stumbling on to the quandery of which is the gayest zodiac sign. Well it seems that this was the natural progression to my thought processes...

Thankfully, to help solve this wee query, I had Gaydargirls.com close at hand. For those that don't know, this is a lesbian "networking" site that allows people to exchange messages, view each others profiles, chat, meet up, and umm, yes.. crashing on. And it just so happens that one of the various ways in which you can search through other people's profiles is by their star sign. Cue one very productively spent afternoon searching gayspace to see how many lesbians there are online in each of the 12 signs of the zodiac.

I conducted this search city by city. I started in Glasgow, it being where I have myself listed, and was immediately struck that there were just over twice as many Capricorns (apparently the most common sign), than Sagittarians (the least). "Hmmm", I thought. So I decided to check if this were just a freak anomalous perculiarity of Glasgow, and so went on to check those profiles listed under London too. Again I found there were twice as many Capricorns than Sagittarians.

Time to get scientific. Obviously having just two cities is a fairly small sample size (n=2) for comparison, so I quickly surveyed a selection of the GAYEST cities I could think of. At first I stuck to the UK, and included Glasgow, London, Manchester and Brighton. And as I added more data, so the pattern seemed to keep. Perhaps this is a British phenomena? So I cast my net further and included Sydney and Melbourne too (possibly getting a tad too carried away by now). However, when I plotted the results, I was quite surprised at how the trend was the same, regardless of city, with seemingly the most frequently observed star signs being Capricorn (x = 224.50) and Aquarius (x = 187.17), and the least being Sagittarius (x = 112.00), and Libra (x = 114.50).

Not happy with mere descriptive statistics, I decided to perform a one-way analysis of variance to determine if the average values for these signs was actually statistically different from each other, in other words, are there statistically more capricorns than sagittarians ie. is capricorn really the gayest star sign? Cue one trip to library followed by much nerding up on stats.

Well, as it turns out, the answer is: No. The results came out as not significant F(11,60)=1.272, P=.262, meaning that the fact that there are apparently twice as many Capricorns as Sagittarians is purely down to chance.

Ah phooey.

I was just about to look up the UKs national statistics about most popular birth months of the general population, to see if there were just more births in general anyway that fell under Capricorn, rather than it being just a gay thing - the difference between correlation and cause - before thankfully it dawned on me that I was maybe taking this too far now.

Although, an interesting side thought did pop out during my analyses however... funnily enough, and keeping with the general train of though: which is the gayest city?

Well, despite my first assumptions being that it would be Sydney, or London, it was in fact Manchester, followed by London, Glasgow, THEN Sydney and the rest. Of course, this is probably more likely because Aussie girls, unlike us Brits, have far better things to do wit their time than spend hours getting square eyed and pallid online. Let alone spending whole days being nerds researching silly notions like how gay is your name/star sign/city that really seemed a whole lot more amusing at the time, before publicly airing them.

Hmm...

I really must try out one of those L-I-F-E things everyone's always going on about sometime.

Tired of being sexy

2007-01-29T02:05:00.000-08:00

Whoop whoop!

I have just got my tickets for YET ANOTHER gig! Wooo! This time seeing CSS, or rather Cansei de Ser Sexi, in Glasgow in April. So thats my date booked with five hot Brazilian guitar-weilding ladies.. and nicely rounds off my run of seeing all five of my current fave bands live. Hurrah!

One foot in the grave

2007-01-29T02:03:00.000-08:00

I have already alluded to the fact that very soon, in ooooh, say, 15 days time (which makes it FEBRUARY 13TH to all those of you who wish to lavish me with gifts *ahem*) I will be turning the very sexy age of 27.

Now some of those among you, seem to think my age is a constant source of aumsement, and that teasing me about it, is well, teasing...

WRONGTOWN!

I am actually looking forward to being 27 (the odd numbers are always more fun). No really - I am! You young whipper-snappers will soon learn..

Anyway, you can't help but take stock a little bit around your birthday, but I've actually, for once, found myself in a pretty happy place just now. Quite astonishingly. I have a good idea of who I am and where I'm going, and even if the vague details aren't all there, I know its all good. So what if I still act like a 16 year old at times...!

"why should I know better by now, when I'm old enough not to?"

But you know what the one thing that does really bite about turning 27? I was soooo totally going to apply to go on the next "Shipwrecked", and the bastards have only gone and set the age limit for contestants at 25.

Bugger.

Reasons to be cheerful...

2007-01-29T01:53:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but I *hate* January. It should just be banned.. or everyone should get a 'time out' for the entire month to go off on a jolly somewhere warm and happy, because its all just a bit too much to cope with.

The weather is miserable.. No-one has any money.. People are feeling guilty from festive excess and so don't want to play.. Everyone is just plain guilty as they've undoubtedly already broken most, if not all, of their New Year's resolutiuons already, and so don't want to play.. For some reason there are always loads of work deadlines which creep up from everywhere..

And did I mention the pissy weather?!

So in an attempt to alliviate the utterly depressing state of things, I have gone on a mission to come up with Things To Look Forward To In February *clears throat* I give you:

I'm going to see Bloc Party with Ali in Glasgow!

Its me birthday *ahem*

My little bud Debbie is coming back over from Norn Iron to play!

Ruth is moving to Edinburgh from Oz! And I'm going to see The Gossip in Manchester with her, and then the next day we're going to see The Grates in Liverpool!!

And the day afyter that I'm going to see The Gossip in Glasgow with Lyn and Claire!!

And then I'm going to see The Rapture with Ruth again in Glasgow!!!!

FEBRUARY IS GONNA BE FECKING AWESOME!!!

*ahem*

as you can no doubt tell from the number of exclamation marks used in this blog, I *AM* feeling particularly smug and show-offy about it all. But isn't it just about time I had something to feel smug and show-offy about.

The last 6 months in the life of Fi

2007-01-15T02:06:00.000-08:00

Wow. Right, well, it seems I have been a bit slack even by my own standards. A hell of a lot has happened since summer when I last blogged... so to fill you in briefly and with help of some visual aids (blatently just so I don't have to type as much)...

OK, first off, Sherryll and I split up. Bless her. Actually, don't bless her cos we split up because she dumped me.. HOWEVER, I will certainly miss being able to refer to *this* as my "better" half:

Tee hee! But we've managed to stay friends, and are currently (wait for it wait for it) still sharing a flat together(!!) Which we also share with Sherryll's new girlfriend, Sarah *ahem* Its not THAT weird. OK!?! Anyway, Sarah's Oirish and therefore pronounce's words in a comical fashion, and is awful drunk a lot of the time, so we like her lots.

..and you thought the plot lines in the L Word were twisted!!

So aside from all those fun and games... My mum finally came to visit at the back end of summer. She seemed to think that I was deliberately NOT catching her a pine marten, on purpose, JUST because I had caught a marten on the FIRST DAY my dad came to visit. But we got one for her eventually, and saw a male capercaillie a few minutes later, thats not bad going bagging sightings of two of Scotland's most elusive animals before breakfast.

This was taken on Dornoch Beach, providing photographic evidence of the fact do we not only have stunning beaches up here, but sunshine as well! While mum was here, we had a wee MacKenzie Clan reunion over in Poolewe, as copious amounts of our family live over on the west coast, and yet we very rarely get to see them. But they are litterally EVERYWHERE over there. You can't sit down for MacKenzies. And apparently, when a MacKenzie marries another MacKenzie, it infact produces a "pedigree", and not in fact an "inbreed", as it may commonly be confused with.

Ummm... I had a tattoo done at long long last (its only taken me the best part of 10 years to decide what to have and more importantly WHERE to have it). I wanted something that actually meant something and says something about who I am, and what I'm about ...so, with that in mind, (and after seeing a bumper sticker on the back of my brother's car) I had this done:

Its an evolve fish. It is NOT a bleedin' Christian fish(!!!) but rather a parody of one (note the LEGS!). Anyway, I like it, even if I may have to get "No, I am NOT a bloody Christian" tattooed underneath it seeing as only 1% of the population appear to be un-ignorant enough to GET it.

Work has been going well. As you can see, I have been collecting a sh*t load of poo. Always a pleasure.

But, I don't want to post too many pictures of the other aspects of my work, or talk about it too much, as there are those who may disagree with what we do, and don't get that its for the benefit of conserving this species. Sooo I will talk about my field assistants instead!

I decided that we needed a much bigger team if we were going to get these martens tracked. Radio tracking is an enormously labourious task, and the amount data produced by weeks of work is sickeningly small. So I went on a recruitment drive, and rounded up some more troops: enter Ali, Ellie, Eric and Jonathan. Dan (one of my originials) is still very much here, as it seems he has put down roots, and is now part of the furniture, which I am more than happy to say.

This is Ali and Dan on the secluded beach on the Black Isle where Dan has been building his "yurt" for the past few months. Not long after this photo was taken, Dan and Ali got together as a couple, and now the size of gap between them through which daylight can be seen is only measurable with the sorts of devices only particle physists have access to. Its very cute. Albeit rather stomach-churning at times, what with my new found cynical singleton-ness, but they are an adorable couple together. And very well matched. One day they will live together in Dan's yurt, and have smelly little hairy children together. And Dan will carve his rocks, and Ali will make cider, and they will live happily ever after in a truly harmonious, sustainable fashion. Bauk.

This is Ellie. She gets a little over-excited by beaches. Ellie was my little partner in crime *sigh* but alas she has already served her time and moved on to a Grown Up Job down in Bristol. Boo Ellie! BOO!

We all miss her and her random sound effects and generally manic ways.

This is Team Zissou on top of Stac Pollaidh, in the rain, after a rather large amount of whisky was consumed in Ullapool the night before. In the forground is Eric, our resident Viking. He kindly gave up raping and piliging and sailed his ships all the way from Finland just to come and work with us. He is yet another obsessive mountain biker. It seems I have recruited most of my field assistants on the basis of whether they're fanatical about bikes. But it strikes me as as good a criteria as any.

So then autumn came, and with it, magic and faeries...

And we harvested much of the forest's bounty (including chanterelles, blaeberries, cherries and raspberries), which we were particularly smug about considering people back in England will pay premium prices for things we were helping ourselves to off the forest floor. Dan got a slight fungi megalomania thing going on for a while there though, and decided he would make his millions by collecting and drying ceps for wholesale down in high class restaurants and hotels. For weeks he collected hundreds of the things, which he carpetted every surface of his room with (which then stunk like fungus for the best part of a month), carefully attending each one, turing them, cooing over them like some deranged mother hen. And for all his efforts, he got a poxy £60. So back to the drawing board, and pebble carving, with that one. Still, it meant we had lots of nice food to eat for free.

And then, Christmas went and sneaked up on us, bringing with it a bundle of trouble in the form of Bramble! My mum's new pup. Because that's what Christmas is all about - Puppies!

And then before you knew it, it was 2007 already! Which was spent with Team Zissou in Edinburgh, and was an absolutely fabulous end to a mind-bogglingly frenetic year. Is it really gone already!?

And so this is me now, getting back to work after holiday frollics. I am still very much single, but am quite happy with that fact. No really. Its all good. I'm taking time out to focus on my friends, my work, and most importantly - ME! And have found that I have really needed this break and alone time. As for the next 12 months, well, I have agreed to submit my PhD thesis by December 2007, and so have less than 11 months left in which to wrap up field work, work out what the hell I can write about, and write it.

In the meantime though I have far more pressing things to worry about such as: the HORROR that is getting my hair cut - EEEK!

Homo sapiens: The Infallible Species

2006-08-08T10:56:00.000-07:00

Vast amounts of my time are spent working alone in the woods. Sometimes I will not see a single person while I'm out there for several days in a row. The strange thing is though, considering I'm such a social, gregarious wee soul, I actually like it this way.

You see the things is, the people I do tend to meet out there thoroughly depress me, and I'd rather not be faced with them if I can help it. Bit of an cop out strategy I know, but its all about preservation - specifically: my attempt to cling on to notion that people in general are capable of independent, reasoned thought after all. But the more of them I meet, the more the evidence stacks against them.

The particular mentality to which I'm refering to comes up whenever I'm asked what it is I'm doing out there: "Oh, I'm working on a Forestry project to study pine martens" I will inevitably reply. To this there is generally one of two responses: sheer glee at the thought that perhaps I am going to be removing martens from the forests, OR unabashed suspicion as to why on earth I would possibly be wasting my time studying these "pests".

