"I know how to protect you from Agent Orange and Shrapnel. Just ask me how!" (Rachel)

Well! It has been a long time since I last wrote, but your post simply could not keep me away! =)

It just so happens that this very night, I was taken in potato mashing and, to keep myself going during the mashing process (which, depending on how raw/ cooked your potatoes are, can be quite lengthy) I recited to myself those carefully prepared and ingeniously delivered lines of yours. The transformative effect was quite something to behold. All of a sudden, I was a curvy brunette with a deep and abiding passion for food….in my head, I consoled myself lovingly…. ‘It’s only a whopping knob of butter….Nigella cooks like this all the time’. I fantasised that I was a famous chef….mashing potatoes in my Rachel Allen bowl did not help either. Then I missed you, my fellow virtual chef!  Then I noticed that my potatoes were looking like the wrong side of Velcro and, my bottom lip curled in despondence until a familiar phrase replaced the twinkle in my eyes…as if by magic, yours and Nigella’s voices came into my mind and, with hands extended reassuringly, they said “Don’t worry! Milk is your friend”. And boy was it! It saved the day with its creamy lashings caressing my mashed potato, soothing it into a smooth, creamy delight…..

Anyway, on with other matters. So, I am a working girl now (no, not like the ones with the Tiffany Lampshades). I am a PA, so they tell me! I power dressed the first day….cream Oxbow trousers, short green jacket…you know, you know. Only to feel very underdressed so, back to jeans it is. As I walk to work though, I do feel that underneath my coat is a smashing black pinstriped pencil skirt suit, court shoes and a fitted white shirt. Then, I go and get my Decaff latte with non-fat nothing, because I don’t drink coffee…but the thought of collecting my bespoke hot drink is always there. I then try not to look down at my shabby fake Toms and my bottle of crusha. It ruins the image somewhat! Besides all of my daydreaming, I love my job. I am learning so much! So much, in fact that I believe I could convincingly tell you how to protect your carpet from Agent Orange and Shrapnel. =) Each day at work is filled with tiny victories that make me feel satisfied and successful. A small mercy. =)

Would you like to hear something amusing?? Well, the other day, I went into sainsbury’s to buy a few lemons… I have taken to regularly keeping some fresh lemon juice in the fridge to add zing to water or to soothe any ailed senses in a hot drink form. So, on this particular day, to nurse my brewing cold, I bought these lemons and took them to the self-service machines. I also saw the recipe magazine they offer free of charge, so I grabbed one of those too and put it in my basket. NO sooner had I scanned each lemon, than I started to reach for my magazine when some eager whippersnapper, polecat, muckety-muck decided he would top his BCPH (Baskets Collected Per Hour) by whisking my basket away. I literally had my arm extended ready to grab thin air as he and my basket disappeared. My mouth was open….in awe…in surprise…in disgust….in offence….poised ready to say “Erm…..excuse me….I actually wanted that magazine”. When the words finally came out, he was oblivious. “Excuse…..erm….the basket….The magazine….sorry…..it’s mine…I wanted….never mind.” Like a forlorn goat, I rebuked my arm for remaining outstretched in mid-air for the entirety of my one-sided conversation. Then, I shuffled away, lemons in hand. I soon found where Basket biy had put my magazine. He’d put it on top of the Customer Service counter. Quite right too!! I’ll give him customer service!! My recipe book lay there….unwanted, unloved. Stolen away from a chance at happiness; an opportunity to flee the stack, if you will…to mingle with other recipes…. An opportunity to fill my shelves with light, colour and delicious potential. There it sat. I looked Basket boy straight in his baskety eyes and picked up the magazine from its lonely place on the side. With a sassy salute with the booklet, I left. PAH! Take that PUNK! I reign victorious.

Tonight’s dinner was somewhat interesting. I made corned beef hash. I always worry when meals have names like that, don’t you? Effective advertising works in the home too…

“Honey, what’s for dinner tonight?”

“Corned beef hash!” (I say, enthusiastically, being fully aware that what I have just said is a euphemism for ‘a hash of corned beef’)

“Ahh….is this one of your own recipes?”

