It's been a trundly sort of week (classics-related heart attack on Tuesday aside), just building up to going to Moscow tomorrow. I read Christopher Logue, found the above line and thought it was brilliant. I had a dull and overpriced haircut in the tiny hairdresser's just outside Krispy Kreme, made one final attempt to read Caesar and gave up. I spent Tuesday morning listening to recordings of Allen Ginsberg on the Poetry Archive - I don't really like him but the recordings were quite good, although what Ginsberg himself would say if he knew I was calmly doing the ironing while listening to Howl: Part 2 ("Moloch!") I don't know. I also stared out of the window at the rain and ate strawberries, and so in the afternoon ended up writing a Ginsberg-esque poem about rain and strawberries. This isn't as interesting as it sounds. I also went to the Tate, and bumped into Lorraine Mariner in the Royal Festival Hall toilets.
And then, yeah, exam results came today - I say that casually, as if I haven't been worried AT ALL. Went swimming this morning to take my mind off it all until the school opened, and played little mind games with myself at first: "If I do x lengths in y minutes, I'll definitely get an A in Russian" etc. But then I just forgot about it and swam.
The results? Well.
A in English, which I got the least number of marks for in all my subjects, weirdly enough.
A in History - only losing 4 marks in that godawful Russia paper where I babbled on and on about Anna Akhmatova.
A in Russian - FULL MARKS. HOW? I'M NOT COMPLAINING BUT SERIOUSLY, HOW?
And A in Latin - full marks in Literature 2 and Unprepared Translation.
So that's that. Now there's A2...
In the meantime, I'm off to Moscow tomorrow, for a week's work experience with a medical journal (do I want to go into medicine? Do I want to be a journalist? No and no. But maybe it'll be interesting), and then another week of just relaxing in the city. Sorry. That's wrong. You can't relax in Moscow, it's actually too insane for that. And that's why I love it.
Thursday, 16 August 2007
Tuesday, 14 August 2007
NO.
I just read this.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/education/article2241711.ece
No. No no no NO.
What are they thinking? Whoever came up with this, I would genuinely like to know what was going through their minds when they decided this. So not many people are taking Latin and even fewer are taking Greek. THIS is not going to change that. Who in their right minds would choose a subject like this new "classics" A-level, where they're expected to cram in two languages along with a bunch of history, philosophy etc.? Greg Watson says Latin A-level is "intimidating" - well, excuse me, but this kind of set-up seems even more intimidating. Screw that, it seems impossible. I know people who were intimidated by Latin A-level because they're not that crazy about learning the language, so they took class. civ., and EVERYONE I know who does class. civ. loves it, they rave about it so much I actually sometimes wish I did it. If all that changed and they suddenly had to learn two languages along with Alexander the Great/Greek pottery etc. I don't think any of them would be happy. This isn't going to make loads of people take classics. It'll make even less people get into it, because it's clearly INSANE.
I mean...leaving aside the sad fact that such a good course as Latin A-level (and no doubt Greek) is being scrapped, how is this going to work practically? How are Latin, Greek, ancient history AND class. civ. possibly going to be combined into one subject? OK, so apparently students will be able to "specialise". How far, though? How much Latin will there be? How much Greek? Maybe one lesson a week, for both languages? And then if this course is available to everyone, like class. civ., regardless of how much Latin/Greek you've studied, then there'll be some people who have done Latin GCSE, some who haven't, some who've done Greek...how will they sort out how much to teach, and to what level? It seems obvious that the language part of it at least just WON'T work. And what will be the next step? Oh, let's just drop Latin and Greek altogether, it's too much of a bother really...
It won't prepare people for classics at uni. How can it? Sure, so it mirrors the kind of set-up at universities but they won't go into as much depth in anything. And to think, if I'd been a year younger I would be forced to go through this absolute bullshit. God, it's so STUPID. This entry could probably have been more structured but I'm too plain angry to argue elegantly.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/education/article2241711.ece
No. No no no NO.
