Notes from a gap year

And so, I come to the end of two years in York. Well, fuck - that's a bit mad, isn't it? I will soon be leaving for pastures new (well, Sheffield), and it's fair to say this has been an eventful couple of years. Good and bad, I've learnt phenomenal amounts (about linguistics and about myself) and had some utterly, utterly glorious times.

This year in particular has been busier than I thought possible, juggling five part-times jobs and PhD applications, but being someone who doesn't function unless they're late for five things at once, it's been bloody great. I've spent most of the year responding to "So what do you do?" with "Well, it's complicated..." -- so what have I actually been up to this year, and what am I taking away from it all? Glad you asked...

Do ALL THE JOBS!

Job #1 - Project Officer for the Temporal Co-ordination in Communication project
What? My main source of income this year, I was lucky enough to snag a research assistant job at York Uni almost immediately after graduating. Working under Dr Richard Ogden in partnership with some talented musical folk at Cambridge University, we set out to investigate whether rhythmicity in speech (and music) was shared between conversational participants, and whether this could be seen in their intonation patterns or physical gesture.
No really, what? I spent the year analysing the speech and movements of pairs of speakers as they chatted, played games, and made music. It was super rad.

Lessons learnt
- Analysing people's video-captured eyebrow movements in great detail makes you hyper-aware of eyebrow movements in real life. Related: people get uncomfortable when you stare at their eyebrows.
- If you pause a video at the right moment, any two people can look like they're in love. Or like they want to kill each other.
- Some cliches are true, and sometimes people are so posh that you literally can't understand what they're saying. One gent was talking at length about "rang" and I swear to God it took me about three minutes to figure out he was talking about "rowing".
- There is little more painful than having to watch two non-musicians try to make music for fifteen minutes.
- High quality audio recordings are a gift. The sound of a person smacking their lips or hocking up phlegm directly down your headphones is not.

Job #2 - Vowel analysis for the Scilly Voices project (University of Sheffield)
What? Dr Emma Moore is looking into language variation and change on the Isles of Scilly. I leant a hand by listening to old archive footage of Scillonians born at the turn of the century and delimiting, labelling and coding certain vowel sounds.
No really, what? I listening to charming old folks talking about island life and marked up whenever they said a vowel that rhymes with the one in 'mouth'.

Lessons learnt
- Never underestimate how long it will take to get through a 75 minute recording. (For the record, eight hours.)
- All Praat and no play makes Hannah something something. (Go crazy? DON'T MIND IF I DO! etc.)
- It's very easy to get invested in the lives of interviewees, particularly if they saved someone from drowning and/or their dad beat up the headmaster of their school for caning them. (Both the same guy!)

Job #3 - Data monkey for the Surrey Syncretism Database project
What? The University of Surrey, along with its compatriots, is compiling an online resource that gives academics access to an easily-searchable database of languages, in order to display and investigate syncretism (when a language has the same marking for different features).
No really, what? I unpacked reports about complex languages and turned them into shiny, organised spreadsheets to pop into the database.

Lessons learnt
- Kashmiri is a fucking complex language.
- Excel spreadsheets and complex language paradigms are made approximately 67% more fun when you colour code them while listening to loud pop music.
- Accidentally ctrl+Cing when you mean to ctrl+P is akin to a papercut, in that it is a minor annoyance that causes ridiculous amounts of strife.

Job #4 - copywriter/subeditor for publicservice.co.uk and defencemanagement.com
What? These guys compile public sector information journals, commissioning and creating content and distributing it. I worked here for a year between my BA and MA, and they kindly kept me on freelance.
No really, what? I write stuff, and nitpick stuff that other people write.

- Anybody who talks excitedly and with passion for their field makes for a charming interviewee, and the article subsequently writes itself.
- It's possible to get super-invested in something you had no idea you were interested in, so much so that you exceed the word count by nearly half; in my case, military medals, and how they're made and awarded.

Job #5 - copywriter/content provider for various sites, through a centralised pool of writers
What? I wrote blog posts, articles, product descriptions and suchlike for a bunch of websites.
No really, what? Seriously?

Lessons learnt
- There's only so much bullshitting one can do. And you can't bullshit your way through an article about institutional insolvency in Europe when you have less than no idea what you're writing about.
- Fluff pieces about Kate Middleton's holiday plans and the best-dressed celebrity mums are alarmingly easy to churn out, but doing so kiiiind of makes you want to kill yourself.
- Never underestimate a word count. Sometimes, 450 words can seem like thousands.

York livin'
Having lived in this glorious city for two whole years, I am obviously the foremost influence about the places to be in York. HA! No. But still, I love this city dearly, so if you ever find yourself visiting or living here, these are my recommendations.