(Come on! Give me some credit. If it was my own and I was really trying to conceal the fact that it was a hash of corned beef, would I really have called it Corned Beef Hash?? That begs the question, what would I have called it? ‘Corned Beef Surprise’ might work…adding surprise at the end of a meal always adds a touch of mystery and intrigue. Or perhaps ‘Corned Beef confusion’ would work better. Still not out and out admitting it’s a mess that looks as though it’s been through an animal a good few times, but acknowledging the fact that it’s not exactly a pristine  cake. Then there’s the blatant falsehood option. It’s called “Roast Beef and Potato delight”. The Satan principle…99% truth 1% lie. Definitely Beef and definitely potato….definitely not roasted. =) See where I’m going with this??)

“No, my Mum used to make it all the time- I really liked it growing up” (I mean, have you ever heard of a baby corned beef hash?)

“Cool.”

“SO….out of 10, darling…how much did you hate it?” I can read vibes like Prince John collected taxes. Pretty darn well. He did like it really but, when you think about the way it looks, and how it fills up your mouth with nothing to chew exactly, it is a bit of a non-event sometimes. It is tasty, it is easy, it is cheap…but it isn’t the way to a man’s heart. Remember that, okay? It will serve you well.

The wheel bearing has gone on our car again. AGAIN! I told Ieuan that I might call Dave or Andy for advice. We may not live close to home. We may not have a perfect car. We may not have a private jet…but. We. Will. ALWAYS. Have. DAVE! (This was the tag line I used on his promo poster. I think his business will be booming.) His workshop should be called “We will always have Dave!” or… “You will always have me!” or “Puppy eyes.com” I am confident either will work. Aw, Dave. We love Dave. Nawww (waggling finger affectionately at Dave).

Well, it’s time to retire. I love you. By the way, in my calendar for today, it’s talk like DB day. Good luck with that!

Have a great evening….and don’t forget! We will always have Dave. We will always have Philadelphia!

Snafs xxx

(Jessica)- "Those boys are not interested in your friendship, unless the word "friendship" is tattooed on your butt."

Humphers,
I miss you terribly...who invented Bath to be so far away?! Rubbish people.

I was mashing potatoes today, and I thought to myself, " I wonder how I would describe the art of mashing if I were on a cooking show.." (Obviously my thoughts springed to you as no one else plays cooking shows in the kitchen with me...) So I came up with some thoughts, catch-phrases if you will, that you can repeat to yourself in your kitchen when mashing the potatoes.
"Making mashed potatoes is purely instinctual. Many chefs cook via taste, but when it comes to potatoes, it's all about the texture...." (I may be able to sell that one to Nigella, I was rather chuffed with it).
"If your potatoes are starting to look like the wrong side of Velcro...(extends hand reassuringly)...don't worry... milk is your friend.." (Again, this one prompted a small smile of pride)
Then my cooking experience went a little down hill as I shook the "masher" (does it have a real name?) into the bowl and potato flicked all over me, all down the cupboards and up onto the walls...
I exclaimed, "Oh no, I shook the potato..."  Which to my dismay... made me laugh harder that I expected...(note: I was alone in the kitchen at this point laughing to myself...yes, out-loud)..and in short my television career as potato masher is nought. They'll never let me on the air again. But maybe I can make it as a youtube sensation....I digress...

You know the song by Frank Sinatra, called "The Girl From Ipanema"? It goes like this...
"Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes - ah"
It was only today that I found out those were the lyrics! I thought they were actually,
"Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes squawking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes - *sigh*" (as in a sigh of exasperation for the girl who goes around squawking....)
Who knew?! Although Frank's version makes more sense I have to say I prefer mine...I can more relate to the girl who goes around squawking than the girl who makes people wistful by walking.

