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Ready To Start
Thursday, 5 August 2010 03:35 pmI suppose it's my own fault: if I insist on referring to students as "the gazelles", even if only in the cherished confines of this quality internet publication, I shouldn't be surprised when they run around in herds. Quivering. Leggy. Doe-eyed. And prone to leaving me in my office undisturbed for hours at a time, after which eight of them arrive at once and queue outside my door. Then I lash my tail and growl.
I have spent a small part of the undisturbed time blissfully learning how to navigate Glasgow, while simultaneously doing minor virtual errands such as confirming my guest house booking, insuring my netbook (I have to restrain myself from referring to her as "Baby", which is an almost irresistible impulse but is very, very twee) and printing out the manifold directions for demanding vast monies from my insurance in the event of medical disaster while perambulating. Nothing's ever simple any more. I am conscious of a wish that I'd insured my flight against ash clouds, but on mature reflection I think the university's research fund policy covers it. As a bonus, I can pronounce "Eyjafjallajökull", perhaps that'll count as a propitiatory sacrifice to the volcano gods. Sunday evening is very close now, and I still want to tinker with this paper. Time... is fleeting.
Oh, and we fired the gardener. He was devastated. He said his heart was broken. He tried to argue. It was all excessively horrible, although in retrospect I cannot actually acquit him of guilt-tripping. I think we were probably entirely justified, but aargh.
I have spent a small part of the undisturbed time blissfully learning how to navigate Glasgow, while simultaneously doing minor virtual errands such as confirming my guest house booking, insuring my netbook (I have to restrain myself from referring to her as "Baby", which is an almost irresistible impulse but is very, very twee) and printing out the manifold directions for demanding vast monies from my insurance in the event of medical disaster while perambulating. Nothing's ever simple any more. I am conscious of a wish that I'd insured my flight against ash clouds, but on mature reflection I think the university's research fund policy covers it. As a bonus, I can pronounce "Eyjafjallajökull", perhaps that'll count as a propitiatory sacrifice to the volcano gods. Sunday evening is very close now, and I still want to tinker with this paper. Time... is fleeting.
Oh, and we fired the gardener. He was devastated. He said his heart was broken. He tried to argue. It was all excessively horrible, although in retrospect I cannot actually acquit him of guilt-tripping. I think we were probably entirely justified, but aargh.
