It Happened One Night

I went down to Cambridge to visit my sister Moira this week; mom and dad were already planning to go down themselves to see Moi's graduation, and Orla decided to bite the bullet and join us, making it a royal flush of my nuclear family. We don't normally all meet unless it's Christmas, so this was slightly unfamiliar territory- it was also only for an evening, because Orla had to return to London. We all went out to this Thai restaurant in Cambridge which was amazing and actually made me like broccoli, so is obviously lacing the food with crack or something.
But you guys don't care about the food- you all want to hear about the crazy family dynamics! Well, I found out that I am by far the member of the family who sees the other members the least, despite being by far the least financially independent. In a small way this makes me quite proud because it means that I'm my own man and have successfully flown the nest, but it also makes me kind of sad because they all have a much stronger bond with one another than with me. Case in point: there were three separate in-jokes between the rest of my family of which I had no idea and didn't really understand; they tried to explain them but obviously something got lost in the telling, because I didn't really see the humor. When I expressed some regret at my relative (in both senses of the word) alienation, they were all very quick to point out that, at both points that I was given a chance to get away from them, I chose the furthest possible destination (Edinburgh and Melbourne). Indeed, when I was initially choosing my uni, I made no qualms about the fact that I wanted to be very removed from my parents at least, so I wouldn't have to see them.
If I could go back to that time now, I'd slap myself for saying that.
Not that I regret going to Ediburgh, but I really didn't appreciate my parents, or my sisters, until recently. Being reminded of that comment provided me with a very powerful reminder of how much I've changed over the past four years, as well as highlighting how my previous petulence has cost me- I feel somewhat removed from my family, especially when we all gather together.

While we were together, an interesting point of which I myself have made note several times: there are no photos of us as children after the time that I turn five (which is when the last of us stopped being cute). My parents, never the sentimental type, had not seen this as a problem, until they went to my mother's university reunion and all the attendees decided to pass the time by showing each other pictures of their offspring and my progenitors realised that they were indeed in the minority in being quite so blaise about capturing their children's likeness. My father tried to rectify this oversight while in Cambridge and take as many photos as possible; sadly, his photographic technique is to keep the camera in the same place and move his head around, hoping this will chane the angle of the picture being taken. Shockingly, this does not work, so I'm not hopeful about the quality of these images, but it's nice to know that there will be some documentation of the Kelly siblings coexisting for the future.

To get to Cambridge, I had to take an overnight coach to London- I was looking forward to Clark Gable style shenanigans, involving spontaneous singing, the walls of Jericho and lessons on how to hitch-hike.

How to stop a car.

Instead, I got a supposedly former alcoholic (his words, not mine) who downed a bottle of cider in front of me, kept saying how he was going to London to get smashed, and then treated me to a diatribe about how allowing Muslims to remain in Britain was a clear example of 'political madness gone wrong'.
However, going through London did mean that I got to see two West End shows: Let the Right One in, which was beautiful, haunting and innovative, and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, which was fine, but criminally wasted Samantha Bond, which soured me against it somewhat.

In other news, I went to the Highland Show with Grace and Carolyn the other week, and it was amazing. There were sheep, and birds of prey and coos, which are distinct from cows by merit of their accent.

There were more photos from this event, but sadly they were on a phone which I lost. I'm beginning to think that maybe my family isn't meant to take photos.
On top of the animals, there were free samples of deliciously organic food, a harrier jet flight simulator, a burger that came with a side of steak and a cute guy (sadly, pictures were lost again) who told me all about various medieval weapons, whom I later met again outisde HMV, which I'm ofiicially taking as our meet cute.Yes, the Show was awesome, and that awesomeness squared by the fact that it was probably one of the last times I'll hang out with Carolyn, who left Edinburgh over the weekend.
More and more fourth years are leaving by the week, for obvious reasons- this week is also when  graduations take place, so that number is only going to grow from now on. I'm trying to see everyone before they depart, but I know that some of them are going to slip through my fingers; I just have to hope that in forty years, I can see them again at a reunion and fail to show them pictures of my offspring.

The Godfather

Travis, my pseudo-Godson-not-quite-nephew, is four years old today. I can't quite believe this- I can't concieve that the little tree frog that I once wasn't allowed to hold because I might break him in half with a pinch has grown into an actual, real life human with thoughts, feelings and plans all his own. I can't quite process that four years has passed since Mel had him- so much has happened, I know, but it doesn't seem that long ago, and yet I can't imagine my life without him, even though I see him very little.
So very little, in fact, that Travis has no idea who I am: for a while he thought I was a big CGI racing car due to a shared name; then for a time he knew a 'Rory' was something important to his mother but didn't quite grasp that it was a person (at this time he called me 'Jojo'); and then, for a lovely brief period, he called me 'Uncle Rory' unprompted and spontaneously and it was lovely and special. But now, after an interval of six months of separation, he answered Mel's relayed message of "Rory says 'Happy Birthday'" with "Who's Rory?". A little while ago, she showed him this picture:

He immediately recognised himself (even though he was half the age he is now when this was taken) but refued to recognise the smiling idiot in the background.
This sounds a lot like I'm blaming Travis, which I realise is unbelievably unfair, but it does make me slightly sad that pretty much every time I've seen him, I've had to reintroduce myself. Those of you proficient in maths will be able to calculate that he was born just before I went to uni, and so I've only really seen him at Christmas and during the summer. This doesn't look to be changing with my recent job offers, but I hope that, at some point, I'll regain that magic feeling I had that one singular time that Travis saw me and said 'Hi, Uncle Rory!'.

