BeeroVision Goggles

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Saturday saw an event that our glorious Terry Wogan once critiqued as being about “Doctor Death and the Tooth Fairy”, that’s right! The cornucopia of culture, the blaze of brilliance that is the incestuously insidious Eurovision hit our international screens once again to remind us that music is not about rhythms and vocal tones, but of course, costumes and hairspray. And wind. Lots and lots of wind. The gust of farty breeze that accompanied every power ballad, blowing the hair and preposterous dresses of the so-called artists was enough to change the tidal currents for the next twelve years, by which time, the UK would still not have won Eurovision.

The first time in years actually watching the event, Eurovision this year was a vastly more enjoyable experience when surrounded by fellow alcoholic consumers in a giant cafe watching it on a giant screen. Seeing the show from the perspectives of many europeans made the competition all the more entertaining, almost as much as those new to the concept, such as Americans and Canadians’ responses when they realised that Eurovision’s basis is of course one of politics and brown-nosing. Mind you, given that the UK audience still seem to fail to understand this concept makes me impressed anyone else did. After all these years still, the BBC were flooded with complaints from viewers, disgusted that once again, we had failed to win due to the continental clique.

Ignoring the fact that our act was genuinely abysmally dull, UK viewers wishing the BBC to drop the event holds all the same logistical maturity as the kid who throws paint at his classmates because no one likes him. They’re answering their own question as to why they lost by wanting to drop out. Statistically, these complaints are from the same areas with the highest number of people from the UK who go to Malaga to get wasted in the sun, take Benidorm holidays or move out to Europe without integrating language or culture. And they wonder why the UK is unpopular? The only reason to drop the Eurovision would be financial, but with product placement and advertising, we make a profit each year. International ignorance of course isn’t the only reason we don’t win, having no bordering nations does influence decision, as does our political stance and history. Then there is of course the fact our acts are generally just shit. Eurovision is a world where dancing grannies and death metal gods are glorified, to approach it with any sense of pride over fun or sincerity above hilarity is counterproductive to the entire point of international relations. A grand night had by all, and heck, even if we didn’t win, at least we can be proud we beat America.

Write and Left

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I am as much an English Literature student, as a Fundamentalist is a Christian; I may call myself one, but I sure as hell don’t read the bloody book. Thank God (whichever God you have) that there exists Creative Writing, the ability to apply literature progression into my own creativity is the driving force for why I study a whole hour a week. Though I may mock my course at times, I will defend to the death its importance as a degree. Subjective courses are prone to criticism on behalf of the objective, literal class of degree. It does appear to the outside that something that can be done for leisure, ie. reading, could be kept as thus. Such a view however, is counterproductive to the exact nature of what a degree is.

Thankfully, I’ve never come upon much contention against my degree, especially when people see the standard to which work must be done not to mention the final quantity. The ability to think for oneself and yet, almost conversely, think for oneself correctly is such an intangible concept that it is not only difficult to understand, but near impossible to obtain. The same goes for all language or cultural studies I find. Provide the cushion of culture that makes a house into a home, or a land into a country, humans into people. The balance of subjunctive objectivism matching historical subjectivism to reach a conclusion that can then itself be analysed is an invisible ideal, which is why it always feels out of reach.

Something very much within reach, however, is my dissertation proposal. Due in for tomorrow, I’ve had the same blasé response to everything else to my degree; the last minute is plenty of time. Choosing the creative writing option, I am hoping to… Somehow, combine the historical narrative of religious enlightenment, from blindly following faith down to the unnecessarily contentious militant atheism… Told from the perspective of a character in a video game. You know the drill; an unseen ruler, directing the character through their life, putting them through tests and flippantly doing away with their lives as they have “more to spare”. The character will of course start to question the logic and kindness of his creator, and through allegorically following the historical narrative of religion, begin to revolt. The only question being, is this an act of freedom, or just doomed determinism? The question of one’s place in his universe, is all just part of the programming, he is doomed to autonomously question his free will. Throw in some video game references and a couple of German innuendo and hopefully that’ll be that. I’ll be using Kubrickian cinema as my main thesis of exploration, alongside maybe something easier… Like portal.