• Go to the Minster. Yes, I know, duh, but it's easy to forget that your home plays host to one of the most staggering pieces of architecture and history in the country. Even if you're not religious, go to Evensong or the Christmas carol service - it's beautiful. If you can, explore the crypt and the tower - it's worth the money. At the very least, go inside and look up. Take a deep breath, and take in the ceilings. Incredible.
• Visit National Railway Museum. All of York's museums are great, but this is my favourite by far. Its free, for a start, and is a brilliant celebration of man-power and industrial endeavour. Huge and sprawling, it makes you feel like a child, and walking through the room full of mish-mash railway memorabilia and accessories is like a historical jumble sale. It's a fantastic museum that needs and deserves saving.
• Walk up the river, from Skeldergate bridge. Either side - down the cycle path or through Rowntree Park. Both are gorgeous.
• Cycle the solar system route, particularly if it's a sunny day. It's super easy to do because it's 99% flat, you take in some gorgeous countryside, and when you get back you can say that you CYCLED AROUND THE UNIVERSE.
• Get a huge, ridiculous ice-cream sundae from Licc. Hands down the best ice-cream I've ever had, and comes in a ridonkulous number of flavours. One time, I had a sundae that was cinder toffee, caramac and salted caramel, and it's probably the closest I've come to passing out in an eatery because the food was so good.
• Bishopthorpe Road is where it's at. The Pig and Pastry is a delightful and friendly café whose eggs royale are to die for; Pextons is a proper old hardware store which has everything you could ever need; and Millie's greengrocer is cheap and brilliant (and one time they gave me a free Milky Way). The whole street is just a lovely, mutually-supportive group of independent shops, and it's lovely.
• Go to the Mason's Arms on Fishergate, whether it's for food (their portions are huge!), drinks (lovely, cosy atmosphere and a host of ever-changing local beers), or the Wednesday quiz (SUPER fun, and free food!). The staff are impossibly lovely and kind, and the food is stellar.

Life, the Universe, and everything in it

This has been A Year. Good, bad, bonkers, awful, exciting, terrifying, all of that business and more. I learned many Important Life Lessons, and much as I might not have wanted to, I'm very glad I did.

- It is, apparently, entirely possible to simultaneously have not enough and too much to do. It's very easy to get to the point of "well, I have so much to get done that I might as well just curl up under my duvet and watch Doctor Who again".
- I have the attention span of a gnat, and I need to work on that.
- You're never too old for boybands.
- What you think is 'right person, wrong time' may actually just amount to 'wrong person, full stop'.
- I have loved living with guys, but when they start peeing with the door open, you start to need female company. I've mainly lived with girls in the past, but living my best New Girl life with four male housemates this year has been absolutely brilliant, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world.
- You can't fix people who don't want to be fixed.
- It's tough when your closest friends aren't geographically close, but that's doesn't mean you're alone.

The number of people who asked after the family before/after dad's op, and who congratulated me on getting PhD funding, was staggering. There's been times this year where I felt like I had nobody, but I was wrong. I was just focussed on the people who weren't there, rather than the ones who were. Thank you, everyone.

My time in York has been enhanced and rescued by some wonderful, wonderful friends. I'm afraid the rest of this blog post will be horrendously sappy and overemotional. But, you guys are reading this, and it's ME - what else did you expect?

THE ARCHAEOLOGISTS

I was lucky enough to be warmly welcomed by the Archaeology/Cultural Heritage Management gang last year, and they're about as lovely and fun a crowd of people you could hope to meet. I also learnt a staggering amount from them all - it's a diverse and fascinating subject, and I'm very glad they just let me sit there and ask inane questions about it for hours on end.

THE ECONOMISTS

This year's Archaeologists (i.e. the group of people who allowed me to tag along with them all year) were the Economists, who are also a properly fantastic bunch. Admittedly, I asked fewer probing questions, because the idea of Economics makes me brain bleed, but they were just as interesting regardless.

THE BISHY ROAD LADIES

Coming to York, I didn't know anybody. I luckily managed to snag a room in a house with three girls through a friend of theirs, and arranged to meet my new housemates a few weeks before. Within about four seconds I though "these are my people", and they made the transition to York a wonderful one. Fun, sweet and just as nerdy as me (if not more), I can't think of people I'd rather scream at the television with.

LINGUIST LADIES

Linguistics tends to be a female-heavy course, and the MA programmes last year felt a bit like an awesome girlband, minus the dance moves (well, most of the time). We cried on each other about dissertations, bitched about professors and danced off all the stresses of the year. Each and every one of them is a beautiful brainbox, and I'm so glad we got to chuck our hats in the air together.

ALI AND BRI

(I should note that I've already started crying by this point.)

A dreadlocked South African, bespectacled Californian and a bright-tights clad Brit walk in to a bar and order some flavoured cider. They then proceed to talk animatedly in pop-culture quotes and Internet memes while flailing their arms about and intermittently singing and dancing. They alienate the rest of the bar, but build a friendship for life. God, I miss these girls every day, but I know for certain I will see them again as frequently as the oceans allow.

MISCELLANEOUS BESTIES

Yeah, I was doing really well at categorising groups of people, until I got to this point. Friends, friends of friends, housemates of friends, friends I watched a lot of football with, friends whose weddings I happily attended, friends I did pub quizzes with, friends who marathoned tv shows with me, friends I watched on television, friends I attempted to swim in the North Sea with but quickly bailed because it was too damn cold. God, I love you all.

