In which I talk about stuff

One of the things I like about the area in which I live is that there are a lot of parks. One of the most interesting, in my opinion, is Linn Park. As the least manufactured of the local parks, it’s by far my favourite. I went for a ramble through the woods the other day, while the sun was out (which is becoming rarer now that autumn is fast approaching), and the experience was far more rewarding than walking along the neat, tarmacked paths of some of the other local parks. In those, a few large grassy areas is all there is to see. I prefer to pick my way along a foot-worn path through the trees to get a good look at the waterfall, and never mind if I get my shoes a bit dirty.

  • Park life (overthebridgeandfaraway.wordpress.com)

Hell: Extreme Makeover

Fallen angels in Hell

Image via Wikipedia

“So, what do you think, Bub?”

“What do I think, sir?”

“Of the pit, Bub. How does it look?”

“Um…”

Beelzebub surveyed Hell’s main pit. The rock walls oozed with some brown rusting substance. The lines of damned souls trudged wearily, carrying huge heaps of coal taken from infinite piles, turning spits suspended over fierce flames, their misery obvious on their wretched, soot-blackened faces, while demonic beings in charcoal grey pinstripe suits jabbed at them cruelly with white-hot pokers and prongs.

“…Looks very impressive, sir?” Beelzebub ventured, twirling his pen nervously between his talons.

“Impressive, Bub? Impressive?” Read the rest of this entry »

Meeting an Old Soldier

It’s Sunday, and I’m wandering around the Braehead shopping centre like I’ve never been there before. Eventually I have to ask a security guard where the ‘arena’ is, because I’ve never been here while there’s been an event going on. I’ve been dimly aware that a local hockey team plays here, but never really given thought before today to exactly where they play.

Massive signs point the way once I follow the guard’s directions, and I make my way, three hours after opening time, into Collectormania 2011. Read the rest of this entry »

Dreaming of Paris

A keychain of the Eiffel Tower.
Image via Wikipedia

Someday I’d like to go to Paris. I’ve been to the south of France, a pretty little place called Perpignan, but I was disappointed by the lack of frogs’ legs. It sounded like such a cool thing to eat (I was thirteen). I remember frustratedly trying to order them from the puzzled waiter with my literally translated high school French: “Jambes de grenouilles, s’il vous plait!” I’ve since learned that the term is ‘cuisses de grenouilles’, but it still wouldn’t have gotten me any frogs’ legs, since apparently it’s a northern France thing.

Paris, of course, has more than just frogs’ legs. I did a project on it in primary school, cutting and sticking pictures from French magazines, admiring the shape and structure of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, and fighting with my classmates over the best picture of a plate of croissants or the Metropolitan. I remember the pictures of the city at night to be full of such beautiful lights, and during the day to be green and flowery and just plain gorgeous. Just looking at Paris on Google Maps, I’m fascinated by the geometric patterns of the city’s streets, and all the amazing architecture. I imagine I’d spend hours wandering around, filling up the memory card on my camera with everything I see.

My imagination likes Paris a lot. It blends together my memories of the south of France and what I’ve seen on television, and comes up with a dream-like image of sitting at delicate cafe tables, eating pain au chocolat in the sun, of wandering along the Seine, chatting away in French. Never mind that I haven’t studied the language in over eight years and can only just remember how to introduce myself and ask for directions; in my imagination I am fluent. The atmosphere is always very romantic when I imagine Paris. That’s probably influenced by being constantly told that Paris is the ‘city of love’, but I think it really is. Cliches are almost always fueled by reality.

It’s strange that Paris has always seemed so far away to me, when in fact, if I wanted to, I could catch a flight there in an hour and a half. It’s not that far. It’s even fairly cheap. Perhaps I’ll take my girl there one day, sit in a swanky restaurant with her and order escargot and cuisses de grenouilles, at long last. It’s definitely on my Bucket List.

Hello, Blogosphere!

Welcome to my blog. Not sure what to call it yet, but it’s sure to be an interesting title when I come up with it. Gotta remember that it doesn’t have to be short and snappy, could be a sentence, or whatever. I’ve seen some variety on the main page.

So, going ahead without a name, for now, this is my new blog. Yay! I love the colourful theme I found.

Me? I’m a twenty-something unemployed university graduate living in her student overdraft. I’ve taken up face painting on the street while the weather’s warm so I have something to put in the bank once in a while. I live in Scotland, I have a long distance girlfriend who lives in Colorado, and I live with my younger brother who may evict me if I don’t get a “proper job” soon. I’m a total geek for science fiction, especially if it’s funny or British; ergo, Doctor Who is by far my favourite show. I’ve even written fanfiction for it, although my muse has been a little absent lately.

What will this blog be about? Hmm. Tough question. I’m thinking that I will probably write about my opinions on current issues, television shows, cute puppies, etc. I’ll probably throw in some photo posts occasionally, seeing as I do have a digital camera that needs using, and I may post some creative writing here as well. Plus anything else that comes to me.

I’ve always been told it’s bad to eat dinner too late in the day – something about metabolism and poor sleep – so before it gets any later, I’d better go make that omelette I’ve been planning. Here’s hoping it remains omelette-shaped and doesn’t turn into scrambled egg.

Edit: Okay, blog is named. Hurrah!