Most people will try to engage me in a conversation that invariably revolves around how there are just far too many of these animals in the woods today. Just the other day I had a gentleman telling me how rife the north is with them, it being literally "polluted" with them, as he put it. When I questioned why this was such a bad thing, he simply stared at me with a look of complete incomprehension. I haven't quite placed if this look is because they think this is obviously one of the most ridiculous questions one could ask, or, what I suspect may be the case they have never once questioned WHY they think that too many martens is a bad thing. The usual response is; "well, they're vermin aren't they", or, my particular favourite; "well, there are just too many of them aren't there" (I'm not even going to comment on the fact that we don't really have a good idea of how many martens there are and can only guestimate numbers and densities after labour intensive trapping and tracking studies such as mine).

At this point in the conversation I usually want to turn and run away. I know as a scientist I should be trying to communicate knowledge, and you'd think this would be the perfect opportunity to do so, until you factor in that these people do not even entertain the possibility of an alternative view, or listen to valid points of reasoned argument contrary to their own. What they do instead is spout out rhetoric, a typical and traditional view of animals in black and white terms: things you can eat or make profit from = good, everything else = bad. And predators are just about the worst of the worst... "martens are just plain evil though aren't they".

I pressed this particular gentleman further to extract a reason as to why he considered them "evil", to which he responded, "but they eat everything don't they, they eat all the birds". (Again I'm not going to mention the fact that he didn't actually know what sort of birds he knew they ate. He also didn’t even know that you get Scottish crossbill, crested tit AND capercaillie in the very same woods he was so keen to protect from the marten menace. Obviously a avid bird enthusiast and conservationist.) Now if only my supervisors had thought to question this gentleman before agreeing to fund my PhD, it would have negated the need for any further study at great expense. The fact that they did fund me to find out exactly what pine martens are eating because we don't really know didn't matter to him: he obviously knew better. These people know all the answers without exception. They have made up their mind and no amount of evidence will sway them from their holding point. Like I said, there’s no reasoned thought going on here. When I informed him that from the months of scats I have been collecting, as well as the results of previous studies, rodents are by far the overwhelming prey items of choice he responded: "well it'll be those birds of prey too, they're killing all the birds, there's too many of them n’all".

Deciding to take a different tact I threw at him the possibility that if you look at it historically (I was loathe to mention the words "in evolutionary terms" incase that sparked a creationist debate), there have always been birds of prey, and pine martens, and the little birds have gotten along just fine. Predator and prey coexisting. Nature has a way of balancing things (I decided it best not to go into population equilibriums, environmental carrying capacities and functional or numerical responses of predators to prey). What about the possibility that the main difference in the system as a whole is the addition of humans, and their continued manipulation of the land? Couldn't this possibly be a more likely reason why passerine birds are declining? Even if it IS the predators who ultimately eat them, is this not maybe a knock-on effect of OUR actions? Numbers and species of available prey in the environment are continually being altered by habitat modifications, and predators are being squeezed in to smaller and smaller fragments of suitable habitat, increasing the likelihood that they encounter rarer prey species. I cannot argue that pine martens DON'T ever eat birds, even rare ones such as the capercaillie, because they do. But capercaillie for instance, face far bigger threats from human-related causes: climate change, habitat loss and fragmentation, increased grazing due to unnaturally high deer numbers, increased mortaility as a result of collisions with deer fences and power lines, and increased predation from domestic cats and dogs. That a pine marten may take a brood of chicks is not going to help a struggling caper population. However, there are perhaps far more effective solutions to their population decline than complete marten removal, it’s just that these will take a lot more thought and effort, and don’t look quite so incisive to the general anti-predator public.

And THAT is what I hate most about the people I have been encountering. They do not seem able to comprehend that perhaps it is humans that are at fault. That things are not so black and white. Predators have consistently and historically been a scape goat for when things go wrong. A farmer suffers heavy livestock losses, so it must be predation rather than an increase in disease brought on by intensive farming and poor husbandry standards. Why take responsibility for a situation when you can go and persecute an entire species instead? I'd like to think that this mentality was held only by a few country folk living in the rural depths, until you actually realise that the view is humoured, if not shared, but the likes of DEFRA who will pander to the whims of the uninformed and their rhetoric.

What we need is a change in perspective. I believe that we conservationists and ecologists should be focusing on trying to change the public’s attitude. People should look at the fact that the north is "polluted" with pine martens as a blessing, not a curse. Here is a species that was brought to the brink of extinction in this country less than a century ago, and yet now is flourishing. Why not make use of a positive such as this in a world where good news seems so increasingly hard to come by? Public opinion is fleetingly fickle, and just needs a little direction. Less than 50 years ago, capercaillie were being shot by foresters as they, and their penchant for eating young pine needles, were deemed harmful to forest regeneration. Now the capercaillie is one of the Forestry’s top conservation priorities, a complete about-turn in opinion, and one which the public seem to have followed.

Pine martens are a conservation success story – and you don’t get too many of those these days! We should be encouraged, and dare I even say proud, that we have turned their story around. The only fight that remains for this charasmatic species is that against traditionalised opinion and persecution.

The new face of ecological field research.

2006-07-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

The most notable change to my life Up North since we last spoke has been the addition of my new ~~hinderance~~ field assistant: Sherryll.

As you may know, Sherryll is a particularly intrepid little soul, well suited to rugged landscapes and harsh extremes of weather.

In fact, it would be fair to say that she laughs in the face of adversity!

The many guises of The Sherryll

2006-07-20T00:50:00.000-07:00

You can take the muppet out of the city...

...but she's still a MUPPET!

Camera Shy

2006-07-20T00:42:00.000-07:00

My Poppy has to be the simply THE MOST impossible creature I have ever tried to photograph. I swear she gets that from me. Anyway, here's a couple I quite liked of the mutt taken whilst playing round with me new phone camera (oooh, they're getting right good now those camera phones).

Happy Feet. . .

2006-07-20T00:32:00.000-07:00

OK, so I've maybe gotten myself a wee bit distracted already on the whole filling-you-in-to-date front, but I just wanted to share with you the joy of my lovely socks.

They ARE lovely though, I think you'll agree. And its probably quite sad to say, but every time I look down at my tootsies when wearing said socks, I can't help but smile and feel happy. Now thats what you should look for in a good pair of socks.

It also strikes me that the more I blog, the more I realise just how simple and easily pleased I really am.

So did you miss me?

2006-07-20T00:22:00.000-07:00

OK. I hold my hands up. I have been particularly slack with the ol' blogging of late, and I'm not exactly promising its going to get too much better. Deal with it.

Its just that the weather's so nice now that its summer, and the evenings are so light and so long, that it just feels a shame to be indoors (unless watching multiple consecutive episodes of the 24 DVD boxset series 1 to 3. Naturally).

And then I have the whole thing in that I haven't said anything for so long, that I now have SO MUCH to say and don't know where to start. Leaving me a wee bit speechless. Meh.

No doubt I will find a cunning way to summerise the past 3 months into a single post sometime "very soon", but in the meantime I just wanted to pop my head 'round and check that you were all still there. All two of you.

Bed time stories

2006-04-29T08:09:00.000-07:00

They should put a warning on books which aren't divided into chapters. Although I have to say its doing wonders for my insomnia development *yawns*

Things that go ..err ..scratchy scratchy shuffly flump ..in the night

2006-04-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

There is something living in the attic space above my bedroom. It definitely has claws, as I hear it scratching about up there. And at 3am it sounds about as big as a ...a large ferret or something! With the savage talons of ..a ..an iguana. And no doubt the flesh tearing beak of a small owl! *shudders*

Thankfully I haven't the curiosity, or inclination to get my face mauled off, to find out exactly what it is by sticking my head through the gap in the ceiling. I shall therefore continue to imagine a host of debatably plausible monsterous beaties, and be sure never to stand for prolonged periods under the gap. But most of all: I will try to not think about the slim possibility that it is in fact a giant spider! EEP!

Ticked off!!

2006-04-27T12:17:00.000-07:00

Apparently I could be plagued this year by a small and potentially deadly menace this summer. Recent mild winters (mild?? since when has a 'Siberian Winter' been mild?) and dry summers have combined to form the perfect breeding conditions for the tick population. Despite these wee beasties being the size of a pin head, they can have quite disasterous consequences... Ticks carry a huge range of infections, one of the nastier ones being Lyme's disease. One of the foresters I know has Lyme's disease (which, I should add, you never get rid of it once you've caught it), and he had a heart attack last year because of it. Lyme's disease can also lead to bone disease, nervous disorders, and chronic fatigue syndrom or ME. Another ecologist I know suffers from the last two, after years spent out and about chasing wildlife, he now has severely deteriorated eyesight and circulation problems to boot.

..And there was me worrying about inbred redneck hillbillies, werewolves, and wild-eyed-boggarts lurking in the dark dark woods.

But don't worry folks! I've got myself prepared:

Close up on feet!!!

So this summer, even if its as hot and dry as predicted, I shall be mostly covered up from head to foot. Oh joy is me.

Adios amigo

2006-04-20T11:01:00.000-07:00

Good Friday wasn't such a good day after all, mostly because we had to say goodbye to our resident monkey boy, Richard. He's gone and gotten himself one of those pesky job things. Pah!

So here's to you Richard. You have made living in the middle of nowhere about as much fun as it was possible, and I really am truly going to miss you. You have become more than my minion and I hope that we stay good friends. But just because you no longer work for me doesn't mean I'm going to stop bossing you about ;-p

So this is how I will remember you:

That vacant expression... that scruffy manic hair... that pint (yes PINT) of vodka and cranberry.. what a legend!

Not one for teary goodbyes and sentimentality though, I thought the following quite an appropriate send-off image.

CHARMING!!

Don't panic.

2006-04-09T12:27:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a recurring theme with my blogging. When everything is going smoothly - I have plenty to say about it, and will happily ramble on about the silly little innane things that make my days fun. But every so often there will be a dramatic pause. This silence is normally partly because I am just too damn busy to sit down and blog, or, more likely, too damn tired to bother. But it also happens when I am just feeling a little too negative about life. If you can't say anything good, don't say anything at all.

Am back now though, so its all downhill from here again :-)

MEAT!!!

2006-03-14T17:45:00.000-08:00

Marten handling lesson # 1:

2006-03-14T07:52:00.000-08:00

Always ensure that your marten is fully sedated before attempting to pick it up.

Oh deer, oh deer, oh deer!

2006-03-09T18:09:00.000-08:00

The boys were out today to meet the local forester and pick up some bait for our traps. As part of their duties, the foresters cull deer in the forests to keep their numbers down. In the absence of natural predators to control their numbers, a deer population left unchecked would destory any regenaration within the forest, making it a poor habitat for all other species.

Anyway, Raymond had lots of goodies for our martens, but also a particularly fine looking Sika roe deer. Now Sika are a non-native species (infact they are Japanese), but they are able to hybridise with our native Reds, causing a problem in itself. But apparently, of all the deer, they make the best eating.

Mmmmmm! Tasty!

On hearing that we can, through work privileges, get deer at £1 per kilo, the boys couldn't resist and bought the entire carcass there and then. The beast needs to be skinned and then hung a while, so we won't get her til next week. Then, as she won't have been butchered, we will have to do it ourselves. Just clear the kitchen table, get sharpening a good couple of knives, and learn on the spot how to cut up a carcass with the aid of Daniel's "Complete Book Of Self-Sufficiency". Its not something I've ever done before, but I have to say, I'm quite excited at the prospect. Is that wrong?

But with 17kg of venison to get rid of, I think we could be eating venison stew, venison curry, venison chops, venison steaks, venison kebabs, venison pie, venison suasages, venison burgers and etc etc for the next few weeks.

Any recipes gladly received on a postcard please!

A room with a view

2006-03-09T13:42:00.000-08:00

This is the view from my office window. When I say "office" I have merely commandeered part of the lounge/conservatory for my own, and marked my territory by spreading hundreds of scientific papers, coffee cups, and bizarrely, cables ties, amongst other gubbins, on just about every surface. Including the floor.

The trouble is, the lighting and colours are so changeable outside that I seem to spend a lot of time staring (in deep contemplation of course). Its confounded by the fact we have a lively population of birds who come to the feeders we've been supplying. We get all the usual suspects: robins, blackbirds, dunnocks, chaffinchs, greenfinch, goldfinch, blue tit, great tit, wren, and song thrush. But due to our location, we often get quite a few species not common in most British gardens such as coal tit, crested tit, field fare, cross bills (well, passing through), goldcrests, buzzard, red kite, and, perhaps my favourite, the bullfinch.

(Picture courtesy of Sue Tranter)

Infact while writing this, I've been observing a snipe feeding greedily on a wet flush in the meadow outside.

All this makes getting on with my reading etc very difficult. Although you'll be glad to know it obviously doesn't seem to have affected my ability to waste time by blogging!

