Revision and a Robert’s

That TMA I was trying to write, I got a respectable 82% in it. Go me! And now I knuckle down into revision for the exam later this month.

Revision is boring. But also interesting. But mostly it’s  boring. Each evening I get home, I get changed out of my cycling togs, have some food and then drag myself off somewhere quiet, to read up on what the Discursive Psychological perspective has to offer on our understandings of intergroup conflict or similar nonsense. I find myself dropping “interpretative repertoires’ and ‘intersubjectivity’ into conversation with the Sous Chef and so far, he hasn’t tried to quietly murder me for boring the pants off him (yet).

I’ve allocated 14 hours per chapter, with 9 chapters in all. The exam is Tuesday week. Mind you, it’s not been entirely wall-to-wall revision. As an end-of-course gift to me,  I took a day off work to go get myself measured up for a custom-made bicycle frame. It was a little undignified having my inside leg measured (33 inches) and locating the top of my thigh bone required some sharp prods into an extremely well-padded area (yes, my saddlebags are on me, not the bike) and then endless bicycle-speak to ensure I get exactly what I want:  Top tubes, bottom brackets, seat stays, crank lengths – the potential for making a complete tit of myself was pretty high, but I think I managed not to completely sound like an idiot, particularly with the Sous Chef being fluent in bicycle-ese and stepping in whenever my vocabulary failed me.

So, three or so months from now, I shall have my own custom-made bike. The only question now is: what colour should I go for? I’ve provisionally asked for black, but I’m quite taken with burgundy. I could go for a three-tone bike, or one with flashy designs, but I don’t want it looking too desirable (read: worth stealing).

On the train home, The Sous Chef said: “with you getting a Robert’s [frame] like mine, that’s rather like being married”.   – Erm, is it? I thought getting married involved a ring, some vows and a wedding-type event, but I might have that wrong.  If getting married involves buying a £900 bicycle frame and cycling around the world on it, then I guess that explains why fewer people are doing it these days.  I have no idea how his mind has constructed that little logic but it’s quite sweet.

As it is, I’m very excited about my Robert’s frame and hope it’s a new era in a very happy and loving relationship. There’ll be some bumps along the way and we won’t always have a tail wind but hopefully we can have a great ride anyway.

I love it when a plan comes together

The Sous Chef and I just got back from a cycling trip in Brittany (but sans cycle computer so we have no idea how many miles we did). The Sous Chef proved worthy of his name, as we cooked some excellent dishes on our new primus optima stove (including spaghetti carbonara, risotto, fried bananas) which is no mean feat with limited ingredient options and only one heat source. We’re planning to take the stove with us on our round the world cycle tour, as it burns on anything (even petrol if necessary).  Since we’re carting all our provisions around on bikes and up every hill it means packing very lightly and being smart when it comes to what foods to carry and when to buy. As it turned out, we cooked out every night except twice.

Although I’m a bit of a polyglot, French is not really in my repertoire. I realised that I can say more useful things in Russian than I can in French and I don’t consider myself a competent Russian-speaker by any means (about the level of the average person’s French or Spanish, I’d say). Still, we managed somehow and people never snubbed our pathetic attempts at pronunciation and were always extremely nice to us.

My linguistic skills did come in handy on our second restaurant meal on the last evening in St Malo, though. We found a Restaurant Javanaise. Within a minute I noticed that the staff all spoke Indonesian so rather than struggle with French we communicated in Indonesian. Easy! The food was excellent (if you go there, have the Rendang Padang Asli, it certainly tasted ‘asli’ (authentic) to me which is more than I can say for any other Rendang I’ve had since leaving Indonesia). It was great to be able to communicate freely for a change.

I got my essay back that was driving me crazy for its vague question and my inability to tie it all together into a coherent piece of writing. I expected a not so terrific mark (maybe 60%) but was amazed at the 78% I got. I’ve reread it and still don’t think it deserves that much, but then I’ve had essays I think are better than their received mark too so I guess it evens out somehow.

I’ ve also now got the materials for my next course which runs concurrently with this one for a while (so I’ll be revising for an exam AND doing an assignment for the other due on the same day as my exam. Eeeep!!) but once that course is done, I’ll have finished my degree.

And here’s the perfect timing. My final piece of work to submit for my degree will be sent on 24th November. After that, no more uni work to do. I’ll be free. Meanwhile, the Sous Chef is to be made redundant and we’ve been waiting for the official notification of timescales for when he’d be actually unemployed. There’ve been some changes and it seems he’ll be free as of December. This means I finish sooner than expected (I thought it’d be January) and he gets paid for longer than expected (we though it’d be October) and we both achieve the freedom we need to travel at about the same time. Whoop!!!