GRAY STREET MASSIVE

We've had lots of people in and out of the house this year, but the five of us have had a cracking time. We've enjoyed/endured Ross' eclectic music tastes, we've cared for DJ Boot in his invalid state, we've eaten A LOT of banana cake, and while two of our number are currently gracing Thailand and Belize with their presence, it's been a bloody brilliant house to live in all year.

ROSSINGTON

We found Ross on the Internet when looking for a housemate, so he could have been anything: an axe-murderer, a kleptomaniac, a Tory. But I thank my lucky stars every day that he was Ross - a hilarious, charming, caring and generous guy who honest to god lights up any room he's in. I wouldn't have got through this year without him looking out for, entertaining and challenging me. He's like my big brother - very occasionally I want to tear the Avril Lavigne singlet off his shoulders, but I wouldn't be without him for the world.

***

Right, I've cried enough writing this. On to pastures new, taking incredible friends and important experiences with me. So long, York. It's been real.

End of year 2012 -- feelings and joy

So, 2012, in many ways, has been an absolute shitter. Like, the worst. 2012 can basically go and fuck itself, all told. HOWEVER, I really don't want the crappy parts of the year to be the things that stay with me, as there was a huge amount of joy too, and I'm still incredibly lucky. I learned a lot, had some brilliant adventures, and generally enthused about a lot of stuff. And so, to finish the year in the only way I know how: a sentimental blog post about the things that were great about 2012.

My family
For obvious reasons, it's been a really tough year for the Leaches. But it's important to take good things from bad situations, and if there's anything I've learnt from all this shite, it's how to properly appreciate my incredible family. I know they say you can't choose your family, but even if I could, I would absolutely pick mine again and again. They strong and smart and fun, supportive and sweet and ridiculous, and the most wonderful stone cold pack of weirdos I could ever hope to ever share my DNA with. It shouldn't take family disasters to make you realise how much your parents and siblings mean to you, but I'll take it.

Pop music
I don't have a particularly 'cool' taste in music and never have, but 2012 was the year I finally, properly said 'balls to that' and decided that I don't give a shit any more. There's a longer, more ridiculous blog post in the offing on this topic, but in short, I could not care less that I love pop music. McFly are one of my favourite bands. Call Me Maybe is one of the best songs of the year*. One Direction's album is pretty damn excellent. Stuff it all - I'm a teenie bopper for life and I care naught for judgement. (Ohhh, you just wait for my soundtrack of the year. Consider yourselves warned.)

One thing pop music is good for is remembering that somewhere inside us is the potential for unvanquishable joy." — John Darnielle

The Olympic and Paralympic Games
I didn't really have anything above normal Olympics-based excitement before it all kicked off, but as soon as I watched that magnificent, barmy showstopper of an opening ceremony I was hooked, and swept away on a tidal wave of sexy patriotism and crying over medal ceremonies. The celebration of working class Britain, the of endless dedication to a cause, of sportspeople not swathed in scandal and corruption. Wiggo's sideburns, Rutherford's fingers, Farah's Mobot and a veritable army of fierce, fantastic ladies doing themselves, their families, and the nation proud. It was a summer of staggering world achievement, Britain in the spotlight and a kind of enthusiasm and community spirit that's been in decline lately.

image source

I'm going to attempt a brief top-five Olympics highlights, but it's really just five brilliant Olympics moments off the top of my head and there are probably a million I've forgotten. But anyway:

1. PAPA LE CLOS
2. Tom Daley's medal celebration
3. Epke Zonderland's bonkers-incredible high bar routine
4. Mo Farah doing the lightning bolt, and Usain Bolt doing the Mobot
5. Obama and McKayla Maroney doing the 'not impressed' face

Also, the Olympics brought us the joys of Ryan Lochte's twitter and general existence, which I will never not find entirely hilarious. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE GARDENS.

Stoke-based epiphanies
Better explained in this waffly business here, it's been wonderful to find a kind of purpose for my academic future. I want to analyse the shit out of Stokie speakers, their accents, how their speech is entwined with their cultural history, and I want to do it forever and ever amen.

Thinking about things
As has been evidenced in a fair few ranty blog posts, this year has been one for me having feelings about things and issues and serious business stuff. Well, I always have feelings about things, but 2012 has been a year for paying attention to what people are saying and writing, learning from them and trying to take it on board, as well as trying to speak up when I feel the need. The Internet is full of informed, sensible, tolerant and smart people, and I can't even begin to list the articles which have made a difference to my opinons about a wide range of topics. I hope 2013 continues the trend of reading everything, evaluating my beliefs and opinions, and trying not to be a dick.

