So apparently I have too much time (it's funny because I don't), but I made a new header! It's supposed to show the madness that goes on inside my brain, compared to the "quiet" that everyone thinks I am. Although that was probably self-explanatory, and I've just totally patronised you, so... yeah, sorry about that.
Anyway, I've also been playing around with gadget-y things for the blog, so now you can email subscribe! I know, I know it's exciting, but don't all do it at once, you might cause the system to meltdown.
I also have a list on the sidebar of all my favourite internet people. Some of them are hilarious, and some of them are just downright lovely. Either way, they're worth taking a look at, but a word of warning for Cake Wrecks and Hyperbole and a Half: I would not recommend reading them while a) in public, or b) drinking. You will be looked at funny and/or have tea all over your computer. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I haven't really got time to write much of a blog post, so here's a few self-esteem-destroying things my tutors have said to me:
Tutor A (to my tutorial partner): That's a really really good essay, it would definitely be a first if you did that in an exam! I'm very very impressed. (turning to me) Libby... solid first try!
Tutor B (basically every week): - Um... yes, thank you for that essay.
- It was very... interesting.
-You raised a lot of points.
- I think you should read the writing guidelines I sent you at the start of the year.
Tutor A: The Anglo Saxons often spoke proverbially, so it would be like, for example, if I read your essay and said to you "A man must learn to walk before he can run".
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, 21 January 2014
Sunday, 19 January 2014
How I became a bigamist
I'm baaaack! I know I promised to write more once I got to uni, but it turns out that I massively underestimated how much work I would have so... yeah. However, I recently discovered a blog that has inspired me to rekindle my blogging love! (it turns out the blog was already hugely famous, but I missed it, and in case you did too, click here- it's pretty awesome)
Anyway, since I last posted on here, I have started, ended and most importantly survived my first term at Oxford! But now that I'm back in my college room, all my good intentions of working much harder this term have dissipated and I keep finding myself singing and playing candy crush... so I figure if I'm not working, I might as well do something slightly more productive! (yes, this does count, honest!)
There are a lot of weird Oxford things I could tell you about, such as the terrifying, life-threatening cyclists (no exaggeration!), having tutorials in my tutor's living room, and having someone clean my bathroom and simultaneously judge my hygiene levels and nocturnalism (I actually love Jan, but I'm sure she thinks badly of me). But probably the weirdest thing that happened was the start of my college marriage. (see, the bigamy isn't what you thought! Unless you already knew this story...)
For those who don't know, Oxbridge and Durham colleges have a system to ensure that every student in college has a "family" of parents in the year above you and siblings in the same year as you. And then there are also grandparents and cousins and stuff. So I have 3 dads and 2 brothers (yes, I do feel horrendously outnumbered), but the weirdest experience by far was acquiring my two husbands.
Apparently it's expected that freshers "get married" quick, as in during the first 3 weeks, which is extremely weird if you don't know many people. Also there are weird rules about college marriages, seemingly enforced by an undefinable "them". No one really knows who "they" are, or if they even exist, but they prohibit marriages between same-subject couples and college siblings (cause if they allowed that, it would make the whole practice weird, which it so already isn't).
But what all these "rules" mean (real or not) is that it's really really difficult to find a husband! A tip for other normal unis; if you want to make the experience of making friends during freshers' week more stressful, just add some good old-fashioned marriage pressure into the mix! Suddenly everyone is eyeing each other up and asking covert questions about who's still single, and despite all the insistences that it's completely romance-free, there was a fair amount of evidence to the contrary, along with some proposals that were probably more extravagant than real ones.
As I watched all the "eligible bachelors" being snapped up, I was left behind asking people if you really couldn't marry people from your subject. Before I even realised it had happened, I was one of the only girls left, with very few guys left. Since there isn't a "rule" against homosexual marriage, I thought it would be relatively easy to find a girl to marry me, without realising that they'd been grabbed somehow quicker than the guys (I later found out that there were more guys than girls, which sort of explained it).
I was even categorically rejected at a pub crawl, which somehow descended into a frenzy of sad unmarried people introducing themselves and getting married there and then out of sheer desperation. My friend tried to "set me up" with a guy who will remain nameless, and it was all fairly embarrassing and awkward, but not bad enough to excuse his much-too-definitive "the answer is NO", as if I'd been pushing it! No, of course I'm not bitter about it, I don't know why you thought that...