A beauty and a beast

2006-03-08T16:25:00.000-08:00

(Click on pictures to see them in their full glory)

For the past few months, my poor, long suffering girlfriend has had to put up with me boring her incessently about the minutae of modern mountain bike technical specifications. Back in summer, I decided I needed a new bike. Not wanted. Needed. I'd been riding in Glentress and got hooked on the buzz from hurtling down a narrow single-track between trees and over rocks. In true geeky-PhD-student fashion, I started to do my background research. If I was going to spend money on something, I wanted to make sure I was getting the best of the best. Unfortunately, as I have a one-track mind, this became my obsession, and soon even Sherryll could tell you the merits of one brand of hydraulic disc brakes over another (sorry babe!!).

But finally, after a lot of umming and ahhing, I have my very own Gary Fisher Tassjara GS bike. I've upgraded the brakes (to Shimano Deore) and forks (to RockShox Recon 327), and it is without doubt a magnificent piece of engineering. And isn't it a pretty colour too!! *ahem*

The aim is to get fit again; bomb down hills at top speed going "woo hooo!"; see a bit more of the countryside; and most importantly, to tire out the dog.

I think first and foremost though, I need to invest in some mud guards!

Gone Fishing Boarding

2006-03-07T00:02:00.000-08:00

Well when you can't beat them...

If I'd have wanted to go on a wild goose chase, I'd have studied wild geese wouldn't I?!?!?!

2006-03-06T15:55:00.000-08:00

The unusually large amounts of snow are hindering my fieldwork. Because I was packed off by my supervisors with a Citroen Berlingo, rather than the sexy Ford Ranger 4x4 I requested, we are unable to negociate the forest roads, which have a thick covering of snow. This means its impractical to get on with a lot of the work we should be getting on with. So instead I've decided to make the most of a bad situation and crack on anyway. How hard can a little snow be to walk through right??

Well after 6 hours of trudging through knee deep, and in places thigh deep, snow - I can tell you that is bloody hard! We were trying to find Face's (that's him below) den site today by homeing in on his radiocollar signal. We must have tramped about 9km through thick forest, debris strewn clear fell, marsh bog and heather moor, in a vain attempt to pick up a signal. But could we find one??? No.

So with great annoyance we stomped back to the van, which was parked at the very edge of the forest, feeling throroughly defeated. It was getting late and we were cold, tired and very hungry. Just as we were about to jump in, Richard decided to check one last time with the tracking gear to see if we could find a signal. And what do you know: the silly marten's only in completely the opposite direction to where we had been walking, in an entirely separate area of woodland a good couple of miles away across roads, habitations and farmland.

Grrrr. Bloody animals, they never read the script.

She lives in a house, a very big house in the country…

2006-03-05T14:45:00.000-08:00

Some of the more observant among you may have noticed a distinct lack of bloggings in recent weeks (or should that be months?). “But what has become of our intrepid Fi Pants?” I hear you cry. Well, since we last spoke, I have upped sticks and relocated to The Middle Of Nowhere, or more precisely, here:

This is *********dale Lodge in the far flung reaches of northern Scotland. And when I say northern, I’m talking just about the same lattitude as Stockholm, St. Petersberg and Oslo. I think. Its not far off the Arctic anyway. And its bloomin cold.

So here I am, its finally happened, I have relocated in order to conduct my fieldwork that's been so long in planning. This basically involves lots of forests, pine martens, poo, mud, dirty fingernails, and for this week only: snow. We’re pretty much snowed in at the moment. We may have to eat the dog if food runs too low. But then again, she’s providing far too much entertainment as a moving target for snowball throwing, so maybe we shouldn't be too hasty.

So who is this “we” of which I speak? Well, I now have two field assistants, or rather, minions, to do my bidding. More than anything, they are two great guys who keep me entertained and in fits of giggles. But most importantly they're here to fetch spiders out of my bedroom. This is them, Daniel (left), and Richard (right):

The character in the middle is Nigella. We made her during a particularly hard day out working in the woods, snowtracking martens. As we couldn’t actually find any pine martens to snow track *ahem*, we turned our attention first to snowball fights, and then to who-can-build-the-biggest-snowball-contest, which naturally progressed to creating her. In the name of equality we thought it only right to build a snowlady (you'd never have guessed we've each got a girlfriend over 200 miles away now would you??).

So pine martens are the main reason we’re here. That’s what its all about. And aren’t they worth it? This is Drew, or rather Female #3 (the other two being Lucy and Cameron). We’ve caught three males so far too (BA, Murdoch, and Face. We’ve yet to find one smoking cigars. Its quite civilised with equal numbers so far, and will do wonders for my stats - don't you just love it when a plan comes together?).

The only down side is that unfortuanately, being “here” means a noticeable absence of television, mobile phone reception, broadband internet connection, and most importantly: pubs (the nearest pub being a whole 8 miles away). Did I mention that I'm also missing my dearest Shezzypants? The reason I haven’t blogged for so long is because BT are useless and even my dial-up almost never happened.

So since living with such technologically primitive isolation we have learned a great many things, the most important being: 1.) that early man spent most of his time inventing narcotics such as alcohol for good reason. 2.) that poached eggs really are the food of Gods, and poaching them to perfection is an artform that too few take time to master. 3.) that peanut butter is the universal bait with which one can trap just about any animal immagineable. 4.) that having a shower only once every 4 days makes having a shower all the more pleasurable. 5.) that Encona hot pepper sauce goes perfectly with every food group known to man. I’m afraid I’ve already forgotten all the more interesting tales to tell of our time here, and it seems we’ve developed a slight preoccupation with food. All we seem to do is talk about, prepare, or eat, food. But as food is one of my favourite preoccupations anyway I can’t complain really.

So that’s that. A short yet dull explanation of my absence to date. I will try to do better at keeping up to date in future, but sometimes, when the highlight of your week is finding a really fresh pine marten scat, these things are probably better left unsaid.

cyber pets

2005-12-22T06:33:00.000-08:00

Leo has found a new favourite place to sleep, its a good job Shez is only an undergrad and so doesn't have to use her computer for much more than checking emails ;-)

* Fame Lab *

2005-12-22T02:21:00.001-08:00

So theyve done it with wannabe popstars, entrepreneurs, dancers, hip hop errm 'artistes', I guess it was inevitable that sooner or later they would get around to scientists. And they have. Enter Fame Lab.

The competition aims to "provide new opportunities for scientists to develop their skills as communicators", and is looking for anyone (aged over 21) working in science, technology, engineering or maths. Entrants will get 3 minutes to impress the judges at various regional auditions. They're looking for exciting and engaging talks that can be understood by the general public. In the usual way of these things, contestants go through various rounds, each time the best getting creamed off. The winner gets a cash prize and a development deal with Channel 4 (the chance to work on an idea for a TV show with a producer and pitch the idea to Channel 4).

I'm not sure if this is going to be filmed for TV, but I hope so. I can't wait to see the levels of geeky awkwardness that come out of the auditions out-takes.

Baywatch-dog

2005-12-02T09:22:00.000-08:00

Mountain Leader Training.

2005-11-14T20:31:00.000-08:00

About a week ago I went off to Grantown-On-Spey for a week of "Summer" Mountain Leader Training. This was somewhat inaccurately named given that it was infact November and we experinced snow, ice, and -5 degree temperatures. But despite the harsh conditions, it was a thoroughly enjoyable week and I came away having learned a great deal, both about the mountains, and myself.

ML training is basically one step in the route to becoming a Mountain Leader - a qualification which allows you to take your average party of numpties up in to the mountains, and, most importantly, to bring them back again. Any idiot can lead a group in to the hills, the skill is in the bringing-them-back-home-safely part.

The course is designed to hone pre-existing mountain craft and group management skills, and practice what to do in the worst "what if...?" scenarios. We covered everything from navigating without a compass, to river crossing, to abseilling without a harness, to improvising a stretcher using rusksacks. All this whilst being able to keep your group motivated by giving them captivating little talks about grouse poo (you just knew there was going to be some involved sooner or later).

My instructor for the week was Pete Hill MIC. Pete is famed in the mountaineering world not only for being very tall, funny, bearded and ginger - but for doing stupidly exciting things like spending six days on the north face of the Eiger. In winter. Pete now ranks up next to Ray Mears and David Attenborough on my hero list.

Anyway, rather than go on about the week, here's some pictures instead. I will leave you with one last final word of wisdom that I will take with me from this week onwards to the grave: You can NEVER have enough pairs of gloves.

This is just above where we camped. Yes, that is ice on those grass hummocks. We woke up to find a frozen Ptarmigan just by our campsite. Brrr.

Actually, despite the cold we were very lucky with the weather. It at least allowed us a few spectacular views of the Cairngorms before unleashing it's worst on us. This is the view from the summit of Ben MacDui (the 2nd highest mountain in Scotland. Infact at 1,309 m, it is also the 2nd highest peak in the UK too don't you know).

My course-mates and Pete (second from left) in some freezing fog.

Introductions..

2005-11-08T19:20:00.000-08:00

I think its about time I formally introduced my girlfriend, Sherryll. So here she is:

..and yes, she generally does look this attractive. I'm just lucky I guess.

Ahhhh!

2005-11-08T08:59:00.000-08:00

..and I was so determined not to let this Blog descend into a "isn't my puppy just the cutest" website. But dammit, she is!

Still haven't found what you were looking for??

2005-11-06T20:01:00.000-08:00

Just out of curiosity, I have a web tracker which keeps a record of exactly who visits my Blog site, and from whence they came. Most people are referred here by other websites where I have blatently plugged my Blog's URL, but just occasionally, the odd random happens upon me after doing an internet search. In a stroke of snooping genius, I am even able to see exactly what people were searching for when they came across my page.

So far, I have turned up in web searches for: "faeces girl", "what is an absess", "absess on a cat", "origin of ear mites", "sniffing mums knickers" and "history of a hedgehog".

Now I could be wrong, but I think that I may just be sending out the wrong message.

No martens were harmed during the filming of this Blog..

2005-10-26T15:48:00.000-07:00

..Just mildly sedated, collared and released unscathed back in to the wild.

This is Hamish. He liked being caught so much he decided to go into six of my traps. On six consecutive days. People seem to think that the fact he kept getting caught must mean he's not such a bright marten, but when you think about it, he's well smart: a free easy feed (mmmm deer hearts and road killed pheasant), a cosy warm moss lined bed for the night, and all for the bargain price of just having to pose for a few mug shots before being released early the next day. He totally knew what he was getting and appeared to enjoy the service. It seems I am the Holiday Inn of the pine marten world.

When rabid dogs attack..

2005-10-26T14:34:00.000-07:00

P-P-P-Poppy Power!!!!

2005-10-06T14:15:00.000-07:00

Tee hee *beaming grin*

I've finally got myself a puppy! Or rather, a Poppy.

Isn't she quite possibly The Cutest Thing In The World?! And she knows it. Especially at 3.16am when she's left a big steaming surprise for me to find on my nightly blunderings to the loo, and then looks up at me with those but-I'm-SUCH-a-cute-puppy-you-couldn't-possibly-be-mad-with-me eyes... damn her and her cute puppy eyes! grr.

Sure she looks cute now, but you can't see what she's just done to yet another pair of my knickers, lying there so innocently with the evidence still in her bed....

Anyway, her favourite things include: chewing up and hiding her Mums' socks, chewing up zippers on expensive jackets, chewing inanimate objects (mostly anything potentially harmful such as glass, power cables, knives, small metallic objects, small plastic objects, etc), having her belly scratched, eating cat litter, eating cat food, eating pot plants, eating in general, persistently trying to befriend a grumpy elderly cat who is generally less than amused, and fighting off attacks from Killer plastic Evian bottles...

Its been fun so far if not absolutely bloody knackering. And messy.

No doubt you will hear lots more about Plop in the coming weeks, months and years. Afterall, a puppy is for life, not just for temporarily amusing blogging material.

Always going forwards, cos we can't find reverse

2005-08-24T08:52:00.000-07:00

I seem to be having trouble finding the difference between first gear and reverse lately.

Other people have trouble telling between their left and their right, its just typical that I'd have to get mixed up with forwards and backwards..

Its quite a worrying disability. Especially when I park in front or behind any other form of solid object. Which is quite often. So I would avoid parking anywhere near a navy, 51' reg, VW Polo if your ever in Scotland.

Me, myself, and Id.

2005-08-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

I was in town today with a friend. It was a gorgeously hot, sunny day and we were out exploring the old town. Despite finding the perfect place to sunbathe, on a small hill over looking the Trossachs National Park and Stirling Castle, I was restless and couldn't settle. Why? Because all I could think about was the fact that I desperately needed a wee.

