Christmas, frozen man parts and money well spent

So the past few weeks I have been slacking. Not on the work front, that has been about as unrelenting as a dominatrix on viagra, but on the reporting of said work and the other mundane goings on in my life. The plethora of work and looming deadlines finally culminated in one final week of 5 am starts and 14 hour days - ending this Friday in the big hand in day, and suddenly the term was over, in what turned out to be a bigger anti climax than a crappy one night stand. To illustrate just how hard we work, see below

But I digress, workload aside, the North has recently been mistaken on multiple occassions for somewhere deep within the Arctic circle, with snowfall turning where I live into some sort of winter wonderland, albeit a winter wonderland of cheap chinese imported blockwork suburbia. This coincided with the failing of the boiler, and my modern cardboard house was soon turned into a dwelling perfect for maintaining the ideal temperature of a Gin and Tonic, requiring the donning of pretty much every item of clothing in my wardrobe to stay alive. This had the effect of making me look like some kind of swaddled Papoose, with the cold at night leaving me wondering what had happened to certain extremeties which had retreated back inside to avoid the chill.

To further deep freeze my popsicle within my undergarments, I took a day off from work and joined the Newcastle guys for a cheeky icy paddle on the mighty Tees last Saturday. With the ground frozen and the water colder than a glacier fed waterfall, by the end of the day the only way to warm up was with a mince pie, mulled wine and by jumping around like an epileptic trout in an effort to return blood flow to certain parts of the body. But it was a great break from the work. Even better, upon my return I discovered that the heating had now been fixed in the mansion, and soon I was able to rediscover my manhood as my body slowly defrosted.

In other news, my car recently visited the car doctor as part of that annual golden requirement all fellow car owners enjoy, the big MOT. Of course being such an awesome car, that never breaks and never lets me down, it failed. This filled me with endless joy, as did the £415 bill I had to rob an old woman to settle. That said, as some past passengers will vouch for, my ABS light has been flashing for pretty much the last year - a little fact I liked to dismiss as a faulty light of little consequence. However it turns out my ABS was indeed faulty, a fact I grudgingly conceded required fixing. Two days later as I drove a little too fast considering the icy conditions of the road, I discovered that the £415 on working ABS sensors was money well spent, as I stopped short of slamming into oncoming traffic on a roundabout by about 2 mm, thanks to the aforementioned fixed brakes. Lesson children, don't be a cheapskate. Or drive sensibly.

So that's pretty much the first term over. It's Christmas time, and Saturday I packed the car and drove the long journey home back to Cardiff. The next few weeks will be solely drinking, eating and making merry like it's Santas final year on this Earth. Well, that's a slight dirty lie as I actually have shedloads of revision and even more coursework than 20 undergraduates combined, but that's a winge for another time. Meanwhile, this week I get to watch the hobbit and go paddling with Max, im not sure which one I am more excited about; the opportunity to see my Nans debut big screen role as Bilbo Baggins, or the chance to be part of an incredible dynamic duo taming the wild Welsh rivers with such panache women will tell tales of our reckless courage and bravery for years to come. All I know is that it's good to be back.

NB: No old women were harmed during the settling of the MOT bill. The author of this blog reserves the right to be liberal with the truth at any time. This was such a time.

A North Wales Special – A Tale of Sordid Debauchery with a bit of Kayaking thrown in for good measure

North Wales. The land of the gogs, mist covered peaks and wild mountain women. The place that for one weekend only, the guys and girls of Cardiff University Kayakers had decided to descend upon, to be joined by myself and some of the other Procrastinate lads.

Finally the big day arrived, and leaving bang on time the error of my well planned departure was made evident as I hit Leeds at the height of rush hour. When I finally managed to get away from the traffic and into the mountains of Wales, it turned out the club was miles behind as per the normal faff that accompanies all club trips. But some of the older and wiser guys who were travelling up separately were on time, so a cheeky pub dinner was planned.

We arrived well fed at our palatial residence that was to be our home for the next few days. Unfortunately there seemed to be some sort of mistake, perhaps a language barrier between the English and the Welsh, but it appeared the luxury pad was actually a barn at the end of a 30,000 mile long mud track deep in the heart of the Welsh mountains. Albeit a barn with a rudimentary kitchen and eventually some running water, (after a certain hero located the stop tap in a well in the front yard). A quick perusal of the sleeping quarters highlighted the division in equality about to take place. In the main residence lay a series of Auschwitz style bunk beds, accompanied by dirty, sweat stained pillows and sheets.