Colours!
It's an odd one, but those of you who know me will know I have the fashion sense of a colourblind clown, aka. ALL THE COLOURS ALL THE TIME. This has...escalated this year, and my cornea-burning fashion sense has gotten more and more ridiculous. And I love it. I honestly don't feel myself when I'm not wearing some kind of obscene colour combination. It's actually gotten to the point where excellent friends will tweet/text me when they're wearing a particularly colourful outfit and it's marvellous.

Enthusiasm
Seriously, the only thing that has got me through this monstrous year is being able to be enthusiastic about little things - a new episode of Doctor Who, a trip to the beach, a pub quiz. I'm so grateful for the fun stuff I get to do, for the opportunities I'm given, for the people I get to spend my time with. I'm a lucky bastard, all told. Thanking everyone individually would be time-consuming/self-serving/boring, so I will just go for a blanket THANK YOU to every single person in my life. I love you all. Yes, even you. And especially you.

Here's to 2013, all!

*This justification of why Call Me Maybe is the song of 2012 is absolutely brilliant. "This is what pop is for, right? A Canadian Idol refugee nobody ever heard of conquers the planet with a diabolically brilliant blast of teen lust"

Theatre awards 2012

I never see enough shows to do proper awards, with more than one contender per category, like the pros do. Instead, my theatre awards are an excercise in a) trying to remember what I saw this year, and b) ridiculousness. So here you have it - Hannah's theatre awards 2012!

The 'move, bitch, get out the way' award for scene-stealing
Usually reserved for James Garnon: scene stealer extraordinaire, he this year bequeaths it to another Glober (well, two of them, actually). I've already written at length about how much I adored The Globe's Taming of the Shrew, and there really wasn't a weak link in the cast. However, messrs Tom Godwin and Jamie Beamish snatched the focus of every scene (and a few hearts, I'll wager). The phrase 'rakish charm' could have been invented for Godwin (who you may recognise from previous starring roles), and his lanky physical comedy was an utter delight, while Beamish's outlandish, wild-eyed Tranio was hilarious to the point of hyperventilation.

Best pigeon impression
Having bought tickets for She Stoops to Conquer mostly owing to an absolute need to see the entirety of John Heffernan's ouvre, it was Harry Hadden-Paton who made the biggest impression. An absolute master of preposterous posturing and peacocking, his Marlow was nothing short of glorious, and made it more than worth seeing twice more. He has since been known as Harry Hadden-Pigeon, with good reason.

Most adorable corpsing
Of course, I couldn't shun The Heff from these awards, deservable of his own mention as he always is. This year, his tender yet bawdy Hastings in She Stoops was a delight, but it was the last-night corpsing that I remember with most affection. Was a person ever so charmingly pelted with orange peel? I think not.

Aforeawarded Hadden-Pigeon and Heff (from Harry's twitter)

The 'ahhhh, push it' award for most swagtastic dance moves
Myself and the cohorts with whom I most often attend the theatre share a fondness for background acting, and thus frequently leave shows more in love with minor characters, supernumeraries and orchestra members than the leads themselves. Taming of the Shrew was no exception, with several excellent background actors working their best adorable reaction faces. We were particularly enamoured by Robert Heard's booty wiggle during The Cuckoo's Nest song - both for its extreme adorability, and it's merits as a warming device when watching an outdoor play in the cold.

Best incorporation of a capella renditions of pop songs
Posh was rightly raved about, and having missed out on seeing it the first time, I was super excited to see this year's cast -- having lost Harry H-P to She Stoops, I still got to see Tiny Hamlet (Joshua Maguire), Tom Mison and Leo Bill, so I was on board. It absolutely loved it - full of bile and pomposity, it was an exaggerated yet unsettling look at entitlement and poisonousness in the upper classes. And, aside from all that, it has a capella renditions of Sexy and I Know It. Tiny Hamlet sang at me at one point. It was a good moment.

Favourite returning characters
If you've met me, chances are I've mentioned The Globe's touring production of As You Like It from 2011. Because of how it is the best play I've ever seen. The show was revived this year, replacing its two leads and choice others, but retaining a good half of the cast. I was a tad sceptical, knowing how much I loved the ensemble as a whole last time, but was very pleased to see the new cast were just as dynamic, quick and tight as the original. I was charmed by new additions Deirdre Mullins and Will Mannering, but it was a particular treat to be able to see Will Oxborrow, Emma Pallant, Beth Park and John O'Mahony reprise the roles I so loved them in the first time.

Favourite nicknaming happenstance
Upon finding out that Will Featherstone - our background favourite of choice from The Globe's 2011 season - had landed the role of Orlando in 2012's As You Like It, my best girl Emma and I subsequently flipped out. A lot. Frantically discussing the dreamy prospect of a Northern Orlando, I decided that he should henceforth be known as Geordlando. As became tradition with the Tiny Hamlet Saga of 2011, songs were writ, tweets were twote, and poor Will was dutifully informed of our nicknamification. Even better, a fansite bearing the name appeared, the phantom owner of which is yet to be revealed (though we have our suspicions). Geordlando himself was a gorgeous, goofy, TALL delight to behold, and I can only hope and pray we haven't pissed him off too much with our stupid nicknames.