I resented that because I was around "civilisation", it inadvertantly meant that I could not just whip down my trousers and go there and then (as I would happily be able to do if I were out doing fieldwork in my remote study forests). No. Instead, we are constrained to having to go and find a toilet - which can take a lifetime (as it felt it did today). During which time I couldn't even converse, let alone think of anything more mentally challenging than looking for a "WC-->" sign. After eventually relieving myself, I was able to think about other things; notably, what am I going to have for lunch? Where will I find it? And how long will it be before I get to eat it? As you can tell, I really am one of life's great thinkers, with such profound depth...

But amongst these somewhat simplistic of thoughts, I had the realisation that so much of my days are filled with pandering around to my Id. Now, for those of you that don't know, according to Freud, the Id represents our primary process thinking — our most primitive need, gratification type thoughts. It is organized around basic instinctual urges of sexuality, aggression, and the desire for instant gratification or release. Basically the Id wants whatever feels good at the time, with no consideration for the reality of the situation, or about the needs of anyone else, only its own satisfaction.

I am completely aware of how such basic urges dictate my days to me, so I generally am prepared to satisfy the Id whenever it rears its attention grabbing head (i.e. I am never far from a packed lunch box). But being caught short without a loo is one of the annoyances of modern living. And possibly why I don't really like living in urban environments. I wonder how many people living and working in cities at any one time are unable to function correctly because of the simple need to pee... although I doubt that the Office of National Statistics has much info on that one.

Of course, according to Maslow, its not just these basic urges we have to satisfy in our day to day lives, but a pyramidal hierarchy of needs. Only when the lower levels of this pyramid are fulfilled, and maintained with regularity, will we ever reach a state of "self-actualistaion". This is described as the instinctual need of a human to make the most of their unique abilities; "A musician must make music, the artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What a man can be, he must be." ...Erm, hang on...hold that thought...but...

*runs off in search of loo*

Hedgehogs!! Of course!

2005-08-16T21:10:00.000-07:00

I have been out doing lots of fieldwork out and about in the hills and woods these past few weeks (hence the lack of blogging). Its been going well - I seem to have a thriving marten population busily making scats for me to find, sniff and collect (and subsequently store in my freezer *ahem*).

Me - enjoying my scatology.

Anyway... hedgehogs.

So I have been recurringly stumped by a particular type of poo on my site visits. I couldn't tell what it was from, no matter how many times I smelt it. Its one that I keep coming across again and again. Its been really bugging me not knowing what it is, especially because I still insist on picking up and sniffing each time I find one (as if I will suddenly be able to place it). Worst of all its a particularly noxious smelling little bugger. Worse still actually, is the fact that I have a habit of miscalculating the distance to my nose and usually end up with the foul smelling stuff smeared across my face for the rest of the day. (Note: this isn't a fetish of mine by the way, but rather one of my duties as an investigative field zoologist *ahem*).

Warning: Do not accept chocolate drops from this person.

After subjecting my poor old nose countless times now, I finally clicked (ok, maybe I didn't really "click", but rather was told by Rob) ...its only a bloody hedgehog's. Of course. Why didn't I think of that. Damn Hedgehogs! *shakes fist and grrs alot at hedgehogs everywhere*

big stinky hedgey poo

Anyway, on my latest trip out to the woods, I had the pleasure of my dad's company for the day. There was a fair exchange of natural history know-how; my poos for his plants and lichens (..and sandwiches!). It was a great day out for us both. I realised that its when I show people around my study site that I remember how lucky I am that I get to go to work in a place like this. It really is a fantastic area - The woods look out to Schiehallion, a spectacular looking mountain whos name is translated as The Fairy Hill of the Caledonians. Schiehallion's claim to fame is that it was the location of the first ever measurement of the mass of the earth by the then Astronomer-Royal, Nevil Maskelyne, in 1744 (based on the deflection of a pendulum caused by the mass of Schiehallion itself).

The there's the village of Fortingall, nestled in the mouth of Glen Lion (Scotland's longest glen). Fortingall is the location of Europe's oldest living organism; a yew tree that is believed to be between 3000 and 9000 years old. This yew therefore pre-dates Chrisianity, despite the fact that it appears to be growing in the grounds of a church!

And, not only that, legend has it that Fortingall, this sleepy little Perthshire village, was the birth place of Pontias Pilot! His father may have been an ambassador in North Britain during the occupation. His mother may have been either a Menzies or a MacLaren from Balquhidder. (Now, why on earth would someone have made this up if it weren't "true"??)

Who'd have thought it, that the calculation of the Earth's mass, Europe's oldest living organism, and the Roman authority made famous for his hand washing, could be linked together with hedgehog poo in the same blog post. Genius.

I killed a bird today :'(

2005-08-14T23:03:00.000-07:00

We were walking along the street to uni to play badminton, when a car struck a bird infront of us. Now, the speed limit on that particular part of the road is 40mph, and this was a Range Rover who looked to be going even faster still, so I don't think it unreasonable that we would presume the bird would be dead upon inspection. We could not walk on not knowing whether it had made it or not. It seemed only logical that the bird would be dead on impact - the car was so big and so fast. We crossed the street to find the thrush (as it turned out to be) in a heap, and, of course, still moving.

At this point dilema set in. The thrush was severely damaged, it had, afterall just been struck by a large, fast moving vehicle. It no longer had use of its back limbs, and although it attempted to get away when I scooped it up in my hands, its wings were not functioning either. It pitifully tried to defend itself with every last ounce of its might. We didn't have a clue what to do. All we knew for certain was that no matter what we did, this bird would not be able to survive on its own. But what do we do with it? I tried putting it into the hedgerow, naiving hoping that it would right itself and get better. We walked about a meter before returning, knowing that this bird was screwed. I *knew* that the thrush would never get better. It was far too far gone. But what to do with it? Leave it, and hope it recovers? An unrealistic, but at least easier option. Take it to a vet? Surely prolonging the agony, given the extent of its injuriess. Provide a "mercy" killing and end its suffering?

I wished I could have left it in a hedge for it to get well again, so I could stop thinking about it. But I knew better than that, I knew this bird had to die to end its suffering. It was a horrible realisation knowing that I was going to have to be the one to wring its neck. This, as a zoologist and conservationist who would rather live in fear of spiders in her home than kill them.

I can only hope that I helped to end its suffering quickly. It was the hardest thing I think I have ever had to do, and although I know it would have been cruel to leave it in agony, I am still left with feelings of guilt that I killed another living creature, and that maybe she would have been alright should I left her (although I know she wouldn't).

People Before Profit... Before The Sodding Live8 Line-Up

2005-07-02T22:46:00.000-07:00

Today was a day when the developed world told the G8 leaders that they would no longer put up with such greed, corruption, and two-faced lies. People participated in a Make Poverty History march in Edinburgh to demand trade justice, debt cancellation, and more and better aid for the world's poorest countries. As the leaders of the world's richest countries gather here in Scotland for the G8 Summit, the demonstration was to draw the world's media attention, and focus awareness that the G8's plans for the developing world are not good enough. This is the start of a movement for putting people before profit. We want change, and we want it now.

The day had long been planned to hold a peaceful protest in Edinburgh. It is one of a handful of demonstrations happening in Scotland in the run-up to the G8 summit. I feel proud to have been one of a quarter of a million marchers, each of us dressed in white, to take part in this, the largest ever political demonstration to be held in Scotland. Unfortunately though, despite the fact that this had been the scheduled main event for the Make Poverty History campaign for months now, media attention was somewhat hijacked by some other events happening around the world. Our protest march became relagated to the brief "in other news" section of most news programs, while the bulk of news coverage was spent watching various "well meaning" musicians perform in live concerts around the globe...

Bob Gelfdoff's Live8 has only served to take media attention away from the real protest, and to instead create a media circus about which headline acts would be performing. He has completely confused the essence and meaning of the whole campaign. The coverage of the whole Live8 event has sickened me. The day was not about being the greatest live music event in history - it was about sending a message to the G8 leaders that we demand change. The various interviews with gig-goers only confirmed that most of them didnt really have a clue, or care about why they were getting a free gig ..only that it was free, and had probably a better line up than Glastonberry.

Its so nice to see that the message wasn't lost on them then.

Ways I do not like to spend my Fridays part one: Covered in pus

2005-07-01T20:41:00.000-07:00

Imagine my surprise when I went to pet my cat, Leo, who was sleeping soundly on my bed, when I discovered that his neck was covered in putrid smelling pus. On closer inspection I found that it seemed to be coming from an absess on his neck which we had somehow been oblivious to. Until now. Leo is always getting in scraps with other cats, and I had noticed that he had a healing wound, but had no idea that there was an absess forming below it. I am such a bad mother.

So I wrapped him into a bundle using a towel (for fear of being covered in the foul smelling goo), and whisked him away to the vet's. Sarah had cunningly managed to orchestrate it so that I was the one left holding the pus-ey cat while she kept a safe distance. Stupidly, once in the car, with a growling Leo on my lap, I let me grip slip. Cue: wildly scrabbling kitty and spurting amounts of unspeakablness as the wound kept getting squeezeed out. By the time we actually reached the vets both Leo and myself were in a state of shocked horror.

You will be relieved to hear that Leo's prognosis is good, in a few days his wound will have drained and he will fully recover. I, on the other hand, have been mentally scarred by the whole affair. I may never be able to eat custard again. On top of this I was virtually made to strip naked and be hosed down outside before Sarah would let me back in the house, and even now she still wrinkles her nose in disgust whenever she comes too close.

All good things....

2005-06-24T15:42:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed quite a dearth in posts lately. I would like to say I have been far too busy doing exciting things to spend my time blogging, but this is not the case. In truth I have been going through some real emotional turmoil lately, of the sort that not even I can make facetious, frivolent remarks about. After a lot of soul searching and discussion, Sarah and I have decided to split up after two and a half years together. I am not going to go into great length about our reasons, only that it feels right for us at the moment. At least on some days it feels right. We plan to stay friends and so I will still have some comic material of her antics with which to regale you with on my blog. I just felt you ought to know though.

Things that make you go mmm...

2005-06-14T11:08:00.000-07:00

I have surprised even myself. Having never shown any particular interest in anything car related, I have suddenly come over all Diesel Dyke and gotten excited by a car. My car. My new car. My new second hand car. Buts its soooooo pretty - look!

Not only is it amazingly nippy with its 1.4 TDi engine (although, after two years of enduring an elderly Punto, a Shopmobility buggy would feel comparatively nippy), but I managed over 500 miles on one tank of fuel - thats 62.5 miles per gallon! Thats 56% more miles for my money in future. Woooo! ...Suffice to say, in my head, this justifies the fact that I spent way more money than I had intended to/can afford on this little beast... So long as I can get this mileage for another 117 months that is. And yes. I am indeed enough of a geek to have sat here and calculate how much money I will be saving rather than get on with my work.

Adding insult to injury

2005-06-02T15:11:00.000-07:00

Talk about kicking someone when they're down.

So I have tonsilitis, a bacterial infection at the back of my throat - which unfortunately does mean that your breath tends to ming a bit. Albeit temporarily. But Sarah has just turned around and said to me, "I think yours is actually worse than Leo's"... Leo being my elderly cat, who's halitosis if fuelled by never letting a toothbrush near him in over 15 years, who's diet consists of nothing but tinned fish, and who cleans his arse with his tongue!!

So yeah. Cheers for that Sarah :op

Attack of the group A beta-haemolytic streptococci...

2005-06-02T09:50:00.000-07:00

I have tonsillitis.

*sniff*

I always thought I make a crap patient. Because I am rarely ever ill, when it does happen, its normally very serious (at least in my mind). But according to Sarah (who strangely enough seems to be enjoying running around fussing over her sickly invalid), I have been enduring my pain and suffering with great stoicism.

Needless to say, I am still finding this affliction a little hard to swallow - especially given the size of my tonsils.

Special Friends

2005-05-29T11:11:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh.

My mate Sherryll, she is so Special. Let me give you an example of a typical Sherryllism:

The other day I was with her when she bought a birthday card for her Gran's 70th. It was a great card - witty, and inoffensive. She wrote her message inside before sealing the envelope and writing "GRAN" in big letters on the front. We went to the Post Office to get a stamp and that was that. End of story.

..but not quite. Speaking to her last night she suddenly made a confession.

Sherryll: "I posted that card to my gran right."

Me: "Right."

Sherryll: "The envelope said "Gran". Whooops"

..like I said, so Special.