Something terrible happened...I was honked.... *high pitched whisper*..by bald men...*higher still*...in a transit. Now, don't get me wrong, I like an ego boost as much as the next man...but...as I turned to look I saw 3 men (old enough to be older than my Father) leering in white vest tops at me. I'd like to make an announcement to these men (referring back to the title of this blog) I have no tatoos.
And I was wondering something as this happened...does the honk technique actually work? I wonder if there have been weddings and in the speeches the groom says (excuse me while I take some artistic liberties with my characters...),
"I met Sandy one hot summer day in two fousand and free. I was leaning outta my transit eating a bacon sarnie and ketchup sauce was drippin' all down my face...searching for a napkin in the glove, I looked up and saw her there...crossing my freshly laid tarmac and fought to myself, 'Georgie boi, you gotta woo this woman 'ere'..so I did what any man would've done and I laid on my horn...*BEEEEEEEP*"
-Sandy chimes in...."I've never been the same since, have I?...What woman doesn't love that? Am I right girls, d'ya get me?!"
(I've come to love George and Sandy in my head...watch this space...my lovable Norfolk folk may feature in more stories...bless. Happy anniversary George and Sandy.)
But seriously now...has it ever happened? I'm honestly curious, so do let me know.

Oh friend...I have a confession...When I was in America a party was thrown...and I attended ("Quick Bob get the kids into a minivan because the world's coming to an end!"-Yes. Thank you.). That is not the point I'm making Rachel, pipe down. I ate devilled-eggs. I KNOW! Devilled-eggs are good for throwing at cars and threatening people with...but have you stopped to try a delicious morsel? I tell you what...choirs sung, eyes were teary and horizons were broadened. Not bad, not bad at all. We shall bake them and eat them when I come down (somewhere after we draw on our feet and play Harry Potter-Can Ieuan be Dumbledore and if so can we stick cotton-wool to his toes?...No?...Just thinking out-loud).

As for your cake conundrum..."Lorelai: I'm gonna have pancakes with a side of pancakes". Let the people grow darn it!! I am glad that you have made an oath to one another about this...I hope that I too can one day have a husband who is sensitive to my cake needs as well as his own...people without cakes is like...*shudder*...It's a dark, dark place Rachel...there's no coming back from it.

Anyway friend (I went into Caitlin to kiss her goodnight tonight and she pulled her covers down just below her eyes, but enough that I could see her cheeks billowing into a smile, and said in the most delighted voice, "Oh hi friend!". We have one little sister there who is a lot like us...) I have to love you and leave you, as I sweep off the internet for bed...big plans tomorrow...I have to get money out of an ATM for my bus fare. Enviable isn't it?

Love you lots Shams...Love Snaffs (saying snaffs makes me want to wrinkle my nose in an adorable fashion...I haven't done adorable for a long time though...at least it's something I can work at on my way to the ATM)
xxx

(Rachel)-With a crunch and a zing and a hm hm hm HELLO!

"Okay, so our house is burning down and you can save me or the cake. Which do you choose?"

This, dearest Safs, is what I want to address with you today. Which do you save? I learnt an important life lesson yesterday whilst buying cake with Ieu. A lesson I especially needed.

One of the things that I love the most about my Husband is the way he talks. I love how he exaggerates and expresses himself. I find him hilarious and interesting and it's great! However. I do sometimes misinterpret what he means when he says certain things. You see, ever since our wedding, he has been hankering (nb. NOT hunkering) after cake because he didn't feel that the delicious bite he had at the cake table was sufficient. Of course, for me, The delicious bite I had at the table was enough- I loved the cake and would happily have had more but I didn't REALLY want it badly. He did- or seemed to. At various intervals, on and off for the last 2 weeks, he has expressed a desire for cake in the following words; "Mmmmm....cake", "MMmmmmm....I want cake" or just " CAKE!". Now, you, like me, may have assumed that he REALLY wanted cake. SO, when we wrote the weekly shopping list, I suggested we put cake on the list. Next scene: Morrisons in the cake and sweet treats aisle. Ieuan and I were eying up the cakes. I was in  a rare "GIVE ME SUGAR" mood and rather fancied a nice bit of sponge. We were looking at a coconut cream sponge and a victoria sponge. I could see that the decision was going to be difficult so, because he was the one who had wanted cake for such a long time, I left him to choose the cake he wanted while I went to get bread. After I had collected a few more items, Ieuan returned with two trays of millionaire shortcake and a pack of mini rolls. NO cake. I asked where the cake was. He said he wasn't getting any. Now Millionaire shortcake is my all time fave. I also expressed a desire for the minirolls so, assuming he'd done a Ieuan and chosen the things that I would have liked best, I did a me and asked him to take one of the trays back and get some cake for himself. Quietly he did so and came back with the coconut cream sponge. "Now, are you SURE that you absolutely want that cake? There isn't another you would prefer?" He looked at me exasperated and said "Can you please trust that I am happy with my choice?". With that, we did the rest of the shop.