Geordlando and co.

The 'thanks for that, asshole' award for life-ruining playwright
Remember when Philip Ridley wrote adorable children's books I loved, like Scribbleboy? I do. Remember when I thought seeing his plays would be a similar trip through charming storytelling? I do. Remember when it turned out that watching Ridley's raw, visceral, heartbreaking plays was like rubbing sandpaper on my heart? I DO. God this man is a marvel. I saw Shivered and Tender Napalm this year: the former actually had Emma worried I might pass out in the interval, gut-churning as it was, but I've never been gladder to have stayed thanks to its beautiful climax; while the latter saw an hour and a half of two people on stage with no props or set dressing pass in minutes, leaving me feeling like I'd barely breathed throughout. I can't describe Ridley's writing styling well enough; his words are sharp and cutting and soothing and perfect, and I would thoroughly recommend seeing any of his plays. Just take tissues.

Most pleasant surprise
Although One Man Two Guvnors was a huge sellout and monster hit, my closest theatre pals were less enthused. Their opinions being the ones I respect most, I didn't see it ... until longtime fave Ed Bennett was announced for the touring cast, and I absolutely had to. I can see why many weren't keen, but I very much enjoyed it - Bennett was predictably wonderful, tall tired frog that he is, while Rufus Hound was a surprisingly charming and adept lead. The real treat, of course, came from the music: live sixties jazz played by four guys in quiffs and burgundy suits? Yes please.

Most aptly rainsoaked
Rob and I got stellar front-row seats for York's Mystery Plays, a production of extreme scale and wonder which was deservedly raved about. (Un?)fortunately, our seats were some of the few not to be covered by the roof, and when a downpour of suitably Biblical proportions occurred, we were royally drenched - as were the poor cast. It was actually rather brilliant -- a floodlit rainstorm over a manger scene is quite, quite beautiful (shame it wasn't over the ark scene, mind). Despite it getting progressively colder and damper, the show was a joy, and the cast coped with the poor weather incredibly well. Ferdinand Kingsley's performance was something really special.

Performance of the year
You know when you see a person in a role they were born for, and when you see it a second (third, fourth...) time you can't think they can't do it any better, and yet somehow they do? This could be The Emma Pallant Story (if it had a nattier title). Her Lady Jacques in AYLI 2011 was nothing short of magnificent, and I was so excited to see her reprise the role this year. Somehow, she managed to be even better - her melancholy sharper, more biting; her snark more vivid and burning; her Seven Ages of Man speech even more heartbreaking. Seeing that, and her feather-adorned Titania in Playing Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream in March, were unnecessary yet extremely welcome reminders of Pallant's talent

Show of the year (show of my life??)
I've neglected mentioning Matilda this far, much as it could have stolen any number of these awards. I didn't think anything could pip AYLI 2011 from the top spot on my 'favourite productions ever' list (and it's extremely close, as that show has incredible memories for me), but the sheer range and intensity of emotion I felt while seeing Matilda has catapulted it to the top of the list.

Rob had sent me the soundtrack early in the year, and I was instantly in love. Tim Minchin's playful, whip-smart melodies and frantic piano were the perfect accompaniment to Dahl's suprisingly dark story, tugging both hilarity and raw emotion from the plot. The mischievous tip-toeing of Naughty, the swell of children's voices in When I Grow Up, the utter beauty of Quiet - I listened to the soundtrack on loop for weeks and learned every word. I was honestly a bit nervous it wouldn't live up to my expectations when I finally saw it.

I needn't have worried a jot. It was a magical, charming, hilarious, heartbreaking, overwhelming theatre experience that filled me with more joy and exuberance than I could have ever hoped. The vivid set, the childlike yet kick-ass choreoraphy, Bertie Carvel's magnificent Trunchbull. Oh god, I could wax lyrical about it forever, and this is already getting away from me, so I'll stop. It was a wonder, and if you get a chance to see it I implore you: go, and feel what it's like to be a child again.

And one extra award: The 'LOVE YOU' award for tip-top friends and theatre cohorts
Though the stigma is waning a little, having Internet friends is still seen as a bit odd. I just want to put people who roll their eyes in a room with my web-based pals and let them see how fantastic they all are. Then they'll see. Gabriella, Emma, Sophie, Izi and Julia have been long-term theatre buds, and I was of course grateful to spend lots of time in their company in 2012, but this year in particular belongs to Jan, Rhian and Rob. Still quite new friends of mine at the start of the year, I was lucky enough to see many shows with them, and spend a good deal of time in their company, sobbing/enthusing over various shows and people. You're all gorgeous and hilarious and I hope you know how much I love you. Thanks, guys <3

Baby's First Conference

WELL. I thought post-dissertation life would mainly involve luxuriating in front of the TV watching endless repeats of Murder She Wrote, but it turns out to be even busier than before!

