On using a pitchfork

Arghhhhhhhhh it's been a month since my last post. I am truly made of fail on the "updating lots" front. Sorry. Please forgive me internet-land!

So yes, pitchforks. WELL, my parents are currently doing up a cottage in the middle of the Peak District and I have naturally been drafted in to help (i.e. heavy lifting, tearing down fitted wardrobes with a fucking crowbar, inhaling my own body weight in plaster removing tiles from the bathroom*, that sort of thing). The bonus is that I get to go cycling round Derbyshire which is muchos more interesting than the same boring roads I've been stuck on at home.

*If anyone ever asks you to do this FFS find an excuse quick. It's an awful, awful job. Getting hit in the face with flying shards of ceramic is NOT. FUN.

One thing I've noticed though:

Cambridge = flat as.
West Midlands = pretty flat.
Derbyshire = oh SHIT they have hills here!

Yeahhhhhhhhhh fucking hell I am not used to gradients. Wind, yes. Roads that suddenly rear up in front of me, no. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS MADNESS? WHY IS IT NOT FLAT AS THE EYE CAN SEE WITH A MASSIVE FUCK-OFF HEADWIND ALL THE FUCKING TIME AND LOADS OF SUGAR BEET FIELDS? Oh yes. Not in East Anglia any more. Right.

At least we can count on this being a constant around the country. *Sigh*

But yes anyway. Said cottage had a shed and in said shed was a huge amount of old gardening stuff. And there, right at the back was The Pitchfork.

I could now participate in 16th century riots and witchhunts and stuff! Woo!

They say that small things amuse small minds and this was certainly the case as I enjoyed a fair few hours moving one pile of dead plants to another with what I thought was infinite grace and finesse.

Building a massive pile of dead nettles was never so fun.

In other less gardening related news the crappy saddle on my bike finally bit the dust and started, quite literally, eating my lycra.

Oww oww oww oww oww.

A new one was going to have to be got. (Good sentence construction anyone?) I ended up doing a very bad thing and spending £100 on this:

I will attempt to justify this extravagant purchase to you (and myself) thus:

• If I look after it, it'll last a good 30 years or so.
• Brooks are a good old British company (and this was made just down the road in Smethwick).
• Over time it moulds to the shape of your ass. Mmmm comfy.
• LOOK HOW FUCKING BEAUTIFUL IT IS. Just look at it! It's all leathery and shiny and just beautiful.

Bike now pimped :-)

 Now, there are a lot of horror stories out there on the internet about how these saddles, in essence, rip you in two while you're breaking them in and therefore many differences in opinion on how good these saddles are.

First test ride, I was scared. Scared that I'd be walking like this for days afterwards:

Have I just spend £100 for the worst saddle soreness in history?

Thankfully I seem to have a Brooks saddle-shaped ass and all was rosey and shiny and full of unicorns and I gaily skipped through a field full of flowers after my new pimped out bike's maiden voyage.

In short, I'm really really impressed with it. Definitely worth £100 and I highly recommend it.

(Yeah, this is a bit of a cycling-centric post, sorry.)

The hilarious upshoot of spending the summer cycling after spring rowing is that you get fucking ridiculous tanlines overlayed on top of each other.

Pasty white one piece mark + slightly tanned stripe around the legs with t-shirt marks round the arms? Priceless. It takes effort to look that retarded, it really does :-)

Now, because everyone loves cute stuff, I'll finish with the news that our wire fox terrier at home has had puppies. They are now about 4 weeks old (?) and do stupidly cute stuff like sneezing and then falling over, barking at windows and being suddenly interested in nothing in particular.

Photos I hear you cry? You want photos? Alrighty, here you go :-) Night!

Minutes after he was born. Called Newton Tallis Brunel because I'm a massive nerd.

The little runty one didn't make it. Nature's a bitch.

Bobby Lightening

Opened their eyes after 2 weeks. Woo! Sight!

Staring at nothing. Because they can.

YAY PUPPIES indeed :-)

Earwigs and not hitting the Master round the face.

Hullo everyone!

It has been over a month since my last post, mainly due to me being a useless bastard. I've been putting it off and putting it off and now this post will be a behemoth (SUCH A GOOD WORD) and will take hours to write... But yes, writing. Cup of tea primed and ready. Wooo!

So first up, I finally graduated, Hurrah! This means gowns and Latin and eating strawberries. And being handed the most pathetic certificate ever (at least A-Level ones had shiny holograms on FFS). And Latin. Did I mention the Latin?