Later that day I raised the issue of cake with him. As it happens, he didn't need cake, he just fancied some and the mini rolls would have done. My constant cake pushing for cake made him think I wanted cake, so he chose the cakey things I would like. In my head, I was thinking that I would never care enough about cake to dominate the decision making process- I would be happier if he chose one he wanted. In his head, he was thinking that I had been telling him to buy cake for ages so I must really want it and he wants to share this cake with me and so he will get one that we both like. See? Men, women and cake.

A tricky combo.

After our chat and after the light dawned on me, we made an oath. My oath went something like this "I hereby pledge that I will never again assume that Ieuan is desperate for cake and I will trust that he is happy with his decisions. I also pledge to be more decisive." His was, "I hereby pledge that I will never again make a decision based on what I think Rachel wants without checking whether she would be happier if I made the decision based on my preferences or not". In the end, pledges aside, we agreed to always put the other first and, next time the subject of cake comes up, to communicate more clearly. Now we have a box of 15 mini rolls, 1 tray of millionaire's shortbread and a coconut cream sponge to get through. So glad the exercise regime kicks off tomorrow!!

Learn to understand each other before you buy cake. It will save time, and possibly money. =)

AAO

(Jessica)- "If you die young, waiting for my blog posts..."

...I'll lay you down in a bed roses, I'll sink you in the river, at dawn and sail you away to the words of fantastic thoughts from my head. You like that mountain ninja? You like the taste of my bronze sword?!

Okay, I'm sorry. I am sorry that it has been so long since I have last blogged. There is no excuse, other than the fact that whenever I had the time... you were home. Did I hear someone say pointless? Yes, me. 

CHILAQUILES!! I have never been more happy to reply to your posts when they have such inspired titles! A bulwark is a wall? Who knew?...Oh my gosh there is far too much to reply to in your posts! Why did you do 3? I mean, I didn't reply. Get a microscope and look at the hints Sherlock! In good Lara Croft style, time was stolen from me and no matter how many times I locked the groaning butler in the freezer, I had no way of getting it back. But guess what? Now that you are married I find myself with a huge void...so guess who is going to blog post drop-kick you?...Yeah, still not me. I have coursework.

So, about your wedding, it was a fantastic day wasn't it? It was chilly...but no doubt from the warmcuddlyglow-stares you and Ieuan were swapping you didn't feel the cold did you?

Anyway, whilst you were getting lost in his eyes you missed out on some serious news. I have now usurped you in the Cain household (children-wise). I am now their favourite and they love me. They were telling me this as we were getting ice cream. I'm going to spend a weekend over there for a play date. That's right my friend. I have a play date. Don't cry.

Haha you also missed my Ever After moment, "Prince Henry: Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?"...(What Danielle would have said if she were me: "Yes, and it's very annoying *and stupidly attractive*") Remind me to tell you about that some other time. Seth and Kirsty know what I mean.

I'm trying to think of things that have happened to me since you've left...and even now my mind is blank. My life is interesting I swear, but nothing blog worthy of yet.

Someone said to me today, "Text-bomb her. Tell her you miss her". Hahaha can you imagine?! Me texting you to say that? Absurd. So I whispered back (in my head), "I'm not sure that you know this...but we share a brain. She knows."

I have heard that you are poorly! As am I!! Oh the sadness! I walked home from work almost 2 weeks ago and as it turns out I have formed into a cross between a horse and a husky...  Horsky... anyway... Doctors tomorrow. Hopefully Doctorette Antilla can save me.

It may have come to your attention that we had the BYU singers staying at our house Thursday night. Which meant I had to give up my room, and my beds to some girls. They were a really nice bunch actually and joined us for midnight ice cream when they got back. But nevertheless, I had the living room floor, which I don’t mind so much, what I did mind was my awakening.

Picture this: You are waking up all blurry-eyed and dropping in and out of sleep, you can faintly hear Sam and Caitlin around me and Mum and Dad. Nice, no?