Alongside PhD applications, conference abstracts, and discussing potential teaching opportunities, I have started a new job; I'm now Project Officer for the Temporal Co-ordination in Communication project run jointly by York and Cambridge universities. My role sounds far more fancypants than it actually is, but basically I am working on gesture and rhythm in speech, and analysing audio and visual data in various ways to investigate how participants negotiate communication using both their voices and bodies. It's SUPER interesting, and I'm enjoying it immensely - I learn about eight thousand new things a day, and working on an actual linguistics research project is the most amazing opportunity.

Wednesday saw my lovely bestie Becky visit Grand Old York, and we had a fabulous time getting spontaneous piercings, exploring the city and the Minster and such (I love any opportunity to go Full Tourist; despite living here for a year, it never gets boring), and kicking through bright autumn leaves like the big kids we are. Subsequently joined by Ed, we all later prepared my house for a Hallowe'en party which went off wonderfully*, with costumes ranging from the typical (ghosts, skeletons, etc.) through a-typical (Caeser, Alice Cooper), to the quite magnificent (a zom-bee, from an apiologist friend). My offering was Daphne from Scooby Doo**:

Jinkies

Following a fantastic few days (and a discombobulating trip around Illuminating York, which you honestly couldn't have thought up unless you were in some kind of trippy fever dream), a different Becky and I headed off to Manchester for the New Researchers Forum in Linguistics, where we would both be presenting our MA research.

I've never been to a conference before, let alone presented at one, so the whole experience was terrifyingly exhilarating. I learnt a staggering amount (with several of the talks being directly relevant to my work, which was incredible), met some truly wonderful people I very much hope to see again, and according to Sam, did my first conference 'properly' i.e. went out to the pub the night before giving my presentation.

My talk had run long every single time I did it, but I think the nerves of the day brought out my usual, jabbery self and I garbled my way through it just on time without missing out too many important points. Questions were helpful and not too intimidating, and people were wonderfully lovely about the whole thing. I know I have a tendency to a) ramble and b) flail about, so it's good to know people got the jist despite my ridiculousness.

Giving it my best presentation face (photo by Becky).

I think the best bit about the weekend was just being able to casually chat about, amongst other things, linguistics and language with like-minded, lovely folk who are just as keen-beany as I am. Glorious. I can see why conferences are so addictive!

One final thing that came from the weekend was a sprawling Twitter-based game of #linguistmovies, which spread into #linguistsongs, and got so fun I decided to collect everything together here - a page which will no doubt be constantly extended, as we continue to furiously procrastinate from our real work by making terrible/excellent puns. Hell yeah, linguists.

*even with the presence of a Jimmy Savile costume, despite my assurance that I wouldn't let anybody in if they were dressed up like him. Not big or clever, guys.

**I'm more of a Velma myself, but my hair is the right colour for Daph.

Taming of the Shrew, Shakespeare's Globe, 13th October 2012

Oof, I do love theatre. Next to linguistics, it is the light of my life. Compared to last summer, where I practically lived in London and overdosed on the stuff, this summer has been pitifully theatre-bare (pissing all your money away on an MA and then spending your summer writing a thesis for said MA kind of shoots any kind of recreational theatre horse right in the face*). However, I made sure to book for The Globe's closing weekend the day the tickets went on sale -- last night performances always have that something special about them, a kind of exuberant frenzy tinged with sadness from the cast and creatives, and in a theatre like The Globe, that's all the more electric.

Following a thoroughly excellent housewarming party at our new abode, I tore myself out of bed and just about managed a five-hour coach journey to London with a stonking hangover (remind me again why I continue to drink wine?), but was cured by the fresh yet biting October cold, the presence of Emma, and a little hair of the dog.

Classing it up with melon martinis

After a thorough deconstruction of the recent terrible life choices of Team Shameless, we wandered Globewards, queued for a time, and got a sweet spot thrust-left alongside Sophie, Jo, Jan, Rhian, and Rob, living proof that people you meet on the Internet are uniformly excellent.

Our first show of the weekend was The Taming of the Shrew. Though I know the text, I've never seen a production before and have heard that, pitched poorly, it can be DIRE, being one of the most problematic of Shakey's plays to transfer to a modern, enlightened audience. This production, however, overcame any and every issue with the text, resulting in a sparky, filthy, hilarious and gorgeous rendering of the play which left me giggling and delighted for the whole next day.

The onus of responsibility for pulling off a good Taming is going to rest on your leads, and Samantha Spiro and Simon Paisley-Day carried it brilliantly, fizzling with chemistry from their very first moment, and managing the tricky textual relationship between the lovers perfectly. Their Kate and Petruchio were swaggering, kinky and super hot for each other (without betraying their own integrity), and there something about a height difference that makes a Kate/Petruchio dymanic all the more delicious (see also: Rufus Sewell and Shirley Henderson in Shakespeare ReTold).

Height difference!

The 'taming' scenes, where Kate bends to Petruchio's will were played like a game, with Kate indulging her husband very knowingly - a fantastic way of interpreting the script. This Kate has always had to act up to get even the slightest bit of fair treatment, that's all she knows, and this Petruchio sees that and wants to change her for her, not his own gain. Fabulous.

