Shit just got montREAL.

So, five weeks today, I've somehow got to leave the family that I have spent everyday of the last twenty years with at Glasgow Airport, make it to Heathrow, the busiest airport on the globe and then fly to Montreal, Canada, a country I've never been to before in my life and on top of all that somehow,  mature and learn how to become a responsible adult during a seven hour flight.

Forgive my scepticism but even I have no faith in myself.

The thing, is when people ask for my advice, I will gladly give it and generally, I'm quite good at it. I like to help people. But I have a confession to make. It's all bullshit. I make all this stuff up. I don't have a clue and now, I'm paying for it, like a metaphorical Peter who cried wolf (or something). And this is not about believing in yourself, oh no, this is about knowing your limitations. And I have many.

When I was in school and people would say, 'Oh I'd love to go on exchange, that is my thing', I was the person who was convinced she would never want to do that sort of thing because that ain't my thing. Now look where I am. Why did I choose this course?

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful for this amazing opportunity, I appreciate what it will do for me and I know that there's a 95% chance I'll get there and never want to leave but I'm a home bird. I like my creature comforts and I like familiarity. I'm not an adventurer or an explorer. Unfortunately, the one trait I inherited from my mother was the capacity to think of the worst case scenario of everything and stress. Lots of stress. MAHOOSIVE AMOUNTS OF STRESS. Am I allowed to worry about these things or am I just being silly? I can't tell.

However, I will digress from the anxiety attacks for a moment to share with you all, possibly the most absurd and disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

www.greatwallofvagina.co.uk

The first impressions formulating in your mind when you read that link are probably correct. This guy makes plaster casts of woman's vaginas to celebrate diversity and prove to women that all vaginas are different and you shouldn't be ashamed of your own. Personally, I think you've got too much time on your hands if you are worried about that sort of thing.

On the whole, I don't really mind the actual idea. I guess it could empower a very small minority but seriously, SELLING THE STUFF? I do not want to walk into a house that has casts of vagina just hanging on the wall, minding its own business. And I'm not a prude, I just think it's really strange. Especially, the gold cast one... 

Also, I wish to point out I don't actively seek these things out, I found it in Closer or something (Problem page FTW).

A Scottish Educational Haunting...

Not much has been happening here. In fact, I spend half of my blogs explaining my absence (this must stop).

The past month has been a... revelation of sorts. I think third year has arrived with a metaphorical kick up the arse because I have never felt so crumpled by the work pile before in my life. And then coupled with 'Canadia' stress (It was christened Canadia by Devon) and now honours entrance, I'm drowning. And I believe I'm drowning in 'Real Life'. God, does growing older ever stop getting worse?

As it is the penultimate year of my degree (what?), I have decided I'm going to take a bash at getting an internship for next summer. Now, I can't lie, I doubt very much I'll make it past the application process in most of them for two reasons.

1. Very little Proof that I will attain a 2:1 degree - Which is a pointless thing anyway. How can you employ someone on the basis that they MIGHT get a 2:1 degree? You might get someone who does and then goes into Honours year and falls flat on their face. Conversely, you might get someone who decides they are going to work their booty off in fourth year despite the fact their grades were substandard in second year (Aka, moi).

2. Maths test - I had to do a maths test on the very first one. Given enough time, I can work something out but I was given sixteen questions and eight minutes to do it. I don't like pressure. And then I ran out of time. I cannot believe, after two years at University that mathematics are still haunting me. It's like a slap in the face everytime. I hated maths and I still hate it and you wouldn't be asked to answer a complex maths question in a minute in the workplace. No. It just plain sucks.

So yeah, rant over.

Stetsons, Flying Cars and Guy Martin

Right Now: 'Power & Control' - Marina and the Diamonds

I just want to start this blog entry off by stating how addicted I am to 'Temple Run'. I appreciate that the craze of collecting coins and sliding under trees is a ship that has long since sailed but due to the fact that I have only recently purchased an Apple product capable of running it, I am still in the thrall of my obsession. Also, I would like to point out that the 'Brave' version of it, whilst obviously marketed to younger users is about a thousand times harder than the original and I'm really struggling to get above a million. Humph.

Now that I have wrote about my latest pathetic excitement, I want to talk about 'Dallas', the continuation of the classic 80's TV programme, which has been rebooted and is now showing on Channel 5 (I sound like an advertisement...). Naturally, with it coming from such an esteemed (in my correct opinion) era, I just had to watch it and I've just completed the second episode. Not that it's a problem but everytime I watch it, I immediately get a desire to become an oil baron. The amount of money these people have is astonishing, driving in their fast cars and looking good in knee-high boots and Stetsons (which is not a look most people can pull off). Plus, the weather always seems to be sunny and the men are, to be frank, 'mighty fine'.

As you can see, the above pictures are rather self explanatory.

But, in all seriousness, I am genuinely enjoying it. I rarely watch TV programmes because I dislike having to be in front of the television at a certain time of week to watch something (AKA, Fuck the System). Additionally, I have a mortal hatred of watching things with other people. Either something embarrassing happens like a sex scene which casts the shadow of awkwardness over us all or I can't hear because someone is yapping away. So thumbs up for 5 on Demand for allowing me to watch it from the comfort and isolation of my laptop when everyone else has gone to bed. And there you have it. I'm going to admit that I'm a 'Dallas' fan even though there is a big risk that I'll get slagged for it. And yes, before you ask, I am a seventy year old woman, what of it?

Moving swiftly on, I was thinking whilst playing Temple Run that we, as a planet, are really slow on the technology front. In fact, I would go as far to describe it as painfully slow. If you go back sixty years and look at all the films that were being made at that time, most of them depicted this point in the future to have massive skyscrapers which stretched far into the clouds, flying cars driven by robots and other cool stuff. But where is all this cool stuff I hear you ask? Nowhere. That's where.

Honestly, I feel the question of "Why can't I teleport to work instead of paying £4 to get a bus?" is a valid point that must be brought to someone's attention really soon. I mean, companies like Apple, who have spent years developing the iPhone 5, just for it to have a bigger screen should concentrate less on making Siri tell bad jokes and concentrate more on developing a way of getting a pizza delivery to come out of my television. Because I sure as hell would buy that television. I think I may have to pursue this venture when I graduate so watch this space...

Finally, I have a new yet, unattainable man in my life. I watched 'TT: Closer to the Edge' last night after I had watched 'Senna' for the one millionth time (if you haven't seen it, you must, it's fantastic) and I was blown away. I used to think Formula One was a dangerous sport but compared to the TT, it's like a pillow fight. These men are going down windy, country roads at 200 miles per hour on motorbikes. I don't even know where to begin, apart from the fact that I was frightened to watch half the time.

But, whilst watching the film through my hands, I did manage to develop a love for one of the racers, Guy Martin, who I can only describe as the 'Ultimate Lad'. Clearly having absolutely no shame, he candidly admits in front of the camera his night time routine of having a wank before settling down for his kip and proclaiming his hatred for the word 'Unbelievable', which should only be used if 'a man eats his own head'. Not that I find that kind of thing attractive, I think it's more his face. And his hair. He has truly epic hair.

Hiyaz.

Now that I have finished watching these two very similar but oh so different films, I need to find something similar to keep myself satisfied. Watching these documentaries has just reinforced my dream to get a career in Formula One. And maybe, just maybe, I could marry someone as good looking as Guy Martin. If not, I could always fall back on the Oil Baron thing I suppose. I mean, drilling for oil, how hard can it be?