But as I finally came around my ears fuzzily heard Dad saying something about a visitor…

And then hearing, “I have sisters, don’t worry. I have seen it all!”

My sleepy mind thought, “Whoa now. I don't know who you are just yet, But I'm pretty sure that I am not your sister…so it’s irrelevant whether or not you’ve seen it all because you have sisters...that is no excuse to see me in whatever state I am in...because I'm not your sister!!!”

One eye reluctantly pealed back to see Tim Kay sitting on the two-seated sofa. My sleeping mind whirled as I tried to bury myself into our carpeted floor…As I usually sleep in a large shirt…and the zip to the sleeping bag I was in often broke… I tried to casually sense if my legs were bare or not…because if they were…and Tim didn’t move, I could very well end up being in that sleeping bag for a very long time. Mercifully I had the insight the night before to wear my Bermuda legged tracksuit trousers. I still wasn’t totally comfortable with “bear hunt-ing” (stumble trip stumble trip) my way out of my confused array of sleeping bag, blankets and pillows with him 2 feet away from me. I made some confused sleepy mumbles to make it seem like I was asleep, and incoherent, but my mind was alive with how this would make a fantastic Miranda episode. I felt like poking my head though the blankets and pillows to throw a sarcastic and slightly terrified look to the invisible camera, followed by a little shake of my head and a “this cannot be happening to me” whimper. But at the time there was no such saving grace to make this situation even slightly funny. A few seemingly witty remarks were made by the recently multiplied men in the household about teenage laziness as they walked out of the room for breakfast…little did they know I had mapped out a battle plan in just a few, world record long, minutes to ensure my safe passage out of there…either by making him leave, or getting myself out. All of these, minus number 3 and 6, require total body and face coverage whilst remaining immobile…

1.      Cry. It is a truth universally acknowledged that weeping women scare most single men.

2.      Pull a Rob. German chanting, Russian threats.

3.      Project Pony-launch. I was tantalisingly close to Caitin’s pink play horse…No, you’re right. Bad idea.

4.      But I’m a Gilmore. No one can argue with myself like I can. Voices and everything.

5.      Ghost voice. “Timothy…TIMothy…TIMOTHY!!”

6.      Staring competition-...almost this the portrait from Scooby Doo that stands in the haunted Mansion. That would promote some awkward shuffling out of the room.

7.      Recite “Bee I’m expecting you”

8.      6^th sense. “I see dead people”

…See? This took me minutes. Teenage Laziness indeed, teenage planning by stratagem. I think so! 

I appreciate this isn’t a long one, I’m sorry. But nothing huge has happened to me. I’ll play chicken on the A140 or something this week so I have something to report.

I’ll love you and leave you.

Reply or better…

Yours,

Jess
P.S. Got a hand full of barbie

(Rachel)- Chilaquiles! (Chilaquiles) CHILAQUILES!!

Today is national Chilaquiles day (aka- talk like Cesar day) so.....join in....CHILAQUILES!! I hope you enjoyed 'talk like Peter Jones day'...don't know about you but mine was pretty uneventful. (Sometimes, when I think about what other people must think of us when they read about the things we do and say to each other, I think they must worry for our mental stability...conversely, they may just be jealous that they don't have as many 'in-jokes' as we do. We're pretty unique in that regard!! To all readers who aren't Jess! We are sane, honest!)

Well, so much has happened since we last blogged (the royal 'we' of course because the last 2 blog posts have been done by me), I hardly know where to begin. OOoh, I found something out about one of our nicknames. I'm afraid it's pretty sad news. I was talking to Ieuan about our nicknames and he asked what some of them were (because, as you know, anything pretty much goes) so I reeled off a few. "Humphrey, Humphers, Monroe, Montgom, Shamu, Snafu..." "WHAT?!" "Humphrey, Humph..." "No, the last one." "Oh, Sanfu." "Why on earth do you call each other Snafu?" "Well...I don't really know. It's a gilmore girls thing, I think." "Do you even know what SNAFU means?" "Not a clue." "Oh...It's a military term. It stands for Situation Normal All Fouled Up (only the 'Fouled' is a replacement)."...............*awkward silence*........ What on earth was I supposed to say to that?? All this time, we have been swearing at each other! Who knew?!