I was about to lose all hope, and was planning on investigating the mysterious "them" with the aim of requesting single parent-hood, because for some reason I really want to be a college parent. I even had a whole impassioned speech prepared, which mostly centred around calling "them" misogynist dinosaurs who were also discriminating against me because I'm Welsh/Chinese/State school.
However I was eventually rescued from having to do that (or possibly denied the joy of doing it), by two guys who hadn't realised there were any girls left, so had married each other. On discovering that I was indeed "single", they were so overjoyed at finding someone to mother their children that they immediately came over and got on their knees. It would have been incredibly romantic if it hadn't been so odd. Oh yeah and if they hadn't stopped to ask me my name just before proposing.
In the end, it was quite funny, and now I have two lovely husbands. And how many people can say they were proposed to by two guys in unison?(because that's obviously something everyone would want to be able to say) Together we have a truly screwed up family tree (between us we have 7 fathers and one mother... I think) in which to bring up our children come October. If you want to see a picture of the proposal and/or me with a double chin, here it is:
Anyway, since I last posted on here, I have started, ended and most importantly survived my first term at Oxford! But now that I'm back in my college room, all my good intentions of working much harder this term have dissipated and I keep finding myself singing and playing candy crush... so I figure if I'm not working, I might as well do something slightly more productive! (yes, this does count, honest!)
There are a lot of weird Oxford things I could tell you about, such as the terrifying, life-threatening cyclists (no exaggeration!), having tutorials in my tutor's living room, and having someone clean my bathroom and simultaneously judge my hygiene levels and nocturnalism (I actually love Jan, but I'm sure she thinks badly of me). But probably the weirdest thing that happened was the start of my college marriage. (see, the bigamy isn't what you thought! Unless you already knew this story...)
For those who don't know, Oxbridge and Durham colleges have a system to ensure that every student in college has a "family" of parents in the year above you and siblings in the same year as you. And then there are also grandparents and cousins and stuff. So I have 3 dads and 2 brothers (yes, I do feel horrendously outnumbered), but the weirdest experience by far was acquiring my two husbands.
Apparently it's expected that freshers "get married" quick, as in during the first 3 weeks, which is extremely weird if you don't know many people. Also there are weird rules about college marriages, seemingly enforced by an undefinable "them". No one really knows who "they" are, or if they even exist, but they prohibit marriages between same-subject couples and college siblings (cause if they allowed that, it would make the whole practice weird, which it so already isn't).
But what all these "rules" mean (real or not) is that it's really really difficult to find a husband! A tip for other normal unis; if you want to make the experience of making friends during freshers' week more stressful, just add some good old-fashioned marriage pressure into the mix! Suddenly everyone is eyeing each other up and asking covert questions about who's still single, and despite all the insistences that it's completely romance-free, there was a fair amount of evidence to the contrary, along with some proposals that were probably more extravagant than real ones.
As I watched all the "eligible bachelors" being snapped up, I was left behind asking people if you really couldn't marry people from your subject. Before I even realised it had happened, I was one of the only girls left, with very few guys left. Since there isn't a "rule" against homosexual marriage, I thought it would be relatively easy to find a girl to marry me, without realising that they'd been grabbed somehow quicker than the guys (I later found out that there were more guys than girls, which sort of explained it).
I was even categorically rejected at a pub crawl, which somehow descended into a frenzy of sad unmarried people introducing themselves and getting married there and then out of sheer desperation. My friend tried to "set me up" with a guy who will remain nameless, and it was all fairly embarrassing and awkward, but not bad enough to excuse his much-too-definitive "the answer is NO", as if I'd been pushing it! No, of course I'm not bitter about it, I don't know why you thought that...
I was about to lose all hope, and was planning on investigating the mysterious "them" with the aim of requesting single parent-hood, because for some reason I really want to be a college parent. I even had a whole impassioned speech prepared, which mostly centred around calling "them" misogynist dinosaurs who were also discriminating against me because I'm Welsh/Chinese/State school.
However I was eventually rescued from having to do that (or possibly denied the joy of doing it), by two guys who hadn't realised there were any girls left, so had married each other. On discovering that I was indeed "single", they were so overjoyed at finding someone to mother their children that they immediately came over and got on their knees. It would have been incredibly romantic if it hadn't been so odd. Oh yeah and if they hadn't stopped to ask me my name just before proposing.