(Also, Simon Paisley Day spends a goodly amount of this production in a thong-codpiece. Props to him for braving the cold, and for having some killer hipbones.)

The younger, flightier Bianca and Lucentio were adorably interpereted by Sarah MacRae and Joseph Timms; the former adding fantastic, calculated cruelness to the textually weak sister, and the latter being the most puppy-eyed, giddy-hearted sap you could hope to see. The entire supporting cast were faultless, adding tiny slivers of comedy to nearly every line and filling the stage with a cheeky exuberance which left you feeling scandalised - in a good way.

Even with such strong leads, two of the supporting roles were absolute scene-stealers. Tom Godwin's Biondello was brimming with rakish charm, twinkly-eyed asides and hilarious physical comedy. From miming the contents of a letter to book-carrying and wielding a sword, everything was executed hilariously and on-point. Jamie Beamish played a beaming (no pun intended), ridiculous Tranio whose exaggerated everything had us consistently in stitches - whenever he, Timms and Godwin shared a scene I swear my face hurt from grinning so hard.

This photo had to be embiggened, for facial expression reasons.

Special mention should also go to Pearce Quigly, whose lackadaisical, snarky Grumio was a thing of beauty, and who managed to make kicking a bucket the most spectacular joke of the night.

Throw into the mix some glorious music, typically gorgeous costuming and a beautifully tender ending and you're left with several hundred raucously cheering theatregoers. All in all, a tremendous stonker of a show with buckets of vibrancy and even more heart. The Globe at its best**.

*That metaphor kind of got away from me there.
**I do think The Globe owes me some recompense for the fact that I shall never be able to get the incredibly catchy Cuckoo's Nest song from my head, mind. However, if you've been standing for three hours watching a show, imitating supernumerary Robert Heard's brilliant 'Cuckoo's Nest Wiggle' is great for the spine.

A fortnight of firsts!

The last two weeks have been an epoch of elementary experiences (horrendously clumsy and slightly nonsensical alliteration, yeah!), all of which have been quite monumentally delightful, and so I thought a blog post was in order. I'm always up for trying new things, no matter what they may be, and you know how the saying goes - if at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not your sport.

HAGGIS
I was lucky enough to be treated to my first proper Burns supper on the 25th January. I say 'proper Burns supper' - it was a charmingly haphazard affair, orchestrated by our resident Scot (the aptly names Scott), who provided a traditional dinner and some not-so-traditional speeches. The haggis itself was delicious - very strong, and I couldn't eat much of it on its own (much nicer paired with a forkful of neeps and tatties), but peppery and warm and extremely filling. Scott did a wee speech about the enduring relevance of Burns' poetic message and his national importance, which was delightful, and us awful English types subsequently lowered the tone by reciting rude poetry about each other. A cracking night, in all.

YOGA
Last Wednesday saw my first Yoga class. I've never thought twice about it, but some friends were going, and I was looking for new opportunities for exercise, having been a little underwhelmed by the trampolining society up here. It was an absolutely brilliant workout, and I thoroughly enjoyed it - though it was bloody tough. The class was organised so the more difficult, standing postures were tackled first (many of which saw me trembling like a leaf), before the respite of sitting/lying positions. I could really feel the benefit throughout, and while I don't quite sign on to the ~finding your inner core~ namby-pamby-ness, as a strengthening and flexibility exercise, it was brilliant.

The next day, my main feelings were OW OW FUCKETY OW MY ABS WHYYYYY, but I still maintain it was a worthy use of my time.

SALSA
I am writing this in the half-hour before my second salsa class, and the fact that I'm going back for seconds should hopefully indicate how much I loved my first. It was great fun - a little socially awkward, of course, because omg we have to dance with BOYS what if we get COOTIES, etc. But after everyone had settled down, it was a fun hour of partner switching and sashaying.

I blame Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights entirely for my choosing a salsa class, and I am SO glad I did. I danced for eleven years, and didn't realise how much I'd missed it until last week - I felt a real fizz in my bones, an excitement that's been absent for the last five years, one I'm ecstatic to have back. It's a new style for me, and I'm very much looking forward to progressing with it.

edit: This is added after my second salsa class, wherein I stayed for both the beginners and advanced lessons. Oh sweet lord. It was strenuous, and very tough, but I think I managed to hold my own fairly well, despite massive dizziness - so much spinning! Highlight of the night has to be the tall Tom Burke-alike who, upon seeing my Shakespeare t-shirt, proceeded to recite Sonnet 18 as we danced. Swoon!

SHEFFIELD
I spent last weekend in the delightful company of Becky and pals in Sheffield - the main reason for the visit being to see Propeller's The Winter's Tale (which gets its own blog post, spectacular as it was), we nevertheless spent some times exploring what was, to me, a whole new city. And what a charming one it is, with its fountains and fountains and fountains (seriously, so many fountains). I did have a rather embarrassing moment wherein I spotted a restaurant called Bessemer's; I piped up with the thought that it must be named for Henry Bessemer, who invented molten steel (Sheffield being a famous steel town), and when asked how I knew such a factoid, had to respond that I learnt it from yet another Horrible Histories song. Still, at least I knew it, right?