So, I'm 21. Did you know? I must say, Snafs (oops....there I go again!) it feels different. I am a fully grown adult. I think I've pretty much felt like a 'beginning woman' for at least 8 years now. I bet you will feel older when your birthday comes around. You see, you've been older than me for a long time now and your age is only just starting to catch up!!

Let me tell you a little about my dissertation meeting the other week. Now, I have known Patrick (my suoervisor) for about 1.5 years now and, because of my research, I have spent quite a bit of time in his company, have invited him to church several times, have argued with him many times and have helped him out with things many times. This means, I know him quite well. I could instantly tell, on this morning, that he was quite quiet. It took me abot 20 seconds more to realise that he was in an absolutely stinkingly foul mood. Oh dear. Considering it was first thing in the morning, I knew one of the things that had probably put him in that mood was my dissertation. I could feel emotion welling up but I stopped it. It might be alright. Then I made a fatal rookie mistake. Probably rule no.11 in Gibbs' book. I asked, sincerely, why he didn't seem very happy. I know. A very Rachel thing to do. I should never have asked. "WELL, To be honest, this hasn't put me in a very good mood...." And so it began. I felt a little like I did when Mr Randall told me I had got an E for my Maths mock at GCSE. With what he was saying, I had 3 options.
1- Cry. He was tearing apart something I had put my heart in. Tears would have been a legit response.
2-Yell. He was tearing apart something I had put my heart in. Yelling would have been a legin response.
3- Smile and take it. He was tearing apart something I had put my heart into- he just wants to help me make it better. He probably woke up on the wrong side of the bed too.

Despite my self and my desire to whip out a crazy combo of both 1 and 2, I went wth 3. Standard. I felt a little like Kathleen Kelly when she's brandishing the carving knife at the part and cannot think of anything to say. Why can I never say anything?? =)
It ended up being okay. The fact that I had taken it all like a trojan meant that, at the end of it, he felt pretty bad and thanked me for being nice. He said "Had I sent you out of this office in tears, I would have been distraught so thank you for taking it so well". That made me feel better but oh boy! I have some serious work to do on this baby! I'm still ahead of the game though... Gotta get my, get my, head in the game.....

You know how I work in bullet points? Well, the my long-standing method was tested yesterday. I was with two of my friends and we were planning a presentation for next wednesday. I was surprised by how long it was taking. By the third hour, I was feeling pretty bored of the process. The three of us have too much fun together and we talk too much and I think we were over complicating things. Laura writes a lot of notes. DETAILED notes and she was writing everything down that we were saying. I began to question why it is I don't take notes like that. Then I decided it was because I have a simple mind. Laura and Simon are more....careful in their note taking. I like basic notes because that allows me to expand on it myself. Just FYI, I have no idea which is better, all I am saying is that I do not think my brain could handle changing its note taking method now. It would tip it over the edge. Just saying.

Before I sign off, I would like to tell you about a Jason Bourne moment I had on Monday. So, my train back from Ieuan's house was delayed by 85 minutes meaning that I got back much later than planned. I was on the Virgin Pendelino service to Edinburgh Waverley and we pulled in at Lancaster. My big rucksack was in a luggage area at the back of my carriage towards the doors. I walked over to get my back out but the queue to get out was long and so I would have to wait until we actually stopped at Lancaster and people got off before I could get my bag. But that was okay because I had put it at the top of the pile. As people alighted the train, I wriggled my way through to the luggage bit. No bag. I say no bag...there was a bag but it was under 3 suitcases. People were still coming past me and so I couldn't step into the aisle to get my bag out until EVERYONE had got off the train. But I was still on it and I was not going stay on it. Noooo Wayyy. I heard the bleeping of the doors. They were about to close. With an almighty "NOOOO!" I yanked my bag out, let the suitcases tumble, I leaped over them, ran through the carriage to the door and, with an almighty jump, landed on the platform, just as the whistle blew for the train to leave. It was epic. Wish you'd seen it.