All we have to do now is figure out how to rent the house out, where to keep up our stuff, buy the equipment we need, plan our route around the world (hmm South America or New Zealand start…) plan the visas and organise the finances. Easy  (and all while revising. Oh God)

another hazard of cycling in Brighton

Had a bit of a close shave yesterday on my commute to work. This time it wasn’t through the  careless driving of a 12 ton bus, or a skip lorry or even a bazzed up car. Not even a careless pedestrian crossing the road with their back to traffic and not looking over their shoulder. This hazard was much smaller but no less deadly

I was cycling along a rather narrow bit of cycle lane (so narrow that large vehicles tend to be using it too, so I have to keep well to the left to avoid getting a clip round the earhole with a wing mirror or something). As I was cycling I heard above me a simultaneous thump and click. I couldn’t think what it was until a stunned/concussed herring gull fell out of the sky onto the kerb, very narrowly missing me (it made  me jump out of my skin!). I instinctively hit the brakes and veered to the right and nearly ended up underneath a van. The seagull must have flown into a roadsign, judging by the noise and subsequent inability to remain airborne. its plummet to earth looked rather inelegant.

I don’t know what became of the seagull. It wasn’t dead by the side of the road on my homeward journey so I assume it was just a bit stunned. It’s going to have quite a headache, though.

wall has collision with cyclist

The Sous Chef has had a bit of an accident. No broken bones but he’s got a deep cut on his head that looks like a bullet hole,  scraped his thigh and shoulder badly and won’t be having a manicure on his index finger for quite a long while.

It seems that on a recent cycling trip to France with his old school buddies (on which he had a wonderful time) it was on the ferry home that he decided he was going to drink himself completely stupid. This left him unable to properly operate a bicycle and apparently he cycled (albeit slowly) into a low wall and removed a fair amount of skin and some wall in the process.

I didn’t know this of course, until 2.5 hours after he was supposed to be home already. Just after midnight there was a knock on the door and there he was, standing looking extremely meek, with a piece of bandage taped to his face and blood down his cheek and leg.  Fortunately the friends he was with had a first air kit packed and could patch him up and stop the bleeding. The patient was inebriated enough not to feel any pain. He fell off his bike three times that night.

Since then, the Sous Chef has been rather subdued. I’m a bit worried about him. I don’t know whether the accident put the wind up him regards cycle safety or whether he feels a fool for having got himself too drunk to ride his bike or if it’s something else. He just seems a but fragile at the moment. It makes me want to reach out and hold him closer.

It was silly of him I know but what can you do but patch him up, kiss him gently and pack him off to bed? I’m just extremely glad to have him home with only surface wounds.

Unfortunately (for me) he’s away again now with his brothers on another cycling trip so I got to see him him for only a few hours Sunday and Monday night before he was off again. How much do I miss him now. I hope he’s having a good time, (but with a little less alcohol).

I’ve only seen him really REALLY drunk twice in over 4 years and when he does get drunk he becomes very childlike. He smiles a lot, he is sweetness but a bit clumsy. He doesn’t get loud or sweary or angry or sings. He just turns into a sweet little boy. It’s so very endearing that I can’t bring myself to be annoyed by it. Perhaps it’s better not to encourage it when he’s got to cycle home in the dark, though.

I can’t wait for him to get home again (another four days of waiting).

suggest a blog name competition

I’ve been doing lots more thinking about the current situation and talking with the Sous Chef and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is marvellous news that just sounded a bit scary.

Originally, the Sous Chef was going to work for one more year,  save for that year and then, with that extra money put a loft extension in (no, I don’t know why, either) and then travel. That was the plan. The change of plan from this redundancy is that he doesn’t work until summer 2010 but that we go Feb 2010 and instead of the extra savings, we take the redundancy money to fund the trip.  I also have a small nest egg that will give us enough to get by on for up to year upon our return to Blighty. It’s not enough for a comfortable year but its enough to ward off starvation in the event  we can’t find work, which I’m sure we will of some sort.

The more I think about this, the less afraid I get. How many people ever get the chance to do something like this? How many people can just throw everything up in the air and go on an expedition around the world? Now’s the time to do it. Now is the time to do something with that wonderful thing called LIFE before it passes by. I loved the experience of cycling in India. I’m beginning to think The Sous Chef deliberately did that: choosing to go to India just to test my mettle and see whether I can cope with being on the road day in, day out in all that chaos – not to mention whether our relationship could take it.

