fa la la la laaa la la la laaaa

It's September! What better time to start selling Christmas decorations?

Sadly enough, when I walked through Kmart yesterday, I came across a whole row of artificial Christmas trees, including this: (or something very like it)


A Yuletide palm tree!

The Kmart one had multi-coloured lights, but otherwise it's very similar.

If I ever start buying fake palm trees made out of glitter with multi-coloured lights and claim that it's somehow related to a spiritual festival, please slap me.

academia

Today I went to a departmental seminar about historiographical nationalism. It was a very last minute decision because it can be quite daunting going to these seminars with big scary historians, especially if you walk in late. But you get Brownie points with the staff for attending, and I think it was worth it, because academic criticism can yield quite interesting people-watching.

I wouldn't have known it, but apparently this seminar was a bit controversial. Immediately after the speaker finished, and the request had gone out for "Comments? Questions?", one of the particularly scary professors, who is rather old, fierce and stuck in his ways, gave some quite provocative-sounding criticism. At least, it sounded so to me. Then the other resident staff started putting in their two cents. It was all very amicable but given that I've just decided to do a Masters, it's terrifying watching the door open into the world of peer review and criticism. Not that we don't get criticised now - it's just we're so liable to burst into tears if they do it aggressively that I think they've learned that Honours students are not to be dealt with carelessly.

Then, as the speaker was summing up his final defence, he said: "Of course, his book is the perfect antidote for fretful sleepers."

I laughed.

A few heads turned my way. One professor who could stare down a Basilisk fixed her eyes on me for at least FIVE WHOLE SECONDS.

What did I do wrong? Wasn't that supposed to be a witty historical insult?

It wasn't until later that I realised Fretful Sleepers is a famous book in the New Zealand history world.

I think I can sum up with what one of the current Masters students said to me via Facebook a few days ago, when I was complaining about essay-writing. Hang in there, it will soon be over, and then you can come and join me in the world of self-doubt and academic criticism!

[By the way, regarding the Masters decision (as I did ask your opinion) - this isn't a rejection of the Russia trip idea but simply a postponement. I think it makes a lot more sense to do a year of undergrad Russian language at uni next year while I do my Masters, and then go, instead of plunging straight into Russia next year without a word of Russian other than "do you speak English?"]

I LOVE spring!

Last year I think it would be fair to say I missed spring. I was in Australia, and Australia doesn't have a real winter, and so September just feels slightly warmer and flies begin to annoy you. Back in Christchurch, however - it's like the first day of September is a sudden, uncanny change. Winter is no more. Spring is upon us! We may have had a few days of icky weather in the last two weeks, but it's the icky weather of spring, not the icky weather of winter. Best of all, flowers are suddenly appearing. Everywhere!

The daphne bushes are out in flower - my favourite smell in the whole wide world! [This is not my photo.]

At uni, the trees are blossoming around us...
I was going to be a good girl today and study hard, but as soon as I got to uni and allowed myself to be distracted by the sun and the flowers and the general niceness, I got a sudden urging to go into town, to Hagley Park, with the rest of Christchurch, and wander lonely as a cloud among the daffodils.

At this time of year, daffodils, snowdrops and bluebells carpet the floor of the Christchurch Botanical Gardens and it's rather lovely to join everyone else in wandering and admiring. It's one of those genuinely beautiful things about Christchurch that not only tourists enjoy.

I thought these two girls were particularly cool for finding parasols for the occasion.
Now I am back at university, about to start writing my essay. I wanted to share this final photo, though. This is a tree just outside the History building. Apparently the tea bags are an addition by a Fine Arts student. They looked horrid during winter, limp brown sacs hanging on bare branches, but for some reason, with the blossom coming out, I rather like them. At least, I'm intrigued. Is it supposed to be a tea tree? or is that too obvious? Is there some deep significant meaning inherent in the act of hanging old tea bags on a tree?

got some answers?

Why do I sometimes crave a food that doesn't seem to exist? I walk around the supermarket searching for it and it just isn't there! (That wasn't supposed to be an existential question even though it sounds like it.)

Can the phenomenon of Nazism be adequately explained within the framework of Marxism?

People seem to like the sweets of their own particular countries, and other countries' versions of them never quite live up. Are we, therefore, taught to like chocolate by our upbringings, or is chocolate or saturated fat intrinsincally yummy?