Food, glorious queue.

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How long are you prepared to wait for food? I ask this purely because I am sat in the Marstall Mensa, staring at a queue spanning over 100 metres. Now, Germans, I understand that we may have a history of following what people in authority tell us to do, but surely at some point you must just think, “hmm, maybe the bakery will take less than an hour to get food”.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for mainstream socialising, after all, the notion of being such an alternative who refuses to buy into conformity by wearing the same clothes as others who refuse to buy into conformity can become incredibly boring. Being mainstream is the new indie and so I totally get why the more expensive Mensa would be the best option. But seriously, how much time does one have in their day to spend queueing for food that, really, you’re just going to flush down the toilet in a few hours time?

In other news, in 2 weeks my hair appears have changed colour three times. First, I was living my enjoyable blond lifestyle, but bored of its murky tones, I turned to a female friend and inquired as to whether I should dye my hair for the first time. After recovering from the squeal of joy that seems to follow every male declaration of letting a girl mess with his hair, I became a brunette or brown head. However my blond persistence has proven powerful and now, through no deliberate fault of my own, appear to be adding a tint of more ginger.

The Doctor would be proud.

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Got any lemonade? asked the Duck.

 

In regards to this blog, I really have become a Tiger Woods. I may talk a big game, but I’m just not that committed. Though, as far as sports star comparisons go, at least I’m not an OJ Simpson, or worse yet, anyone who plays Cricket.  This is week number 2 within the insanity spectrum, including international jumpings, Committee position grabbings and log flume leapings.

In retrospect, I’m glad I made the decision to fly back to England. There were things that needed to get sorted and better this week than any other. Since September, I had always maintained a sense of distance between Heidelberg and London. Each time I’d depart to Germany, it would be a long-term goodbye to England, and I think for that reason, is why it can sometimes feel so lonely when abroad. Instead, since December, I haven’t managed to be away from England for more than a month. I think this has helped shrink the gap. I’m not good at dealing with life in more than one place. When at University, I ended up dropping London, when at London, I’d ignore Uni, when in Germany, I distanced myself from both. One compromises the enjoyment of where they are if they spend too much time missing the past or focusing on the future. There’s a live-for-the-moment attitude to Erasmus that I have done my best take hold of. And I think sucking up the distance between my 3 homes has helped, nowhere is too far away to enjoy where you are now.

It must be argued however, that this is very reliant on if German trains decide to behave!! On one of the most bizarre and spontaneous weekends, I found myself, Amy, the NikNik of NikeNike, RegBecca, Jen Long-Johns and Janeeeeeen Babe-utt with her friend Charley, on a trip to ye old Europapark. One of the biggest theme parks in Europe, which I daresay came as a massive surprise given the name, the park provided a day of insane activity. Being a friday and not a Germany holiday, queues were short, the people few and the energy high. Taking advantage of these we blasted from ride to ride, each one good enough to put Thorpe Park to shame, and providing just enough freaky mannequins to ensure I won’t be sleeping for another few nights. Which is interesting given I hadn’t slept the night before leaving for Europapark. Oh insomnia, I love your persistence. Not helped were the surprisingly unorganised train schedules that left us up poopy creek without a chocolate paddle when one late train left us without any connections.

And because I can’t think of a connection to the next paragraph, I shall end the blog here, I think this one was rambly enough. See you tomorrow where I promise this blog will be back on track with his mediocre ramblings and stuff.

Working week what?

I strive to always be a decent person, except for when I’m awake. Mind you, each time I sleep, I dream of eating cornflakes and wake up with half the mattress gone. After two weeks of experiencing an ongoing insomnia, it wold appear I am finally back on track. Just in time to go back to England. Yep, for one week I am returning to London to attend some business.

I dare say I may just squeeze in a Guildford trip too. Because I’m greedy.

