Friday, September 28, 2007

Paris Part 3

I woke up on Tuesday, my actual birthday surrounded by the remnants of the night before's champagne, chocolate and smoked salmon. We checked out of the hotel, took advantage of their bag holding facility and went off around Paris to make the most of our last day.



We started off by going to the church of St Madelaine. This was in the centre of the Place de la Madelaine, on a central island, and for all intents or purposes looks like a Graeco - Roman Temple. Whilst very beautiful, wondering around it was a bit disconcerting. The statues were definately of Christian saints, as were the frescoes, but all the pillars and colonades were marble and granite and corinthian. It all felt terribly and wonderfully pagan!



The Place de la Madelaine was full of posh shops, foodie and otherwise. Fouchon is based there, know as the millionaire's supermarket but we are poor students so we bought crossiants and Orangina from a cafe and ate them watching the traffic on the steps of St Madelaine. The rest of the morning was spent meandering along streets. We picked out some church steeples in the distance and decided to walk towards them.



This took us accidently on a route of famous French sites. We came to the Place du Concorde again and following our steeples ended up outside the Assemble Nationale, which is again in imposing classical building festooned with tricoleur flags. Pausing to rest our feet in a courtyard behind the building we laughed and joked that a besuited man parking his bike on the railings of a statue of Liberty/Marianne was a depute. And then he trotted off, flashed a pass at the policeman at the gate and walked into the building! There were many bikes around this monument which makes me think that the French deputes are as green as the EU reputation may have us believe!



We did manage to reach the steeples we'd seen in the distance and they belonged to the church of St Clothilde. I'm not sure whether this was an orginal gothic church or a faux gothic one from the 1800s but it was full of tapestries and wall paintings, finely carve wood and rich colours. A lot of the church was being renovated as the frescoes appeared to be crumbling off. But the charming thing about this church was a small orchestra of strings and percussion that were rehearsing with a small organ for a recital. Slipping away from Tom I went and sat and listened for as long as I could, relishing in the music and the glowing colours.



Steeple chasing again, we followed a gold dome in the distance when we'd tired of modern church music. this turned out to be the building on the map that had intrigued Tom anyway, the Hotel des Invalides, the major historic barracks for the French Army I believe. It housed a museum about the army, an art gallery, and attached to it was the Soldiers's Church and the church where Napoleon is buried. Now you had to go and pay to see his Tomb so we ignored him and wondered around the soldiers's church trying to guess which country belonged to each of the flags hung as campaign trophies around the rafters.



Then came a RER ride to the Ile de France because, well, we were hungry and there was a decided dearth of restaurants around the Hotel des Invalides. The Ile de France was tourist heaven. Lots of cheap restaurants, touristy souvenir shops and little windy streets. Stopping in an auberge, we celebrated my birthday over moules marinere follwed by confit du canard with saute potatoes for me, and a plate of assorted cod meats, grilled salmon and rice, and chocolate mousse for Tom. I can see why Robyn is enamoured by it so. It was tender and delicious and fell of the bone.

the end when I can promise!

Paris Part 3

I woke up on Tuesday, my actual birthday surrounded by the remnants of the night before's champagne, chocolate and smoked salmon. We checked out of the hotel, took advantage of their bag holding facility and went off around Paris to make the most of our last day.



We started off by going to the church of St Madelaine. This was in the centre of the Place de la Madelaine, on a central island, and for all intents or purposes looks like a Graeco - Roman Temple. Whilst very beautiful, wondering around it was a bit disconcerting. The statues were definately of Christian saints, as were the frescoes, but all the pillars and colonades were marble and granite and corinthian. It all felt terribly and wonderfully pagan!



The Place de la Madelaine was full of posh shops, foodie and otherwise. Fouchon is based there, know as the millionaire's supermarket but we are poor students so we bought crossiants and Orangina from a cafe and ate them watching the traffic on the steps of St Madelaine. The rest of the morning was spent meandering along streets. We picked out some church steeples in the distance and decided to walk towards them.



This took us accidently on a route of famous French sites. We came to the Place du Concorde again and following our steeples ended up outside the Assemble Nationale, which is again in imposing classical building festooned with tricoleur flags. Pausing to rest our feet in a courtyard behind the building we laughed and joked that a besuited man parking his bike on the railings of a statue of Liberty/Marianne was a depute. And then he trotted off, flashed a pass at the policeman at the gate and walked into the building! There were many bikes around this monument which makes me think that the French deputes are as green as the EU reputation may have us believe!