Why are people stupid? Myself included?

Why is it that baby creatures are so much cuter than adult creatures? Of any species?

Is being an academic really a justifiable career?

Why do dictators have moustaches?

Nicos Poulantzas' Fascism and Dictatorship: is his argument really original or is he merely putting his fingers in his ears and insisting that everyone else is wrong?

Should I have a stir fry or pasta for dinner tonight?

Do real skeleton keys, that could open ANY door, actually exist?

Analyse the controversy between 'intentionalist' and 'structuralist' historians over the genesis of the Holocaust. Is it possible, at last, to resolve the main points of the debate?

Did my entire ancestry exist just to produce me? :)

am I the antichrist?

I always get very irritable when the US elections come around again - no offence to American readers but if I have to read about politics every time I open a newspaper or magazine or watch the news, I prefer to be force-fed my own country's politics, which I actually have some say in.

But then I came across a Ship of Fools article. Ship of Fools is my favourite online Christian magazine, being subtitled "the magazine of Christian unrest", with its tongue firmly in cheek, and willing to laugh at the nuttier/scarier adherents to our faith out there.

This article asks the pertinent question: "Is Obama, like, the Antichrist?" Writer Steve Tomkins has done the rounds on a whole heap of blogs, which offer compelling evidence that Barack Obama is, in fact, the spawn of the Devil.

The Damning Evidence:
- "On the very day Obama became frontrunner in the election, we are told, the statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro was struck by lightning."
- "Obama hails from Chicago whose zip code is 60606" - that's three sixes in a row!
- "Nostradamus prophesized the name of the antichrist is 'Mabus.' If you write obama+bush, you end up with obamabush. Do you spot 'mabus' in the middle? Bingo."
- "Obama could very well be the anti-christ, because he was born the year sodomy was decriminalized."
- Obama is left-handed, and "the Bible says that the Devil is left handed?" Yup. Sure.
- "The famous apocalyptic phrase 'Abomination of desolation' is an anagram of 'Obama in Sion, tool of end'."
- "Obama has said he hates Israel and Jews. Admires Hitler, Osama etc."

This was a huge shock for me. Not only had I believed Obama was no Satanist, I had also believed I had quite a good chance of being a Christian. How wrong I was!

For:
- in the year 1986, when I was born, the first PC virus started to spread. There were earthquakes, fatal fires, and plane crashes. The Cold War was ongoing!
- on the 30th October, which is my birthday, Antioch surrendered to Muslim forces in AD 637!! Likewise, the day I was born is also known as "Devil's Night" in Michigan.
- My name, when rearranged, can also read "Satan Reclaimed Song" or "Satan Genocidal Rems"!!!
- My zip code, when multiplied by my driver's license number, divided by my street number, and then multiplied by 2.3479, becomes 666!!!!
Isn't that evidence enough?!

Cutting a wheedle with a mawkish chawbacon who smells of April and May

I'm a big fan of Georgette Heyer, especially her Regency novels. Those (and Agatha Christie's detective novels) are basically the only things I can read for enjoyment at the moment without getting a headache, after spending maybe ten hours a day plowing through history books.

One of my favourite things about Georgette Heyer novels is the rich and enchanting vocab she used. And so I thought today I'd write a post about some of my favourite words-that-are-used-in-Heyer-novels and which I want to bring back into circulation.

Bluestocking ::: a woman with considerable scholarly, literary, or intellectual ability or interest. In Heyer novels, this is usually used as an insult by some nitwit male. The word came from a mid-18th century London literary circle, according to dictionary.com.
To cut a wheedle ::: to deliberately lead astray or decoy by flattery and insinuation
In a dudgeon ::: angry, in a bad mood
To outrun the constable ::: live beyond your means, overspend
Mawkish ::: falsely sentimental, insipid or nauseating
Flummery ::: false compliments, ie "Don't you try to flummery me!"
Plumper ::: an arrant lie. Possibly from the false cheeks worn in previous centuries.
Swimming in lard ::: very wealthy
Smoky ::: suspicious, curious
All the crack ::: in the mode
Gammon ::: to pretend, lie or deceive; nonsense, lies
Smelling of April and May ::: madly in love
Gulled ::: duped, fooled

