MissLeonie.com

After the surprisingly sudden disappearance act my neighbours performed a few weeks ago, it’s been pretty quiet in the house next door. I had a sneaky suspicion that wouldn’t last much longer, given the industrial-size bin that was dumped outside their door the other day. They’re being surprisingly quiet, though. There’s a [clunk] here and a [bang] there occasionally, but overall it’s not too disruptive.

I met my new housemate yesterday, too, and he isn’t disruptive either. He looked at the house yesterday and moved in today, and is he ever an upgrade from my old housemates! He’s polite, pleasant, sociable but not too and just a really nice guy. Bless him. It’s a bit of a relief, that one, and I’m thanking my lucky stars.

I’m also slowly but surely getting some work done as far as the dissertation goes. I have severe trouble getting up in the morning - I guess there’s just a lot to look forward to doing with the day - but I’m trying my best to just do it. I was at the uni the other day, and my supervisor encouraged me, answered some of my questions, and let me know I was on the right track. Lord knows I need that kind of reassurance.

Today I also bumped into a guy I’ve seen countless times while waiting for the bus. He’s always walking two Jack Russel Terriers, one a bit bigger than the other, the smallest one lacking one eye. I’m a total sucker for little dogs since Bailey; Jack Russels in particular. The man had some trouble navigating the semi-blind one today while the slightly bigger one was trying to smell me. I reached for it so it could smell my hand, but the owner, a supernice guy I’ve exchanged a few random words with before, words like “dogs” “cute” and “aww”, warned me that the bigger one wasn’t too friendly. He invited me to stroke the other one though, who wasn’t just semi- but completely blind, and also a total sucker for scratches and cuddles. Awww.

I watched them walk along. The not-so-friendly dog and the superfriendly man, navigating the blind and friendly dog, letting him take his time. It was adorable.

If you can conjure up a smile on a cranky Simon Cowell’s face, you’re allll right kid. If you manage to do it with all of your front teeth missing because you’re six, you are a star.

Really truly wonderful. I’ll admit Amanda Holden wasn’t the only one who choked up. Something melts inside me every time her little tongue comes poking out through the gap in her teeth cause she’s smiling. Cute. Pure. And I think there’s a message in there somewhere.

Connie on Britain’s Got Talent

You can hear a pin drop.

Posting is still a little light and will likely remain so until I finish my dissertation. I currently have about 11,000 words to go, which sounds more terrible than it is, albeit only just. I have some idea of where I’m going with this which gives me some confidence (and apparently a certain aloofness that makes it seem as though I am not worried - trust me, I am. Most actively). I am baffled by the speed with which time races past, blink and you’ll miss it-style. I handed my last papers in on the 6th of May. That is almost three months ago, and I have yet to make a good dent in the 12,000 words minimum I need to hand in in another month’s time. Frightening.

Nevertheless, I have spent the time between then and now thinking about my topic, mulling it over, letting the ideas ripen. I’ve been looking around, trying to find the confidence to start this massive project, only to realise that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take courage to write a dissertation - it takes a lot of courage not to. As terrible as anything I write may be, it is better than not writing anything. No one needs to see it, not until I’m done polishing it up - and I need to create something to polish first.

So if you’ll excuse me, it’s high time for me to get back to clumsily explaining relief from restraint theory with respect to humour. And possibly find some more sources to back up my waffle. It’s pretty sensible waffle, so far. I’ll get there :)

Aaaah! It’s too hot!

I know, just the other day I was complaining about the depressing rain, but that’s weather for you - something to complain about, something that’s never quite right. It has been so hot I haven’t been able to sleep under the covers. I’ve gone from wearing multiple layers and wondering if turning the heating on in July was really as ridiculous as it seemed to wearing skirts and singlets and breaking out in a sweat from mere typing.

I’m frustrated because I can’t seem to get work done. My head won’t work, and I’m procrastinating like a fool. Gah. But at least there are gorgeous sunsets to make up for it. A particularly beautiful one tonight!

My apologies for the lack of updates. It turns out that conferences, or at least those of the Poetics and Linguistics Association, are as much fun as they are work, possibly more. Among other things, I discussed the annoyance of having to be available at all times through modern technique with the author of the book I originally learnt how to do stylistics from, I learnt how to do very basic Irish céilí dancing while the author of a book I really enjoyed (as part of my research for my MA) was playing the guitar and another delegate the fiddle, with yet another few big names in stylistics dancing alongside me. What I’m trying to say is - it was surreal and an absolute joy.

I never expected to come away from this conference feeling smarter, given that all the greats would be attending. I didn’t expect it to be such an open, inviting and ego-free group. It was like a school camp, only more fun and stimulating. Lots of photos were taken, though not by me. I’m not sure how they will be distributed, or when, but should any pop up I might post them up here as well.

I slept 17 hours “last night” (I use the term loosely) and I’m still not quite back to normal, but I will try to update regularly again from now on. I don’t have anything fancy coming up until I move home, so I should be OK there.

I’m currently at a conference in Sheffield in a room that is so nice and so clean that I never want to leave again. The conference itself has been really welcoming and extremely amusing so far, even when the workshop I attended on the first day was a drag. Its topic was humour, but it was executed so terribly that it hardly mattered what they said, we were having a laugh anyway. I feel kind of bad for these people, but similarly, I wonder how on earth they ended up at this conference.