What are they thinking? Whoever came up with this, I would genuinely like to know what was going through their minds when they decided this. So not many people are taking Latin and even fewer are taking Greek. THIS is not going to change that. Who in their right minds would choose a subject like this new "classics" A-level, where they're expected to cram in two languages along with a bunch of history, philosophy etc.? Greg Watson says Latin A-level is "intimidating" - well, excuse me, but this kind of set-up seems even more intimidating. Screw that, it seems impossible. I know people who were intimidated by Latin A-level because they're not that crazy about learning the language, so they took class. civ., and EVERYONE I know who does class. civ. loves it, they rave about it so much I actually sometimes wish I did it. If all that changed and they suddenly had to learn two languages along with Alexander the Great/Greek pottery etc. I don't think any of them would be happy. This isn't going to make loads of people take classics. It'll make even less people get into it, because it's clearly INSANE.
I mean...leaving aside the sad fact that such a good course as Latin A-level (and no doubt Greek) is being scrapped, how is this going to work practically? How are Latin, Greek, ancient history AND class. civ. possibly going to be combined into one subject? OK, so apparently students will be able to "specialise". How far, though? How much Latin will there be? How much Greek? Maybe one lesson a week, for both languages? And then if this course is available to everyone, like class. civ., regardless of how much Latin/Greek you've studied, then there'll be some people who have done Latin GCSE, some who haven't, some who've done Greek...how will they sort out how much to teach, and to what level? It seems obvious that the language part of it at least just WON'T work. And what will be the next step? Oh, let's just drop Latin and Greek altogether, it's too much of a bother really...
It won't prepare people for classics at uni. How can it? Sure, so it mirrors the kind of set-up at universities but they won't go into as much depth in anything. And to think, if I'd been a year younger I would be forced to go through this absolute bullshit. God, it's so STUPID. This entry could probably have been more structured but I'm too plain angry to argue elegantly.
Thursday, 9 August 2007
Socrates - always good with legs
Bad news first. Last week I went to see the GP again (who incidentally is the mother of Jake, a boy in my year, and has lots of pictures of Jake on her desk which is really weird when I'm trying to tell her something serious). She swivelled my knee this way, that way, this way, that way, and then said, "It's growing pains."
"Sorry?"
"Yes, growing pains. There's nothing really you can do. Cartilage, you see, it should harden and resolve itself by the time you're about nineteen or so."
"Nineteen."
"Yes."
"Sorry, just...sorry. NINETEEN???"
So that's that. Apparently I'm supposed to just adopt a policy of Ignoring It, while at the same time avoiding things which "aggravate" the poor ickle pathetic knee. What a conundrum. Meanwhile, a few muscles in my back have been talking amongst themselves and decided that, "Hey, you know what Annie could really do with now? You know what's missing in her life? A nice bit of back pain!" Only it's not just a bit. It's the worst back pain I've ever had. It makes the Great Back Pain of Summer 2006 seem like a little bruise, and to be honest I'm really scared about this, it's never been like this before. I spent most of Wednesday pacing up and down the living room, rubbing my spine and sobbing. Not good.
I then went for a furious swim that was actually powered by sheer rage ("You want pain, you stupid, useless, good-for-nothing muscles? HERE! HERE'S - SOME - MORE - BLOODY - PAIN!" Just to clarify, I wasn't actually saying this aloud. For one thing it would be quite hard to do while swimming.) Anyway, the parents have decided that when I'm in Moscow the week after next I should go and see their old friend from uni, who is now a doctor specialising in this kind of crap. It's quite weird because his nickname at uni was apparently Socrates (I don't know why), and so my parents keep saying things like, "Yes, make sure you tell Socrates about the orthotics" and "Socrates will know what this is about, he was always good with legs" and I get really confused for a second.