Drinking
In his altitudes ::: drunk
Bosky ::: drunk
Eaten Hull cheese ::: drunk
Foxed ::: drunk
Making indentures ::: drinking
Shoot the cat ::: to vomit

Insults
Clunch ::: a clownish person, awkward, foolish
Wet goose ::: simple or stupid person
Chawbacon ::: country bumpkin or stupid man
Loose fish ::: unreliable, someone of dissipated habits, a lecher or a drunk
Mutton-head ::: stupid person
A bit of muslin ::: a girl/attractive female, usually willing to be seduced or taken as a mistress

The thing I love about all these words is how expressive, how imaginative they are.
But my favourite word of all is:
FUSTIAN

Simplest meaning: pompous rubbish.
According to dictionary.com, this can mean:
* inflated or turgid language in writing or speaking
* pompous or bombastic, as language
* worthless; cheap

Someone says something you think is a load of rubbish?
You shout, "Fustian!"
Someone says something that is clichéd, overly sentimental or wordy?
You shout "Fustian!"

It's the best word ever!

[I got a lot of these meanings from Jennifer Kloester's book Georgette Heyer's Regency World. A highly recommended book for any other Georgette Heyer fans!]

Oh, and by the way: latest issue of Halfway Down the Stairs is out, for those who are interested. Both Stacy and I contribute to it. This issue's theme is "Bon Appétit". Anyone else who writes... we accept submissions! The theme for our next issue is "Twists of Fate".

if you read this post (and give me a million bucks) I'll give you free chocolate

Driving down Blenheim Road on the way home from university, I pass a certain shop which has put up a sign that says this:
*contented sigh* I would like to thank that shop from the bottom of my heart for lightening my evenings and putting a smile on my face.

and the winner is...

[Before you read this, see my last post, the Honours Room murder mystery]

The murderer is... Bella.

After a stash of skewers was found in her second desk, which was not originally searched (the police aren’t really all that smart), Bella confessed to the heinous crime.
“That b**** stole my coffee” she thundered. “A crime of that magnitude cannot go unpunished.” Psychologist Dr. Phil has diagnosed a nervous breakdown, due to caffeine deprivation, and Bella will spend the rest of her days at a spa in the Maldives.

Liz went on to be highly successful in her career as a P cook. George is one of her best customers, due to the shock of finding out that the unnamed man Liz and Allie were fighting over was in love with him. (Amendment: George has just gone on a killing spree…cue Murder Mystery No.2 ‘Why did George Finally Lose It?’)

Eric is now fluent in German, and has found, in contrast to Dr. Phil’s beliefs, that bat heads and heavy metal can cure cancer. He is a multi-trillionaire, and lives on the moon, because the acoustics are better.

Posthumously, Allie’s half-finished thesis has become a best seller, and she has been awarded a Pulitzer, a Booker Prize, and a Nobel Prize for Peace. The movie version (staring Tom Cruise as Stalin, Tom Cruise as Churchill, and Tom Cruise as Roosevelt, and Produced by Tom Cruise for Scientology Productions Ltd.) has been given an Oscar for best screenplay, but bombed at the box office, because people hate Tom Cruise.

Michael and Tom are on trial for the murder of Gillian, who took credit for Allie's thesis inspiration.

Allison has changed her name to Helga after she was denied copyright of the names ‘Allie’ and ‘Allison’.

Nathan has published a 30,000 word rebuttal on why Wittgenstein is not a load of c***. It has been critically acclaimed, and is written in post-structuralist form.

Tim was spotted by the CIA outside the engineering library, in Switzerland, and possibly on the Moon, visiting Eric.

Andrew now has dominance over the pie market.

who killed Allie?

This blog post is the product of:

- boredom

- all the detective novels I've been reading lately

- my tea tasting odd, leading to the obvious question of "who has poisoned me?"

- my friend Bella (not her real name), whose gracious permission has been given to publish this product of her boundless imagination.

The Honours Room Murder Mystery

Characters*:

Allie

Students: Bella, Liz, Eric, Allison, Nathan, Tim, George

Historians: Michael, Tom, Andrew, Gillian

* Most names changed

Crime:
At the end of a long, dark, rainy day (its Christchurch in the winter, after all), Gillian went down to the Honours Room to speak to Allie about how wonderfully she did in her essay, and to offer her a life time job as an academic… But, oh dear, she found poor Allie dead over another 700 page book...

