I was in quite a good mood earlier today. Not ecstatic, but a step up from my normal- just a bit more relaxed, smiley and at peace with the world.

Then, something happened to break this mood. Not so much break it as sever, smash and splinter it into a million tiny pieces of lost hope and joy. I went to the orthodontist.

I've already documented how much I hate going to the orthodonist. And I know it's not all the fault of the man himself; orthodontistry by nature is not the most pleasant of things to force upon someone. But (foolishly) I thought I was beyond the biggest horrors of my orthodontistry adventure. I'd had my train tracks for 4 long years, and two weeks ago they were removed. Never before had my teeth felt so free, released from their metal restraints and allowed to shine in all their smooth, straight glory.

But no longer is that the case, for today Mr Keene introduced my teeth to a new cage- perhaps even more frustrating than the last.

Introducing: THE BEAST.


It takes up the whole roof of my mouth, and while it doesn't hurt, it feels hugely uncomfortable and disgusting. I'm meant to wear it at all times, other than for meals, for at least a year. And it makes me talk like, well, like I've got a huge lump of plastic and metal shoved in my mouth, ie like a retard. (Too angry to think of a PC word, sorry.)

Hopefully I will adjust to it a little over the next week. Until then, I plan on staying in and refusing to talk to anyone lest they a) laugh at me or, perhaps more annoyingly, b) are sympathetic to a piss-taking extent. For now, I can only ask myself- what did I do to so offend the gods of orthodontistry?

I LOVE THIS BAND.

Went to see The Decemberists on Saturday night, and it was ABSOLUTELY AMAZING. In my opinion pop music, or in fact life in general, is lacking in accordions. And melodicas. And upright basses, banjos, glockenspiels, 12-string electric mandolin things...

Other brilliant things that come to mind:

• Signs on the doors when we got to the Zodiac, saying 'NO SMOKING AT THE ARTISTS REQUEST'. Hooray, a gig where I'd actually be able to breathe properly and not come home smelling like I've been rolling around in a giant ashtray. Or, as at Bedouin Soundclash, a giant bong.
  
  
• The fire alarm went off before the show started, which wasn't so good, but did mean we got to walk on the roof of the Zodiac which I don't think many people can claim to have done. Also, apparently Dodge, Tom and I have memorable faces as the staff waved us back in after the alarm saying they recognised us. I think that's a good thing anyway...
  
  
• The support band, Howling Bells were impressive, and their frontwoman has quite possibly the sexiest female voice I've ever heard (sorry Shirley). She wasn't exactly bad-looking either, and was in possession of fantastic red cowboy boots which were the envy of us all. I really regret not buying their album at the end of the show, but as I'd already bought a Decemberists shirt I thought it might be excessive to buy something else. I am foolish.

• Colin Meloy mocking us for our Oxford accents, saying he couldn't understand unless we spoke in American, which led to him prompting everyone in the venue to yell 'LET'S GO TO THE BARRRRRR!'

• Bassist and guitarist cocking their guitars like guns as the persussion demanded during This Soldiering Life
  

• Tambourine fight between Colin and Jenny. She throws a tambourine to him which sails past his outreached hand and has to be handed to him by the bassist. He then advances on her, brandishing the tambourine, and they start hitting one another's tambourine with their own until his own bejangled weapon falls apart and shiny pieces fall on the heads of the crowd below. Unfortunately I was on the other side of the hall so I have no jingly keepsake of my own, but as our posistions were AWESOME I won't complain.

• ACCORDION SOLO!!
  
  
• The freakout in the Bagman's Gambit which consists of all the band members making as much noise as they can for about 30 seconds before Meloy's voice comes floating in over the top. I think my ears broke a bit during that, but it was worth it.
  

• Also in The Bagman's Gambit, where the tune shifts between two notes before moving on to another chord, then on with the song. In the recorded version, this lasts about 16 beats in total. When they played it live, they held out on those two notes for as long as they could, until people were calling out for them to move on. With a serene little smile, Meloy indicates that he's about to move on, wait for it, wait for it... before moving to the next chord and lingering on that for just as long.
  

A big thanks to Dodge, both for bodyguard duties and for taking up the extra ticket without knowing what was in store- though I trust he was not disappointed. And thanks to Tom for spotting the tickets on sale in the first place, and for generally making my life FANTASTIC.

:)

Study leave has rolled around again, meaning endless days of pretending to revise, panicking the night before exams due to said non-revision, and somewhere between the two a little exercise, in the meagre hope that it will help prepare me for supposed bikini wearing on holiday.