In the end, it was quite funny, and now I have two lovely husbands. And how many people can say they were proposed to by two guys in unison?(because that's obviously something everyone would want to be able to say) Together we have a truly screwed up family tree (between us we have 7 fathers and one mother... I think) in which to bring up our children come October. If you want to see a picture of the proposal and/or me with a double chin, here it is:
P.S. If you're wondering how Luke (my boyfriend) feels about the whole thing, he wasn't very impressed to start with, but once he heard about the lack of romance in the whole thing, he eventually came round to the idea.
Thursday, 3 October 2013
Previously, in Libby's Summer...
I'm baaack! Which can only mean one thing... yep, I have much better and more important things to do, so I'm blogging! I leave for Oxford University in less than a week, and I'm not even nearly packed (okay, I haven't started). But most panic-inducing-ly I have 14 poems, a novel, and 2 half-novels (started and given up on) left on my reading list, on which there "will be test...just after you arrive". So, given that my life is about to get pretty crazy, I'm taking this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and procrastinate while also tying off all my summery loose ends before I (hopefully) start blogging more regularly when I get to uni.
So, since I last blogged, I've sat and passed my exams (most of them),
So apologies for the less interesting than usual blog post, but that's what you've missed in my life (as you so obviously care!). I'll be blogging much more from now on, hopefully, so watch this space! Until next time :)
So, since I last blogged, I've sat and passed my exams (most of them),
celebrated,
helped out in a holiday Bible club
(this is the chilren's artwork)
and been to Spain for the first time,
(because posing with statues is essential!)
So apologies for the less interesting than usual blog post, but that's what you've missed in my life (as you so obviously care!). I'll be blogging much more from now on, hopefully, so watch this space! Until next time :)
Saturday, 6 April 2013
The Libster Award... Oh wait, that's Liebster
First of all, apologies for not posting in over a year. I'd like to say I've been too busy, but I think it's more that I haven't had anything to write about, and the fact I never get around to doing anything. But I'm here now, I really will try to post more often- I mean it this time!
My lovely friend Sarah recently nominated me for the Liebster Award, which, as I understand it, is in no way an award at all. But that didn't stop my excitement when I initially thought it was called the "Libster" award, which was my self-appointed nickname that didn't catch on when I was 11. In fact, it was my email address for a good 5 years before I realised it might not give the best impression to prospective universities, and as I learned during the French Exchange, it is also easily mistaken for lobster...
My lovely friend Sarah recently nominated me for the Liebster Award, which, as I understand it, is in no way an award at all. But that didn't stop my excitement when I initially thought it was called the "Libster" award, which was my self-appointed nickname that didn't catch on when I was 11. In fact, it was my email address for a good 5 years before I realised it might not give the best impression to prospective universities, and as I learned during the French Exchange, it is also easily mistaken for lobster...
Anyway, after that rather rambly introduction, I've decided to shamelessly steal Sarah's introduction to this "award":
"Basically, the 'award' gets you to write 11 facts about yourself, answer the 11 questions set my your nominator, and then nominate 11 people yourself and give them 11 new questions. As you may know, I did a '10 facts about me' sort of post when I started on the bloggersphere, but I suppose my life has changed a bit since then."And it's still relevant because, having copied her before, I also did a "10 facts" thing when I started so it's not just laziness... honest!
Facts about me:
1. Me and my sisters are so far apart in age that when my baby sister Tilly is 15, I'll be 30, and the middle child Jemimah will be 24. How's that for scary?
2. I am currently obsessed with Mumford and Sons "Babel" album, probably too much.
3. At the moment, me and my friends are such suckers for punishment that we go weekly to a "Fab Abs" session in which we are regularly laughed at by the instructor. Yes, it is as encouraging as it sounds.
4. Next year, if all goes according to plan, I will be studying in a little place beginning with O and ending in xford! (I don't like telling people, but if you're reading this,- wait, is anyone actually reading this?)
5. My boyfriend, despite being only slightly a nerd, (love you!) is in a screamo band, From Her Eyes. Okay, that wasn't really my fact, but it'll do.
