Wednesday, 29 February 2012

This isn't just an interview

It's a postpositivist mixed methods grounded theory interview.

This aspect of academia really pisses me off. If I'd wanted to learn about postpositivism, I'd have done a sociology degree, not a computing one. All I wanted out of this was to be able to use a computer well enough to get a computing job and I didn't get that. Getting rid of the old polytechnics for vocational training - another stellar decision.

Sunday, 26 February 2012

Cheap thrill

This probably won't mean much to most of you but seeing as I've given up MakeupAlley for Lent, I have nowhere else to crow. I actually spotted a Sleek Rose Gold blusher in the wild and had enough money left over from the week to buy it (yes, I know they only cost £4.29 but times are tight).

I've been wondering a bit about the point of life recently, given how unrelentingly horrible all the big things in life are and I've concluded that frankly it's about shopping and eating cake. If I eat enough cake, I may manage to ensure that I don't live long enough to run out of savings. Result!

Friday, 24 February 2012

Well, that explains a lot

I just ran a chunk of my chick lit magnum opus through this and apparently I write like...

HP Lovecraft.

What do you get?

Wednesday, 22 February 2012


Obviously, you only have to look at the current political scene in the US to know that science is good and anti-science is bad but nonetheless, the following gave me pause. Paraphrased:
"recent research in the US showed that chickens fitted with red contact lenses showed..."

Well, it doesn't matter what it showed because frankly anything that involves fitting CONTACT LENSES to chickens for crying out loud cannot really be that important can it?

Tuesday, 21 February 2012

What's in the box: 1. Pass the coathanger

The first service I tried from the vouchers* that came in the box was a Shavata brow threading and tint session. I wasn't really looking forward to this - I get my brows waxed periodically, which hurts and I'd been told that threading was a whole world of pain beyond waxing. Nor did I think that tinting was going to end well but as my brows are now white in places, I decided to risk it. And they really needed attention - when I'm stressed I have minor tricho symptoms and my brows take the brunt. Thanks to the dissertation hell I am extremely stressed at present.

The treatment took place in Harvey Nichols in full view of passing shoppers. In fact the threading barely hurt at all. I felt a little bit like one half of a velcro pair - it was prickly but very fast and far far less painful than either wax or plucking. I was very pleased with the shape too - natural but a lot tidier.

The tint I was less sure about. The dye was only left on for a minute or two and when I left the store it looked fine - a shade darker than my natural brow colour and nice and even but nothing extreme. However it can't have been removed properly because it continued to develop and half an hour later I was full on Joan Crawford and not very happy. I was told to use clarifying shampoo to strip the colour out and repeatedly washed my brows over the course of the next few hours. Overall it still looks a bit harsh to me if I'm not wearing makeup.

The combined service would have cost £35 if I were paying for it. I will consider threading again if I  ever feel financially flush again although it is considerably more expensive than waxing. The tint I think I'll pass on.


* V. has already used a London only voucher for a Rene Guinot facial and reports that it was 'lovely'.

Thursday, 9 February 2012

Don't let the door hit ya

It strikes me that a key strength you need to be a successful CEO of a major bank, especially in the current economic climate is good judgment*. Public whining about having to give up your bonus because of media and political pressure does not display good judgment in the current environment. Ergo, you are lacking one of the key strengths of a good CEO and you hence do not deserve a bonus.

I interviewed Stephen Hester once, I can't remember what for but it was before he was at RBS. Pretty much everyone I've ever interviewed has managed to be charming and polite, however stupid (or indeed to the point) my questioning. As I've said before, Fred Goodwin, even Fred Goodwin, was quite delightful. My abiding memory of Stephen Hester was that he was quite the most unpleasant, arrogant, rude man I'd ever spoken to.

*And I do not believe that this, along with the other requisite properties, is the sole preserve of a highly select few people.

Sunday, 5 February 2012


I've just dropped the Kindle price of The Trouble with Toyboys to 99c. Go on, you know you want to...

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Horse o'doom - mawkish and cheap

Just back from seeing War Horse. I'd originally wanted to see the stage version and I really really should have stuck with that impulse, particularly given my current rage filled frame of mind.

Richard Curtis was involved with the screenplay. Do I need to say anything else?

I don't know why (I'm reasonably fond of horses, I ride and I come from a horsey background) but given the back drop of the Great War (over 35 million casualties), I really cannot raise even the faintest glimmer of a fuck about what happens to one dreadfully irritating central casting yokel (and the succession of equally annoying German and French teens who took brief ownership of horsey, all rapidly despatched) and his quadruped. Given that they (yokel and nag) were reunited I suppose that the ending was 'happy' but all I feel is manipulated. Given that dreadful things happened to pretty much anyone that the horse touched apart from said yokel, one could really question the totemic value of that horse. And to be quite honest by the end of the film, I'd have happily shot the boy and the horse myself had a shotgun been to hand.

Overall, I largely agree with this review, although the star rating I'd award is rather lower.

Things I don't understand

1) Why Edinburgh can't do rain without simultaneously doing howling wind. Within 5 minutes of leaving the flat this morning I'd broken yet another umbrella. This made my subsequent mistake in getting the wrong bus and ending up about half a mile from where I wanted to be that much worse.

2) What it is about my face that even when my inner monologue is full of apocalyptic rage and I am clearly in a hurry, it looks like I would be happy to stop in a torrential gale without an umbrella to discuss Jesus. I really don't get it - I attract these people like flies. Even assuming that my exterior does speak of an inner misery that only an acquired belief in an imaginary ceiling cat could assuage, why would you stop me in this weather? And I hope that's something that young Elder Bland had time to consider after the police had removed me from his throat.

While I really don't care what any given individual believes in as long as they keep it to themselves and don't either talk about it to the rest of us or slaughter people because of it, this only serves to reinforce my suspicion that hell, should it exist, will be full of the overtly religious.