I'm pretty sure I complained about it last year, but after today's experience I felt compelled to compile the following:

TOP 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT GOING SWIMMING*

*other than the actual swimming itself, which is a given

1. Swimming costumes
I am not the most physically confident of people. Although this situation has improved hugely over the past six months or so, there is still a very large part of me that does not want my barely-concealed body on show, the lycra clinging unforgivably to every curve and contour. I think in the 1800s or something, when families went to stay in a hut at the seaside for the weekend for their grand Summer holiday, women used to just roll up their bloomers when dabbling in the sea; it may not help from a streamlining point of view, but sometimes I wish we could just go back to that.

2. Necessary body maintenance for wearing said swimming costume
Does this require an explanation? No, no it doesn't.

3. The lockers
The scrabbling around in one's pocket in the hope of finding a pound coin, only to discover you left it at home that morning and therefore have to beg your mother to borrow one of hers. The attempts to find a locker whose key is firmly attached to the wristband, so it doesn't wriggle free in the pool and inadvertently stab the person in front. Finding a wristband that remains tight around one's wrist, so it doesn't come undone halfway along the pool, leading to an embarrassing dive to the murky depths in order to retrieve it.

4. The lifeguard
Who does he think he is, sitting in his Chair of Glory? Sitting smug in his lofty position, surveying his watery kingdom with a smug, mocking smile... I say his, because never in my recollection has there been a girl in that almighty position. He never has to do anything, because generally people who choose to swim in lanes for an hour are fairly assured of not drowning. Linking back to complaint No.1, I'm pretty sure that all that he can do to pass the time is watch the various swimmers in the pool and rate their bodies out of ten. Because I know that's what I'd do if I were him. I'm a bad person.

5. The frequently shitty music
OK, that may be a little harsh. While some of the music they play may not be shitty as such, it just isn't appropriate for exercise. I'm not asking for some club dance remixes, but I want music which is at least pretending to be lively; something to help get the adrenaline going and hopefully distract me from the horror I am inflicting on myself. Damien Rice: pleasant enough, but when swimming I'd prefer something a little less catatonic.

6. The pool water
Because God knows how many other people have been in the pool already that morning, and whether they meant to or not, spat in it, snotted in it and probably pissed in it.

7. Chlorine: the smell
As soon as one walks into the sports centre, one is engulfed by the choking stench of it. And it doesn't stop there; I shower as soon as I get home from the pool, and yet up to three showers later I can still smell the bloody stuff all over me. Even when using Boots 'The Spa' shower gel, which contains microcapsules apparently bursting with fragrance and skin-cleansing goodness, the smell of chlorine lingers forever on.

8. Chlorine: the burning
Some may consider it cheating to mention chlorine twice. I, however, feel that as the chemical is probably the product of none other than Satan himself, it deserves all the abuse I can throw at it. I don't know whether the chlorine concentration in the pool I use is particularly strong, or whether my eyes are just rubbish, but whenever I go swimming there, my eyes feel like they're on fire for the rest of the day. Last year this happened in one of two ways: firstly, without eye drops, my eyes would be blurry the whole time and every 15mins or so they'd start streaming, accompanied by intense pain. Secondly, with eyedrops, my eyes would clear but the pain would be dull and inisistent. Right now, I just have blurry eyes with mild stinging, but I'm sure after subsequent sessions I will be howling.

9. The other swimmers
I hate the middle-aged men and women that can swim faster and better than me. I hate the girls there my own age (who, granted, are very few and far between) whose perfectly muscled and toned bodies laugh at my own wobbly one. I hate having to share a lane with too many people, as I have to time when to kick off the side so as to avoid either accidentally molesting the person in front, or else being molested by the person behind me. I hate the fear of seeing someone I once knew and would rather forget, such as my English teacher from Year 5. I hate it when my mother sees someone she once knew and then conducts a shouted conversation with them across the lane so everyone in the whole pool can hear. My mother has no boundaries, and as my ears are underwater most of the time I am in no position to check what she is saying; therefore, when I surface for a quick breath and all I hear is 'that's Alice over there!' my brain immediately goes into overdrive, imagining what excruciating detail about me she has felt fit to inform everyone in the room.

10. The location
The sports centre is conveniently found on the same site as the sixth form of the local upper school. So, stumbling out of the double doors, hair soaked and bedraggled, nose and eyes streaming, still struggling for breath, there's a large gathering of boys and girls on their lunchbreak to watch me fall sideways into the car. What a wonderful end to an hour of pain and hardship.


So if I seem a little grumpy after an hour at the pool, now you know why.