6. I'm scared of ducks. Not the little cute ones, the imposing, intimidating, overly confident ones, like this:
Doesn't that just strike terror in your heart? No? Just me? Okay.
7. I'm running out of things to say and I'm only on 7. (Does that count?)
8. I've decided it does count.
9. Linked to no. 6, duck is probably my favourite meat, especially shredded in pancakes. *goes into raptures just thinking about it*
10. I'm ashamed to say I really like Glee, and I even watched The Glee Project avidly. I also love Top Model programmes, and me and my sister are now pros at criticising pictures.
11. I'm doing English Lit. in uni but I love Maths more than is normal and worry that I might be that person who does extra-curricular Maths because I'm just that cool...
2. I am currently obsessed with Mumford and Sons "Babel" album, probably too much.
3. At the moment, me and my friends are such suckers for punishment that we go weekly to a "Fab Abs" session in which we are regularly laughed at by the instructor. Yes, it is as encouraging as it sounds.
4. Next year, if all goes according to plan, I will be studying in a little place beginning with O and ending in xford! (I don't like telling people, but if you're reading this,- wait, is anyone actually reading this?)
5. My boyfriend, despite being only slightly a nerd, (love you!) is in a screamo band, From Her Eyes. Okay, that wasn't really my fact, but it'll do.
6. I'm scared of ducks. Not the little cute ones, the imposing, intimidating, overly confident ones, like this:
Doesn't that just strike terror in your heart? No? Just me? Okay.
7. I'm running out of things to say and I'm only on 7. (Does that count?)
8. I've decided it does count.
9. Linked to no. 6, duck is probably my favourite meat, especially shredded in pancakes. *goes into raptures just thinking about it*
10. I'm ashamed to say I really like Glee, and I even watched The Glee Project avidly. I also love Top Model programmes, and me and my sister are now pros at criticising pictures.
11. I'm doing English Lit. in uni but I love Maths more than is normal and worry that I might be that person who does extra-curricular Maths because I'm just that cool...
Sarah's Questions:
1) What is your most embarrassing memory?
I don't know if it's the most embarrassing, but getting trampled in the Maths corridor in year 8 is always a fun story so we'll go with that. Ooh or maybe asking "which half" in response to a sign advertising "half a lamb". Ooh ooh or trying on boots and putting them on the wrong feet but only realising after putting both on and trying to walk around. Okay, I'm just quite an embarrassing person...
2) Cats or dogs?
I'm allergic to cats, so dogs. But having said that, I think I prefer cats' personalities; my dog is so chilled she's basically a cat anyway.
3) W0uld you rather freeze to death or be burnt alive?
Definitely freeze. Just the thought of burns makes me shiver. Ew.
4) What is your favourite book?
Probably one of the Narnia books, but I can't decide which! And it's not similar, but I also love 1984.
5) What is a fact no-one knows about you?
I don't know if there is one... but I don't think many people know that me and my friend used to climb around our church and jump down from the balcony and climb back up. It's not that high though, and we never broke anything, ourselves or otherwise, so it's all good!
6) If your last ever meal was a pizza, what toppings would you order?
Meat. Lots and lots of meat.
7) Would you rather be an anxious genius or a carefree 'simple-minded' person?
Definitely a carefree simpleton.
8) Would you rather be deaf or blind?
Probably deaf, but I'd rather not be either if at all possible...
9) If you had to speak another language for the rest of your life, what language would you choose to learn?
Either French (already part-way there) or Cantonese, so I could actually talk to my family.
10) Mac or PC?
PC. Words can't describe how much I hate Apple.
11) What is your favourite word?Myriad. Or superfluous. Or propitiation. Okay, I don't really have a favourite, but there are lots of good words out there!
1) What is your most embarrassing memory?
I don't know if it's the most embarrassing, but getting trampled in the Maths corridor in year 8 is always a fun story so we'll go with that. Ooh or maybe asking "which half" in response to a sign advertising "half a lamb". Ooh ooh or trying on boots and putting them on the wrong feet but only realising after putting both on and trying to walk around. Okay, I'm just quite an embarrassing person...
2) Cats or dogs?
I'm allergic to cats, so dogs. But having said that, I think I prefer cats' personalities; my dog is so chilled she's basically a cat anyway.
3) W0uld you rather freeze to death or be burnt alive?
Definitely freeze. Just the thought of burns makes me shiver. Ew.