Anyway. Let's not dwell on this or I'll start panicking again and panicking will lead to more pacing and tears. On Tuesday I took Dom to Open Mic - he used to write poetry, ages ago, but then stopped due to writer's block/lack of confidence/whatever and I kept trying to make him start writing again and he kept refusing. Anyway, so we went to Open Mic, and it was really good - I didn't read anything because I have nothing to read, but there were quite a lot of regulars and familiar faces, including a South African woman who we saw last time, who read these amazing poems that were like half-song half-spoken word. And one guy read a poem that contained the immortal line, "My arse wept for the Lord God Almighty." (It was about porn.) The only bad bit was when some guy was reading this weird poem and occasionally stopping to say stuff like, "Are there any IMMIGRANTS in the audience?" and "Any BLACKS or SLAVS?" Then when he sat down someone at the back called out, "Are there any vaguely provocative fascists in the audience?" and the room went kind of quiet. Fortunately Niall said something like, "God, can you feel the LOVE in this room??" and made a joke and the subject was swiftly changed. Apart from that, it was a great night.
And afterwards when we were walking down Betterton Street, Dom said he really really liked it, and he EVEN said that he might start writing poems again, and at that point I was so happy all I wanted to do was kiss him only he suddenly went, "OH MY GOD THERE'S A POWER RANGER IN THE WINDOW!" And sure enough there was a life-size model of a red Power Ranger in one of the windows above us. It was terrifying.
And later we saw Orlando Bloom coming out of the theatre where he's performing at the moment, and all these teenage girls shrieking and running down the road to see him.
Yesterday I went to the Poetry Library for the first time. Well, actually, I went there once years ago, but that didn't really count - this time I got a membership card and spent about three hours in there, perusing all the books and magazines. And drooling. I got out two books from Christopher Logue's War Music series (Kings and The Husbands) and The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck and Errata by Michael Donaghy. The trip was only spoilt a bit because at one point I was standing there reading Vicki Feaver and had so much pain in the back area I actually felt faint, and had to go and sit down for a bit.
This means I have eight books to read before going to Moscow next week, although I think it can now be safely said that I'm not going to read Caesar by the end of this summer. I tried to find some more interesting bits I could just skim through - like the death of Pompey in The Civil War - and even that was boring. It's just not going to happen. Sigh. I'm a bad classicist.
I did, however, read Harry Potter earlier this week - Harriet leant it to me after I went round to her house on Monday to see her new kittens. I only have this to say:
a) Not exactly bed-time story material for small children, is it?
b) That was quite a finale.
c) 9-year-old Snape, bless his little cotton socks.
d) I LIKED the big twist. Oh yes.
e) But the epilogue was lame.
"Sorry?"
"Yes, growing pains. There's nothing really you can do. Cartilage, you see, it should harden and resolve itself by the time you're about nineteen or so."
"Nineteen."
"Yes."
"Sorry, just...sorry. NINETEEN???"
So that's that. Apparently I'm supposed to just adopt a policy of Ignoring It, while at the same time avoiding things which "aggravate" the poor ickle pathetic knee. What a conundrum. Meanwhile, a few muscles in my back have been talking amongst themselves and decided that, "Hey, you know what Annie could really do with now? You know what's missing in her life? A nice bit of back pain!" Only it's not just a bit. It's the worst back pain I've ever had. It makes the Great Back Pain of Summer 2006 seem like a little bruise, and to be honest I'm really scared about this, it's never been like this before. I spent most of Wednesday pacing up and down the living room, rubbing my spine and sobbing. Not good.
I then went for a furious swim that was actually powered by sheer rage ("You want pain, you stupid, useless, good-for-nothing muscles? HERE! HERE'S - SOME - MORE - BLOODY - PAIN!" Just to clarify, I wasn't actually saying this aloud. For one thing it would be quite hard to do while swimming.) Anyway, the parents have decided that when I'm in Moscow the week after next I should go and see their old friend from uni, who is now a doctor specialising in this kind of crap. It's quite weird because his nickname at uni was apparently Socrates (I don't know why), and so my parents keep saying things like, "Yes, make sure you tell Socrates about the orthotics" and "Socrates will know what this is about, he was always good with legs" and I get really confused for a second.
