It has been a year now since I first started this blog. A year of endless rambling about my life, with the occasional interesting thought thrown in. I’m using this fact as an excuse for not having blogged in over a month. If I can come up with a better excuse, I will let you know. Right now I am still in a state of internal conflict regarding whether I have a winter birthday or a spring birthday. March 17th is at that weird, transitional stage in the year when the weather can’t decide which season it is. And I am digressing…
This month has not been without excitement. For a start, I am now 21. Being the raving party animal that I am, I celebrated by having a night out at the pub, having a drink with a shot and hitting the town. And by that I mean having dinner at Wetherspoons the weekend before and having a caramel-shot hot chocolate and a sudden Journalism assessment on the day. Yes, I can liken an assessment to “hitting the town.” My Practical Journalism lecturer announced that he had something “fun” planned for us. I have learnt from a very young age that when authoritative types use words like “fun” or “treat”, a sense of dread and foreboding is rarely unfounded.
And so it was that I had to go into town, come back with several news stories and write them up, in less than two hours. Anxiety induced nausea and sweat are not ideal birthday presents. Thankfully my actual birthday presents more than made up for it, with me being up to my neck in chocolate, a handmade scarf courtesy of Hannah (see January 31) and even an airer for next year.
Uni, meanwhile, continues to be one long joyride of assessments, writing and more published Demon articles. Only a week before my birthday, I had to read my “What the media told me” poem out loud in front of the rest of the lecture group. Yes, that was marginally better than the alternative of doing it on my birthday while my pulse was still calming down after my assessment. No, it’s not a good idea to read to an audience when a virus has robbed you of your voice.
Turning 21 has not been the only major event this month. Basil, who is insanity in feline form, has spent the past few months wreaking havoc, namely by peeing everywhere he shouldn’t, bullying the other cats, scratching and biting unpredictably and acting far more disturbed than he ever was living with Grannie. So we only went and contacted Vicky Halls, famous cat behaviourist whose books and signed photo I own, to come and look at him. Mum and I may have come across as slightly star struck at first, but her visit gave us some useful insights into his behaviour namely: He is a disturbed cat living in the wrong environment. It has also thrust a troubling decision upon us: do we rehome him? More on that when the outcome is clear.