At the moment our relationship is extremely strong so although it might well test us as a couple, I’m reasonably sure we can weather that.  Our relationship started off a bit unstable for the first 6 months (I was insecure. I loved him to pieces but didn’t believe he could possibly love me back). Then I learned to trust him and we’ve been solid ever since. This relationship has changed me. We’ve not been together all that long.  It feels like we’ve been together for decades and should be celebrating our silver wedding anniversary, but actually we’ve known each other only four and a half years and have been a couple for three and a half. We’ve been lovebirds all through that and have enormous respect for each other. I often feel this is the best relationship anyone could ever possibly hope to have. How we managed to make it this good is beyond me. Loving each other helps but it has to be more than that.  There is something we do, some way we interact that works well for the other person, who then reciprocates.  I know I can always rely on him being fair, being reasonable. I am often amazed at how fair and reasonable we can be even on issues we disagree on.

I have learned a lot from him. I’ve learned that it’s ok to have feelings, and that my opinions are worth something (I always used to keep both under wraps). I’ve learned that talking about something bothering you early is better than letting it go round and round your mind. You can build up some pretty hefty misconceptions and false logic given enough time to run in circles.  I’ve found myself to have got the wrong end of the stick a few times.  Most importantly, I have learned to trust him. My trust had been broken by a previous man and it took a while for me to be completely sure he really is a totally different animal to him.  He has never done anything to hurt me nor given me reason to think he would. That trust I have in him  (I don’t just mean in fidelity. I trust him to be to kind, to be fair, to be honest, to be there) is one ingredient in the glue that holds us together. I more than love him. I have deep respect for him. I have complete acceptance of him. I don’t think he is perfect but his imperfections are part of the whole package. My heart could not have chosen better.

ok, enough of the sappy stuff.  I’d like to set up a website and/or blog to chart our progress, give the concerned friends and rellies a place to check where we are, what we’re doing and how it’s going.  Suggestions for names of this blog and/or website would be greatly appreciated.

Put a fork in it: this essay is DONE

Somehow I managed to finish the essay. It took a little tweaking and editing this morning but I had it sent off by noon. There were plenty of moments during its creation when I thought the essay was impossible to finish.  Now I just have to wait for the results (and get on with planning the qualitative project).

Perhaps not in entirely unrelated ways, I’m back to my old eating patterns again and I have oodles of energy as a result. In fact, I was overtaking some poor soul on the Big Hill home. I was zooming up it, pedalling  at 8mph (normally I go up that hill at about 5 mph). It won’t last of course. It’s a blip I knew was coming but it’s still very enjoyable.

The other enjoyable thing is the euphoria. My mood is high, despite the study-stress and today I was even enjoying moments of complete self-acceptance. Basically, it just felt good to be me. Plain me. Little me. Nothing-special me but it was good to BE me. That’s the sort of feeling everyone deserves. Why do we tend to listen to our negative voice? You know the one: the nagging voice, the one that tells us how we’re not measuring up.  The one who reminds of our failures and shortcomings. The one that points to others as being better in some way.  That voice was silent today. It’s been great. I just wish I could feel like this all the time.

What I did for my holidays Part 1

Every good holiday should start with cycling around London. It might sound crazy but it’s a bit like the advice to swallow a frog at breakfast. At least now you know things aren’t going to get any worse.

Don’t get me wrong, I am used to traffic and roundabouts from cycling across Brighton, but Brighton isn’t London. There aren’t as many tourists stepping off pavements without looking, as many side streets, as many street signs and distracting attractions plus in Brighton I know exactly where I’m going. In London, every street is a surprise. Also, I’m not a Londoner so when I see Picadilly Circus my immediate instinct is to go “ooh looky at all the preeety colo – aaaaargh!” (which is the point where I realise I’m on a bicycle in traffic and taxis are insured for killing cyclists plus someone with a camera just stepped backwards off the pavement in front of me. “Yeah, arigato for that”). It’s strange and cool to be cycling past all the sights of London but it’s also hella scary. I was so intimidated that I refused to navigate around Trafalgar Square and reasoned it’d be quicker to use the pedestrian lights anyway. (A useful trick when pushing a bicycle through a crowd is to always look over people’s shoulders into the distance. They magically take responsibility for their safety and move out of your way).

We got to Euston station in good time but there was a problem with our carriage on the sleeper train. Everyone booked onto car H had to be moved to the lounge car instead. A number of First Class passengers (not on H) kicked up a stink that they couldn’t sit and enjoy their drink in the lounge car and had to take their refreshments in their berth. One in particular was nearly thrown off the train because he couldn’t understand that he might have to be inconvenienced so that people like us would have somewhere to sleep.

We did sleep on the floor of the lounge car (with the lights on all night) and I got about as much sleep as you can expect when sharing a carriage with an obese man whose snoring sounded like wet farts. Confucius say: “only loudest snorer get best night’s sleep”.