We did manage to reach the steeples we'd seen in the distance and they belonged to the church of St Clothilde. I'm not sure whether this was an orginal gothic church or a faux gothic one from the 1800s but it was full of tapestries and wall paintings, finely carve wood and rich colours. A lot of the church was being renovated as the frescoes appeared to be crumbling off. But the charming thing about this church was a small orchestra of strings and percussion that were rehearsing with a small organ for a recital. Slipping away from Tom I went and sat and listened for as long as I could, relishing in the music and the glowing colours.



Steeple chasing again, we followed a gold dome in the distance when we'd tired of modern church music. this turned out to be the building on the map that had intrigued Tom anyway, the Hotel des Invalides, the major historic barracks for the French Army I believe. It housed a museum about the army, an art gallery, and attached to it was the Soldiers's Church and the church where Napoleon is buried. Now you had to go and pay to see his Tomb so we ignored him and wondered around the soldiers's church trying to guess which country belonged to each of the flags hung as campaign trophies around the rafters.



Then came a RER ride to the Ile de France because, well, we were hungry and there was a decided dearth of restaurants around the Hotel des Invalides. The Ile de France was tourist heaven. Lots of cheap restaurants, touristy souvenir shops and little windy streets. Stopping in an auberge, we celebrated my birthday over moules marinere follwed by confit du canard with saute potatoes for me, and a plate of assorted cod meats, grilled salmon and rice, and chocolate mousse for Tom. I can see why Robyn is enamoured by it so. It was tender and delicious and fell of the bone.

the end when I can promise!

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Paris Part 2.

Where did I get up to? Ah yes, Tom and I were standing on the steps of the Sacre Coeur being mushy. Well the hunger kicked in and we wound our way down the hill back a little square of bustling people and restaurants. We ate moules frites and drank wine in a cosy restaurant, with a German family speaking English on our left and an American couple speaking French on our right. Crowds passed chattering and waiters applauded when plates and glasses were smashed.
I really enjoyed the convivial atmosphere of the evenings in Paris. This was 9pm on a Sunday, shops were still open and people were happily bumbling around.

We went back after that, and after a lovely hot bath, I curled up in bed grinning over my book.

In the morning we sat in the dining room for the continental breakfast buffet, peering over the cafe curtains at the tall elegant buildings. I had a brioche with Nutella for my sugar high, a bowl of fruit salad, cheese, ham, boiled eggs, orange juice and a very strong coffee. After that we took the Metro to the Champs Elysee and strolled down it indulging in a little leche-vitrine, what the french call window shopping, literally 'licking the windows'. I cooed over the macaroons in Lauduree, and Tom critically eyed the cars in the huge automated show rooms.

Eventually we arrived at the Place du Concorde and gazed up at the obelisk, relishing in the diagrams carved into the plinth that show how they managed to transport the it and raise it. We decided that each of the four sides were different, and that they must name some very important people as there were a lot of Kartouches in the inscription. We strolled on ward then through the gardens watching fairy lights being strung in trees and leaves fell and wove themselves in my Hair.

Then came the Louvre. The glass pyramids really are fantastic, reflecting the fabulous ornate buildings surround them, and they house a subterranean reception area that is filled with light. I loved the lift for wheel chairs and pushchairs that was a circular platform that rose and fell but was the centre of a spiral stair case for the rest of us.

No art for us, no Mona Lisas. We were there for antiquities. We strolled though Egyptian, Greek Roman, Syrian, Phoenician wondering with awe. I am surprised at how much of my A level French comes back to me, as I carefully tried to translate the labels. We must have been in there for hours and hours and I think Tom thought he'd lost me as I dived in and out of worlds I read so much about. Hunger struck again though, and we went to the cafeteria for lunch. Tom had a lovely piece of salmon with rice and ratatouille and I had a large plate from the salad bar. It didn't go especially well with the red wine we were drinking, but it had all sorts of lovely things like smoked mackerel in it.

When we were bored of antiquities and wondering around beautiful back streets we came back the to hotel to change. Tom managed to outdo himself even further, as we were going the ballet at the Opera de Palais Garnier, the huge opera house. I put on my green dress, which while cruel is lovely, and my white satin gloves and gazed adoringly at Tom as we flew under the city in the Metro. The opera house is opulent to the point of sublime and ridiculous, all baroque curlicues and gilt and marble. It took my breath away. Walking the wide stair cases, I felt like I should have been in a ball gown, even thought there were people there in jeans and t shirts as well as tuxedos.

