Normal Programming will be restored shortly (Jeremy)

BEFORE I start this particular post, a big shout must go out halfway around the world to a very good Scottish buddy of mine, young Ewan of Edinburgh fame. Ewan’s final assessment of my blog was that it was “highly entertaining, apart from the depressing bits.” I scratched my chin for thirty seconds and wondered if that was a compliment or not, then realised that Snakes on a Plane couldn’t buy reviews like that, so thankyou buddy!

Getting back to Uni – now I’m about 85% cured (no coffee, no chilli, no undercooked meat, so that rules out pretty much every hangover cure known to mankind) – has not exactly been an easy task. Whilst I’ve stood still from weeks two through five inclusive, University has most certainly been moving, and very rapidly too. If this wasn’t made clear before the Wednesday that I returned, it certainly was clear as the proverbial crystal afterwards.

I sauntered over to Chinese – slightly late, as is my wont (well I am coming over from Union House) – when I bumped into my good friend Emma, waiting for her own Chinese class. We chatted, caught up on the latest, talked a little, and then, without any sort of warning, she dropped the dreaded T-word. (Not “Thatcher” or “Transition Department First-Year Blog”, but close). “So, Jez”, she said, “are you ready for the vocab test today?”.

Ten minutes later, the poor Chinese teacher recieved a piece of paper with empty spaces for questions one through ten and the Chinese Characters for “I was sick”. (And, bless him, he even corrected it. Lucky vocab tests aren’t worth anything in the final writeup.)

Later on in the Wednesday, I went back into the Asia Centre for French class, appreciating the irony of France’s abusive colonial history in Vietnam and French classes being held in the Asia centre somewhere between Japanese and Arabic. I casually pulled out my lunch (spare time on Wednesday is at an absolute premium for me), made sure I had my chopsticks and French books with me, opened the door and suddenly felt my stomach dissappear through the floor. In front of me, there was a bunch of silent French students with their noses buried in the same page in their grammar books, a sure sign of only one possible thing; a subjunctive test. I pulled my best puppy-dog face at the teacher (a move that probably works better when executed by a woman but there you go), the wonderful, humane and easily-flattered (and just as easily misspelt) Maryse (Marise? Marys?) who immediately took stock of the situation and pointed at the door.

“Off you go!” she said, in French. “Find a good cafe and a good book and I’ll see you in an hour!”.

“I know nothing?” I asked, snapping up my copy of Papillion.

“Nothing about what?” she replied. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about!”.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I now have the opportunity to be as equally ill-prepared as everyone else on Monday, although I did have an hour off French class and a wonderful apple scroll to show for the experience.

The other two subjects have been different in terms of catching up with them. Maths has been alright after an initial project scare thankyou mainly to Marty Ross (a favourite of Rick the Blogger)’s easy-to-follow subject notes on the web (something probably best referred to as “LectureLite”). Engineering has been a whole different kettle of fish; I did not do Chemistry at school and I missed out on a month of Materials lectures at University, which puts me behind the eightball on two counts. Materials is harder than staying awake during a stats lecture in any case; in mine, it’s nigh-on impossible. This two-week break coming up is looking like slavery but I guess it’s a price that has to be paid after missing coursework like that.

In Other News, I have just had my gastroscopy earlier today (and this is the part that I am writing post-anaesthesia, so apologies if I fly off the pixies from time to time). Down at the hospital earlier today, I reacquainted myself with one of my favourite Politically Correct terms, which managed to manifest itself in my Gastroscopy-Made-Ezee guide kindly given out by the Austin Hospital. It’s a sign of modern times that you no longer roll around in agony, nor do you scream blue murder anymore, but instead you May Experience some Slight Discomfort. I would love to see the reaction on the faces of birthing mothers when they are asked if they are feeling some “slight discomfort”, in the same way that navy recruits may feel some “slight nausea” or Robinson Crusoe may suffer from some “slight solitude”. Memo to hospital: next time my stomach hurts post-gastroscopy, my stomach hurts; I am NOT experiencing some “slight discomfort!”.

That said, everything seems ok now. It doesn’t quite feel 100% right, but it doesn’t hurt either.

The actual procedure itself went without a hitch. I sat down in the waiting room with my French stuff, to discover someone within twenty years of my own age; the white hospital gown with peek-a-boo back section is a sure pointer to next season’s fashions; and, best of all, I had a nurse with a decent sense of humour. (Me (post IV-insertion): “Oh, that was pretty painless. Mind you, I guess you insert about a hundred canulas a day.” Nurse: “Oh no, just beginner’s luck.”). Best of all, the drugs worked an absolute treat and I woke up feeling exceptionally snug and warm in my hospital bed. Naturally, I shocked them all with the speed of my recovery and was bouncing around my water and sandwiches before too long whilst the patient beside me was being wheeled in from his procedure.

“Thank God. I haven’t eaten since eight this morning”, I said, “and I’m famished.”

“Oh, you got the top end?”, he said, (we share the centre with colonoscopy patients). “You lucky, lucky bastard.”

“Mm.” I replied. “Hope they wash the camera in between.”

“Hey”, he said, “I don’t particularly care. That’s for your benefit, not mine.” And before long, as you do in a hospital, we were into a full-blown discussion about our respective procedures and ailments. I just wish that mine would hurry up and go back to being fully cured.

Anyway guys, I’m off to b-e-d… take care

best wishes to all, jez.