The North Wales Camp....


Above the boot room however lay a slightly nicer 4 bed apartment of comparative luxury, with significantly less stained bed linen. I felt my German ancestry stirring and quickly made plans to inhabit this luxury bachelor’s pad of dominance.

Not quite what it was like...


Unfortunately fate worked against me. When the rest of the Procrastinate boys arrived, a tad merry after polishing off their body weight in Southern Comfort en-route, they burst through the door like the cast of Magic Mike, flexing their bulging biceps like Roman Gladiators on steroids. We quickly felt the need to join them in this rowdy-ness, and before very long one of the two bottles of Port designed to be consumed at a steady state throughout the weekend was gone. When the rest of the club finally arrived they were greeted by a serene, quiet group of well-respected old boys enjoying a beverage or two by the fire. At least that is my recollection.

Without further ado the night stepped up a notch, another bottle of port was cracked and the ‘I Have Nevers’ began, with yarn spinning legend of the evening Rob Haley, of Stuff The Consequences, conjuring delicious adjectives from the air worthy of Shakespeare himself to describe our past misdemeanours with a certain focus on one poor individual, in what can only be described as vicious bullying tactics. The consumption of Port was slowed somewhat as Gin and Juice came into consideration, but I battled on, even pausing at times to sample Southern Comfort, a disgusting concoction.

Before the night had grown past its teenage years our eloquent drunkard Mr Haley no longer felt able to provide the nights entertainment and retired to the luxury pad, where he proceeded to decorate the mattress and floor with what was mostly the aforementioned disgusting concoction with a little stomach acid thrown in for good measure.

Now I’m afraid dear readers, I have a digressed a little in this great tale, so I will rush speedily through the next few hours and onwards to the next day. Nothing much happened of note. I may have been a little rowdy, and a certain person who owed me a favour from my earlier gentlemanly gesture of goodwill may have helped put me to bed in the kitchen surrounded by buckets, but all in all it was a very quiet, pleasant evening.

Our Hero taking a well deserved rest...


The next morning I awoke to the sound of people clearing up around me. The room was spinning like a gyroscope on a merry go round and there was no sign whatsoever of a hangover. Evidently, I was unaffected by the previous evening.

I should point out at this time in the tale that the purpose of this trip was supposedly to kayak, but this is in fact a dirty lie. I would have quite happily stayed asleep on my bench in the kitchen for the remainder of the day but unfortunately I had been tasked with taking a group down something wet as safely as I could muster, so I bravely battled on.

The first channel with any degree of debateable wetness we agreed upon paddling, was the gentle Lower section of the Llugwy. The less said about this pathetic rock scrape of a puddle the better, but quickly we were on the much more enjoyable Conwy. I can’t speak for other inferior groups but my group tamed this beast faster than a lion tamer in the Great British Circus. My team, consisting of the now legend-dary Chris Towriss, Jordan and Ross with Helena taking the helm leading the group like a boss, had almost no swims. This is almost as good as no swims, except there was one teeny little dip - but I like to think the man in question barely dipped his head in before both boat and person were rescued and we were on our way again down river within our crafts of whitewater pleasure.

The Saturday evenings jolly making was short lived for some of us, due mostly to our hangovers kicking in around 3pm, mine and Robs especially. After a few hours of attempted socialising we retired gracefully to bed and left the floor to be filled by the younger generation. I hear they did a good job. Literally, I heard everything – the bastards kept me awake for two hours. I especially enjoyed how they embraced fully the club tradition of high card something bad.

The final morning the three of us enjoying the comforts of the officer’s suite, bathed in the great luxury of a lie in and coffee in bed, before departing for a run down the River Dee. A lovely little river, it was a great opportunity to see how much Team Boom had improved, and how well their young heads could deal with the hangovers from the night before. Disgustingly well to both I am afraid to report. We had a few swims, with one attempting to pulverise himself on Serpents Tail by dredging the river bed with his legs but no lasting harm done, and the improvement in everyone was amazing.

Except the leader of another group, the incessantly stupid Jonny Cakes, who abandoned his group, his paddles, his common sense and his dignity as he drifted on upside down towards the final little rapid of the day, Town Falls. Somehow he stayed in his boat, much to the disappointment of all onlookers who watched on in disbelief, as he left his group alone at the top. We quickly divided this unfortunate lot amongst our own groups, Team Boom acquiring an honorary member, Lucy (not to be confused with Lucie), for the final section. Now she was substantially better looking than Jordan, Chris or Ross and with my group numbers swelled to six including two females, I was feeling very manly.