SOUP
My lovely housemate Cath and I made soup for the first time, and naive little me was staggered by how cheap and easy it was. Ours was leek and potato, complete with homemade bread rolls, and we ate so much we could barely move. Excellent stuff.

CARD GAMES
Finally, I spent Sunday night with the superlative Bri and Ali, swapping our favourite card games. I imparted my Slam skills (and subsequently lost - I'm clearly that good a teacher), Bri showed us a collaborative solitaire-like game called Kings in the Corner, and we also played Mao. However, I have chosen to re-christen that one to Mao (Ali is mean), because Ali is MEAN. I say that, she's not actually mean, but the GAME is mean, and the game means that she has to be mean. Basically, you have to figure out the rules for yourself as play continues, and so it resulted in Ali handing me penalty card after penalty card for reasons I could not fathom while I panicked aloud and was subsequently told off for talking. However, it was brilliant fun. (But Ali is mean.)

ALSO IT SNOWED HERE! FINALLY!
If I ever wake up to a blanket of snow outside my window and don't grin like an excited seven-year-old, just shoot me, because I am already dead. Stomping home through the snow at gone midnight on Sunday meant I could happily dance about in the absence of anybody else nearby. And that I did. Glorious.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Having handed in the last of my mid-term assignments on Friday (following the aforeblogged nervous breakdown one of them induced), I thought I might get a few days of respite before the workload kicked in and I was once more flitting in and out of my house so often my housemates started to wonder whether I was merely an apparition.

I suppose, technically, I did have a break - my parents came to visit over the weekend, celebrating their anniversary up Yorkshire like and stopping in to see me on the way. Aside from being crushed in the Christmas Markets on Saturday (York town centre + weekend x Christmas = NO), we had a thoroughly enjoyable weekend watching the football, catching up on family gossip and imbibing every kind of mulled cider my delightful town centre had to offer*.

I'd kind of forgotten how good it is to spend time with them. I think being at home last year ruined me a little - I was frustrated and caged and a little bit angsty, and they felt rejected and unable to help, which made for an occasionally prickly year for all. (Don't get me wrong, I wasn't Houseguest From Hell, but they were often aggravated by my choice to spend most evenings holed up in my room, laptop on knee, trying to pour myself into the screen in order to forget that I was living in Stoke for a few hours.)

Living away from home makes things approximately a billion times easier for us all – we had a proper, family weekend, and it reminded me what tip-top people they really are.

However, as soon as the week proper kicked in, I realised that – in reality – I had more to do than ever. Presentations to plan, birthdays to celebrate, directed readings to, um, read. Sometimes it feels a little like being tied to a skateboard, if you'll forgive the ghastly analogy; it's preposterously exciting to be zooming from place to place without stopping, always on the move, but occasionally – just occasionally – I get a little scared, and want to stop, just for a moment.

The people that seem to be suffering the most are my longer-term friends, which crushes me. I spent my last, rather lonely year forging the most incredible relationships with some of the best girls I've ever known, and not being able to speak to them on as regular a basis makes me want to gnaw at the furniture – I get withdrawls! I'm hoping that my discovery of Google Calendar and its ensuing organisational effect on my life will enable to me to schedule people in a little better. Not that I want to have to 'schedule' my friends into my ~social/academic butterfly~ existence**, but I do want to make sure I get enough of these excellent humans in my life. You know who you are.

However, I am exceptionally lucky to have met some utterly marvellous people up here in York, people with whom I have bonded at a speed and intensity I've never before experienced! I've never known such a sweet, smart and thoroughly lovely bunch of people, and the fact that we're all postgrads gives us all a much-needed support network, wherein we can cry on each other's shoulders over our workload (as I did last week), and celebrate each other's successes (such as the lovely Becky kicking intellectual arse and winning a place - as captain, no less - on the University Challenge team!). At risk of it going all wanky and tragic, having so many wonderful people around is a rather new feeling for me, and I'm absolutely cherishing it.

Another lovely evening was had last night, in which my poor put-upon housemates finally found a few hours where I wasn't holed up in the Berrick Saul building and could spend the night Christmasifying our humble abode. Too Much Fun was had by all, and while mine and Steph's haphazardness might have infuriated the perfectionists Cath and Emma, the result was a living room of festive wonders.

Yup, that's The Muppet Christmas Carol on in the background.

And to celebrate? A Christmas dance party, of course.

GOD we're cool.

*SO MUCH MULLED CIDER. Finally, the non-wine drinkers among us are vindicated with this warm, treacle-y deliciousness! Personal snaps for the Rekorderlig mulled cider with vanilla and cinnamon – I could quite happily drink myself into oblivion on that shit.
**ahahahahaha, whatever.