Ahhh Sherryll ...bless her. Her Pa, Alan, is quite Special too, just look at those red shoes.

The 31st Annual Dumyat Hill Race

2005-05-12T08:38:00.000-07:00

*dramatic music* Dum...Dum...Dummmmm-yat

Last night, rather than have a quiet evening down at the local pub quiz, I was gripped by the strange compulsion to expose myself to pure unadulterated torture instead - I took part in The 31st Annual Dumyat Hill Race.

According the Stirling Uni Athletics Club, this is "the challenge of all challenges". The course is five miles long and has 1250' of ascent.

This race was created by a member of the Psychology Department who was propping up the Gannochy Pavilion bar, and thought to set an impossible challenge. A £1 bet was placed that no member of the University could, without mechanical assistance, do the return trip from the Gannochy to Dumyat in less than an hour. On Graduation Day 1971 the £1 bet was lost by 3 minutes. The race has been held annually ever since. Last year 191 runners took part. The current records are 33:07 minutes for men (2000, J Brooks), and 36:52 minutes for females (2000, A Mudge). The event is integrated into the Scottish Hill Running Calendar and it attracts professional runners, and running teams from across the country as well as a number of students and staff.

Apparently, "you can’t call yourself a real athlete until you have completed this race".

But it looks all pretty and harmless all the way there in the distance...

I entered the race just because I thought it would be "a laugh". And also because I think its good to give yourself personal challenges. This was to be especially challenging considering I am definitely more of a sprinter than a cross country runner. And I hadn't run anything like this distance for about 2 years. Certainly not up hill. And stupidly I had been out on the beer the night before. Oops. Perhaps not looking such a fun idea anymore. I actually thought there would be alot of students signing up for it for fun, but when I turned up to register, I was horrifed to see nothing but professional runners!! Deffinitely not looking such a fun idea anymore... My mate, Dom, was also running, but that was no comfort as he does this run 2 or 3 times a week! *gulps*

But I am a stubborn little thing, and had already got my running number on my chest, so couldn't back out now.

Before the race - smell the fear!

On your marks....

But guess who beat the original challenge and completed it in under an hour!! ..Just! I managed a time of 59 minutes!! And although I was far from being first, I was far from being last! I even managed a sprint finish. WOOOOOOOO!!!

After the race - smell the satisfaction!!

It has to be one of the most satisfying feelings in the world. The sheer horror that was the uphill slog is completely negated by the thrill of hurtling downhill again at great speeds. Brilliant!

I will be intrigued to see what time I get when I get in better shape. Dom finished in an impressive 42 minutes - so I'm totally psyched now to get into some training to see if I can't try and beat him, or at least get below 50 minutes next year. Bloody minded competition - my new raison d'etre.

VE Day

2005-05-09T14:18:00.000-07:00

Car versus Rock. Rock wins.

2005-05-09T13:35:00.000-07:00

I killed my car.

Contrary to popular belief, I was not infact "rally driving" at the time - merely driving around my forest study site. That happened to be on what could be described by some people as dirt tracks. A fateful wrong turn led to and encounter with a rock. And geatly reduced clearance. Needless to say, the rock won, and my sump and radiator were quite pitifully defeated. Cue: lots of smoke, oil, funny coloured fluids, and more smoke - but of the even scarier kind.

Result: Fi and Sarah stranded 200 miles from home. In a forest. With a car that is not only very-much-not-going-anywhere, but is now blocking the route for some irrate looking timber truck drivers!!

So we did the only thing we could, and left my poor little Punto abandoned at the side of the road and hitch hiked a lift back to civilisation. Oh, not forgetting first getting laughed at by the foresters I will be working with for the next 3 years.

The car has subsequently been retrieved by my insurance company. I am guessing by the solemn look the damage estimator's face though that it is not going to be a happy ending. Not for my car, or my insurance premiums anyway.

Ho Hum.

Cosmopolitan Carlisle

2005-05-07T08:09:00.000-07:00

Back in my home town constituency there were only five parties running. The top three mirrored national results, but quite bizarrely the only other parties running were the Legalise Cannabis Alliance (which came in 5th with 1% of votes), and UKIP (which came in 4th with 2% of votes).

...I think that just about sums up Carlisle, potheads and racists.

The Country Has Spoken

2005-05-06T16:13:00.000-07:00

So Labour has won its third consecutive term, but did so with a greatly reduced majority (66 down from 161-ish). I think this was always going to be the predictable outcome. Given the circumstances, at least it is not as bad as it could have been. Labour's reduced majority means that there should be enough opposition, including from Labour rebels, to counter Labour being able to force bills through. But neither is it anything to get excited about - disturbingly, both the Conservatives and the BNP have managed to increase their seats.

I was finding it very difficult to decide which way to vote - there is no way I would have even considered voting Tory, or Labour. I wanted to use my vote wisely. Make a protest.

Because of our anachronistic, supposedly democratic system of "first past the post", it means we were always only ever going to get a choice of between the bad, and the worse; Tony Blair or Michael Howard. I can definitely see why people would rather spoil a ballot than vote for either of them! But spoiling ballots in my opinion will not change the status quo because in the meantime, the small number the voters who do turn out to vote will get complete say over who runs the country ...and they could vote Tory for all you know!! Eeeek!

If those who spoiled their ballot or abstained had voted Lib Dem, we might have seen some moderately more promising results. Voting Lib Dem is the only real alternative... but thats hardly saying alot.

And people are always predictably neophobic when it actually comes down to it, and vote in the same dictatorial idiots that they always do *sigh*.

I would have felt my own personal political preferences be better represented by voting for one of the minority leftist parties, such as the Greens. However, until we reform our electoral system and get proportional representation in this country, a vote for the Greens at this time is more or less a "wasted" vote (no matter how optimistic I am, the pragmatist in me knows that society is not yet at the point where it will vote Green en masse). And I won't be holding my breathe waiting for that to happen.

Oh well, on the bright side, it looks more than likely that Blair will be given the boot any day now, and Michael Howard is on his way too.

One thing that still puzzles me though is I don't know why people are more positive about Blair's obvious successor, Gordon Brown, than they are about Blair. Afterall, Brown voted strongly for introducing foundation hospitals, tuition fees, terrorism laws, and of course, the Iraq war. He was Blair's 2nd in command. If the public distrusts Blair so much - why on Earth is Brown any better??

Well, everyone's got to have a hobby...

2005-04-26T00:15:00.000-07:00

Leo v's The Ear Mites

2005-04-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

My cat has ear mites - which means we have to do scrub him with Anti-Mite Stuff on a weekly basis. As you can imagine, it really does hurt us alot more than it hurts him to do so.

I drink too much. The last time I gave a urine sample it had an olive in it.

2005-04-24T21:32:00.000-07:00

Since my last posting I have mostly been ...drunk.

It's not big, and its certainly not clever, but it is most definitely fun.

I'd like to tell you all about my inebriated antics, but to be perfectly honest, I can't quite remember alot of them. Which may be a good thing, well, it usually is. I managed three consecutive nights though, with a whole plethora of societies and groups meaning that all in all, I've made a complete arse of myself infront of a good socio-economic cross section of my university ...pagans, gays, socialists, Planeteers, mountaineers, postgrads - they all featured somewhere or other. Some more frequently than others.

And the moral of the story kids?

Tequilla is not your friend.

Royal Mess

2005-04-19T10:50:00.000-07:00

This country is a complete joke.

Apparently we are the forth richest nation in the world - and yet we don't even have the competence to manage our own rail system so that trains arrive on time, or our own mail system so that letters arrive ...at all.

In the past 6 months, we have had countless items delivered to the WRONG SODDING HOUSE rather than ours. We rely on the good nature of our neighbours to re-deliver our mail to its correct address, and we, in return, re-delived their mail that inevitably and erroneously lands through our door. I didn't realise how terribly confusing it must be for those poor postmen, what with us living at Number 4 and all. I really feel for people who live at houses with numbers so impossibly large that they cannot even be counted on the fingers of both hands.

Apart from the incovenience of receiving bills late, we have had over £60 worth of DVDs and CDs, bought from Amazon, go mysteriously missing. After several complaints to Royal Mail, they still never materialised, but thankfully the people at Amazon seem to be so familiar with this scenario, that they sent us replacements without so much as a second guess.

To top off my general contempt for the Royal Mail they have gone and outdone their own levels of utter incompetance. Seeing as the nearest branch of my bank is in Glasgow (and because my university insists on paying my stipend by cheque rather than directly through BACS), I have to mail my stipend off before it comes on to my account. Prepared to ignore the sheer inefficiency of this system, given how straightforwad modern e-commerce should be, I grin and bear the process. But there is only so much ineptitude I can take!

April 7th was when I posted my much needed stipend cheque off to my bank. April 7th!! I paid extra to have the bloody envelope "Recorded" seeing as it had my next 3 months money contained within it. So imagine my surprise when I check my balance expecting a nice healthy positive number, to find a worryingly depressing negative one.

Trying not to fret too much about it, I logged on to the website available to track your mail, and entered the little reference code that I had spent the extra time, care and expense paying for. Apparently tracking Recorded mail means that "items are only tracked after the item has been delivered". Of course! Why did I stupidly expect them to KNOW where the hell my letter was, just because I'd asked it to be recorded! Thats like having a tracker dog that could only find drugs once you'd unstuffed them from inside the "I Love Amsterdam" teddy bear and plonked them right in front of its nose. Useless!

On contacting said *COUGH muppets COUGH* mail service in person, I was then just told to phone my bank, as of course it was probably them who had infact made the error, and had no doubt just "forgotten" to deal with banking my cheque..... So I checked. And they haven't.

The Royal Mail is a disgrace. It is a complete farce. How come people get away with not doing their own jobs - what they are after all paid to do - properly??? Surely, if everyone made sure that they looked after their own little bit of responsibility, the world would be a much more bearable place to live in. If your job is to pick up mail, sort it, and then deliver it to the correct address, then how the f*ck can you make such a complete and utter balls of it?? I don't see where the difficulty lies. Its your JOB! You should be quite aware of how it works.

What happened to the country's 400 plus years of delivering mail religiously on time? The Mail Trains that were a national pride? Even sodding carrier pigeons seemed to be more efficient!! I realise that not all postpeople are the fools I believe them to be, but by letting those wankers who don't care enough about their job to actually do it properly get away with it, then they are tarring themselves with the same brush.

Amusingly, I have just this second had to go answer the door to a confused looking Postman looking for an address he couldn't find. As much as I felt like berrating him with my frustrations, I decided to just be nice and help him out, in the hope that someone, somewhere is doing the same for my mail.

Socialist's Social

2005-04-13T08:58:00.000-07:00

The Belgian one was playing away on some far flung Hebridean island in the wind and rain with her mum and brother for a long weekend, leaving muggins here stuck behind to demonstrate in lab practicals (fish dissections! ooh, the fun we had!) and mark papers.

I did however manage to drag myself away from the workload long enough to attend the Socialists Sunday School. This workshop, set up to provide forums for discussion about various issues, included speakers from various organisations including the Scottish Socialist Party, Socialist Workers Party and G8 Alternatives.

Alan McCombes started things off with a talk about Marxism in a modern day context. He highlighted that Capitalism is a system that allows an oligarchy (government by the few) or a plutocracy (government by the wealthy) to accumulate capital and thereby restrict the natural circulation of wealth through the economy. He stated the importance of working-class self emancipation as the only means by which social reform is possible. People often think of Socialism or Marxism and immediately leap to visions of Stalin's Russia, North Korea, and China - but this is Communism, not Socialism. The difference being that Communism is centred around the idea of the state as a central repository of economic wisdom, agency and control, whereas in Socialism, it is 'the workers' who ultimately hold the power.

This was demonstrated by the next speaker, Mike Gonzalez, in his talk on Venezuela. Venezuela provides no less than 13% of the world's oil, when you consider that Iraq supplies 17%, it is no wonder then that the US has been equally "interested" in the country's political affairs. Since the 1970s, Venezuela’s middle and elite classes have been profiting from the nation’s lucrative oil industry, despite it being a supposedly state-owned industry. However, when the socialist Hugo Chavez was democratically elected in 1998, he set about re-establishing state control of the industry and using its substantial profits to improve conditions (health, eductaion, housing) for the country's poor. None too pleased with his actions, Venezuela’s upper class minority, backed by US dollars, tried on three attempts to oust Chavez. On each occasion, it was the poor workers who's voices were heard. With 80% of the population living in poverty, it is not surprising that each time Chevez has come bouncing back.