Now at this point I have said very little about Ross, other than to slate his looks compared to the new blonde addition to our posse, but having proved himself more than capable I gave him the task of leading the infamous dredger Chris down the section, a task he nailed with apparent ease, with Helena taking Jordan whilst I tried to make up for Jonny’s failings and take Lucy down myself. Like an absolute legend she powered down the section without missing a beat and thus ended our weekend both on and off the river.

Jonny Cakes paying the price for his failure

Quick pub afternoon grubs munch later and we all said our goodbyes and hit the road, and in a complete opposite to Friday’s journey I was home in just over 3 hours. A cracking weekend with a cracking group of people that I will remember for a long time, as will my liver and my bank manager, but totally worth it.

Kayaking withdrawal, maths, more maths and a touch of butt cramp

To say I am getting severely naffed off by the lack of action in my life is a severe understatement. I am not of course referring to my sex life, although that is drier than the cast of the golden girls at the moment, but to the lack of a different wet extreme sport, kayaking. Things are going to change. This weekend I am giving the two fingers to the shedload of work that has kept me pretty much living in Uni, and I am swanning off down south to the mountains of North Wales to join the the guys and gals of Cardiff for some epic kayaking carnage. For some reason the group who have been unfortunate enough to be given to me to 'protect and serve' on the rivers lack any sign of young fresher 'poon' (see the Procrastionary for clarification), instead I have an all male group with just the one token female committee member. I do so hope she enjoys banter. The reason given for this is that they don't want me distracted on the river. I am not a dog on heat, I can control my raging libido.

Following on from this weekend I am making a mid term resolution, make one day a week for kayaking. Even if it's actually attending a pool session where I can pretend to teach skills I can barely grasp myself, it means I can get back in a boat and take a break from it all. To say that my life has become one big long maths bonanza is an understatement, I have differentiation, integration, quadratic blergh simulaneous blurgh and я понятия не имею, что я говорю....coming out of my ears. The only distraction from this horror thus far has been the onset of butt cramp halfway through a two hour lecture on Russian politics. Or French philosophy. Or something. It's all the same to me.

Any hooo, there I am, in my usual seat at the back of the class like the cool kid, swinging on my chair looking nonchalant at the lack of knowledge that is going into my pea brained skull when it happened. First it was only slight. A twitch if you like. My left cheek clamped. I carefully straightened my leg and it briefly subsided. Then returned with the vengeance of a gilted lover causing excruciating pain that no amount of writhing, hopping up and down or performance of the great rain dance of heaven would get rid of. This caused much amusement to my peers, great disgust to the lecturer who stopped midsentence and stared at me, and some moderate embarresment to the hero of this story. In the end all I could do was sit it out and try and massage it away... which had the unfortunate side effect of looking like I was pleasuring myself via the rear whilst staring at the lecturer. The moment passed, my friends all had a good laugh, my lecturer now wont be in the room alone with me, and even now the following day, I have a dull ache in the left gluteus maximus to remind me of yesterdays entertainment.

Another little piece of news that will seem fairly boring now compared to the great arse cramp story; I am going to be doing one of my modules next year in Nice (France). This means two weeks instead of one doing flood modelling and is all expenses paid, except food. Should be a good crack and more hands on than lectures. A chance for me to get my geek on, I might suck at maths in the classroom context but modelling I get more excited about than Jimmy Saville at a children's birthday party.

That's it. Next week I may actually have more interesting things to talk about than butt cramp and mid term resolutions, primarily the antics of this coming weekend, which is going to be EPIC.

Secret Powers, Politics and Jungle Fever

Today was a day that will go down in history. No im not talking about the US Presidential elections, although on that note surely it was obvious that even the Americans wouldn't vote in someone who was named after an item of clothing designed to keep your hands warm...at least that is my disinterested take on it.

No, im talking about discovering my superhero ninja powers. During an innocent trip to the little boys room to relieve myself of my 5th or 6th cup of coffee of the day, whilst performing certain rituals neccessary to begin the task I accidentally dislodged my phone from my coat pocket. As this rubbish piece of technology attempted ceramic suicide, just moments before it plunged to a watery and slightly disgusting end, I swatted it to safety faster than Bruce Lee on Ritalin. I have never felt so manly. Unfortunately the result was said phone hit the far wall with the impact of a buzzard on a car windscreen and I now have a big scratch to remind me in future that with great power comes great responsibility.

