Genius

During a power failure earlier on today, the electricity company decided to send out its cleverest tool in the box to go fix the faulty line. The bright lad intelligently managed to chase a good 380V through the otherwise 220V lines in the power-up attempt that followed his repair. As a result, a good few hundred households in Flanders are spending their otherwise rather boring Sundayevening, busily filling out insurance forms to claim for their entire lot of household devices, all of which, needless to say, got nicely fried.

Genius. Sheer genius.

Superstition of Impending Doom

Ever since I was little it was hard, if not impossible, to imagine a life for myself beyond the age of 25. I've always assumed that that was merely due to a child-ly incapability. But as I reached the semi-intellectual levels of puberty, that image of a post-25 Sarah, remained unexistent. It wasn't until fairly recent that I managed to picture a life beyond the age of 25. However, with the impending doom of my 26th birthday, the question now stands: "Can I envisage that life beyond 25 merely because it's easy to imagine something a mere few months ahead, or because that life actually exists?" Due to the nature of the topic, any reasoning on it is bound to be as 'non sequitur' as the question is ridiculous, so I therefore now find myself in a heightened state of superstition.

I have taken to avoid walking under ladders, started driving like my nan and disinfect my new tattoo and piercings to such an extent that I am now permanently followed by a wiff of hospital-scent.

The superstition of impending doom has increased since making the decision to take 6 months off upon completion of my PhD in January, to finally travel Earth's more exotic venues. Life seems to have a streak for painful irony, and it would just be my luck that the minute I decide to go and "live a little", I check out :-).

Having said that, I am also the person that owns a pair of "travel-socks", which I insist on wearing for good luck any time I fly. I used to sleep with a liter of water and a towel next to my bed as a child, not in case of thirst or spillage, but in case of a much needed escape from a house on fire. I will probably also have been one of the ONLY people on this planet STUPID enough to store all their study-books in easy-carry bags every night in the week leading up to an exam, in case there was a distaster and I had to make a quick escape.

Hmmm....





...upon reflection, it may be wise to go and seek help for ... well... clearly... neurosis ;-)

"Gentse Feesten"

To come back and find Ghent in it's full swing has been quite a lucky coincidence. The parties are well underway and the atmosphere's been brilliant as ever. I'm not a big fan of salsa at the best of times, but there's no escaping the pull of the Polé Polé side of town! Although more and more tourists seem to find their way to the festivals, it's comforting to still see the hords of Ghent citizens being sweeped up by the cleaning-crews every morning at 10am. Old habbits die hard ;-)

Decluttered

It's been 6.5 years since I lived at home and 5 since I lived in Belgium, so it's been a big adjustment these past few days. It's also no surprise that I came back to a room filled with clutter my 19-year old self left behind. I felt a sudden urge to rid my room of all of its contents and I turned it into something my 25-year old self could quite happily survive in for a good 2 or 3 months without going insane.

It all went out the door rather smoothly until, that is, I came to my stash of lecture notes. Four years worth of Physics lectures neatly stored away. Although most of my friends seem to feel the need to hold on to these notes because of their possible future use as reference guides, I myself held on to them for very different reasons. I never really expected to earn my degree. And although four years have passed since graduating, I still have this feeling someone someday will turn around laughing: "Hahaaaa! Gotcha! That piece of paper you're holding... it's worthless! You never graduated in the first place! Fooled you proper, didn't we?!"

Although I have since earned an Msc and am well underway to getting my PhD, it's a feeling I've never really been able to shake off. It might have something to do with the fact that I never actually attended classes and therefore was, in some form at least, a ghost on campus.




But I bit the bullet. And here's the result: a nice little bit of fuel for the BBQ I'm having if the weather permits. To put things in perspective, the biggest pile of the two actually reaches the height of my chin (I'm 5ft4). To do it justice, please bear in mind that ALL of that took residence in that tiny little head of mine for at least a whole 4 hours at some point during my degree. I'm well impressed by the capacity of my short term memory!!! Although, looking back at the syllabi, I have trouble remembering why I ever chose to sit "vacuumtechnology" or how I ever survived "Galactic Astronomy", "Symmetrygroups" or "Quantum Theory". One of the courses I actually don't even remember taking at all :s ... hurray for student deliriums I say!!! :D

Bust-a-Move

Since Fi and I split, we've both been househunting elsewhere to find a place to ourselves. I targetted Edinburgh for a while but came up empty. Unless I was ready to spend half my student wages on rent, there was no way of moving there without sharing a flat with another person. Call me an old git, but I rather like the indepence of a flat to myself and I'm not quite ready to take the step back to sharing.

The whole splitting up situation has, quite logically, taken up rather a lot of time that would have otherwise been wisely spent on my PhD write up. So this weekend I had to resign to a temporary solution: moving back home for 2 or 3 months. I'm not complaining: it'll allow me to save money, I get time to rekindle with my old friends, and for the first time in over six years I have a dishwasher at my disposal :D A fact not to be taken lightly!