Anyway. Let's not dwell on this or I'll start panicking again and panicking will lead to more pacing and tears. On Tuesday I took Dom to Open Mic - he used to write poetry, ages ago, but then stopped due to writer's block/lack of confidence/whatever and I kept trying to make him start writing again and he kept refusing. Anyway, so we went to Open Mic, and it was really good - I didn't read anything because I have nothing to read, but there were quite a lot of regulars and familiar faces, including a South African woman who we saw last time, who read these amazing poems that were like half-song half-spoken word. And one guy read a poem that contained the immortal line, "My arse wept for the Lord God Almighty." (It was about porn.) The only bad bit was when some guy was reading this weird poem and occasionally stopping to say stuff like, "Are there any IMMIGRANTS in the audience?" and "Any BLACKS or SLAVS?" Then when he sat down someone at the back called out, "Are there any vaguely provocative fascists in the audience?" and the room went kind of quiet. Fortunately Niall said something like, "God, can you feel the LOVE in this room??" and made a joke and the subject was swiftly changed. Apart from that, it was a great night.
And afterwards when we were walking down Betterton Street, Dom said he really really liked it, and he EVEN said that he might start writing poems again, and at that point I was so happy all I wanted to do was kiss him only he suddenly went, "OH MY GOD THERE'S A POWER RANGER IN THE WINDOW!" And sure enough there was a life-size model of a red Power Ranger in one of the windows above us. It was terrifying.
And later we saw Orlando Bloom coming out of the theatre where he's performing at the moment, and all these teenage girls shrieking and running down the road to see him.
Yesterday I went to the Poetry Library for the first time. Well, actually, I went there once years ago, but that didn't really count - this time I got a membership card and spent about three hours in there, perusing all the books and magazines. And drooling. I got out two books from Christopher Logue's War Music series (Kings and The Husbands) and The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck and Errata by Michael Donaghy. The trip was only spoilt a bit because at one point I was standing there reading Vicki Feaver and had so much pain in the back area I actually felt faint, and had to go and sit down for a bit.
This means I have eight books to read before going to Moscow next week, although I think it can now be safely said that I'm not going to read Caesar by the end of this summer. I tried to find some more interesting bits I could just skim through - like the death of Pompey in The Civil War - and even that was boring. It's just not going to happen. Sigh. I'm a bad classicist.
I did, however, read Harry Potter earlier this week - Harriet leant it to me after I went round to her house on Monday to see her new kittens. I only have this to say:
a) Not exactly bed-time story material for small children, is it?
b) That was quite a finale.
c) 9-year-old Snape, bless his little cotton socks.
d) I LIKED the big twist. Oh yes.
e) But the epilogue was lame.
Wednesday, 1 August 2007
The Shower Of Snot
I saw The Simpsons Movie yesterday, which involved a ridiculously long trek to the cinema in Greenwich just because, in Boris's opinion, "the seats are more comfortable". (Which is balls. They're very ordinary seats.) I was worried that it would be a really bad film and completely destroy my faith in the show or whatever, but actually it was good - it basically felt like watching three episodes of The Simpsons back-to-back, so that at some point I did start to feel like I'd had a bit of a Simpsons overload, but overall - highly recommended. There was a trailer before the film that was practically wetting itself over "2007 -THE SUMMER OF CINEMA!!!!!" and showing clips from films I frankly didn't want to watch. Shrek 3? Transformers? John Travolta as a woman? Hmm.