The system in Venezuela is not the ideal, with a solitary president incharge, there will always remain the possibility of it turning into a dictatorship - but the important message we should take from the Venezuelan people is what can happen when people use their voice. It makes you think what we could have really done to stop the War on Iraq two years ago.

The final speaker, Donny Nicholson (SSY, G8 Alternatives) rounded up the day with a motivating talk about the G8. Sarah and I had already booked into our diaries the events taking place after previous meetings and demos we had attended. These include Make Poverty History demo Edinburgh 2 July; Alternative Summit Edinburgh 3 July; Anti-nuclear demo against Britains WMD Faslane and Dungavel 4 July; Culminating in the Anti-G8 protests Gleneagles 6 July.

These demonstrations are not just somewhere for international anarchists and trouble makers to cause trouble. The people attending these demonstrations will be local Scotts (and British) who want to go out and make their voices heard - that George Bush, the other First World Leaders, and their greedy Capitalist ways are not welcome here. It is a unique opportunity not just in Scotland, but the UK as whole, for people to unify, realise their strength, and demand change.

Some highlights from this week...

2005-04-04T13:32:00.000-07:00

I learnt several new recipes. Im particularly liking tarragon butter sauce with fish. Yum! I also spent ALOT of time juicing vegetables. It's becomming a bit of a compulsion. As is making chicken soup...

I spent a debaucherous night out in Edinburgh, and Carlisle. Obviously, not on the same night.

..drugs are bad kids.

I decided that Ray Mears is my new hero. Deciding this has made me even more determined to become skilled in field craft - which is going to be a must for my work... just need to get myself some khakis and a whittling stick and I'll be sorted.

In a fit of sheer impulse buying, Sarah and I bought tickets for the T in the Park festival this July, woo-hoo! ..Green Day, The Killers, The Prodigy, Kasabian, Bloc Party and The Foo Fighters among many others. Oh. And the mud, we mustn't forget the mud!

Sarah's ongoing battle with The Cat has escalated to silly proportions. In an attempt to stop him from trying to sleep on her head every night, she has now taken to going to bed armed with a spray bottle loaded with water. Funnily enough, the ensuing carnage has gone completely unnoticed by me, as I manage to sleep quite soundly through it all.

I discovered the Joy of Napster - so I can now listen to vitually any album/song I can think of in full and then choose to buy it, or not! ..Hence now I am quickly attempting to develop my Will Power enough so that I do not 1.) spend the next three month's stipend before it has even arrived; and 2.) spend the next three month's searching for obscure tracks from my youth rather than working. It's not looking promising. Maybe this wasn't such a geat discovery afterall...

As you can see, the life of a PhD student is a none stop rollercoaster of exciting thrills and spills.

The Littlest Hobo

2005-03-28T12:59:00.000-08:00

I found myself hurtling down the M74 late Saturday evening, back to Carlisle. I was going down to meet up with some mates from school for a night out. But my mind started wandering as I was driving. For some reason I stumbled across the thought that since the age of 18, I have moved no fewer than eight times. Eight times I tell you! Eight!! And I'm not just talking about moving house here - I mean picking up and moving on to an entirely new location, new job, new friends. On average, that's not even a whole year in each new place! And when you consider that 3 years were spent in one location (while I was at uni in Leeds) that works out at less than 7 months in any one place.

As you can see, my mind wanders to some quite random contemplations while I am driving. Especially since my stereo broke.

It's no wonder then that all of my Good Friends are scattered about all over the place, and so sometimes I get the distinct impression that I've become a bit of a Billy No-Mates. But of course, I'm not. Its just that, like that scruffy little mutt in the TV show, "every stop I make, I make a new friend, can't stay for long, just turn around and I'm gone again".

Perhaps its all a product of my short attention span and erratically formed Cunning Plans that I feel the need to move about so much. Who knows. I've certainly enjoyed meeting so many of you. Except you Ben. I could have done without the token Welsh boy in my life. And you Jo Jo Rugby Girl. But that goes without saying really ;)

So it shouldn't really surprise me that I find myself with a few mixed feelings about the prospect of remaining in the same place for the next 3 years or so. I've been here a whole 5 months so far, and the thoughts have already fleetingly crossed my mind about looking for somewhere up north of Inverness to move to (hey, just so I would be closer to my study site, that's all. Although being close to the mountains, beaches, and ski slopes wouldn't hurt). Don't worry Mum, we won't. Probably. Not yet anyway.

I guess it would be nice to stay put and build up a settled life here in Scotland. It's definitely somewhere I would consider remaining long term. That is, unless I get a job offer from Parks Canada, at which point I will skip off to British Colombia without a second thought. Fickle? Me? Pah! Its more than likely just some unresolved psychological Issues....

The week (and a bit) that was....

2005-03-22T20:26:00.000-08:00

Yeah, so, I have been a bit slack with the ol' blogspot lately. I'd get used to it though if I were you. I mean, I did warn you that this would happen. I have just been too busy to keep posting regularly. Sorry! I keep I thinking "Bugger. I should really write a blog today. But its been days, weeks even, since I last posted, so much has happened, I've got so much to say, how will I start?!" And then I come to the sensible conclusion that the best thing to do is ignore it and hope it goes away. But then the guilty feeling comes back. And so consider yourselves lucky that I can't deal with guilt.

In brief then:

...dad's visit was a phenomenal success, the smiley-happiness of which was not even brought down by Scotland losing (again) in the rugby. The atmosphere was electric at the match, and we had The Best Seats Ever. My dad was so made up by the whole weekend, and we loved having him visit. There was lots of exploring and chatting and drinking and clippity-clopping around Doune Castle ..which Monty Python aficianados might recognise from Holy Grail "I-fart-in-your-general-direction" fame. But then, the weekend ended (Boo Hiss!), and he had to leave. And we missed him.

...but then we got Cathy, one of Sarah's mates from uni, as a replacement. That was fun too. We did stuff. Fun stuff. Important stuff even. We went to an ani-war demo in Glasgow. It marked two years to the day since the bombs started dropping on the thousands of innocent civillians in Iraq. I felt it was important to go along to show my digust for what our "benevolent" leaders have created. This young scally complete in tracksuit and dangly earings got up to give a talk. She turned out to be a 14 year old Maxine Gentle, and she gave a very moving speech. Maxine's older brother, Gordon, was a Black Watch soldier, who was killed at the age of just 19, by a roadside bomb in Basra. You might think, "Well, that's what the risks are of joining the army". I am sure his family would agree with you too ..IF his death had been for a noble cause and not because of an illegal war over oil ...or IF he had recieved more than a few month's basic training before being sent to the front line ...or IF in Pollok (the deprived part of Glasgow that he grew up in) there were more opportunities for young folk other than to sign on the dole or sign up to the armed forces.

Anyway, crashing on, there weren't too many people at the protest, and a disappointing number of students and young people. The majority of the crowd was made up of OAPs (complete with improvised drums, bongos and bizarre instruments involving pipes and tubing) and families with young children. They certainly put my "enlightened", "outspoken" generation to shame. But I found it quite encouraging that the little kids (and little old ladies for that matter) were enjoying singing and chanting with such vigour and enthusiasm, particularly a little nursery rhyme to the tune of 'This Old Man':

#Tony Blair,
you are scum,
you took money off my mum,
and you spent it on your bloody war,
we don't want you anymore.#

Ah! Bless!

...In 160 minutes of pint-spillingly-exciting rugby: Wales won the 6 Nations championship. France didn't. *coughs* HA HA! *coughs* And Scotland were beaten (yet again) by England. I came over a bit Daffydd Thomas for the day, and was genuinely pleased for the boyos. And hey, at least they now include Italy in the contest, so Scotland didn't come at the very bottom of the table overall. Just second to last. Quite amusingly, Wales now ranks above England in the world rankings *sniggers*

...We also went for a jolly around the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. On the way there we passed by the lesser-known-yet-in-my-opinion-equally-bonnie banks of Loch Arklet. Look! Aren't they bonnie?

...Finally, I have just spent the last two days out in the woods of Morangie Forest. Which was very interesting, but is the reason why I am not really writing much coherent sense, or anything remotely interesting, because I am very, very tired now. I didn't see any pine martens yet, but I was ambushed by a female capercaillie. Now I know that they employ guerilla tactics I shall be on my guard from now on.

Gym Bunnies

2005-03-10T21:11:00.001-08:00

So you will never guess who I was training with this afternoon..

...only the bleedin' Scottish Rugby Team!!! Woo-hoo!

There are a few perks to having the Scottish Institute of Sport on the same campus as my university. And sharing a gym with the entire national rugby squad is one of them. So I had to try my best to be cool, and not to be sycophantic ..or stare. At least not stare too much anyway. And be thankful that I had made the bizarrely illogical decision to have a wash before I went to the gym today, and so looked just about human. Trying to act as normal as I could, in an overtly I'm-really-not-even-looking-over-at-you-let-alone-watching-you kinda way, I got on with my workout. Now I won't give too many training secrets away about how in-shape they looked, or what training techniques they were using - just incase any Welsh nationals get a hold of my blog and use it's secrets against them. But I can tell you that Chris Paterson (only the team captain dont you know!) kindly got out of my way so that I could use the lifting cage that he had been using. And thankfully, Sean Lamont pointed out my presence to one of his team mates just in time to save my head from being taken off my shoulders as a disturbingly large medecine ball whistled past my ear.

Most people who know me know that I am very much in to all things health and fitness in a major way. So it won't surprise you in the slightest that I couldn't resist the opportunity to show off just a little. So I climbed on top of a Swiss ball and stood there balancing before doing a few squats to impress them. You are probably no doubt sitting there wondering what on earth that means, and why on earth I thought that that would impress them. Perhaps if I were to explain that a Swiss ball is a large inflatable ball, you will understand a little more.... A. Very. Wobbly. Large. Inflatable. Ball. Go and try to balance on top of one if you're still unsure. And then try and squat on top of one. And then see if you're not impressed.

So we are off to watch the game as Wales take on Scotland at Murrayfield this Sunday. My Pa and I. I am really looking forward to it actually. Infact I have been looking forward to it since Christmas (other unbastardised Pagan festivals are available), because that's when I bought my Pa a ticket as a gift. Naturally, I had to buy myself one too, so he had someone to go with - its sacrifices like that that show the kind of girl I really am. We are planning a whole weekend around the event. They (Dad and Jan - my stepmum) haven't been up to visit us in Scotland since we moved here, and so it was too good an opportunity to miss. After lots of local mooching to show them the sights of the lovely Bridge of Allan, Jan and Sarah are off in search of sights and culture in Edinburgh, as Pa and I have a daddy-daughter bonding day over a few beers and a few black-eyed, mud encrusted, bloodied, hairy, sweaty, men. Nice! I have even learnt the words to Flower of Scotland in preparation for the Scottish national anthem. But I cannot hold out much faith that I will be able to make it through the song without getting all choked up and crying. After all, I'm just a big violent-full-contact-sport-loving softy really.

Demonstrations

2005-03-09T10:16:00.000-08:00

No, unfortunately I'm not about going to go off on one about the anti-G8 demonstrations happening at a little upper-class, golf-orientated, retirement village near me soon (yet. I may indeed broach that topic closer to the time). No. I am instead talking about that other sort of demonstrating, the one which is the life blood of all post-graduate drinking funds... practical demonstrating.

So I have signed myself over for the next 2 months to help out in undergrad practicals. I figured that I might as well go professional and be being paid £11 an hour to goof off rather than remain at amateur status. 8 hours a week - I can't go wrong really. It may also add a little much-needed structure to my otherwise laid back schedule. Careful strategic planning will be required to allow for fitting in all that crucial email and blogging time around those busy work periods.

I am quite looking forward to it actually, although I was a little nervous at first. I imagined being asked obnoxiously difficult questions from first years, and worse - my failing to respond. And if there's one thing I hate, its not having an answer to an obnoxiously difficult question from a first year. Then of course, I remembered all the way back to my own undergrad practicals, and my own obnoxiously difficult questions. Which scared me some more at first about just how obnoxiously difficult questions can be! But then came the realisation that when the postgrad demonstrators back then responded to me with:

"now really, you don't actually expect me to just tell you the answer do you?"

