Monsters Inc.

Mr.K/the monster

Yesterday, I told (really, it was more of a gentle informing) Mr.K that he snores. I've woken him (more like a gentle nudge) in the night a few times before to ask him to roll onto his side so that he'll stop. He always graciously obliges. And the next day if I ever mention that he snores he politely refuses the information. 

Mr.K has always prided himself on the fact (obviously not a true fact as I've discovered) that he doesn't snore. He would write to me whilst he was on his mission moaning and complaining about the fact that his companion's snoring terrorises him every night and stops him from sleeping. He would say that it (along with people that make munching noises whilst they eat) are the most annoying things ever. And he was glad and quite proud of the fact that he doesn't do either. Supposedly.

Well, I have discovered that this is entirely untrue. He snores like a trooper. I told him this yesterday and played for him a recording that I'd made, so that he couldn't deny it anymore. It was a prime example. A doozy some might say. So he admitted it. He accepted it. Then he apologised.

"I'm so sorry Becky. 

I'm exactly the kind of person the hate. 

I'm a monster."

Well, maybe that was taking it just a little bit too far. He might be a monster. A snoring monster. But he's a handsome monster, so I'll keep him anyway.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful

Image from BBC.co.uk

Oh, the weather outside is frightful,
And I'm sure if we actually had a fire

(instead we have little wall mounted electric heaters in each room)

 that it would be so delightful. 

And since I have places to go 

(I missed two French lectures today because my car won't go up the hill)

 please don't snow, please don't snow, 

PLEASE DON'T SNOW! 

On it's knees

There is one sure way to bring England to it's knees. When it snows, England comes to a standstill. The tiniest flutter of those precious white flakes (who am I kidding, I don't like the snow. I certainly don't think that it's precious anyway.) and people lock themselves in their houses and go into a mini hibernation until it's all melted away. 


I have to admit, I am probably a little more than guilty of doing this. I just don't the impracticality of it. I explained to Mr.K (who was slightly amused by this idea) when it started snowing yesterday morning, that if it was up to me, when it snows, it would only snow on gardens, parks and other vast expanses of land. Basically, anywhere other than the paths and roads. Because the thing that I like the least about snow is that it means that it takes ages for people to travel anywhere, it's more dangerous and it's just basically very impractical. 

Mr. K & I like to do our bit though. We ventured out of our toasty little house, wrapped up in coats, hats, scarves & mittens to spread grit on our car park and hill. The hill is a monster hill. Steep, steep, STEEP! (The capitals are absolutely necessary here.) So we filled our mixing bowls with salt and marched up the hill several times, spreading our wares along the way. After we'd done this a few times and I had more grit down the back of my nails that I would have liked, we admired our work. In all honesty, it didn't look like it had made the hugest of differences. But the snow was a little patchier, and we felt like we'd given a little service to our neighbours. Win win. 

Hats, Momma & life

I had the day off university today. Momma (can I point out that I call my Momma 'Momma' a lot more in writing than I do to her actual face. Normally it's just Mom. Mom, not Mum) had a day off work. So I drove to Sheffield this morning and we went shopping. We bought a few Christmas presents, a bed sheet and most notably a hat. My Mom bought a hat. Normally, she is not really a hat kind of person. But in about a week we're going on a little holiday, and it will be cold. We'll probably do a lot of walking out in the cold, so we decided that she should buy a hat. She tried on lots of hats and some of them were so funny that I wish that I'd taken pictures. Some of them were ridiculous. Lots of fake fur, massive bobbles on the top and one elasticated one that was made entirely out of silver sequins. I think someone must have sent it by special delivery straight from the 70s. As in the era. After all of the ridiculous possibilities, she tried on a beret. It looked awesome. Berets don't suit me. They don't sit on my head properly. But it looked awesome on my Mom. So she bought it. When we go home my brother's told her that it looked silly. I hope that she doesn't get discouraged. Because I like the hat very much, particularly of my dearest Mothers fair head. 
So far in this blob  entry has covered hats & Momma. I think that I will save life for another day. I do have things to say on life. Philosophical things. Definitely, I will save them for another day. 

MST

Daylight saving time is sometimes pretty sucky. It means that when Mr.K gets up for work in the morning, it's dark. And by the time he gets home from work in the early evening it's dark too. 

Why do we even have daylight savings time anyway? Is it for the farmers? And if it is for the farmers, why don't they just get up an hour later when it gets to the wintery times and keep the time the same for always. That would definitely be helpful to my body clock. It always takes me an absolute age to get used to the clocks being back an hour. It gets annoying when I keep waking up at 6 in the morning instead of regular 7. Who am I kidding. I never get up at 7. (I have to make the most of 1). being a student. It's expected that students sleep late. And 2). not having any kids to wake me up at crazy early hours.)

One thing that I do quite like about time in Britain is that our time is what the rest of the world's time is set against. Like in France its +1, Singapore is +8 and Jamaica is -5. All depending on British GMT. It's good to know that even though Britain (Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves!) doesn't have an empire that is basically half the world anymore, that the whole world still sets it time by us. 

Aside from that little patriotic speech, what I really wanted to talk about (and I don't think that I actually have very much to say about it) is MST. Mormon Standard Time. It's not actually a real time zone or anything official, but it does exist. Oh boy does it exist. Really, it's just because every church activity that is being held in the evening starts at 7:30. Always. I think that there's an unwritten rule. 

MST has another meaning too. Well, not another meaning, it still means Mormon Standard Time. Basically, MST absolutely and completely ingrains itself into most Mormons (note, I say most). And when this happens it means that they are approximately half an hour late for everything. Who knows why it happens. But it does. I might even conduct an experiment....