Anyway, McSass, I best be off.
I hope you are feeling better soon! Remember I love you loads. I can't wait to see you next week!
All my love,

McShams. X

Episode 2- Enui, Off-ui. (Rachel)

Jess, I promised a part 2 and here it is....

Well...WHAT can I say about this weather? Well...It's cold. Very cold. In fact, just this morning I received word that my ears are going to stage a mass walk-out with my nose in protest unless I start treating them better in these freezing conditions. Rumour has it that a few of my fingers intend to join too....you just can't get the staff.

Seriously, though, It is cold and I don't have a scarf up here with me so I have taken to inventing new methods of 'neck-warmth'. The first I tried did not go well. With my rucksack packed full of huge books, I already looked ridiculous walking up the hill to my bus. I didn't really need to add Daddy's huge jumper to the mix as well. No, not wearing it over the bag, etc. That would be silly. I wore it as a cape- the sleeves tied up around my neck to keep me warm. At first, I felt empowered. There I was in my navy trackie bottoms, tucked into my warm boots, my coat, my rucksack and my cape....the very essence of warmth! This empowerment quickly turned into bitter horror at myself. Why would I even consider doing that?? I looked UTTERLY ridiculous to an extent that I don't think I have ever experience before. I apologised to myself and pressed on up the hill, my cape flowing in the strong breeze....feeling stupid.
The next 'neck-warmth' method I employed was my cardigan. This is fairly self explainatory. I folded my cardigan in half, vertically, and wrapped it around my neck and tucked it into my coat. This was effective at keeping the wind out but, when I arrived at my lecture and de-layered, I realised that, at the end of the day, I was unwrapping a cardigan from around my neck. Ridiculous.
I know what you are thinking. Yes, I could have borrowed one of Jess' scarves but, I had impetigo and I didn't want to spread it. You know, you know.

Whilst we're on the subject of Impetigo, I suppose you are wondering how I am getting on. Well, I don't blame you. As it happens, I am cured! The cream worked wonders. You can still see the red marks where the disease ravaged my face but, those will fade after a while and, hopefully, go away completely. I was talking to Mum yesterday and I figured that this was payback for my collossal moaning about strech marks. I bet someone thought it would be hilarious to put hideous markings in a place where they would be blatantly obvious and where people would actually see them. Well, thank you! It worked! I was treated like I had the freaking bubonic plague for about a week and have learnt my lesson. I mean, Jess and Harriet actually put their toothbrushes in a separate cup, used a separate hand towel and different toothpaste...way to make a girl feel like a massive, walking pandemic. An ugly contagion! (Mind you, they were sensible. I would have advised them to do exactly that!) Anyway, I really have learnt my lesson. I would rather have a couple of tiny stretch marks than Impetigo. Maybe. =) I am thrilled to report that the toothbrushes are now residing in the same cup again. Hooray!

Well, I think that is all I have to say for now. I do hope you feel better soon, Snaffs. I don't like to think of you being poorly. Just think of all the fun we will have when I am back! Whoop!
Anyway...love you, Humphers.

Love,

Shams. xxx

It was snowing this morning. HUGE, heavy flakes of snow.

Enui, Off-ui.- Rachel

Jess...
FYI (before the missive commences)...
bul·wark (blwrk, -wôrk, bl-)

n.

1. A wall or embankment raised as a defensive fortification; a rampart.

2. Something serving as a defense or safeguard: "We have seen the necessity of the Union, as our bulwark against foreign danger" (James Madison).

3. A breakwater.

4. The part of a ship's side that is above the upper deck. Often used in the plural.

tr.v. bul·warked, bul·wark·ing, bul·warks

1. To fortify with a wall, embankment, or rampart.

2. To provide defense or protection for

That, Dude, is a Bulwark. Just saying.

Well....Almost so much time has elapsed that I really do not know where to begin. Perhaps I shall start with university itself. I have decided that I want to be an academic. I remember in my first year of university, mocking one of my lecturers who specialises in sex in colonial algeria. I know, right?! So, in mocking him for his absurd choice, I did not expect in a million years that I would want to be like that- devoting hours of my life to researching things that only I care about. How self-indulgent! Yet, it would seem that that is what I want to do. I want to do my doctorate and I want it to be on military wives. Ahhhh, the dream!