..that they were merely just cunningly disguising the fact that they simply had no idea what I was going on about. And for £5 per hour (or whatever they were on back then), really couldn't care less about finding out. Now, I am a little more conscientious than that. I like to know the answer to obnoxiously difficult questions, and so I shall be treated the whole thing as a personal challenge. But I then remembered something else that puts me at a distinct advantage over the undergrads (yes, ok, apart from the fact that I am now on my third degree and so have had quite a bit more time with these things), and that is: I will have at least read the practical handout which instructs what is to happen during the four hour practical. This seemingly simple step is often over-looked by most undergrads. I know that from personal experience. I think it took until my second year to realise that those things actually held helpful information. Luckily, my degree (zoology) was a bit of a no-brainer for the first 2 years. Our practicals mostly involved dissecting dead animals, fish, locusts, cow's intestines, etc.. and then drawing what we saw - its everything an intrepid zoologist needs to know. obviously. I have of course found this training vitally useful to my subsequent career advancement. 12 hours a week of drawing and sketching. Brilliant. Although I have to admit that I loved it at the time. It satisfied the small frustrated art student that was trapped inside the body of a science geek.

So I bet you're wondering what on earth sort of things I will be demonstrating? Well, the first practical sounds like it could be a bit mentally taxing really. It is a practical demontration of "animal locomotion and scaling". No doubt, the premis for these practicals will be exploring advanced theories of bio-mechanical structure and form, and applying Newton's laws of motion to the analysis of movement pattern and gait. However, in an attempt to communicate this to first years, this becomes: lets get a bunch of frogs and locusts, and then measure how far they can jump in comparison to their size, and then lets get a bunch of first years, and measure how far they can jump in comparison to their size. Genius.

Displacement activity

2005-03-07T14:03:00.000-08:00

I have always suffered from having a short attention span. I like to think that having such a lively, hyperactive mind like mine is a asset, rather than an affliction, but it certainly does not seem to mix well with PhD research. I have managed to turn work displacement activity into an artform at which I excel. Take last week for example, the grand total contribution to my PhD of my working hours last week resulted in the creation of ONE EMAIL. Thats it. A single email. Thats all I managed to write. It was, naturally, a perfectly crafted piece of genius as emails go ..a well thought out update full of vague detail (my specialty), with just the right tone to make it seem like I'm working hard but without having to hide my new found dedication to my extra-curricular activities. I do get the feeling however, that maybe I should step up the old productivity a gear or two if I am to get this PhD finished ..or indeed started for that matter. Last week was the exception though. I mean, I usually write at least 3 or 4 emails a week normally. But this last week saw the start of my new found obsession with climbing... and a little jolly up to Glenshee to try snowboarding in Scotland. And I think I am entitled to a week off to play every now and again. And again.

So firstly - boarding in Scotland is not for the faint hearted. When piste conditions were described on the snow report as "good", I think we could be excused for then being a little surprised to find ourselves going over grass (yes, grass), and rocks, indespersed with slush. Not one to wuss out infront of the hardened Scottish skiiers, and safe in the knowledge that my bottom was being safely looked after by my protective padded shorts, I decided to go all out for it anyway. And I have to say, once you get over the whole lack-of-snow-thing, skiing in Scotland is really not that bad afterall. Plus the bonus is that it was only a 90 minute drive from our door. Winner! Sadly, the days where 4 feet of snow cover every last inch of the Cairngorms are long since over. But so long as you are prepared to face everything that Scottish slopes have to throw at you, and don't mind having a huge arse in padded shorts, you can't really beat skiing in your own country. Hurrah!

Then, last Wednesday, I found myself entered in the Scottish Universities bouldering competition over in Edinburgh. As you do. For those that don't know; bouldering is basically climbing up walls but without ropes, although its usually to a smaller height. And with safety mats. If you're lucky. Its a good way to practice your climbing skills and be generally monkey-like. Its also a good way to practice falling from some quite considerable heights and really appreciate the genius that are safety mats. I had never tried bouldering before, but didn't see why this should stop me from entering the competition. Once we arrived at the comp (a little late thanks to minibus and undergrad related silliness) climbing was soon underway. With 20 problems to tackle, the tactic was to pace yourself. Which, of course, I didn't. The first 10 problems were already getting quite tricky and pretty much seperated the boys and girls. The climbs between 11 and 15 proved even more nasty. Climbs between 16 and 20 entitled you to freak-of-nature status, and were impossible for the majority of entrants. Which of course didn't stop us from trying them anyway, and so generally making tits of ourselves. I managed to finish 3rd out of the girls for Stirling Uni. Something I am quite proud of actually considering my "rugby playing" physique and beer-toned belly. I decided that I have a distinct genetic disadvantage in my reach, given that my limbs look like I am Spawn of Umpa-Lumpa rather than having the elegant long reach of other climbers. Just goes to show how far you can get with sheer bloody-mindedness. So Stirling University came 5th - woohoo! ..out of 6 universities - boo hiss! Which isn't that great. BUT is still an improvement on last year's 6th place. Rah! Also when you factor in that Glasgow (who won the competition) has a student body of 40,000 students, whereas Stirling has a mere 6,000... we totally rocked! Hurrah!

After the excitement of the competition, I made up my mind to get really serious about climbing. So I went out and did what I always do when I am serious about something. I bought a book. Wicked. Yet another way I can avoid reading my own subject yet still feel like I am being productive. I have also befriended Kris and Maria who I have decided are going to teach me to be a better climber - in return for the use of my chauffeur like qualities (I'm the only one with a car). Its a good, fair deal. Mutual exploitation at its best. Yesterday was a gorgeous sunny spring day, so we went out to Benny Beg, a rock face near Creif, to play around on some real rock. Now, this was the first time that I had ever been outdoor climbing before, and so I was ever so slightly just bricking it a little really. There are no mats you see outdoors, and I had become quite appreciative of the joys of mats on Wednesday. However, under Kris' expert tutilage, and Maria's encouragement I found I was well at ease. So much so that by the end of the day I was actually leading the climbs!! This is where you climb without a top rope for safety, and so your only protection is by clipping yourself in to bolts in the rock as you go up! *gulps* Again, no one died - which is, apprently, a good sign of a successfull day's climbing. Hurrah!

On the origin of faeces

2005-02-25T21:08:00.000-08:00

My excitement was quite uncontainable yesterday, and many a small squeal of joy escaped my lips from within the woods and hills of Perthshire. We were out in search of pine marten scats (thats pooh to those of you who aren't already so inclined). And to my utter delight - we found some. Alot even. Sweeter than a fox scat, yet not as fragrant as an otter's, it takes quite a discerning nose to distinguish between carnivore species from their faeces.

Douglas Adams once noted that one of the characteristics that laymen find most odd about zoologists is their insatiable enthusiasm for animal droppings. This enthusiasm is understandable of course, given that droppings yield a great deal of information about the habits and diets of the animals concerned - but still, nothing can ever quite prepare you for the sheer glee that the actual object seems to inspire. I personally don't see how anyone could not be excited by the prospect of holding a real pine marten turd in their hands and then taking a good hearty sniff. Even more excitement then follows as you slowly tease the scat apart to see what clues it will give as to what it is made from. Will it be vole? Perhaps a small passerine bird? Who knows what exciting discoveries await! The anticipation builds as miniture premolars and bone fragments are discovered. Each scat presents a backwards murder mystery detective story in which the culprit, motive and method are already known, but we need to follow the evidence in order to uncover the identity of the victim. Hmm... Maybe I have been watching too much CSI. Nonetheless, I find it fascinating.

Not only did we have the good fortune to find lots of marten scats on our jolly in the woods, there was also an abundance of marten spoors (thats their tracks if you wanted to, but didn't already know). Thanks to a fresh deposit of snow, there were literally dozens of fresh marten tracks leaving yet more clues as to their behaviour. You could even tell where they had been ambling or lolloping along (martens often lollop) as their gait patterns were quite well preserved.

My guide for the day was Rob, a conservation ranger with Forest Enterprise, and an all round forest ecology and mammal expert. Not only did he inform on the wonders of pooh, but when I mentioned to him that I had never seen a crossbill before (a crossbill is a small bird of northern forests whom's bill ..is crossed. It is the Ronseal of birds). Rob stood to one side and started making some rather strange and quite unsettling noises. Not sure if he was having some sort of fit, or had gone loopy from the day's excitement, I stood back and stared at him. Possibly whilst raising one eyebrow quizzically at his bizarre antics. It all became perfectly clear moments later as I looked up into the trees to see that a small gathering of coal tits and bull finches had erm, gathered, in the trees above us. They were obviously as perplexed as I was, as I noted a few raised eyebrows among them too. And then, before my very eyes - a crossbill came into view! A bleedin' crossbill!! Can you believe it?! I couldn't. But it was most definately a crossbill, given away by its bill, which was indeed crossed. To say that I was impressed does not give the facial expression I then pulled justice. Show-off. Rob just chuckled to himself and began recounting to me a story from when he was out walking in the woods with his fair lady wife-to-be.

So there they were, courting away, and all of a sudden, a roe doe (a deer; a female deer; a female roe deer infact) leapt out in front of them. It was off again before Rob's fair lady wife-to-be had even had chance to stare on in bewilderment. Cursing herself that she had not been more observant, Rob's fair lady wife-to-be was upset with her missed opportunity to see a deer at such close quarters. Oh dear. Not wanting to see her so disappointed, Rob did what any other gallant male would do in that situation - he imitated a baby deer by immitting a few sharp, high pitched squeals. Now at this point, I would imagine that Rob's fair lady wife-to-be was starting to give serious consideration to whom she had gotten herself involved with.. But then - wouldn't you just know it - the deer came trotting back in to view! The bleedin' deer! Bless her (the deer that is). She must have been terribly worried and confused that she didn't seem to remember having an infant with her the last time she checked. She was obviously an obsessive compulsive roe deer though, and so had to come back and check. Although I can't condone the act of deer worrying, and find the teasing of OCD sufferers deplorable (if not a little amusing) I have to admit - that's one hell of a party trick! ..Well, it would be, so long as you go to the sorts of parties that allow deer. Although I am starting to think that Rob would.

Brief Intermission

2005-02-25T10:51:00.000-08:00

We appologise for the break in viewing, but we are suffering from technical difficulties. Not content with breaking her own laptop, Sarah then turned her hand to mine. Service will resume again shortly ..once my hard-drive has been reformatted and all my stuff re-installed. Grr.

*wanders off grumbling like a small but very angry hedgehog*

Some facts that you might like to know about a girl called fi

2005-02-19T22:17:00.000-08:00

1. I once lived for several months in a tent on the Skeleton Coast of Namibia. In the mornings there would sometimes be footprints of brown hyenas around our camp. I came face to face with one on four occasions. I find that it always refreshes one's senses coming face to face with something that could bite your leg off in one go. Especially first thing in the morning.

2. A few years ago, I nearly drowned when I was learning to scuba dive in a lake near Peterborough. I have been afraid of water ever since. I am currently facing up to my fears and learning how to swim again. I haven't quite gotten the courage yet to go anywhere near Peterborough though.

3. I played openside flanker for UEA women's rugby team. I like running into people at speed. I find it calms me. At this time I also discovered that I actually like getting bruises.

4. I once trapped myself inside a (humane) cage trap that I was setting for a fox conservation project. I was left inside with my nose squished uncomfortably close to the fish guts and dead chicks, that I had been putting inside as bait, for quite some time before a farmer came and rescued me. Later that day, I was chased by a herd of fresian cows as I carried a grey squirrel in a box. To this day I could never work out if it was me they were after, or the squirrel.

5. When I was a small child it was my dream to be the first female fighter pilot in the RAF, when I grew up. I abandoned this dream shortly afterwards when: i.) I discovered the moral high ground of pacifism; ii.) I discovered there already were female fighter pilots and so I wouldn't be the first anyway; iii.) I discovered David Attenborough and decided I wanted to be him instead.

6. I once reversed my car into my friend Ben's house by accident. Well, its not the sort of thing you'd do on purpose is it? Not to a friend anyway.

7. For years I believed that my dad had been attacked by a shark when he worked out at a marine fishery in Zanzibar, as he had a cresent shaped scar on his back to prove it. My entire world crumbled when I later learned that it was infact a scar from a birthmark removal. It was about this time that I also learned the truth about haggis not actually being a real animal. One great step perhaps for my budding career as a zoologist, but a giant leap back in a daughter's faith for her father's tall tales.

8. I get drunk way too easily and yet I am still under the delusion that I can hold my drink.

9. My Grandad had a false leg which he used to leave lying around the house and sometimes would forget where he'd left it. One day, when I was very small, I was angry with him and so I kicked him on the shin. He let me believe for hours afterwards that it was his real one that I'd kicked, and that I'd really hurt him, when all the while it was his fake one. The guilt that I could do such a thing has always remained with me, and since that day I have always made sure to control my anger around one-legged, prosthetically endowed, elderly gentlemen.

10. The first and only lucky draw competition I have ever won was a raffle in which I won an Mel and Kim LP. I consider myself very lucky in every other aspect of my life, just not prize draws.