Autopsy Report:
The primary cause of death was a skewer, stabbed through the back of the neck. Also present in her blood were high levels of sodium-methaline-something-a-rather, the most deadly poison known to man (created by the University of Canterbury Chemistry department, which was recently broken into). However, she was stabbed before the poison could take effect.

The Suspects:
Allie arrived at Uni at 7.30am, attended her 10am class on European History, had sushi and a bar of chocolate for lunch, went to her 1.20 class on New Zealand history, and then went to work on her marvelous, stupendous thesis at 3pm. She was found dead at 5pm. The autopsy-person was highly intoxicated and originally put her death at 11am; this has since been amended to between 3.34 and 4.45. Each of the suspects were quick to dob in each of their colleagues for approaching Allie's desk, however, none admit to talking to Allie after the last class.

Bella:

Police originally searched her desk as they had had a fight earlier in the day, over the use of kitchen items. Or possibly hand cream, priced at $12.99 (what, we’re in the middle of a recession, that’s pretty pricey…)

Liz:

It is well known that Liz and Allie were in the middle of a very large fight over the possession of a boyfriend (the fact he actually wanted George instead apparently doesn’t matter). Liz has a key to the Chemistry Department, as she is secretly starting up a P lab with one of the Chemistry lecturers….

Eric:
We couldn’t get a coherent statement from this young man, as he kept yelling in German and head banging. However a search of his desk revealed several bats with their heads bitten off. Psychologist Dr. Phil believes that this is because the evil metal music, and lack of meat, has gone straight to his head. “Y’all need to lock up your children now.”

Allison:
In amongst John’s German ramblings it has been revealed that Allie and Allison were in the middle of a dispute over copyright of the names ‘Allie’ and ‘Allison’. Both women have death threats in their desks from the other.

Nathan:

Allie was overheard telling Nathan that Wittgenstein “was a load of c***”. Nathan is reported to have had steam coming out of his ears. [For the uninformed: Wittgenstein is a German philosopher.]

Tim:

Tim is described as the dark wolf of the Honours Room. His desk is mysteriously empty, and yet he is challenging Allie for the title of Queen of Honoursland. “How is this possible,” Allie was overheard saying. “I spent 32 hours here yesterday, HE CANNOT BEAT ME.”

Michael:
Rumours are abound that Allie was about to disown Michael as her supervisor as she was about to publish her thesis, and credit someone else as the inspiration behind it.

Tom:

A message on Allie's phone from three days before reads as following:
“I think your thesis is awful, and refuse to have my name linked to it.” In response Allie began blackmailing him with the knowledge that he cheated his way into his PhD by bribing the external examiner.

Andrew:

There was only one pie left on campus… Allie got it.

Gillian:

She did find her, after all...

WHODUNNIT???

Vote now! The murder will be solved on Monday.

yes, I am that person

So, in New Zealand most urban roads have a speed limit of 50 or 60 kilometres an hour. However, it's generally accepted by most drivers and also the police that you won't be stopped or fined for going up to about 58 km/hour in a 50km zone. Which means that if you go at 50km exactly, now, you're seen as holding people up, even though you are following the law to the letter.

I usually drive between 55-58 km/hour although my foot has been known to "slip" sometimes. I try to keep within the limits because I hate being fined and anyway, there are speed limits in certain areas for good reasons. But I usually wouldn't drive at 50 or below because I know how much it annoys people.

However...

When you come up behind me, desperate to keep driving at 70 km/hour in a 50 km zone, inches away from my car and I am already driving 8 km over the speed limit, I will slow down. That's a promise. Nothing makes me happier than slowing down to 50 km when an impatient dangerous Neanderthal goon is shadowing me. I especially love it when you eventually pull over beside me at an intersection, or you pass me, infuriated, and I look sideways with a smug grin, just to rile you.

Seriously! I noticed no heavily pregnant wife in the back seat. If you're late to something, that's your fault and it doesn't mean I have to speed up and risk getting fined or, worse, hitting someone or something because I was going too fast to stop in time. Think about it - do you really want to annoy me in future?

happiness is...