It only got better. An usher unlocked a door, and there was a curtained box with little chairs, and a mirror and bench. All the seats in the dress circle are boxes that work their way around the whole sweep of the auditorium. We were more towards the centre and I had a perfect clear few of the stage. The ballet was a version of Wuthering Heights, alternately contemporary and classical. I'm sure Tom had no idea what was going, indeed I found the story fairly hard to follow but the dancing was something else. When they were supposed to be frolicking in fields, you could see the immaturity and childish nature of the movements letting you know they were young. Hundreds of tiny balls fell from the ceiling, and like a weeble toy, righted themselves and flowers popped up unexpectedly. Later dancers supposed to be Heathcliff's visions of Catherine performed the same movements canon, but with some flying on ropes, or dancing on hidden platforms that made them look like they were floating. I especially loved the use of depth, of the movement travelling up and down stage rather that just presenting moving 2d pictures across the stage like a film.

Even the time Tom and I spent trying to find a toilet in the interval was amazing. We went through many doors and came upon a suite of rooms, clearly used for receptions as there was bar in the central one. These rooms had beautifully painted ceilings, views out across the surrounding streets, inlaid panelling. It was like something out of a Bond film casino. We stood for a while hand in hand watching the people below and the others theatre goers.

Paris Part 2.

Where did I get up to? Ah yes, Tom and I were standing on the steps of the Sacre Coeur being mushy. Well the hunger kicked in and we wound our way down the hill back a little square of bustling people and restaurants. We ate moules frites and drank wine in a cosy restaurant, with a German family speaking English on our left and an American couple speaking French on our right. Crowds passed chattering and waiters applauded when plates and glasses were smashed.
I really enjoyed the convivial atmosphere of the evenings in Paris. This was 9pm on a Sunday, shops were still open and people were happily bumbling around.

We went back after that, and after a lovely hot bath, I curled up in bed grinning over my book.

In the morning we sat in the dining room for the continental breakfast buffet, peering over the cafe curtains at the tall elegant buildings. I had a brioche with Nutella for my sugar high, a bowl of fruit salad, cheese, ham, boiled eggs, orange juice and a very strong coffee. After that we took the Metro to the Champs Elysee and strolled down it indulging in a little leche-vitrine, what the french call window shopping, literally 'licking the windows'. I cooed over the macaroons in Lauduree, and Tom critically eyed the cars in the huge automated show rooms.

Eventually we arrived at the Place du Concorde and gazed up at the obelisk, relishing in the diagrams carved into the plinth that show how they managed to transport the it and raise it. We decided that each of the four sides were different, and that they must name some very important people as there were a lot of Kartouches in the inscription. We strolled on ward then through the gardens watching fairy lights being strung in trees and leaves fell and wove themselves in my Hair.

Then came the Louvre. The glass pyramids really are fantastic, reflecting the fabulous ornate buildings surround them, and they house a subterranean reception area that is filled with light. I loved the lift for wheel chairs and pushchairs that was a circular platform that rose and fell but was the centre of a spiral stair case for the rest of us.

No art for us, no Mona Lisas. We were there for antiquities. We strolled though Egyptian, Greek Roman, Syrian, Phoenician wondering with awe. I am surprised at how much of my A level French comes back to me, as I carefully tried to translate the labels. We must have been in there for hours and hours and I think Tom thought he'd lost me as I dived in and out of worlds I read so much about. Hunger struck again though, and we went to the cafeteria for lunch. Tom had a lovely piece of salmon with rice and ratatouille and I had a large plate from the salad bar. It didn't go especially well with the red wine we were drinking, but it had all sorts of lovely things like smoked mackerel in it.

When we were bored of antiquities and wondering around beautiful back streets we came back the to hotel to change. Tom managed to outdo himself even further, as we were going the ballet at the Opera de Palais Garnier, the huge opera house. I put on my green dress, which while cruel is lovely, and my white satin gloves and gazed adoringly at Tom as we flew under the city in the Metro. The opera house is opulent to the point of sublime and ridiculous, all baroque curlicues and gilt and marble. It took my breath away. Walking the wide stair cases, I felt like I should have been in a ball gown, even thought there were people there in jeans and t shirts as well as tuxedos.