Bloke stance

I'm all for festival weekends: roughing and toughing it in the mud, eating food of colors brown & yellow only, waking up in random places and forgetting which bands you saw the night before... it's all part of the deal.

But in a sweltering 30 degree heat, what I could do without, was the porta-loos. So this year I actually bought a set of P-mates. It's THE brilliant invention that enables females to pee standing upright, much like blokes would, so they can avoid using the porta-loo.




And entertainment it was. Awkwardly making my way towards the fence, lining up next to a series of men, opening my zip and fiddling. Once you get your brain convinced that it is actually OK to unclench whilst still standing upright, it goes very smoothly. So I'm stood there, one hand against the fence, one on the P-mate, legs slightly bent (monkey see, monkey do), when the bloke next to me looks over to my "thing"... and gets a bit of a shock. By the time he'd gathered his thoughts enough to start communicating, I'd safely zipped up and made my way back into the crowd.

Although it's a joy not to have to queue for a turn in a stinking hot cabin, I have yet to have a P-mate experience that wasn't somewhat bizarre or rude. My next ventures included:

- the bloke next to me asking me if he could watch, upon which I, of course, couldn't go.

- a guy tapping me on the back whilst I'm peeing asking me where he could find one for his wife. Once the flow starts it's hard to stop so I had to twist my head around to answer whilst trying hard to remain on top of my new-found skill.

- a girlfriend dragging her boyfriend up to me and explaining in graphic detail where it all went and why, whilst I was peeing. They were clearly off their faces, so I wasn't too embarassed. But bizarre nonetheless... I think you'd agree :-)

Ladies, try it. Hours of fun :-)

T in the Park!!!!

Well, it was brilliant. From the lovely Suzanne Vega and the sexiness that is KT Tunstall (what is it about folk-rock chicks in kilts? *sigh*) to the sheer ecstasy of Kasabian! Money and time well spent. Definitely worth an encore. Have yet to convince myself to take off my wristband. It mings. But I've bonded with it. Maybe this time next year... when I can replace it with a new one...

G8 at Gleneagles

An article by Noreena Hertz in New Statesman this week perfectly captures why demonstrations at the G8 Gleneagles summit on Wednesday are still so very vital:

" "No need to protest - instead celebrate," goes the party line, "The G8 finance ministers at the London summit on 11 June have dealt with pretty much all your concerns." If only that were true. This cack-handed attempt to transform protesters into cheerleaders presents us with a cautionary tale - of politicians so determined to claim victory that they want to neuter any dissent..."

Further on in the article she righfully shreds to pieces this supposed "deal" that was made between the G8 finance ministers. The one that's supposed to answer all of our demands in terms of debt relief:

"Take debt: "100 per cent debt cancellation" was the headline, but only 18 countries will get their debts cancelled in the near term, out of 62 that need it."

"Any other countries included in the deal will be selected not by the extent to which they need funds to provide healthcare, education or shelter, but instead for the most part by the extent to which they adhere to World Bank and IMF rules. Relief is conditional upon countries privatising their electricity, water, roads and railways and slashing public expenditure - all requirements that do most harm to the most vulnerable in society. The deal is hardly bountiful - it will cost the world's richest countries together no more than £833m a year, a fifth of what we in Britain spend annually on chocolate."

Do we really need another reason to be there on Wednesday?

Make Poverty History

I am shocked at how easily the whole Make Poverty History event in Edinburgh today got hi-jacked by celebs and semi-celebs under the heading of Bob Geldofs "Live8" happening. Radio1 in particular reported on the "biggest live music event in history" yesterday as if it was merely that... a live music event. "Sir" Bob Geldofs ego-trip succesfully managed to turn what was suposed to be a serene and convincing day of focus on world debt, into a media circus interested purely in who would or would not make an appearance at Hyde Park.

30 minute news-reels covering the Make Poverty History day spent a majority of focus on the concerts taking place around the world, and a dismal 45 seconds on reporting the actual march in Edinburgh which was to be the culimination of months of fighting and campaigning for justified and correct methods for debt relief.

I'm relieved however, that 225.000 people did turn up to demonstrate and attempted to remind the world that the focus really ought to be on Third World Debt rather than on which songs Madonna was likely to perform. Geldof calling the G8 leaders "the real stars of the event" is sickening and I am surprised so little focus is given to the real facts and to the thousands of lives and futures still at stake here. The deal has not been accomplished, no matter what Geldof tries to put out there.

Geldof should get his sodden hands off the Make Poverty History cause and the attention should be returned to where it's due. I for one was glad to be in Edinburgh amidst thousands of others willing to right this wrong.