...finding an Agatha Christie novel that I haven't read before! Just when I thought life with unknown Christie plots out there was over, up pops Death in the Clouds at a second hand bookshop. I'm going to savour this one, along with Why Shoot a Butler?, by Georgette Heyer. Once there are no more new Christies for me, Georgette Heyer's 1920s murder mysteries are definitely next on the list. Then there's the books written by Christie under the pseudonym of Mary Westmacott, or G. K. Chesterton's Father Brown Stories. My life is not, in fact, over.

Is anyone else addicted to murder mysteries? What does it for you? Which ones would you recommend?

For me, I think it's the utter pleasure I get out of them. I am not ashamed to admit I read them for pure entertainment. They're not completely mindless because I do have to figure out who I think the culprit is, but they're such welcome relief from the tomes I read at university. I love that I start thinking I've figured out Christie's pattern, and can predict who the murderer is, and then suddenly she changes her pattern again and I'm completely shocked at the end. I love the characters, who are so strong and interesting and distinctive.

My favourite Christies, for anyone who's interested:

The Man in the Brown Suit

Ordeal by Innocence

They Came to Baghdad

The Moving Finger

(although it really is difficult to pick out of the long list of books she wrote...)

petty bourgeois counterrevolutionary imperialism

So, in the last few weeks there have been pretty little fliers pinned up around campus for the Workers' Party of New Zealand, with good old Che Guevara's image (because he's so much trendier than Stalin or Mao and ever so slightly less notorious) which invite students to join in the fun of creating a Communist future.

Not that I have any desire to impinge anyone else's freedom of speech (after all, I am not a Communist) or to protest anyone's fundamental human right to be an idiot ...

... but which bright spark thought it would be a good idea to pin one on the History building's notice board? History, you know? The discipline that remembers things that happened, especially the things that went badly wrong?

help!

... or, in this case, Allie needs YOU. [See poll on the right hand side of webpage.]

Despite having had two of the most horrible weeks yet this year (feeling completely overworked, as well as dealing with family worries, annoying people whom I have to persuade to work together, and sickness), a persistent problem has been ringing in my head.

What am I going to do next year?

It's not just that. It's more like, What am I going to do with my future?

Here are the options. I could:

a) do a Masters (in History, of course). This has the bonus that I am almost definitely, barring death/destruction, intending to do a masters degree in History sometime in the next five years. A Masters will give me much more of an edge if I end up wanting to get into a government department such as Foreign Affairs. And I just really want to do one! I love History!

On the other hand, if I do a Masters next year, I will be pretty much limited to studying something in the English-speaking world. I'm doing Russian history at the moment; it's okay not to know Russian at Honours level, but at Masters and beyond, it's a must to be able to understand the language of the society you're looking at.

But if I'm simply doing a Masters to give me a edge in careers outside History, there's not a whole lot of point in spending all that time on a language just so I can do a Masters in it.

b) go to Russia. Teach English for a living and try and immerse myself in Russian. Bonuses: an adventure! And useful for my History in the long run.

On the other hand: scary, and apparently not an easy destination. Culture shock, et al. As above, unnecessary if I'm not going forward with History as a career.

c) go to France. Teach English in French high schools and immerse myself in French. Bonuses: a very easy way to travel, and good for furthering my French language skills. A good gap year experience.

On the other hand: Unnecessary for History. Of course, learning another language is never pointless - still, this would be simply a gap year and nothing more.

d) do some other thing that hasn't occurred to me yet (suggestions welcomed).

Basically, it comes down to this: Do I want to do a PhD in History? Do I want to go on to be a historian? If so, I'm going to Russia next year. If not... I don't know.

Help me! Make up my mind for me by voting on my poll!

Oh, and by the way: family worries culminated in a new nephew on Friday night. :) He's called Daniel and he was very, very stubborn about the eviction date.

what happens in Vegas...

The supervisor of one of my classmates at university is a rather brilliant man who specialises in medieval French history. He went down to Dunedin for a holiday over, I think, the last weekend, and when he got back, my classmate asked him if he had a fun holiday.

"Oh yeah," he replied. "It was great. Dunedin has a really good medieval collection."