4) What is your favourite book?
Probably one of the Narnia books, but I can't decide which! And it's not similar, but I also love 1984.
5) What is a fact no-one knows about you?
I don't know if there is one... but I don't think many people know that me and my friend used to climb around our church and jump down from the balcony and climb back up. It's not that high though, and we never broke anything, ourselves or otherwise, so it's all good!
6) If your last ever meal was a pizza, what toppings would you order?
Meat. Lots and lots of meat.
7) Would you rather be an anxious genius or a carefree 'simple-minded' person?
Definitely a carefree simpleton.
8) Would you rather be deaf or blind?
Probably deaf, but I'd rather not be either if at all possible...
9) If you had to speak another language for the rest of your life, what language would you choose to learn?
Either French (already part-way there) or Cantonese, so I could actually talk to my family.
10) Mac or PC?
PC. Words can't describe how much I hate Apple.
11) What is your favourite word?Myriad. Or superfluous. Or propitiation. Okay, I don't really have a favourite, but there are lots of good words out there!
I don't really know anyone who has a blog and hasn't already being nominated by someone (*cough* Sarah *cough*), so there doesn't seem much point in me coming up with my own questions, but if you read this and have a blog and fancy proving me wrong, comment and I'll think of some.
Until next time :)
Until next time :)
Sunday, 18 March 2012
Competitions
So i haven't posted anything in exactly 19 days, which doesn't seem that long really, but it's been a full couple of weeks and I've had several ideas for blog posts that I've failed to get around to doing. So this might be a long one. You have been warned...
Let's start where we left off; the stress-inducing Eisteddfod. We won loads of the events on the day and I'm sure you'll all be proud when I tell you that I came first with my beautiful recorder piece! We thought we'd finally broken our 10-year losing streak and actually come first, and we were all screaming and cheering... okay, there were only about 5 of us who were enthusiastic. But for us, the atmosphere was electric.
We dared to dream as they announced the 3rd and 4th houses, and then our house was called out... second. Unsurprisingly, and probably also very unreasonably, there were tears. More than you'd expect. But only from us year 12s, the rest of our house were the epitome of apathy, not even cheering for our epic (if I do say so myself) rendition of Resistance (by the legendary Muse, if you didn't know, and if you didn't,shame on you!).
Anyway, we were relieved, to say the least, that it was over, and that we had achieved our highest placing in at least the last 10 years. So disappointment, here we come? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Our determination definitely paid off in the end, if not as much as we wanted it to.
And so we gracefully segue into the next event of my life that I decided to share with you (aren't you the lucky ones!), my audition for the Margam music competition. My music teacher told me last year about a competition for young musicians, where the top prize was 100 pounds, so I decided to enter. But only 3 people entered, so it didn't go ahead.
But this year they upped the prize to 300 pounds, and I decided to enter again, fairly confidently; I thought I was in with a good chance, because of the lack of interest last year. I was told it was a simple audition where I had to play 5 minutes of music- easy, or so it seemed...
I arrived at the church where the auditions were held, and was soon met by the other competitors... all of whom were dressed for something much more than the casual audition I thought it was. I even said to one of them "I didn't know everyone would be so nicely dressed, I feel a bit of mess" to which she looked me up and down and said "haha,yeah...". Awkward is not the word...
I was there on my own, because Dad had to take my sister to gymnastics, so I was sitting in an empty pew, feeling very left out of the cliquey, everyone-knows-eachother little world that is the Bridgend music community. I was trying my best to stay calm in the face of lots of musicians that seemed much better than me already, when one of the organizers stood up to give an introduction including that each competitor will play for 8-10 minutes... and I freaked out. I had prepared 4 and a half, to be on the safe side, and now found out that I was supposed to play double that.
I sat and watched the first performers, feeling my morale rapidly diminishing with each oh-so-perfect note. At last my parents arrived, bringing with them my disruptive baby sister, who started off on fine form, throwing a plastic toy onto the stone floor during a Bassoon piece (which, by the way, is not and will never be a solo instrument, and the same goes for the Tuba).
By the time it was my turn to play I was feeling suitably nervous/panicky/sick. The first piece went well (Clair De Lune) but the second one was far too stressy to have a hope of going well. If you've heard Danse Macabre, you'll know that it's not a piece to calm the nerves, and it went quite badly wrong. Needless to say, I didn't get through to the final, but I'm chalking it up to experience... and I'm not at all bitter... honest...