I should probably clarify at this point for those who give me far more credit than I am due, the swatting was done with the hand. This is for two reasons, a) I am not hung like a horse, and b) even if I was hung like a horse, and able to swing such a monstrosity with enough momentum to bat the phone to safety, it is likely that such rapid blunt force would rupture one or both of the tunica albuginea (i.e. result in a severe penile fracture). That dear readers, is why I employed the hand. No man wants a penile fracture.

I also had a Maths exam this morning I was looking forward to about as much as Russel Brand looks forward to his monthly GUM Clinic checkup. With nervous trepidation I began the test, somehow stumbled through it and got 82%.... must be to do with these new powers.

Finally, to top off this day of all days, found out that next summer I may be off to the Democratic Republic of Congo as part of my dissertation with work, which would be incredible. It'll be like the film Anaconda all over again, African rainforest style.

And I suppose Barack Obama beating Mitt Romney for Presidency and making sure the Republicans stay out of control of the Senate is also some cause for celebration. Ok massive cause for celebration. We'll just try and ignore the depressing little fact that they were unable to retake control of the House of Representatives from the Republicans, so in reality little will change. Here's to another few years of legislative deadlock.

Flying visits, group work and ill advised presentation techniques

So last weekend I packed my bags and boarded a flight to an exotic land far, far away. Wales. A little visit home for a few days to see friends and a certain person. Now before you reach for the sick bucket (or tissues) in anticipation of a filthy, sordid recounting of events, or the polar opposite - an outburst of soppy unmannliness, never fear - I wont go into any more detail than that, this being a family friendly account of events and all. Also because there is a high chance I would end up losing my head faster than a journalist in North Korea.

Now i'm back it's just another 5-6 weeks of hard graft and i'll be returning for the big C word that doesn't rhyme with punt.

This week I have been forced unwillingly to engage in group work as part of a new module on Climate Change. The biggest issue being those faced when certain members are louder and less able to control their outbursts of complete bollocks than a member of the US Republican Party.

It's not that I do not like working as a team. Far from it. But when said team is given 2 hours to put together a presentation on something and everyone thinks they're right, arguments ensue.

Somehow, probably due to my slightly ill thought out criticism of certain members intelligence during one of the more heated discussions, I was nominated to not only do my section of the presentation but also the conclusion. When asked if I wished to prepare a conclusion I declined, an off the cuff version seeming far more appealing.

A word of advice to any would be followers of this techinique. Winging in-depth scientific knowledge of individual greenhouse gases such as Perfluormethane (CF4), and it's influences on global warming to a panel of industry leading experts in this field is about as easy as a white woman trying to convince her white husband the black baby they just had is a miracle and not the consequence of her adulterous adventures.

Needless to say after an uncomfortable few minutes for all involved some effort was made for the second presentation scheduled for the following day. This one I did...

In other news, this week I have been back on the bike on my daily commute and started a new intense gym routine with my housemate after a two week pathetic illness excused hiatus. Subsequently my legs now feel as sore as a navy officers wife after he has been home for a few days after 6 months spent at sea. Sore but surprisingly satisfied.

So that's it. This weekend I am having to miss a weekend of kayaking party heaven, aka Tyne Tour, due to heavy workload. Two exams this week and coursework I am determined to break the back of in time for a weekend away with the Guys and Gals of Cardiff, kayaking in North Wales in a few weekends time. Ill be damned if im going to let work make me miss that as well as this weekend, I have the bottles of port purchased already in eager anticipation of an incredible rowdy weekend of whitewater kayaking and drinking.

Until then, time to knuckle down.

The Plague, Slavery and Doghnuts

This week I have been on my deathbed, suffering from that well known affliction that is known to bring even the strongest man to his knees in a crippled mess, barely strong enough to even get out of bed in the morning. Man flu. Now man flu isn't like the common cold which affects women, it's much, MUCH worse. But being a man, I of course battled on through the haze that the plague had reduced my life too. Being a sensible human being I opted to this week change my travel plans from cycling to Uni, to getting back on the metro bandwagon and taking the easy option in each day, in an effort to return my health. Now I don't know much about the Geneva Convention but during rush hour they pack more people into each carriage than into a 17th Century slave cargo ship. Now chickens have a legal minimum space requirement of 750cm...I am bigger than a chicken. Shoulder to shoulder, face pressed into the back of some stranger in front I started to wish I was a battery chicken so I could spread out and enjoy the space. They think they have it tough? Chickens. I did however take pleasure in spreading the Black Death throughout the carriage, ensuring the loudest and rudest of passengers got the fullest blast of my germs.