Please, please, God - let me be a historian when I grow up!

walking in a winter wonderland

Late on Friday night I was asked if I wanted to go to Hanmer Springs the next day with a couple of my good friends. I love spur of the moment things! Hanmer Springs is the obligatory winter day-trip/weekend thing to do if you live in Christchurch - I must have talked about going there many times before on this blog. But this time was a little different, because storms were expected and it was expected to snow in Hanmer... and it's been a while since I've been in Hanmer when it snowed.

So we set out on Saturday morning... It started off looking like this:

but by the time we got close to Hanmer it looked like this:

It was coooold! But the weather was fine and the snow was beautiful, powdery and dry, and we decided to start by climbing Conical Hill:
It was rather nice walking up through the forest:
and taking silly pictures:
At the top, we had a snowfight! Hooray! :

Afterwards (of course), we went to the hot springs the town is named for, and soaked in semi-natural thermal pools while it started to snow around us. If you ignore the part where you dash between pools, barefoot, and dressed only in wet lycra, this could be heaven. Unfortunately, as it started to snow more thickly, we decided we should leave, just in case we got snowed in.

Back to Christchurch, where it was ghastly weather and even colder, with the added factor of wind chill. Earplugs at night couldn't dim the howling wind and rain/sleet/hail pounding on the roof... but that's not so bad when you're cuddled up in bed with several layers of bedding and an electric blanket!

blah

So, I haven't been here for a while because I can't think of anything to blog about. If I have learnt anything from the blogging I have done, it is not to write these posts. You know, the ones that go, I'm bored, I can't think of anything to write about, and here's some stream-of-consciousness going on in my head right now.

In the last couple of weeks I have:
a. spent five days in another city with my uncomfortable, heavily pregnant sister.
b. walked uphill, whinging, for a very long time (that was this morning and I am SORE) but also admiring the beautiful scenery and weather.
c. stared out the window at the hail, lightning and thunder.
d. avoided typing because I am developing RSI, otherwise known as OOS, again.
e. bought the new Coldplay CD (it's GOOD) and another CD I have been wanting for ages, Two Shoes, by the Cat Empire.
f. been told by my supervisor to write a 2000-4000 word version of my thesis over the next seven days.

Whoever thinks of an interesting idea for my next blog post can give themselves a pat on the back. (Sorry, no real prizes - I'm poor and postage overseas is a killer!)

just too cool...

So, I'm in a small group that does Bible studies every week, and every now and then we organise daytrips or weekends away for the group. Because everyone's pretty busy this year, we decided to just have a daytrip/fun-activity, which was last Tuesday, and this is pretty much how we decided on a destination...

Let's go to Willowbank! [sarcastic] (Willowbank is a small zoo in Christchurch)
Hahaha! Yes! Let's go to the zoo! [sarcastic]
....
Well, why not?
[General consensus - we are going to the zoo]
Hahaha! Let's go dressed up as animals!
Hahahahahaha! [snorting] Yes, that would be funny!
...
Really, let's!
Yeah, it would be funny!

Only five of us ended up going; the rest couldn't get off work for the day, or, I suspect, were a little too insecure in their coolness to go to the zoo dressed up as animals. We, however, are so insanely cool that verily I believe we have started a trend. At least, all the mums and dads and little kids seemed to like us. And the zookeepers. The animals didn't really seem to care. Although I have a theory - in the kiwi house the cheetah and I were treated to a demonstration of kiwi procreation techniques. Surely they wouldn't feel comfortable enough to do that in front of normal people? A cheetah and a tiger, however...

Just so you can see with your own two eyes how cool we are:

Our cheetah poses. Look closely at the picture; I painted her face and I am very proud of it.
The bumblebee and the peacock. You cannot see it here, but our peacock had six peacock feathers stuck into the back of her belt. Very styly.
Our zebra.
Aaaaaand, me. To be honest, I'm not sure how cool this photo really is. But I am willing to risk humiliation for this blog.

Speaking of wildlife, I came across this white-tail spider in our kitchen last night...
Eeeeek! I don't like killing ones that big because you can feel them crunch. So I kept him in that glass, drove ten minutes away and let him go in a big field.

time for a break

You know you need a holiday when:

1. You are getting through work faster than you thought, so you go and ask your supervisor for more.

2. In a lecture/seminar, you drift off and spend five minutes looking around the room wondering what animal each person would be. (The lecturer: a shaggy dog.)

