One and Other

pants on fire

So when I went to work on Friday, I got off the bus at Cambridge Circus and was greeted with what seems to be an unusually smoky atmosphere.
(By the way, if you're expecting this blog to be a twittering source of up-to-the-minute journalistic news, it is with regretful pain I remind you that Mr Google could supply you with an abundance of that, and sadly this blog-writer comes loaded with satire and grossly inobjective opinions. Well, whatever you make of it, really.)

What made it interesting was because the said fire started in an office building. Office building = papers + computers + aircon system. No fire, noting the smoking ban in public spaces. So... I felt rather inclined to adopt a Soho restaurant manager's suggestion (after being asked "does that building house a restaurant?") that is more conspiratorial than Englishly decent, that maybe someone got disgruntled and set fire to the building. Which made my opinion of bankers and financiers inch slightly more towards that 'debit' side of journals, personality-wise. Of course, this opinion is a crude collective average, and individuals may do rather well to debunk this myth.

Aside from this issue, other bits of news from me are:
- I didn't know Fanny Hill is a period drama
- I signed up for the Fourth Plinth... hee hee heee

Alright then, that's all for now - have a good day!

sweatbag notes

Hello!
I've been having some sort of holiday for the past two weeks. With second year now firmly behind me, the trials and tribulations of third year awaits (it actually have started quite gently this summer.) My academic course leader sternly told us to 'get fit and start going to the gym now' because third year would be like a boot camp... although I prefer swimming over treadmills. I would use the Eurostar more often. And I would probably sport this kind of expression more often:


That aside, I have been holidaying on the right side of the Channel last week. It... was....... niiiiiice. I like it! :D Although this year it was quite hot in summer with temperatures reaching (and occasionally exceeding) 30°C, which means I was walking around like a sweatbag. Not an appetising description, I know, but illustrative and quite accurate. It was like Jakarta minus the smoke and abang-abang.

One thing that I really liked about summer, despite the temperature, is the amount of extra sunlight we get. In London, the sun rises up before 5AM in high summer. When he was around, my father made a remark about how I was late for work because it was already 6:30 in the morning and I was still in bed (the plan was to 'tube' for 20 minutes to catch a train departing Waterloo at 6:50AM.) To which... I sleepily told him that it was still 4AM. Bright, blue-sky 4AM. Well... the sunset helps too - it's still quite bright at 9PM, the darkness only setting in about half an hour later. Summer equals a whole lot more of sunlight.

Which bring me to the point of An Inconvenient Truth. I borrowed this book from the library out of unplanned curiosity, and read about Earth's annual cycle of 'breathing in' and 'breathing out'. Since most of the landmass (and by implication greeneries) are north of the equator line, and since there is more photosynthesis happening at summertime due to increased sunlight, there is more CO2 absorbed from the world during the northern hemisphere's spring and summer seasons. Vice versa, there is less CO2 absorbed during the winter seasons. This may partially explain why I feel so energised in spring and summer... maybe it's psychological and physiological after all.

There were a few solutions I was thinking of as well: meltwater pools absorb more heat and fasten the disappearance of icebergs... use mirrors? Reflect more light back into space?? This kind of solution is BandAid-style and would probably mitigate very little problems.

Anyhoo, that's probably what I have to say for now.
Comments?

me and my group mates

Lookin' good... or at least feigning to.

(move move move)

Needless to say, it is daunting to sign my name on a money-draining flat tenancy contract.

I recently moved to a flat a stone's throw away from college. Guess it means there is no excuse for being late, playing truant or general-purpose slothness. Friends and classmates have warned me of the imminent danger and, currently staying alone, I must find ways of keeping myself productive throughout the day. As a note, blaming a brand-new bed is not within the scope of 'being productive'.

The previous occupant has kindly left me with a few cleaning products, but I still need to buy a new mop (and floor disinfectant) in order to mop clean the flat. I've decided to scrimp and save, and asked my now ex-flatmate's mom to lend me her spare crockeries and dining utensils... as well as one of her microwaves. As she will be coming towards the end of the following week, for now I'm making do with takeaways from work. It's a good thing the takeaway boxes are made out of some aluminium, so I could happily pop them on the hotplates to heat them up.

And... I think I'm missing a door for the kitchen. Gotta ask the agent where that has gone off to, and whether he can get one for me.

Also, I think I've got the home decorating bug happening. This is dangerous stuff.