11. I once sky-dived over the Namib desert. I can whole-heartedly recommend it as a hangover cure.

12. For my PhD I am studying pine martens - a nocturnal, forest dwelling mammal - despite the fact that I am afraid of the dark and I get scared in woods.

13. I vicariously collect snowdome shakers from wherever I go by buying them for my girlfriend. I hope that one day she will start buying them for me too, so that I won't have to keep stealing my gifts back from her. I could just buy them for myself, but that would involve admitting that I had a habit.

14. I am a libertarian. I believe that every individual has a right to civil liberties and to be free from the controlling upper echelons of power. If I had to pigeon-hole my political outlook, I would say that I tend towards Socialism. I abhor Capitalism. I am happy with myself, and my life. I do not need wealth or status to make up for aspects of my life that are lacking - because they are not. I have an independent mind, and my eyes are open.

15. ..Although saying that, I once stepped on a wasp nest and was covered from head to toe with biting and stinging wasps because I wasn't looking where I was going. Everyone I was with ran away from me, except for my dad, who came back to save me despite being allergic to wasp stings himself. Today, I could never bring myself to kill a wasp, they are far too cool for that, infact if there is one indoors I carry them out in my bare hands. This is probably a good example of my lack of common sense, especially considering that I frequently forget to carry my Epi-pen around with me. I also once ran at full speed in to a lamp post and gave myself concussion. No, not on purpose, it jumped out at me and took me by surprise. Damn sneaky lamp posts...

16. I have lived and worked on three continents. Only four to go and then I've got the set.

17. I hate being rushed in the morning, although I do like to get up very early, probably to avoid being rushed.

18. The song of a robin Erithacus rubecula is one of my favourite sounds. For some reason I find its doleful, melancholic wistfulness strangely uplifting.

19. I have Wandering Accent Syndrome. I never did pick up the Carlisle twang despite being born and bred there. It appears my vocal chords are now overcompensating by trying to pick up the local lingo whenever I pause in one location for longer than about 13 minutes.

20. I can't cope being inside a city for any length of time. They are just wrong.

21. I was, and still am, a bit of a geek. I mean, I was in the chess team at school - and yet I have never been the victim of bullying. I think this is the result of an incident whilst at pre-school; I was yanked off the tri-cycle I was merriily riding around on by Matthew, The (pre-)School Bully, despite the fact it was my third birthday. Seeing this as the unjust act which it was, I wasn't going to take this lying down. What followed is all a bit of a blur now, but suffice to say that I got the tri-cycle back, no-one every bullied me since, and that wasn't the first time I made Matthew cry during the 15 years at school together that followed.

22. I am an optimist, and a pragmatist. The glass is always half full. But you know, if you had a Camel-back (or some other water pouch) you can carry a full 2 litres on your back, and still have your hands free to do... erm, stuff!

23. I never get time to read a daily newspaper, but when I do its The Independent or The Observer. Instead, I make sure to catch up with the weeks news and politics by reading The New Statesman. I feel this gives me enough ammunition to be a happily opinionated, pseudo-intellectual.

24. Old people worry me. I don't mean that I get harrassed by gangs of old biddies hanging around on street corners intent on Fi Worrying, more I can't cope with seeing them being ignored, neglected and abused. So I worry about them.

25. For my masters thesis project I spent three months in Banff, Canada, all expenses paid. They even gave me my very own pick-up truck with orange flashing lights on top. And people wonder why I'd want to stay a student in perpetuity.

26. My idea of dressing up "smart" generally involves putting on a clean t-shirt. I wear jeans to interviews - hows that for self confidence?

27. At primary school my teacher, Mrs Haugh, told my parents that I "lacked competitive spirit". The truth was, and still is, very much the opposite. Only last month I won a competition as the quickest female student to row 1000m at my university. I was told I would win a prize, but I have not yet received one. No matter, the glory alone is more than enough reward. And having a gold star next to my name.

28. I got into a mudslinging match (in the literal sense) with an 8 year old girl while I was teaching. I won.

29. I was a finalist in Greenall's National Cocktail Bartender of the Year 1999 competition for my Tom Cruise-esque bottle throwing abilities. I only entered for a dare.

30. I broke my wrist whilst playing basketball at school. On my way to the operating theatre to have it manipulated back into place, my dad grabbed me by the arm to reassure me that everything would be ok. It was. Once I'd gotten over the excruciating pain of my dad grabbing my injured arm.

31. I never really conversed with my mum until my 19th birthday when she came to visit me at university. Before she arrived, I was terrified at the prospect of us shopping, going for coffee, "doing lunch", and *gasp* chatting, you know, the typical mother-daughter stuff. But I found to my complete surprise that not only did I really enjoy these strange new experiences, but that day had to be one of the best of my life, as it opened up floodgates of previously unknown communication. Since then I have considered my mum to be a friend - as well as frustratingly indecisive parental figure - although I have to say, I still really do hate shopping, and no amount of mother-daughter bonding is gonna change that.

32. I once looked up gullible in the dictionary to prove that it was indeed there.

Hanging Around

2005-02-17T20:26:00.000-08:00

Desperate not to allow myself to mooch through yet another semester without commiting to any social events, I decided to take drastic action ...and so I have taken up rock climbing. As you do. And, I am happy to say, I am hooked already.

The university mountaineering club is an eclectic mix of characters, but they all share a common goal - to put themselves into as many uncomfortable surroundings as possible. This is generally achieved by either walking up some wind blasted, rain drenched, midge ridden, precipitous mountain side, or alternatively, by dangling perilously from a bit of rope attached to a wind blasted, rain drenched, midge ridden, precipitous mountain side. I felt right at home.

I first tried my hand at rock climbing a couple of years back whilst I was teaching at an outdoor & environmental education centre down on the Norfolk coast. Here I was given responsibility for the safety of school kids left in my hands - quite literally - as instructor I was the one left holding their safety ropes. *coughs* fools! *coughs* Its pretty unnerving stuff going from being a complete novice in charge of my own uncooperative body parts, to suddenly being a complete novice in charge of a bunch of uncooperative little people - especially when they seemed quite determined to do their best to injure themselves by being generally idiotic. I have to admit though, it was very amusing. Especially the part with me being in charge of kids at great heights. And I didn't even injure any of them. Not seriously anyway. But back then I didn't stick with climbing though. I lacked the upper body strength to do alot of the stuff that I thought any self-respecting rock climber ought to be able to do, especially given my Spiderman-esque delusions. Besides, when I didn't have an obnoxious 12 year old to dangle from a 60 foot drop anymore, it somehow just lost some of its appeal.

Anyway, thankfully all of my recent work/life-avoidance-time spent in the gym has finally paid off, and I have now improved quite some way in my dangling-but-not-falling abilities. Indeed, I am almost gecko like. Except without the ability to shed my tail if I am forcibly grabbed.

So this weekend I am off to buy my gear: ..harness ..shoes ..chalk bag ..garishly patterned leggings in sickeningly flourescent colours of the kind not seen since 1984 ..and of course, LOTS and LOTS of gadgets for doing clever things with knots. And rocks. Its all very exciting really. And on Sunday, I am going out with the club to have my first taster session of ice climbing - can you imagine?? Ice axes! Crampons! Ice screws! I mean, that must have at least double the gadget possibilities as normal climbing does. Brilliant!

Apres ski

2005-02-15T12:48:00.000-08:00

Last week saw the long awaited "Sarah And Fi Go Skiing In France Adventure". There were initial doubts as to how the holiday would evolve. I think I started checking the resort's snow reports sometime back in November 2004, as I eagerly anticipated freshly powdered slopes. I became increasingly worried as it became clear that it had not snowed since 25 January and didnt show any signs that it intended to do so. I was distraught. Not so much because I'm a snow snob, repulsed by the mere glint of ice patches on the pistes - no, rather I am Incrediable Clumsy and somewhat "enthusiastic" in my snowboarding abilities. This is a round-about way of saying that in the past I have spent more time on my bottom doing my best impression of a snowball, than my preferred vision of me as a super cool freestyling snowboarder. And basically, landing on ice hurts. Alot. So, trying my best to keep my pouting bottom lip wobble under control, I did the next best thing I could think of - and covered every conceivable part of my body with armour. The piece de resistance being armour plated shorts (which gave a whole new meaning to "does my bum look big in this?"). Fantastic! Armour Plated Fi was now ready for whatever the slopes threw at her - I felt like some sort of Winter Sports Action Man figure crossed with Mr Blobby. Brilliant! So naturally, whatever fear and trepidation that I would usually have, when faced with sheer slopes of ice, disappeared completely, leaving me to be even more "enthusiastic" and reckless than usual. This meant that within the week I had mastered the art of jumping - and not only that - jumping AND landing!! ..sometimes even on my feet!!! Not content with mere straight forward jumping and landing combinations, I even attempted some 180s... much to the amusement of just about anyone who passed by.

Snowboarding successes aside, the general holiday got an all round Thumbs Up from us. The resort of Risoul was unpretentious and accessible, something which other French resorts don't seem to value, in favour of affluence and arrogance. This was my kind of place. Cheap and cheerful. There was a very continental feel to the whole place - possibly given that we were indeed on the continent and surrounded by continentals. Without wanting to come across as an over-generalising xenophobe (indeed, I think Britain should just stop with all the procrastinating and go ahead and fully embrace EU membership, and currency, and, with any luck, licencing hours), I made some generalisations of a xenophobic nature whilst I was there. These are as follows:

The Belgians: of which there were many, more so than you could shake a waffle at. Far from being the fence-straddling bores of Europe, they were actually the culprits responsible for our being kept awake late into the night (well, I use the word "late" in the loosest possible sense seeing as we were generally in bed by 9pm), with the singing and drinking, drinking and singing. Those crazy Belgians. They were indeed a jolly bunch of drunks. But very friendly. And ever the diplomats - being the first and only people to pity and befriend me in my mostly French speaking snowboard classes. The Belgians - friendly, loud drunks, and mediators to the end.

The English: and by "English" I mean anyone who originates from inside The British Isles, which, apparently, according to everyone outside of The British Isles, is one and the same thing. We didn't meet too many of these actually. The ones we did meet were school trips of spotty adolescents who all seemed more impressed by their new found ability to buy Stella legally, than with the whole ski experience ..and their fatigued teachers, who also seemed more taken with their ability to buy Stella, and so I presume absolve any responsibility for afore mentioned kids. Who could blame them really?

The French: now everyone has a go at the French, and I don't want to be obvious and follow suit, but I must say they do make it difficult by being so darn ...French! But you can excuse them their aloof nature really. Us Brits should make more of an effort to speak the language and not assume that they should speak English just because everyone else in the whole world does. I am a very lazy linguist. I took French classes until I was 16, and I like to think I was very good and could hold my own. But that was 9 years ago now, and there has been no incentive to keep up these skills. Instead I find that by looking like you are struggling enough, smiling innocently, and being obviously confused, sooner or later someone would cave in or come to the rescue. I am not proud of this laziness, but it doesnt help me the fact I have my own pocket sized personal translator in the form of my Belgian girlfriend, Sarah, who can be whipped out at a moments notice, quicker than you can say "je ne comprend pas, je suis englais". Why have a dog and bark yourself right? ..Not that I would ever refer to Sarah as anything even remotely canine-like of course ;)

Performance anxiety

2005-02-05T17:22:00.000-08:00

This is only Day Two of my blog and already I am feeling trapped and pressured by its mere existence. Maybe I am not suited to having a blogspot afterall. Frankly, I am already starting to find the whole idea rather unnerving - this Thing that I have created, lurks ominously in cyber-space, expectantly awaiting my input. What if I'm not in the mood to write creative, witty anecdotes about recent or past events? Its only when you start to put your thoughts down on paper (computer screen, whatever, work with me here people), that you realise just how little you have to say. Especially as today's highlights have included, amongst other fascinating events, shopping at Tesco (other overpriced supermarkets are available), watching Scotland being cheated by the effing French in the opening 6 Nations match, and a confusing episode involving sellotape, a towel and a snowboard - but the less said about that the better...

In a blogspot far far away

2005-02-04T01:30:00.000-08:00

Not content with merely browsing the web and using chat forums to idly pass the time (mostly as a means of avoiding writing my lit review), I took the possibly-not-such-a-bright idea of creating a blogspot.

voila.

I had intended to use this space for the noble purposes of self-reflection and examination. However, I have a sneaky suspicion that in reality, I will neglect to update it with anything even approaching regularity, and will then only use it as a forum for venting my rants about the idiosyncrasies of everyday life. Should be fun then eh?