5 days ago, something dreadful happened. Something appeared on my face. I know what you're thinking "pampered little brat can't handle a measly spot! She wouldn't know bad skin if it bit her in the armpit" (which, incidentally, sounds ridiculously uncomfortable and quite risky. I wouldn't bite someone in the armpit if you paid me)! But, despite the fact that I have been lucky enough to not have bad skin, I do know when my face isn't quite right. Let me tell you, what was happening to my face was not right. Not in any culture was this right. At first I thought it was a coldsore so, I made sure I always had clean hands so I didn't give it to myself again and I treated it with cream. By day two, it got bigger. By day 3 it was bigger still and number 2 was joining in the fun. By day 3.5 1 and 2 had joined forces to become a mahoosive one that almost took over my entire face. I referred to it as my second face. By day 3.75 there was a 3rd growing. Now, I am now coldsore expert but I knew something was up. Yesterday morning, I resolved to go into boots and get coldsore patches to cover the monstrosities with. As I approched the desk, I asked to see the pharmacist. She came out and asked what she could do to help. "Well," said I, "My face...it's falling apart. I feel like a leper." She chuckled (who wouldn't, let's be honest) and had a good look. I told her about the coldsore epidemic (no...PANdemic) that had swept my face and she said "I don't think it's a coldsore...it looks more like impetigo." NOOOO!!! Not a highly contagious Staphylococcus aureus infection that could sweep my entire body leaving me looking scabby and gross?! Not that!! PLEASE take it back and tell me I have a coldsore epidemic! I told her about my engagement pictures coming up and she almost wept with sympathy (or maybe it was a laugh, shortly turned into a 'bless you'...couldn't quite tell). Well, I went to the doctors that afternoon and it's a good thing too! You know when you have a skin complaint and people KNOW. They just KNOW. And YOU know that they KNOW and then it's awkward. You can tell they want to express sympathy for your rotting face and they can tell that you want them to go away so you don't have to face the embarassment but niether of you do anything. Also, you know when women wish men would talk to their faces rather than...their hair or something? I experienced that today. Not for the reasons you might think....!....but because people have started talking to my bottom lip. I just wish people would look me in the EYE! I KNOW I HAVE A ROTTING FACE. I KNOW MY BOTTOM LIP LOOKS LIKE IT'S BEEN RIPPED APART AND RE-ASSEMBLED. I KNOW I AM HIDEOUS AND I KNOW YOU ARE DESPERATELY HOPING THAT STARING AT MY LIP WON'T GIVE YOU MY LIP CONDITION. I UNDERSTAND THE PARANOIA. HELLO!!!! BUT PLEASE, FEIGN INTEREST, PRETEND YOU HADN'T NOTICE AND LOOK INTO MY EYES! You will soon see the real me! I will NOT be defined by my bottom lip anymore. I refuse. Done and done.
Anyway, so I went to the doctor and he said "What can I do for you today". I just looked at him with an expression that said "Really? You can clearly see that my entire face is falling off and you're asking me what you can do to help?" I didn't say that though. Obviously. I just told him the same sorry sob story I told to the chemist and he and his medical student took it from there. He knew straight away that it wasn't a coldsore. I mean...who are we kidding. What coldsore in the world looks like THAT? (none....in case you were wondering). The medical student took a bit of time to get there. In the end, he said, after about 4 minutes of pulling teeth "So....what infection do we know that makes skin look like that?" "erm..............a Staph infection??" "Yes, so.....given what it looks like and how it's spread.....what has she got??" "erm...................................................................Imp....." (This is where I chimed in) "IMPETIGO." "Yes. You have impetigo". Joyful. Hooray. 10 points to me. 2 big thumbs up. I got it right. Score. Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. (*all to be said in most unimpressed tones*) He seemed delighted- like caitlin looks when she's solved a new puzzle. Well, I remained unimpressed. "Ohh....I have my engagement pictures this weekend. I need to NOT look like this!" He vowed to make me better by the weekend and gave me a topical steroid cream. It seems to be working well....though I still look dreadful. I was contemplating today what a tender mercy it is to have nice, un-rotting lips. I am so looking forward to having a normal face again. I will never take it for granted!!