It was very very hot yesterday, so everything felt vague and dream-like. I had to guide Dom and Alex B to the cinema, since they didn't know the way and apparently had never heard of streetmap.co.uk. Sorry, I have to stop grumbling. I wasn't really sure of the way either (Greenwich is a BITCH to get to anyway) and had to concentrate quite hard to try and remember where it was we were meant to be going, which meant that I was walking in front scratching my head and going, "Er, right...Westcombe Hill...that's...familiar...BLACKWALL TUNNEL!!...YES!!!..OK..." while they argued about something behind me. Alex B has written a new novel. THE HORROR, THE HORROR. It's not nice to slag off people's efforts, and I do like Alex although he's not exactly my closest friend, and it's good that he's creative and he doesn't just play violent video games or spend his time happy-slapping people or whatever, but...I've read his first one...Well, when someone takes basically ALL their inspiration from fantasy novels, manga and Greek mythology, I think the result can only be either absolutely amazing or terrible. And this...this is not amazing.
Anyway, he says he's now working on a trilogy about the Trojan war. He's prolific, at least.
Nothing much else to report. Seeing Dom a lot. His postcard from Cyprus just never came; we think it might have gone to Estonia instead of England. Also, Immy is moving out of her house, having finally had enough of her egotistical wanker of a dad. She seems pretty chirpy about it - from everything she's told us, the past few years of living with him and his crazy girlfriend have been awful, and she's going to live with her mum. I almost had a heart attack when I heard this because her mum lives in Milton Keynes, but then she told me they're getting a flat in Honor Oak which is practically next door to the school, so that's OK.
This is yet another example of how Everything Lately Has Been Changing.
Dad has come back from Russia, but my brother is still there, at my grandparents' dacha. Until this year, the dacha had no shower, and we basically had to wash about once a week out of a tub (primitive living, it's what the Russian countryside's all about). This summer, however, my grandad decided to build a brand spanking new shower; he made it his Big Project, and built a really sturdy shower which he then painted a brilliant white, all in time for Misha's arrival.
On Misha's second morning at the dacha, he got up very early, went exploring around the house, and found a tin of green paint.
The shower now apparently looks like it's been splattered with giant snot. My grandad is actually devastated.
It was very very hot yesterday, so everything felt vague and dream-like. I had to guide Dom and Alex B to the cinema, since they didn't know the way and apparently had never heard of streetmap.co.uk. Sorry, I have to stop grumbling. I wasn't really sure of the way either (Greenwich is a BITCH to get to anyway) and had to concentrate quite hard to try and remember where it was we were meant to be going, which meant that I was walking in front scratching my head and going, "Er, right...Westcombe Hill...that's...familiar...BLACKWALL TUNNEL!!...YES!!!..OK..." while they argued about something behind me. Alex B has written a new novel. THE HORROR, THE HORROR. It's not nice to slag off people's efforts, and I do like Alex although he's not exactly my closest friend, and it's good that he's creative and he doesn't just play violent video games or spend his time happy-slapping people or whatever, but...I've read his first one...Well, when someone takes basically ALL their inspiration from fantasy novels, manga and Greek mythology, I think the result can only be either absolutely amazing or terrible. And this...this is not amazing.
Anyway, he says he's now working on a trilogy about the Trojan war. He's prolific, at least.
Nothing much else to report. Seeing Dom a lot. His postcard from Cyprus just never came; we think it might have gone to Estonia instead of England. Also, Immy is moving out of her house, having finally had enough of her egotistical wanker of a dad. She seems pretty chirpy about it - from everything she's told us, the past few years of living with him and his crazy girlfriend have been awful, and she's going to live with her mum. I almost had a heart attack when I heard this because her mum lives in Milton Keynes, but then she told me they're getting a flat in Honor Oak which is practically next door to the school, so that's OK.
This is yet another example of how Everything Lately Has Been Changing.
Dad has come back from Russia, but my brother is still there, at my grandparents' dacha. Until this year, the dacha had no shower, and we basically had to wash about once a week out of a tub (primitive living, it's what the Russian countryside's all about). This summer, however, my grandad decided to build a brand spanking new shower; he made it his Big Project, and built a really sturdy shower which he then painted a brilliant white, all in time for Misha's arrival.
On Misha's second morning at the dacha, he got up very early, went exploring around the house, and found a tin of green paint.
The shower now apparently looks like it's been splattered with giant snot. My grandad is actually devastated.
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