In other news, because I'm a fool, I forgot that I do actually have another friend in France that I can visit when I go over: Gregoire! We were in Improv Mob and Aussie Rules together back in Melbourne, so I can relive the glory days with him. Like Dani, he's in Paris, so won't be a million miles away. I knew that visit to Australia wasn't all for nothing.
In other news, I've started using this blog as a means of telling people that I'm apparently coming to visit them in October, so hi, Greg!

I got my grade back for Uni and it wasn't as bad as I was expecting, which I'm chalking up to a win, especially considering I had food poisoning during my final exam. With this grade, I could feasibly continue my education, and although at the moment that isn't on my radar it's nice to have the option.

I had dinner with Emily, Daniel and Amanda the other day, and they said I was pretentious: this was one of those times that a truth I had held about myself was shattered. I had always thought I had evaded pretension- they explained that I like to use big words because I like to sound intelligent and that's true, but I thought that was mere arrogance, not pretension. I always make sure I know what the words mean before I use them, so I'm not pretending to be something I'm not; I just like etymology and having a varied vocabulary- I feel it allows me to express myself more clearly.
However, my friends have apparently construed this as pretense, so I guess I'll have to endeavour in the future to make my speech sound more natural- but then, this will mean I'm more self-conscious about my speech, which surely will only make me more pretentious? Good lord, but socialising is a minefield.

Slow Boat to China

June is a boring month in Edinburgh. In Australia, it was exciting because I went to New Zealand, and saw lots of theatre and most people stayed in Melbourne even if they weren't from there because their summer holidays were so short; back in Shropshire, I usually didn't notice because I'd have school or whatever. But when in Edinburgh, well, most of my friends have returned home, especially now that lots of my friends are fourth years and are thus expected to fend for themselves.
On top of this, everyone just seems to be treading water before Fringe: I don't know what people in cities without the biggest Arts Festival in the world during August talk about in the summer, but I admire their conversational capacity because we here in Edinburgh evidently lack it.

I've been trying to think of ways to counteract this ennui at the moment, and mostly coming up blank: I've actually been working everyday this week except for Tuesday, but I'm still at a loose end most evenings. I've tried to get back into taking long walks for pleasure, but working always leaves my feet sore and also makes me extremely tired, even though I very rarely work for longer than three hours (I'm hoping this will fade when I have more experience being on my feet so often). As such, my sleeping pattern has become incredibly jacked up, since I nearly always sleep for at least two hours during the evening, around seven, obviously leading me to go to bed a lot later. As such, I'm awake at really odd hours and have seen a LOT of disturbing things on BBC 3. It saddens me that I am supposedly part of the intended audience for that channel.

In other news, I was waiting for an important email that would decide my future and was extremely, extremely anxious about its contents- I got a stabbing feeling in my stomach, felt weak in the knees and dizzy in my head when I thought about how this email might come back negative and dash my hopes for the future. It made me scared to go online in case an answer was waiting in my inbox, deadly and dismissive and so very, very final. Then the email arrived and everything was fine and I was once again reminded how pointless it is to stress about things over which you have no control and how thinking about them just wastes valuable brain space. If the email had not worked out the way it did, I would just have had to figure out something else to do with my future, and work around it: the sun would still rise and set, I would still be able to smile about things and continue to live.

Sadly, the email I am talking about is not the one containing my final grade for uni, which should be coming any day now and which I am absolutely terrified- like the symptoms described above, but on steroids. I am so happy to check my uni inbox everyday and find it merely brimming with spam and not with a very seminal communication about my education; I'm so happy not knowing, I'd almost be fine if they never gave me a grade and I could just go through life saying I'd graduated from Edinburgh without having to qualify it. And I know it is disingenuous if not downright precious to write that after having just soliloquised about not agonising over things I can no longer influence, but I am just so scared of what could be revealed. Everyone keep their fingers crossed for me.

T'ain't Nobody's Business If I Do

I'm sure, after my last post, you've all been dying to know if I've kept to the very stringent and somewhat impractical commandments I set for myself. The short answer? No, but then I wasn't really expecting to; and I have let them influence how I've been living my life. For example, I've definitely been reading more, I've been going out as often as I can, and have been walking more. So, there've definitely been some changes since I finished my exams.

I won't be going to my graduation- I was iffy on the whole situation anyway, as it sounded deathly dull as a ceremony and quite costly, and then I missed the sign up deadline anyway, so it's a done thing. I'm not too beat up about it, to be honest, but I do wonder if, in the future, I'll regret this decision. Only time will tell.


That somewhere in France where I will be moving has been revealed to me, as a quaint town of about 26, 000 inhabitants in Picardy, 90 minutes' train from Paris, 30 minutes from Reims, 150 minutes from Brussels and about 4 hours away from the Hague: I think I might try some exploring while I'm there. I've never been to the Netherlands, or to Germany, and I'll be earning OK money while I'm there, so I might try inter-railing a little bit while I'm there- even though, according to one Richard Hart, interrailling stopped occurring in the seventies.
Lots of my friends have expressed an interest in coming to visit me, and I'd like to have some familiar faces around while I'm here- after all, I won't know anyone, and, unlike Australia, I won't be moving in with a bunch of people my own age who speak the same first language as I do. I'm also hoping I might be able to visit Danielle, whom I haven't seen in four years, since I ended Sixth Form, so that'll be a nice addition.
So, if you wanna come see me in France, hit me up and if I don't secretly hate you (sorry, Poppy) I'll totally be on board.