I was going to write about something else, but this post is already long enough and uninteresting enough, so until next time :)
Oh and well done Wales! :)
Let's start where we left off; the stress-inducing Eisteddfod. We won loads of the events on the day and I'm sure you'll all be proud when I tell you that I came first with my beautiful recorder piece! We thought we'd finally broken our 10-year losing streak and actually come first, and we were all screaming and cheering... okay, there were only about 5 of us who were enthusiastic. But for us, the atmosphere was electric.
We dared to dream as they announced the 3rd and 4th houses, and then our house was called out... second. Unsurprisingly, and probably also very unreasonably, there were tears. More than you'd expect. But only from us year 12s, the rest of our house were the epitome of apathy, not even cheering for our epic (if I do say so myself) rendition of Resistance (by the legendary Muse, if you didn't know, and if you didn't,shame on you!).
Anyway, we were relieved, to say the least, that it was over, and that we had achieved our highest placing in at least the last 10 years. So disappointment, here we come? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Our determination definitely paid off in the end, if not as much as we wanted it to.
And so we gracefully segue into the next event of my life that I decided to share with you (aren't you the lucky ones!), my audition for the Margam music competition. My music teacher told me last year about a competition for young musicians, where the top prize was 100 pounds, so I decided to enter. But only 3 people entered, so it didn't go ahead.
But this year they upped the prize to 300 pounds, and I decided to enter again, fairly confidently; I thought I was in with a good chance, because of the lack of interest last year. I was told it was a simple audition where I had to play 5 minutes of music- easy, or so it seemed...
I arrived at the church where the auditions were held, and was soon met by the other competitors... all of whom were dressed for something much more than the casual audition I thought it was. I even said to one of them "I didn't know everyone would be so nicely dressed, I feel a bit of mess" to which she looked me up and down and said "haha,yeah...". Awkward is not the word...
I was there on my own, because Dad had to take my sister to gymnastics, so I was sitting in an empty pew, feeling very left out of the cliquey, everyone-knows-eachother little world that is the Bridgend music community. I was trying my best to stay calm in the face of lots of musicians that seemed much better than me already, when one of the organizers stood up to give an introduction including that each competitor will play for 8-10 minutes... and I freaked out. I had prepared 4 and a half, to be on the safe side, and now found out that I was supposed to play double that.
I sat and watched the first performers, feeling my morale rapidly diminishing with each oh-so-perfect note. At last my parents arrived, bringing with them my disruptive baby sister, who started off on fine form, throwing a plastic toy onto the stone floor during a Bassoon piece (which, by the way, is not and will never be a solo instrument, and the same goes for the Tuba).
By the time it was my turn to play I was feeling suitably nervous/panicky/sick. The first piece went well (Clair De Lune) but the second one was far too stressy to have a hope of going well. If you've heard Danse Macabre, you'll know that it's not a piece to calm the nerves, and it went quite badly wrong. Needless to say, I didn't get through to the final, but I'm chalking it up to experience... and I'm not at all bitter... honest...
I was going to write about something else, but this post is already long enough and uninteresting enough, so until next time :)
Oh and well done Wales! :)
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Disappointment, here we come?
I haven't written in a while, mainly because this is the time of the year for stress, stress, stress! Aside from coursework, exam results and a boyfriend trying to decide which university to go to, the main focus of my last month has been the Eisteddfod.
If you're not Welsh and don't know what that is, it's basically a talent contest we have in schools in our houses and mine is called Hywel (you've seen/read Harry Potter? Those kind of houses). In my school, the Eisteddfod is a big thing, I mean REALLY big. And the year 12's (that's my year) run the show. So the last month has been full of 6th formers scurrying around and begging apathetic teenagers to participate in a little piece of their Welsh heritage.We have lots of group onstage competitions, which have been the main source of stress. There are Welsh, French and English choral recitations, along with bands, dance groups and choirs. But getting children/preteens/teenagers to attend anything regular has proven itself to be near impossible.
The house I'm in has lost almost every year for at least the last 10 years, and we've come third only recently, which was a massive achievement for us. Our team this year have been really enthusiastic and determined (or you could say desperate) to win the Eisteddfod, meaning breaktimes, lunchtimes and after school have all been sacrificed to help the kids learn their lines, and sing louder, and act bigger, and generally be as enthused as us- not an easy task.