It only got better. An usher unlocked a door, and there was a curtained box with little chairs, and a mirror and bench. All the seats in the dress circle are boxes that work their way around the whole sweep of the auditorium. We were more towards the centre and I had a perfect clear few of the stage. The ballet was a version of Wuthering Heights, alternately contemporary and classical. I'm sure Tom had no idea what was going, indeed I found the story fairly hard to follow but the dancing was something else. When they were supposed to be frolicking in fields, you could see the immaturity and childish nature of the movements letting you know they were young. Hundreds of tiny balls fell from the ceiling, and like a weeble toy, righted themselves and flowers popped up unexpectedly. Later dancers supposed to be Heathcliff's visions of Catherine performed the same movements canon, but with some flying on ropes, or dancing on hidden platforms that made them look like they were floating. I especially loved the use of depth, of the movement travelling up and down stage rather that just presenting moving 2d pictures across the stage like a film.

Even the time Tom and I spent trying to find a toilet in the interval was amazing. We went through many doors and came upon a suite of rooms, clearly used for receptions as there was bar in the central one. These rooms had beautifully painted ceilings, views out across the surrounding streets, inlaid panelling. It was like something out of a Bond film casino. We stood for a while hand in hand watching the people below and the others theatre goers.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Paris Part 1

Paris Paris Paris. (pics to be added when I get them)

I feel like the cat that got the cream, or who always lands on its feet. This is Tom. He is quite frankly a ridiculously generous man. Yesterday was my 21st birthday, and as his gift to me, Tom took me to Paris.

We start this tale of decadence and joy bright and early on Sunday morning. I mean very early. Leaving the house at a quarter-past-seven in the morning early. In the sleepy haze I managed to forget my camera after having taken a photo of my very nice new luggage. Fortunately, my phone has a snazzy camera, and we bought a disposable one once we got to France, so pictures will follow when I get them uploaded.

Then the fun began. We got a bus to the big station in Southampton, Southampton Central in a bid to catch the train to London Waterloo. All trains to Waterloo were being cancelled left right and centre as engineering work further up the line had overrun. After mild panicking I did the only thing thinkable, I pestered the station manager for advice. He told me in the most roundabout way possible that we should leap on the Virgin Train to Manchester that was sitting at Southampton Central, as this was stopping at Guildford, and we should be able to catch a London Train there. I can see now why Andy raves about Virgin Trains. They were very smooth and professional and I would have been quite sorry to leave if I’d not been getting off it to go to PARIS!

Our train to Waterloo from Guildford was also delayed, so upon reaching Waterloo it was mad dash through the crowds to the Eurostar Departure areas. Chaos ruled there, with problems with the ticket barriers creating large crowds. I have to say I really saw the difference between the French and the British ends of the Eurostar. Admittedly, we came home on the penultimate train so the crowds seemed less manic, but the staff at the French end all seemed much more serene and in control.The baggage label from Euroster "Sorry I'm already spoken for"


One of the funniest bits about the Eurostar is trying to actually get on it! The trains are so long you have to walk for what seems like miles down the plat form with your bags. We were in carriage 18 on the way out so had quite a way to walk. The trains are furnished in that slightly industrial modernist way that seems to define French style, think La Defense and the Pompidou Centre. Grey plush and brown leather interiors with seats with very angular squared off head rests. I loved all the little touches like there being two overhead racks, a large shelf for bags, a narrower one with a chrome rail for coats and smaller items, and the little foot rests that folded down from under the seat front so that vertically challenged people like me could sit in comfort.

We passed gently through England and then more speedily through France when the TGV speed train could let rip. Watching the rolling hills and patch work green of England disappear through the tunnel, we were soon greeted by the vast expanses of soft brown earth that looks dusty and dry and the big industrial parks intersected with popular trees that makes up French countryside between Calais and Paris.

Once at the Gard du Nord, I wondered around in a slight daze with a skip in my step. All around me were the bubbling lilts of French voices and announcements. We scurried through the crowd trying to find the right metro line and bought snzzy little tourist passes that let us use the Metro, the RER and the buses for three days sans limites’ The Paris metro has a very distinctive smell and is very different from the RER that intersects the city and takes Parisians out to the suburbs. The metro stations are funkier, with bright colours and widely spaced seats. None of these communal benches for the RATP, but 8 individual seats spaced along the platforms. I liked the fact that the RER trains were double deckers and had bigger stations.