This definitely happened.

And then there's a load of weird stuff involving holding on to one of the fingers of some guy after some more Latin and THEN you go and kneel in front of the Master (who is wearing the most badass gown ever) and HE says some Latin and then you bow and in the act of bowing you accept the degree he's giving you.

Or something like that.

(According to my parents, my bow was the deepest out of everyones - YAY HAMSTRING FLEXIBILITY!!!! :D)

And then, most importantly, you have to stand up and walk out without tripping over anything or stumbling and face-planting the Master or walking into the door on the way out. Easily the most nerve-wracking bit.

WHAT IF I ACCIDENTALLY PUNCH THE MASTER IN THE FACE?!?!?!?

So yes, I finally got a degree. Hurrah! Then I seem to remember eating lots of strawberries. Good times.

Ummm other news, I did a bit of cleaning in college or, as I like to think of it, I was paid to swear at Henry the Hoover and repeatedly smash my head against the ceiling on low staircases. I mean, I'm not that fucking tall for fucks sake. Rage.

I think you'll agree, that is some fine drawing right there. Damn fine.
You can get a keyring ffs. Rage.

Yes, that quickly got very tiring. Also, cleaning up after exceptionally rich American students (a couple of them had bought entire new wardrobes upon getting here - I mean, who the fuck does that?) here on a summer school = not fun. Thankfully I wasn't doing it for that long this year or I might have smacked one of them with a hoover. A hoover with a fucking face. *shudder*.

However, being in Cambridge for a month or so after term ended gave me chance to try out a 2-. This boat class has eluded me for most of my four years rowing: College rowing (2-! You'll die!), CUWBC (Owns one 2-, not structurally sound. It actually folds in half when you get in it) World Class Start (row in a fucking 1x goddamit!). So yes, I was excited to get in a 2- at last.

I learnt two important things.

1) I am, quite frankly, complete shit at stearing with a foot. Especially from stroke (turns out the other person sat behind you gives you quite a blind spot!).

Example outing in a 2- with me steering:

"OK, rowing off... go."
*two strokes*
"Oh shit, lighten off Lizzie."
*two strokes*
"Goddammit! Pressure your side"
...
*Oooo a straight bit!*
*Boat veers into the middle of the river as my foot is slightly to the side*
"FUCKING HELL RAGE!"
...
*4 strokes of decent rowing*
"OH FUCK HOLD IT UP HOLD IT UP!!!"
(There is a previously unobserved 2x bearing down on us as I hug the wrong bank).
etc.

You get the idea. After the first outing we moved the steering foot :-/ I mean, we never crashed, but I suppose I'm not the one going to get hit first in the stroke seat am I? Anyway, Lizzie was much better :-)

Lesson learned number 2: You can get away with an awful  lot in 4s and 8s. Bloody hell. Trying to tighten up the timing at the catch/finish in a 2- with 2 people is hard enough, so imagine what's going on in the average 8? Sheesh!

What an amazing boat class though, it lets you get away with nothing.  I mean, a 1x, you just have to time yourself and not be a retard and throw your weitght around right? (OK, massive over-generalisation but meh). 2-, if you're a microsecond getting off the power different with the other person it feels like utter shite. Kind of like being slapped round the face by the god of rowing.

What a fucking awesome class of boat it is. (Aside: I've always though 2- were the most aesthetically pleasing boat class. You know when you're watching the rowing world cup on the TV or something and they do those amazing aerial fly by shots? They are so very beautiful. Thoughts? Am I just being weird here or do other people think the same?) 

So yes, 2- enjoyment!

Hmmmmm. I promised you earwigs didn't I? WELL.

I own a boatbag. It keeps stuff like bird poo and trailer crap off my boat. It is ace.

(It does have my name on though which, in hindsight, is a bit lame.)

It houses a reasonable colony of earwigs.

They have, till recently, kept themselves out of trouble and stay in the boat bag permanently. They can accompany me to regattas, say hello in the morning, that's fine. Until they decided to go for an outing with me. Not a pleasant experience.

What to do? I can't reach up the stern and flick them off, can't row away from the little bastards. And they're nearly at the footwell! SHIT THEY'RE IN MY FOOTWELL SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.

And that is how I nearly capsized trying to remove earwigs from my boat.

Night! :D

*EDIT* "Drawings that don't belong anywhere" updated. Wooooooo!