So we arrived in Inverness the next morning, as fresh as newly trampled daisies. For those who are not au fait with Scottish geography (like me) the town of Inverness (or Inbhir Nis in Gaelic) lies at the tip of Loch Ness, which together with Loch Lochy neatly cleaves Scotland in two. Loch Ness is HUGE. According to some touristy blurb on a plaque we found, Loch Ness contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales COMBINED. It doesn’t look that big, because it’s not some vast expansive lake, it’s just very very very very deep and very very very very long. It is also where we met the first midge.

It took us a couple of days to cycle from the West coast, along the Lochs to the East coast (via Fort Augustus and Fort William) and arrive in Oban where we would catch the ferry. We had planned a walk up Ben Nevis while in Fort William but since the weather was so bad that we couldn’t even see Ben Nevis, we figured it wouldn’t be safe to actually be up there. (we’ve done the getting into trouble at the top of a mountain when the weather turns for the worse before. I don’t need to repeat the experience).

So we cycled on to Oban, which is a little fishing village/ferry port that is cute and small and nice but also a bit touristy (Ceilidh evenings every night, anyone?). Bagpipes were meant to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy during battle (the enemy reasoning that if the Scots are capable of slowly torturing a cat for that long, God knows what they’d do to captured prisoners)! In the 1700s, they were classified as an instrument of war and outlawed for this reason after the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie – My question is: who brought them back?! Instruments of WAR, people! Sweet music it ain’t.

We found the campsite which turned out to be on top of a hill on a hill located on a hill (that was not a cut and paste error) . The height meant we did have a beautiful view of a bay and the weather was splendid, though.

So the next morning, we caught the ferry to Oban but not before the Sous Chef weighed his panniers down with a bottle of 10 year old Ardbeg, a whisky glass and had a taste of a £180 whisky at the shop. I wish I could elicit that look of true love in his eyes, but until I can become sweet and smokey with not too much peat, I’ll have to get used to being his second favourite thing in the world (or third, after cycling).

The Scottish Highlands

The ferry took 6 hours to carry us to Castlebay on the island of Barra. The Outer Hebrides are like a half-excavated dinosaur skeleton poking out of the Atlantic ocean. Barra is the tail and we would cycle up its spine and catch the ferry home in a week’s time.

Barra is so tiny you could cycle around it before breakfast. We cycled only halfway round before spotting a terrific beach and some grass to camp on. I’m not a beachy person but even I couldn’t resist this entirely deserted stretch of sand and surprisingly warm sea.

Meanwhile the Sous Chef couldn’t resist breaking open the Ardbeg and having his first taste of whisky on the Hebrides. It was worth going all that way just for that one evening, overlooking a beach, sipping Ardbeg, breathing in the crisp Hebridean air and going to sleep with the sound of the ocean. As it turned out, this was not to be our last or even our best beach.

August plans

This summer, the Sous Chef and I have our holidays all sorted. We could go anywhere in the world. Asia… South America… Where could the intrepid cycle-tourers go to sate their Wanderlust? The world is our oyster.

After much thought I decided the place to go would have to be: Scotland. More specifically: The Outer Hebrides. To me it evokes whisky galore, rugged coastlines, crofter-types, raw natural beauty, seals frolicking off the coast, whales and sea eagles. The British Isles as nature intended before we started building A-roads all over it.

He asks me whether I’m excited about our trip and to get me in the spirit of things he keeps reminding me:

• In Scotland, August is the height of Midge season. Midges are thought to outnumber humans (their protein-source of choice) by approximately 5,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 to one. Or thereabouts.

• Most insect repellents (except some that are illegal in the EU) do not repel these hungry wee beasties. Some might say it just helps them sniff you out.

• The abundance of midges (and to a lesser extent the ferocity of the average Scot) might explain why the Romans never conquered Scotland and instead decided to build a wall to keep them out of England (the Scots that is, the midges go where they please).

• The Outer Hebrides are very windy and the weather can be extreme. Daytime temperatures during the hottest part of the year (summer, apparently) is 16 degrees C.

• So far, we’ve had three mind-changes as to which tent to take because there is a somewhat real chance of our only source of shelter ending up lifting off and flying toward the North Pole. There aren’t even any trees to tie it to.

• The islands are sparsely populated, so if the tent really does blow away, there’ll be not a bugger around to help.

• We’re not likely to stumble across any gastro-pubs or the like. The occasional village post office might be able to sell us some tinned meat of unspecified animal origin, so our cooking will probably have to be experimental/innovative.

• The rainfall is variable but you can expect rain not less than 2 out of 3 days. Did I mention we were camping?

• He’s started to wistfully reminisce about how nice the south of France is this time of year. I’m not sure whether this is a hint or not. We certainly won’t be needing the sunblock on this trip.

• I’ve sneaked a peak at the contour lines on the maps to see what sort of hills/valleys we might encounter. Uh.Oh.

So all of this enthusiasm and optimism has me fired up for our trip away. I can’t wait…