Our hotel was on the Rue de Pepinere, that ajoined the Boulevard Hausmann, him of the famous ‘boulevard-isation’ of Paris, near the church of St. Augustin. The hotel was lovely, our room overlooking the courtyard of bay trees in pots, and breakfast being served in a dining room that peeped onto the street. Having dropped off our bags we explored the neighbour hood and ended up wondering around the church of St. Augustin. It was a lovely quiet respite after our bustling journey. I loved the plaques people had put next to the statues of saints, noting thanks for prayers answered.

That first evening in Paris, we caught the Metro to Monmartre and fully swallowed the Hollywood and tourism version of Paris. It was like concentrated Paris. There was a brass sextet playing jolly tunes, a street fair (celebrating Chilean food and wine of all things), quaint little shops, winding roads, mad drivers, kids running around and an amazing view. We dived in to a little grocers and bought bread and garlic sausage so Tom could have a sandwhich as he was starving from the journey. We sat and ate in the Place des Abbesses while children played foot ball in the little square and mopeds zoomed around us.


Sacre Coeur was phenomenal. I think it is one of the most beautiful churches I have ever been in. We arrived just as mass was finishing and sat to listen to the end of the service. Even though it was filled with worshippers and tourists, it still felt amazingly holy. The mosaic above the high altar was so intricate and glowed in the lighting as if it was a fragment of the sun, it took my breathe away. We wondered around it, looking at all the side chapels, the paintings and the candles left by others. We walked out to the setting sun. I could see all the major sights from my vantage point outside the Sacre Coeur, and giggled with Tom at the buskers covering Princes’s ‘Purple Rain’ for the crowds soaking the autumn evening sun and the fabulous view on the steps of the church. Paris truly is the most romantic place I've ever been, and felt wonderful to be sharing this with someone who means so much to me.



Paris Part 1

Paris Paris Paris. (pics to be added when I get them)

I feel like the cat that got the cream, or who always lands on its feet. This is Tom. He is quite frankly a ridiculously generous man. Yesterday was my 21st birthday, and as his gift to me, Tom took me to Paris.

We start this tale of decadence and joy bright and early on Sunday morning. I mean very early. Leaving the house at a quarter-past-seven in the morning early. In the sleepy haze I managed to forget my camera after having taken a photo of my very nice new luggage. Fortunately, my phone has a snazzy camera, and we bought a disposable one once we got to France, so pictures will follow when I get them uploaded.

Then the fun began. We got a bus to the big station in Southampton, Southampton Central in a bid to catch the train to London Waterloo. All trains to Waterloo were being cancelled left right and centre as engineering work further up the line had overrun. After mild panicking I did the only thing thinkable, I pestered the station manager for advice. He told me in the most roundabout way possible that we should leap on the Virgin Train to Manchester that was sitting at Southampton Central, as this was stopping at Guildford, and we should be able to catch a London Train there. I can see now why Andy raves about Virgin Trains. They were very smooth and professional and I would have been quite sorry to leave if I’d not been getting off it to go to PARIS!

Our train to Waterloo from Guildford was also delayed, so upon reaching Waterloo it was mad dash through the crowds to the Eurostar Departure areas. Chaos ruled there, with problems with the ticket barriers creating large crowds. I have to say I really saw the difference between the French and the British ends of the Eurostar. Admittedly, we came home on the penultimate train so the crowds seemed less manic, but the staff at the French end all seemed much more serene and in control.The baggage label from Euroster "Sorry I'm already spoken for"


One of the funniest bits about the Eurostar is trying to actually get on it! The trains are so long you have to walk for what seems like miles down the plat form with your bags. We were in carriage 18 on the way out so had quite a way to walk. The trains are furnished in that slightly industrial modernist way that seems to define French style, think La Defense and the Pompidou Centre. Grey plush and brown leather interiors with seats with very angular squared off head rests. I loved all the little touches like there being two overhead racks, a large shelf for bags, a narrower one with a chrome rail for coats and smaller items, and the little foot rests that folded down from under the seat front so that vertically challenged people like me could sit in comfort.

We passed gently through England and then more speedily through France when the TGV speed train could let rip. Watching the rolling hills and patch work green of England disappear through the tunnel, we were soon greeted by the vast expanses of soft brown earth that looks dusty and dry and the big industrial parks intersected with popular trees that makes up French countryside between Calais and Paris.