3. You hear a history in-joke like "What? We don't have to look at primary sources at postgrad level, do we?" and fall about hysterically laughing.

4. On a similar vein, you start collecting historical insults: eg "I can see you haven't read Foucault."

5. You start fantasising about being able to ignore all other essays/seminars/assignments and just hunker down somewhere working on your thesis day-in, day-out.

things to do before I shuffle off this mortal coil

This is my list, inspired by Stacy's recent and wonderful one.

1. See the Northern Lights.

2. See a musical at West End, London. Preferably Les Miserables.

3. Ski on the advanced slope. This doesn't seem exactly major, I know, but I've only gone skiing once - crazy, since I live near the mountains - and I want to go again!

4. Take part in some sort of covert operation.

5. Do a Jane Austen pilgrimage in the UK.

6. Walk the Milford Track, Fiordland, New Zealand.

7. Ride a camel through the desert.

8. Learn how to play bagpipes.

9. See a volcano go up (preferably without getting killed).

10. See Shakespeare at the Globe. Preferably Othello or Macbeth.

11. Learn at least two languages other than English fluently.

12. Float in the Dead Sea.

13. Meet Bono, Edge, Adam and Larry. Discuss poetry. Be cool. Avoid hysterical meltdown consisting of "Oh. My. Gosh!"s.

14. Go to the Antarctic.

15. Swim with dolphins.

16. Be the first person to notice a spelling/grammar mistake in a major bestselling novel.

17. Have a baby.

18. Invent a chocolate that is good for your hips.

19. Go to the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

20. Find some natural hot springs somewhere in the wild in New Zealand and go for a dip.

21. Learn to dance.

22. Prove them wrong. Anyone.

23. Go to the British Museum and gain access to the non-public parts.

24. Work up the courage to hold one of these snakes in Bangkok. This is my sister-in-law and my niece about six years ago. I chickened out and took the photo instead of actually holding the snake. Always regretted it.

25. Take part in a major historical incident.

26. Have a "moment" across a crowded bar with someone famous, who afterwards talks about the mysterious girl they had a moment with across a crowded bar and who then disappeared forever. Preferably someone interesting/handsome.

27. Sit in a Parisian café wearing a beret discussing existentialism reading Waiting for Godot. I would say smoking a cigarette but there I draw the line.

28. Write a (good) novel.

29. Ride an elephant.

30. Go to an outdoor performance of Aida in Rome.

31. Have my own carrier pigeon.

32. Do a Sound of Music pilgrimage in Salzburg.

33. Go to Israel.

And that's about It, so far!

a little piece of Trish arrives in Christchurch

Yesterday a little package arrived in the mail for me with an exciting Amazon label on it... Hooray! Trish's book! I started reading He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not on Friday night and then today I stayed in bed until 11:30am to finish it off. :) I haven't done that for so long and it is such a good feeling. Anyway, in honour of Trish's arrival in Christchurch, New Zealand, I decided to take her out for a little sightseeing, despite the miserable early winter weather. Luckily by the time I got into town it had stopped raining, and a friendly passerby took this photo...

... I did not explain why I wanted my photo taken with a book. Think of it as the hook by which that passerby will hunt down Trish's book for themselves.
Then Trish and I went to the Arts Centre. You may remember some weeks ago I did a "My Town" blog post on the Arts Centre; well, it was time to show Trish one of my favourite spots.
We went to the markets, and I even sampled some fudge for Trish at the Fudge Cottage and considered buying a greenstone necklace.
Then we took a quick look in the museum, and I showed Trish the scary fake cave of my youthful days.
Next stop was the Art Gallery. We had an iced coffee in Alchemy café, and then had a look around the gallery and in the gift shop.

Our favourite was the Colin McCahon exhibition.
We walked down Worcester Boulevard, waving to the people on the tram...
...and ended up in Cathedral Square.
We paid $1 to climb the Cathedral Tower, up a claustrophobically small spiral staircase, but I did it for Trish's sake...
...and we listened for free to the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra rehearse Mozart's Symphony No. 35 inside the Cathedral for tomorrow's concert.

Then it was time to leave. Luckily for Trish and I, we narrowly avoided a parking fine.

Review to follow!