It’s been a hell of a week. For reasons unknown, my sleeping pattern has thrown itself off. Normally the result of stress or depression, insomnia has been a large part of my life. A curious experience as it’s of the many things that people judge to be laziness. I sleep in because I’m lazy, obviously, not because one has remained awake for 6 hours at night for no given reason. It makes one late for events, becoming unprepared and groggy, the most bother bothersome thing is that it attacks the memory of the enjoyer, which can cause an issue here or there. But, like a limp or unfortunate acne, it lacks the dire need for any actual sense of complaint, you just limp on using your ugly face to scare children away.

Its a funny time of year this, one year ago, MADSoc were putting on their final performance of the musical “Nine”. A directorial nightmare, the cast pulled through the various things thrown at them, including the aforementioned insomniac director’s groggy mindset, and put on a performance that to this day I am still proud of. Now this time, a whole new breed of MADSoc is bursting their new production onto stage with all the throbbing, juicy glory you would hope for from a group of students. This time last year, May 2012 seemed a lifetime away, I was stuck, rooted into that moment. This year itself has been such a different experience that it makes the previous year seem like a long time ago tomorrow morning.

Flashbulb memories stick to events that stand out, you don’t remember the remedial, which is why these 8 months, with every day a new experience, is a world aside from the rest of my life. I wish the cast the best of luck, and I look forward to seeing the show in just over 24 hours time, before heading onwards to London.

Hopefully with children far away now and sleep in its proper place, the time has come to do that studying thing. Haha yeah, I’ll take a nap.

I think this line’s mostly villa…

Villarific.

Were it possible to arrest the weather, I would like to handcuff his rainy clouds and pre-emptively lube him up for Prison life just for the audacity of creating Rainy Sundays. There is something one must understand about Heidelberg, and maybe other bits of Germany, everything shuts down on a Sunday. Full system reboot. “What? We could have commerce and an active lifestyle on the last day off before work again? Who the fuck do you think you are?” So the only thing that comes naturally would be to travel, go to the river and relax or just meet up. But when it pours with rain, you can count those off the list along with their hourly bus services.

A delightful experience occurred nonetheless, whilst writing out the unnecessarily complicated plotline for the next piece I hope to actually start properly, an urge of frustration took over and I prepared to head downstairs, offering money and crocodile tears in the hope of some internet. However, only having 50euro notes on me, I knocked next door to ask if they had change, which turned into a conversation, which turned into banter which turner into dinner. Gathering foods from each of our respective rooms, the three of us, Andrea and her boyfriend who lives in the adjacent flat (whose name escapes me, shameful) sat down to a late, delicious dinner. In such a vastly spread out town, spontaneity such as that is rare, was a brilliant, calm end to the evening.

It has also been confirmed that I speak German with a French accent.

The rest of the week has been one of different experiences, from the introduction of Villa Nachttanz, coupled with about an hour wandering through Wieblingen after we got off at the wrong stop. Throw in a few ghetto style barbecues under the bridge and it’s been a good week.

Sunny Soggyness

Burning up the fuse and having nothing to lose, we’ve taken to the sunlight like masters. Gone are the huddleberg nights of snow and sleet. Beautiful under the frost of winter, Heidelberg practically glows under the sun of the oncoming summer breath. Being British, I’m surprised I’ve been able to contain myself, more than two days of sunshine is a gift from the gods. I jest. Gods don’t give gifts.

Case in point, today is now raining.

It’s been an interesting week, the middle dip delved slightly into stodgy complacency, but the book-ends have proven to be fantastic. Whilst Student Finance seems to have decided that Erasmus students now get one loan instalment less than they first said, financial fiascos are abound, there’s a hopeful horizon where this should get sorted soon. Still waiting for Internet I have taken to living in the Mensa, my darling little computer tablet practically joined to my hip. Last night was dazzling Deanne’s birthday, involving many a cockvodka shot and horrendously expensive red bull mixers, I don’t know what’s so special about August, but with so many people being born 9months since, I guess Summer Loving is more than just a name. And a horrifically catchy song.

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