Once at the Gard du Nord, I wondered around in a slight daze with a skip in my step. All around me were the bubbling lilts of French voices and announcements. We scurried through the crowd trying to find the right metro line and bought snzzy little tourist passes that let us use the Metro, the RER and the buses for three days sans limites’ The Paris metro has a very distinctive smell and is very different from the RER that intersects the city and takes Parisians out to the suburbs. The metro stations are funkier, with bright colours and widely spaced seats. None of these communal benches for the RATP, but 8 individual seats spaced along the platforms. I liked the fact that the RER trains were double deckers and had bigger stations.

Our hotel was on the Rue de Pepinere, that ajoined the Boulevard Hausmann, him of the famous ‘boulevard-isation’ of Paris, near the church of St. Augustin. The hotel was lovely, our room overlooking the courtyard of bay trees in pots, and breakfast being served in a dining room that peeped onto the street. Having dropped off our bags we explored the neighbour hood and ended up wondering around the church of St. Augustin. It was a lovely quiet respite after our bustling journey. I loved the plaques people had put next to the statues of saints, noting thanks for prayers answered.

That first evening in Paris, we caught the Metro to Monmartre and fully swallowed the Hollywood and tourism version of Paris. It was like concentrated Paris. There was a brass sextet playing jolly tunes, a street fair (celebrating Chilean food and wine of all things), quaint little shops, winding roads, mad drivers, kids running around and an amazing view. We dived in to a little grocers and bought bread and garlic sausage so Tom could have a sandwhich as he was starving from the journey. We sat and ate in the Place des Abbesses while children played foot ball in the little square and mopeds zoomed around us.


Sacre Coeur was phenomenal. I think it is one of the most beautiful churches I have ever been in. We arrived just as mass was finishing and sat to listen to the end of the service. Even though it was filled with worshippers and tourists, it still felt amazingly holy. The mosaic above the high altar was so intricate and glowed in the lighting as if it was a fragment of the sun, it took my breathe away. We wondered around it, looking at all the side chapels, the paintings and the candles left by others. We walked out to the setting sun. I could see all the major sights from my vantage point outside the Sacre Coeur, and giggled with Tom at the buskers covering Princes’s ‘Purple Rain’ for the crowds soaking the autumn evening sun and the fabulous view on the steps of the church. Paris truly is the most romantic place I've ever been, and felt wonderful to be sharing this with someone who means so much to me.



Thursday, September 20, 2007

ATTENTION SIMON STEVENS - YOUR HAT HAS BEEN TAKEN HOSTAGE!


Simon Stevens, your hat has been taken hostage.



We demand a Nintendo Wii for the chaplaincy, a good wheel of cheese and lots of wine, (communion
or otherwise).


How much do you value your hat?



You have till term starts to meet our demands!

ATTENTION SIMON STEVENS - YOUR HAT HAS BEEN TAKEN HOSTAGE!


Simon Stevens, your hat has been taken hostage.



We demand a Nintendo Wii for the chaplaincy, a good wheel of cheese and lots of wine, (communion
or otherwise).


How much do you value your hat?



You have till term starts to meet our demands!

Monday, September 17, 2007

A global corporation with a heart?

Perusing the Blog of the Cyber Priest, I was pleased and shocked to realise that Microsoft seem to realise students are poor. To quote him directly:

"What you get

Microsoft Office 2007 Ultimate Edition includes:

  • Word 2007
  • Excel 2007
  • PowerPoint 2007
  • Outlook 2007
  • Groove 2007
  • Publisher 2007
  • OneNote 2007
  • InfoPath 2007
  • Access 2007

Are you eligible?

To be eligible for this deal you must:

  1. Hold a valid email address at a U.K. educational institution ending in .ac.uk (for example, a.student@st-andrews.ac.uk)
  2. Be actively enrolled with at least 0.5 course load

...if you’re a student (or are starting university/college this year) then head over to The Ultimate Steal website and pick yourself up a copy.

You do have time to settle in to university or college first though, the promotion ends at 23:59 GMT on 30 April 2008."



Now I'm not tempted, being quite happy with OpenOffice, which is free, but it seems like a cracking deal. I wonder if it's legit, or a ploy to lock users into Mirosoft, or if its a fraud?

A global corporation with a heart?