Modern day human sandwiches

Look at all that space.

Now it is probably my own fault I succumbed to the dreaded pox. Last week I indulged in two particularly heavy nights out, and due to late hours in Uni resorted to ready meals. Now as my Grandmother tells me, if you don't eat your fruit and veg, and drink your body weight in Gin and Wine, it's your own bloody fault if you fall ill. Point taken Nan.

This week I discovered the TV series 'Heroes'. Now I don't want to be over enthusiastic but it is AMAZING! Not sure entirely where I was when it came out first time around but now my week days consist of working til late in Uni then coming home, gym and indulging in Heroes Marathons into the early hours with my housemate. I do live an inspiring life.

Today my mother is coming to visit. Now im not sure exactly what the polite thing to do is in this situation. We don't have a spare bed, do I give up mine? Currently, due to practically living in Uni, my room looks like a Military grade obstacle course. To get to bed you have to climb a small mountain, just getting over a small workout in itself. Now if I give up my room, should I tidy it? I mean that's what mum's are for right? I haven't washed any clothes for a while either maybe she can sort that out as well...

Ok I'm not that much of a tit (although the thought did cross my mind). I will blast it quickly before she comes, so at least she can see the floor and where the bed is actually located amongst the pile of clothes. I will spend the next few nights on the air bed in the study.

Next week I am popping back down to the Welshlands for a quick bout of nostalgic reunions, hence why I am working harder this week to make up for next weekend off. Another maths exam on Wednesday which I am of course looking forward to as much as the bearded man looked forward to being nailed to a cross.

One last thing before I actually finish this weeks entry and do some work, readers may be impressed to know that during one of my Post Night Out Collateral Damage sessions, I ate 12 doughnuts. I know. Impressive.

Work, Drink and Forgotten Moments

This week was my 'Off Week'. Which meant spending 10 hour days in the Union computer clusters calculating catchment averaged rainfall depths amongst other exciting water related mathematical wonders. The cycle commute in each day was going well, for one day, that was until having forgotten the everyday phenomenon of nightfall I was left chasing the few shreds of daylight back home without any lights, hitting a pot hole and realising my rear tyre had gone softer than an elderly gentleman's power tool.

Realising without lights my chances of fixing the puncture, and having stupidly left my spare inner tube back at the castle, I was left with no choice but to trudge two miles back into town, (the other option was an 8 mile walk to my house) where I chained up the bike under the watchful gaze of a sign saying 'Bike Thieves We Are Watching You'... a huge deterrent to would be thieves of my precious two wheeled Ferrari I'm sure you would agree. I had to take the metro home with my tail between my legs like a depressed puppy.

Wednesday promised to be the highlight of the week with a respite from the daily grind of work with a night out with the Newcastle Uni Kayaking bunch. The theme tight 'n' Bright, sponsored by Primark.

Now what I hadn't taken into account in my eager anticipation of this wondrous event was the 20 minute commute in by train. Dressed as a 90's gay icon pop star I was attracting all sorts of attention for entirely the wrong reasons. I was however very grateful I hadn't opted for my previous choice of fancy dress. Dressed as a giant walking vagina would have been a little too much for the gentle folk of Northumberland Park Metro Station I feel. The journey ordeal over, I finally, after some wondering around the streets of Newcastle trying to find the bar, met the rest of the guys and girls of NUCC. A great bunch, followed by a great night out. I think. It was a great night up until the point where I don't remember...I remember entering the Union in the early hours, I remember trying to convince the bouncers I was Irish when I needed to leave to get more cash and I remember getting fleeced by the taxi driver on the way home. From there all I remember is the feeling when I woke of one, feeling like a warmed up cadaver, and two, feeling I should be embarrassed about something but no idea what it was. Luckily I still can't remember so no harm done. The following day is what I like to call 'Post Night Out Collateral Damage'. I.e. I was a pathetic mess who spent the day on the couch feeling sorry for himself. What I really needed was a good dose of man up but what actually happened was way too much bacon and coffee and very little work getting done.

So to make up for this lousy day I got an early start today, in for 9 again to crack on with work. So far I have done zero work and written this. A good start.

Oh and I now have my glasses. This is a picture of me wearing my glasses.

Ok that's not me. And I just got a warning off the University network for googling 'Hunk wearing Glasses' trying to find that image. But you get the jist.

This weekend some more kayaking, some work, a night out on Saturday followed by some more 'Post Night Out Collateral Damage' on Sunday. Newcastle is going well.