To further embarrass myself, I sat down next to Simon Armitage (he was opening the conference with a poetry reading at the Winter Gardens) without having so much as a clue. I spotted an empty seat next to my supervisor on the front row, so I asked him if it was taken and he said it wasn’t, so I sat down. Suddenly he said, “Ah, shit, no, yes it is, [my wife]’s sitting here!” His wife was at that moment introducing the poet, or getting ready to, so I swapped over to the empty seat on the other side of the man I’d been sitting next do. Yes, I moved from one side of Simon Armitage to the other, and it didn’t change the fact that I had no idea I was sitting next to one of England’s most famous current poets. Oh well. He was very nice about it when I talked to him afterwards, and the reading was nothing short of brilliant, so I’m intending to read (a lot) more of his work.

I’ll actually manage to recognise the name next time ’round.

It turns out I’ve been jumping up at the sound of vans for the past few days for no reason. I’d been performing said small acrobatic feat because Amazon was supposed to deliver three books to me yesterday. They didn’t, but I figured that they would probably show up today. Not so much. Instead, I received an email notifying me that the order had been returned to Amazon’s dispatch facilities because it was undeliverable.

I received a parcel from Amazon at this very address in May. I haven’t changed anything, I’ve simply placed a new order. And it was found undeliverable. The mind boggles. Especially since I was home a lot of the time (I missed a three hour window on Monday, and two hours on the Saturday preceding the estimated delivery date). They got a different company to deliver my parcel this time, and unlike Royal Mail (much love!), they obviously don’t have a clue what they’re doing. Apparently they tried to deliver the parcel several times. That can’t be true.

I’ve just been on the phone with the Amazon customer service, and they were helpful and pleasant and I really can’t criticise anything there. I do, however, find it annoying that I have to order again, and wait another two weeks before delivery. I’d originally ordered on the 8th, it was supposed to be here by the 21st, and now it’s estimated to be here between 31 July and 7 August. Not happy. Especially since I was totally counting on these books to cheer me up now that my sister’s gone home. Meh. They better get it right this time.

My sister went home earlier today and I’m not going to lie - I totally miss her to death right now. I miss having someone around who I’m completely comfortable with. I miss someone having my back at all times. I miss someone who gets all my jokes, and who will know what I’m talking about even when I’m not being clear at all. Basically, I miss having loved ones around. I’m literally counting the days till I can go home.

My sister and I had a brilliant time. Among other things, we went to Sherwood Forest to see the Major Oak (it is indeed rather large), had a beer at the oldest pub in England, played silly card games and slept. a. lot. We also ran from our lethal dinner (hot curry paste marinade gone wrong pepper spray-style) and had a full on girls’ night, including faux-facials.

I kind of wish I could have gone home with her. After I got home from dropping her off at the airport, I kept myself busy by writing page after page and painting up a storm. I sort of ruined one of my brushes (masking fluid gone wrong), but other than that, it did the trick. I’m still feeling lonely but at least I have a bar of chocolate, and some creative output to be proud of.

Also, on the upside, at least I won’t have to fight anyone for the covers tonight. Yeah, I might have overdone the Nottingham Ghetto description of my neighbourhood a little, freaking my sister out a touch, meaning she rather slept in my room with me than elsewhere in the house on her own. Plus, everyone knows the best stories are told after bedtime.

I have been keeping my eyes open in Nottingham, hoping to spot an art shop somewhere. I haven’t had any luck, though. For a while now, I’ve been wanting to buy some watercolour pencils, as well as masking fluid. I found some cheap-o watercolour pencils at a stationery shop, but decided against it because I want to move away from buying cheap rubbish. I’d rather invest in some higher quality products and save up for them.

Finally I thought I’d have a quick look at the big WHSmith in town. Lo and freaking behold - they have a whole range of Windsor & Newton Cotman paints, paper and brushes! And masking fluid. I felt a little dizzy. I managed to restrain myself, only buying a bottle of masking fluid and a packet of brushes. I was so excited I bought the wrong ones first (oils and acrylics only). I found out on the bus, so I went round again and straight back into the shop. However, the watercolour ones were twice as expensive, so I thought I’d just save it for another time. In the end, temptation won, so I went back to the till, only to find that these more expensive ones scanned for half the price they were listed for. Yay!

I’m super excited now. It doesn’t hurt that my sister is coming over tomorrow. Posting might be a little light, because we have plans to visit London, the Peak District and Sherwood Forest. But I’ll try my best to catch up afterwards.

Yesterday morning, there was a loud knock on the front door. It’s not that unusual, because everyone knocks loudly here. I guess we are not the only ones without a working doorbell. I rushed down two flights of stairs to get it, since I always get there just as people start to turn away. This time, as I came around the corner into the hallway, a piece of yellow paper floated down onto the doormat. It had some handwriting and POLICE written on it.

I unlocked the five locks on my front door (I wasn’t kidding when I said that I live in quite a bad neighbourhood) to find a police officer standing there. There had been a burglary in my street - did I happen to have heard anything between midnight and 1am? I was awake at that time but I had to tell him that sadly, I hadn’t. I gave him my name and he told me that the burglars had got in through an unlocked back door, so to be mindful of that.

I’m happily surprised that the police here actually have time to question the neighbourhood regarding a burglary. I honestly thought that if you weren’t bleeding from large, unnatural holes in your body, they simply couldn’t afford to spend time on what you did have to say. I’m also pleased that they bother to warn people that burglars are active at the moment. I checked the locks on my back door (another four or so), and made sure to close and lock all windows on the ground floor.

Of course, I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I kept hearing things that weren’t there, or weren’t significant. Realistically, I’m in a fortress, and there is absolutely nothing of value in the house. But I still got kind of nervous. It’ll wear off over time. Right now, being on guard is probably very useful.

PS. Ha, I wrote that entire post with tomato sauce on my nose. Good old homemade hamburgers. I need to look in mirrors more often! :D