Perusing the Blog of the Cyber Priest, I was pleased and shocked to realise that Microsoft seem to realise students are poor. To quote him directly:

"What you get

Microsoft Office 2007 Ultimate Edition includes:

  • Word 2007
  • Excel 2007
  • PowerPoint 2007
  • Outlook 2007
  • Groove 2007
  • Publisher 2007
  • OneNote 2007
  • InfoPath 2007
  • Access 2007

Are you eligible?

To be eligible for this deal you must:

  1. Hold a valid email address at a U.K. educational institution ending in .ac.uk (for example, a.student@st-andrews.ac.uk)
  2. Be actively enrolled with at least 0.5 course load

...if you’re a student (or are starting university/college this year) then head over to The Ultimate Steal website and pick yourself up a copy.

You do have time to settle in to university or college first though, the promotion ends at 23:59 GMT on 30 April 2008."



Now I'm not tempted, being quite happy with OpenOffice, which is free, but it seems like a cracking deal. I wonder if it's legit, or a ploy to lock users into Mirosoft, or if its a fraud?

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Nothing to report. Honest.

I know I know. Nothing to see here.

August was a strange month. I've been trying to get better and be busy and not let myself wallow in the mean reds.

I've been out dancing and partying, making new friends, having arguments, flirting, eating, dancing, listening, watching and hoping. But I'm not sure how much I want to or can record here.
I've decided, with my rapidly expanding waistline due to the gym being shut by the time I get in from work, that exercise really is a drug. I actually miss the gym, and the couple of afternoons I've spent in the dance studio with the lovely Mel have in improved my mood so much that I have actually bounced across the room for the rest of the day. Mel and I have been working on a dance to Drops of Jupiter by train, a modern balletic piece, which would be very Merce Cunningham, but it has more emotional depth. This is Mel's first real choreographic endevour, and I think I shall describe it here as a memory aid for us both.

The dancers enter upstage left, and do 4 slow queen walks on the diagonal to down stage right performing a gradual port de bra in through a contracted first with an internal focus opening into a first arabesque, looking at the high right hand. The legs finish with the right foot on the demi behind the left with the leg in fondu. On the appropriate beat in the music, they swap arms sharply so left arm high, and change to an external focus looking beyond the left hand. They then perfom a pose turn to the right, turning up stage, turning 180 degrees, arms still in arabesque. They then hover with feet in demi pointe open parallel facing upstage, take two little steps and reach their left arm out, letting the right fall, hitting the word"Jupiter" in the song lyrics.

They then perform two very slow triple runs with figure of eight arms, staring with the right foot, arms circling to the left first, then the right, very much in time with the music, travelling from stage left to stage right accross the back of the stage. They then suddenly swing their arms across their body to stage left, plie - in in fourth with left foot in front, dropping their bodies over the left side. Uncurling, into a bent over flat back position, they run backward, hands devlopee - ing to an outstreched shape in line with the line of their back, in a semi circle to down stage, facing stage right.

They circle their arms into a a high upwards reach as they pivot on the ball of their feet to stage left, then drop into a lunge, weight leaning over the back foot, right shoulder opening to the audience, right arm, heavily dropped behind the body line. Slowly in time with the gradual beat of the music they have 4 queen walks circling upstage to face stage left, the left arm pushing away from the body with the wrist flexed, the left arm held in first, gently circles under the right hand and over in a cycling action .

That's enough of that for the moment. There's a lovely bit a bit further on after gap we've not yet filled where we developed the flexed hand motif through to the arabesque motif whilst quickly running through a allego section of sisson, pas de bourree, assemble, form stage left to stage right. It fits the beat of the music exactly.

There's been lots of crafty endevours going on. Christmas knitting has been started already, with a mysterious Green stripy thing for Tom on the needles, half a hoody for Sarah being churned through, and a spotty tea cosy to be made as requested by Andy. There's also going to be some custom t- shirt making for various people, probably using bleach dying and stencils, and some pillow case making.
The lovely Karuna gifted me with a fantastic selection of fabric from her trip to Nepal, and what I don't use for pillows will be turned into a top for me. There has been a gamut of dress making now my sewing machine has reached me, and I am mending the red spotty dress I sewed by hand, planning to make up a muslin for my party dress that I really need to start on since its in the second week of October, and making a Princess Leia as Jabba's slave girl outfit for a party on saturday. I don't have the stomach or the confidence to do the full on Gold bikini, so I took a brown tankini top, ripped the side seams, added eyelets, and laced the whole thing up with gold cord. It then has gold swirly cord in the appropriate places on the front, and I've sewed pieces of red fabric to front and back to emulate the swrily fabric that covers her nether regions. It looks alot more like this:













Than this!