So due to our many failings this month, this week leading up to the Eisteddfod is a nightmare. We have folk dancing practices (yeah, we have to do that too); choral practices; children singing Frere Jacques with cardboard bells as big as them; a three person, last minute band; and last but not least, a *very* small choir singing a song that's too high for them and boring to boot.
Today was music prelims, meaning for me a day in the music room, keeping a tally of how many entrants we had, and getting to listen to the musical delights that our school has to offer. It wasn't as bad as I thought, with lots of the kids singing well and surprisingly in tune, but there were a few...ahem...*special* moments in there... including what can only be described as a well intentioned rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, an unexpected operatic song and a lovely playing off chopsticks complete with moshing (thankyou Sam). The only entrants for the woodwind solo were me, the head of my house, and the deputy head of my house, all playing on the recorder, and we get to do it again on stage! Lucky us!
But having said all that, our house did better today than the other houses, which is going to be necessary given the current points tally. Which brings me to my title. All this determination can only end in tears. If we come less than 2nd, the 6th formers in my house will probably actually cry, and given the effort I've put into it, I'll probably be quite upset as well. So I hope we win. Not really for the kudos, or the joy of winning, but because I know I'll have to deal with the sobbing, angry and often slightly scary aftermath. (naming no names *cough*Eloise*cough*)
So wish me luck!
If you're not Welsh and don't know what that is, it's basically a talent contest we have in schools in our houses and mine is called Hywel (you've seen/read Harry Potter? Those kind of houses). In my school, the Eisteddfod is a big thing, I mean REALLY big. And the year 12's (that's my year) run the show. So the last month has been full of 6th formers scurrying around and begging apathetic teenagers to participate in a little piece of their Welsh heritage.We have lots of group onstage competitions, which have been the main source of stress. There are Welsh, French and English choral recitations, along with bands, dance groups and choirs. But getting children/preteens/teenagers to attend anything regular has proven itself to be near impossible.
The house I'm in has lost almost every year for at least the last 10 years, and we've come third only recently, which was a massive achievement for us. Our team this year have been really enthusiastic and determined (or you could say desperate) to win the Eisteddfod, meaning breaktimes, lunchtimes and after school have all been sacrificed to help the kids learn their lines, and sing louder, and act bigger, and generally be as enthused as us- not an easy task.
So due to our many failings this month, this week leading up to the Eisteddfod is a nightmare. We have folk dancing practices (yeah, we have to do that too); choral practices; children singing Frere Jacques with cardboard bells as big as them; a three person, last minute band; and last but not least, a *very* small choir singing a song that's too high for them and boring to boot.
Today was music prelims, meaning for me a day in the music room, keeping a tally of how many entrants we had, and getting to listen to the musical delights that our school has to offer. It wasn't as bad as I thought, with lots of the kids singing well and surprisingly in tune, but there were a few...ahem...*special* moments in there... including what can only be described as a well intentioned rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, an unexpected operatic song and a lovely playing off chopsticks complete with moshing (thankyou Sam). The only entrants for the woodwind solo were me, the head of my house, and the deputy head of my house, all playing on the recorder, and we get to do it again on stage! Lucky us!
But having said all that, our house did better today than the other houses, which is going to be necessary given the current points tally. Which brings me to my title. All this determination can only end in tears. If we come less than 2nd, the 6th formers in my house will probably actually cry, and given the effort I've put into it, I'll probably be quite upset as well. So I hope we win. Not really for the kudos, or the joy of winning, but because I know I'll have to deal with the sobbing, angry and often slightly scary aftermath. (naming no names *cough*Eloise*cough*)
So wish me luck!
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Something NOT to put on my CV...
You know those dreams you have about you making some awful mistake, like going to the wrong train station and missing your holiday; or forgetting your costume and going on stage in your underwear...? Or is that just me?
Well anyway, I made a dream-style mistake a few nights ago, with a fairly high level of stupidity on my part.
Me and a friend (Katie) were going to see Sarah Pickett in her school's production of Fiddler On The Roof. We've been going to see these shows for a few years now, and Sarah normally reserves the tickets for us and we pick them up at the pavilion on the night. But this year, Sarah bought the tickets and gave them to me two weeks before the show. I left them in my bag, fairly confident that I would remember them, if only because I normally take that bag with me everywhere.