The internet is, happily, not quite connected for now.
It's a strange response, but I find working in group works better without the 'net's distractions.

Alright then, take care!

sayings

Do you remember the old saying "you reap what you sow"?

Well, here are some takes on the classic:

The minimalist
"If you don't sow, you don't reap."

The ecological rice farmer
"Even if you sow, when it floods you won't reap."

That's all for today - thank you folks!

shifty billing practices

What it costs to:
Receive your itemised phone bills by post £3
Not set up a direct debit to pay for bills £3
Pay your bills with cheque through the post £4

So, if you have your bill on paper to thoroughly check it, distrust unscrutinised-for-ever direct debits to clear your bills and like to post a cheque for your bill to keep the little paper-y bit to file, this lovely mobile phone network will be charging you an extra £10 a month plus VAT (note seething sarcasm.) And all these changes happen without them being communicated - these amounts are simply added on to my bills.

It was as if 3 is trying to get customers who don't scrutinise their bills, don't check their finances thoroughly, and discriminate against elderly and business customers who find more security (and comply with paperwork) by paying by cheque. Any other deviation from this standard, 18-30yo money-loose customers will result in the customer in question being penalised for not conforming to their easy-to-deal-with, voiceless customer.

I don't buy into direct debits, given that I like to keep a bare minimum amount on my card (in case of loss or theft.) I like to know exactly when and how much money comes out of my account - i.e. actually making the payment for my bills. When I try to do so online, the system barred me from doing so because my bill and bank account postcodes do not match. Ha! I have asked them to update it almost three months ago, and by stupid reason I was told that the bill postcode is one of last year - when the previous month's bill had been paid exactly in the same manner, and was approved. Out-of-date records? Ha! Your company's fault and not mine. If you had the guts to have overseas call centres to slash costs, at least keep your records synchronised at all times.

And no, I'm not buying into the 'paperless bills save the environment' argument. It's way too blatant they're trying to eke out 3 quid per month by way of green guilt exploitation. They still send me loads of promotional mail, all of them printed on glossy paper, and all of them sent to my current address. If they liked their bill paper so much, they can eat it and not have my contract.

I will rub this on their face. Seriously.
They have the cheek to charge me without proper disclosure!

Somebody can remind me to harass the contract sales guy the next time he gives me a call.

something that went past

The portico entrace to National Gallery is flanked by two Neoclassical-looking stone vases. These vases are filled with fresh flowers.

Today I made my visit there. Again. For the third time this week. (Yes.)

Tonight I just realised the flowers were blooming; they gave off a fragrance that drew me to willingly spend twenty minutes sitting underneath some floral arrangement to enjoy the smell and silhouette. It's a strange realisation that comes only after going there a few times, each time a day after another, that these flowers need to bloom before their fragrances can be sensed.

As for the more mundane details of its visual effects: white fragrant lilies (major contributor to most noticeable smell), garden variety-style white English roses, orange spray flowers, yellow blooms on straight branches, more blooming yellow blooms on smaller branches (that droop down), and plenty of lily foliage forming the mass of green filler as backdrop to other flowers. A seasonally appropriate arrangement in light of the Easter weekend. And sorry, dim museum lighting means no pictures.

On my way home, I encountered an elderly man with a soft woolen cap who was keen to talk to me; I happily obliged. (What I mean by 'old' here is 70-80yo kind of ancient, not the 40-50yo kind.) Nevertheless, whenever I get praised I feel uncomfortable. Being comparatively independent in domestic matters made me get into the autopilot of "I can do it" and "if I don't do it myself/supervise directly/hold a decent amount of control then I'm gonna lose it" problem-dealing principle. Ice this stance with "solve problem myself", and I've got myself a recipe for disaster and breakdowns. Ow. I still find it hard to trust people other than myself. D:

Well, in the meantime: three days left for the Easter weekend, three more days before start of short course, two more days of lent. There is a slow food fair held this weekend at Southbank - it sells spit-roasted pork and lamb (!) which I will come back for on Monday. Although going pescatarian was quite a trick, I think I've outgrown the challenge of staying off certain types of food. A friend confessed to giving up speaking in the first person back in high school, therefore answering for teachers' queries in third person singular... which should be not too weird in English, but apparently quite frustrating to his teachers (they couldn't tell him off for being religious. Ha.)

Anyhoo, it's early days but with the benefit of retrospective sight: happy Easter!