My other crafty endevour had been an oil pastel of my two cousins and my uncle, the newest of the two who will be be my godson as of Sunday. I'm very very proud of it and will add pics when I can.

Do you feel updated?



Nothing to report. Honest.

I know I know. Nothing to see here.

August was a strange month. I've been trying to get better and be busy and not let myself wallow in the mean reds.

I've been out dancing and partying, making new friends, having arguments, flirting, eating, dancing, listening, watching and hoping. But I'm not sure how much I want to or can record here.
I've decided, with my rapidly expanding waistline due to the gym being shut by the time I get in from work, that exercise really is a drug. I actually miss the gym, and the couple of afternoons I've spent in the dance studio with the lovely Mel have in improved my mood so much that I have actually bounced across the room for the rest of the day. Mel and I have been working on a dance to Drops of Jupiter by train, a modern balletic piece, which would be very Merce Cunningham, but it has more emotional depth. This is Mel's first real choreographic endevour, and I think I shall describe it here as a memory aid for us both.

The dancers enter upstage left, and do 4 slow queen walks on the diagonal to down stage right performing a gradual port de bra in through a contracted first with an internal focus opening into a first arabesque, looking at the high right hand. The legs finish with the right foot on the demi behind the left with the leg in fondu. On the appropriate beat in the music, they swap arms sharply so left arm high, and change to an external focus looking beyond the left hand. They then perfom a pose turn to the right, turning up stage, turning 180 degrees, arms still in arabesque. They then hover with feet in demi pointe open parallel facing upstage, take two little steps and reach their left arm out, letting the right fall, hitting the word"Jupiter" in the song lyrics.

They then perform two very slow triple runs with figure of eight arms, staring with the right foot, arms circling to the left first, then the right, very much in time with the music, travelling from stage left to stage right accross the back of the stage. They then suddenly swing their arms across their body to stage left, plie - in in fourth with left foot in front, dropping their bodies over the left side. Uncurling, into a bent over flat back position, they run backward, hands devlopee - ing to an outstreched shape in line with the line of their back, in a semi circle to down stage, facing stage right.

They circle their arms into a a high upwards reach as they pivot on the ball of their feet to stage left, then drop into a lunge, weight leaning over the back foot, right shoulder opening to the audience, right arm, heavily dropped behind the body line. Slowly in time with the gradual beat of the music they have 4 queen walks circling upstage to face stage left, the left arm pushing away from the body with the wrist flexed, the left arm held in first, gently circles under the right hand and over in a cycling action .

That's enough of that for the moment. There's a lovely bit a bit further on after gap we've not yet filled where we developed the flexed hand motif through to the arabesque motif whilst quickly running through a allego section of sisson, pas de bourree, assemble, form stage left to stage right. It fits the beat of the music exactly.

There's been lots of crafty endevours going on. Christmas knitting has been started already, with a mysterious Green stripy thing for Tom on the needles, half a hoody for Sarah being churned through, and a spotty tea cosy to be made as requested by Andy. There's also going to be some custom t- shirt making for various people, probably using bleach dying and stencils, and some pillow case making.
The lovely Karuna gifted me with a fantastic selection of fabric from her trip to Nepal, and what I don't use for pillows will be turned into a top for me. There has been a gamut of dress making now my sewing machine has reached me, and I am mending the red spotty dress I sewed by hand, planning to make up a muslin for my party dress that I really need to start on since its in the second week of October, and making a Princess Leia as Jabba's slave girl outfit for a party on saturday. I don't have the stomach or the confidence to do the full on Gold bikini, so I took a brown tankini top, ripped the side seams, added eyelets, and laced the whole thing up with gold cord. It then has gold swirly cord in the appropriate places on the front, and I've sewed pieces of red fabric to front and back to emulate the swrily fabric that covers her nether regions. It looks alot more like this:













Than this!



My other crafty endevour had been an oil pastel of my two cousins and my uncle, the newest of the two who will be be my godson as of Sunday. I'm very very proud of it and will add pics when I can.

Do you feel updated?