I'm sure you can see where this is going... yup, I forgot the tickets. I was in a hurry to leave and didn't bother to take a bag with me. You may be thinking, so what? How long does it take to remember a thing like that?
Well... longer than you might think...
Even after driving all the way to the pavilion (a good fifteen minute drive) and asking the woman at the box office if she had our tickets, and watching her search with quickly depleting chance of her finding them, I was still adamant that I hadn't been given the tickets. Only when Katie lifted her phone to her ear to call Sarah did I remember.
So with fifteen minutes to go til curtain up, we had to ask Katie's dad to come back for us and drive us back to my house, and then back to the pavilion. And preferably very quickly.
Which he did, and very nicely too, tolerating my profuse apologies along the way.
We arrived back at the pavilion at what should have been fifteen minutes in, but the last few years the shows have started quite late, so we weren't too worried. Of course, this would be the one year they start on time...
We were shown in by a man who told us we were "somewhere near the front", and after finding our row and spying what we thought was a gap of two seats, we watched the end of the scene before attempting to get to them. When the scene ended, we edged past people very very quickly, in the few seconds of darkness we had before the next scene started.
After standing on people/their feet/their bags/their coats e.t.c. we reached the gap we had seen...which was the aisle down the middle of the room... just as the lights came on. Like rabbits in the headlights, we frantically looked around for somewhere to sit, spotting some a bit further back but in the middle, and sank into them gratefully.
We assumed that the few minutes we missed weren't very crucial, until the show finished and we realised we had no idea what the point of the fiddler on the roof was... Phil (Sarah's brother) helpfully told us as if it was obvious, "life in anatevka is as shaky as a fiddler on the roof" replying to our blank stares with an "ohhh yeah, you missed that".
For all that, a good show though, as it always is from Porthcawl Comp :)
And on another note, yay England! :D
Well anyway, I made a dream-style mistake a few nights ago, with a fairly high level of stupidity on my part.
Me and a friend (Katie) were going to see Sarah Pickett in her school's production of Fiddler On The Roof. We've been going to see these shows for a few years now, and Sarah normally reserves the tickets for us and we pick them up at the pavilion on the night. But this year, Sarah bought the tickets and gave them to me two weeks before the show. I left them in my bag, fairly confident that I would remember them, if only because I normally take that bag with me everywhere.
I'm sure you can see where this is going... yup, I forgot the tickets. I was in a hurry to leave and didn't bother to take a bag with me. You may be thinking, so what? How long does it take to remember a thing like that?
Well... longer than you might think...
Even after driving all the way to the pavilion (a good fifteen minute drive) and asking the woman at the box office if she had our tickets, and watching her search with quickly depleting chance of her finding them, I was still adamant that I hadn't been given the tickets. Only when Katie lifted her phone to her ear to call Sarah did I remember.
So with fifteen minutes to go til curtain up, we had to ask Katie's dad to come back for us and drive us back to my house, and then back to the pavilion. And preferably very quickly.
Which he did, and very nicely too, tolerating my profuse apologies along the way.
We arrived back at the pavilion at what should have been fifteen minutes in, but the last few years the shows have started quite late, so we weren't too worried. Of course, this would be the one year they start on time...
We were shown in by a man who told us we were "somewhere near the front", and after finding our row and spying what we thought was a gap of two seats, we watched the end of the scene before attempting to get to them. When the scene ended, we edged past people very very quickly, in the few seconds of darkness we had before the next scene started.
After standing on people/their feet/their bags/their coats e.t.c. we reached the gap we had seen...which was the aisle down the middle of the room... just as the lights came on. Like rabbits in the headlights, we frantically looked around for somewhere to sit, spotting some a bit further back but in the middle, and sank into them gratefully.
We assumed that the few minutes we missed weren't very crucial, until the show finished and we realised we had no idea what the point of the fiddler on the roof was... Phil (Sarah's brother) helpfully told us as if it was obvious, "life in anatevka is as shaky as a fiddler on the roof" replying to our blank stares with an "ohhh yeah, you missed that".
For all that, a good show though, as it always is from Porthcawl Comp :)
And on another note, yay England! :D
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