Tab Rates vs. Tab Slates: Week Two
You know the drill.
Funny Things People Said. I was Googling literary criticism in the hope that I would find an incisive gem from the annals of the internet (my ‘misunderstanding’ with the English librarian – see Slates – has left me too afraid to set foot inside the faculty library; the bookish middle-aged can be so cruel), but I was growing desperate. ‘Pope criticism’ bore only some rather radical anti-Catholic dogma, rather than a neat summation of Alexander Pope’s The Dunciad, so I whacked ‘things people said’ into the search engine – straight to the point – and found this. Admittedly the web design leaves a little to be desired, but with nuggets of gold including, ‘Please excuse Jimmy for being. It was his father's fault,’ (under the heading – ‘Excuse Letters’; the moral of the story being always sub-edit before submission) and, ‘I can play well with others,’ (‘Resumé Quotations’) this is an afternoon well-spent. It seems to be American in origin, but we’ll forgive it that.
Grooveshark. Basically Spotify, except online and available to those of you not sufficiently quick off the mark to download Spotify before it became an invite only service. Fools. Although, saying that, my Spotify doesn’t work in Cambridge. Poxy proxy settings.
TabTV. I watched the ident (the little introductory bit where The Tab logo scoots about the desk – professional-sounding lingo courtesy of Miss Tab TV editor) at least four times, childish glee beaming from my face, and the newest video is bloody good too. Check it out.
The Anchor. This Silver Street stalwart is warm, cosy (grab a seat next to one of its two roaring fires), and does yummy and reasonable food. £5.55 got me a 'Winter Ploughman’s’ (a bowl of soup, two chunks of cheese, bread and – real – butter, a salad ’garnish’, coleslaw and some strange chutney-esque conception that I couldn’t quite identify but tasted yummy all the same. Wow). Pub quiz on a Thursday night too. Flex those trivia muscles.
The English Faculty Librarian. As is my wont, I continue to use The Tab to air my personal grievances. This week I have beef with the English Faculty Librarian. I have to admit I wasn’t much of a faculty-goer last year. Or last term. But there comes a time when every English student will have to use a library (can I add, this aphorism is one of the kernels of knowledge of which I am most proud to date). Back in my day, you had your library card and you strolled up to the desk, earnest, book in hand, and the librarian stamped it with the date that you had to return the book. This technological age confounds me. I was making a right hash of the electronic system. Librarian: 'Hello, are you a fresher?' Me (with what is obviously an endearing chuckle): 'No, I’m a second year.' Icy pause. Her features rearrange themselves in a manner that suggest I have just told her that Griffo is a family friend, we regularly summer together on the Riviera, and that actually, he's a stand up bloke and ‘just really misunderstood’. 'Oh.' And with that, appraising me coldly one last time for good measure, she turns on her heel. She wasn’t coming back to help me any time soon. Cow.
The College Bill Efflux. I was so flush last week! Now I’ve had to shell out over a thousand quid for room and board and my bank balance is quivering, once more, on the cusp of my overdraft. I have £30 of real money left and then it’s into negatives.
The Internship Pressure. I’m still in my post-Christmas fug (I know it’s late January, but I find it hard to let go, alright?), I don’t want to have to think about petitioning friends-of-parents and parents-of-friends for a week of work experience at [insert newspaper/legal firm/publishing house here]. It’s a dog eat dog world out there and you’d probably sell your best friend in Cindies for a few contacts. You have an interview? Yeah? Well, get this, my dad’s best friend’s sister’s niece runs a big business. No, not, like a specific business. Just a really big one. I’ll just give her a bell, y’know, when I feel like it. No biggie.
The Inadvertent Lie-in. Now it’s one thing when your mobile phone starts trilling the jingle you chose as the alarm (because it was the most inane, verging-on-maniacal tinkle that your Samsung offers and therefore the one most likely to rouse you in order to collect some tissue paper to mop up your bleeding ears) and you turn it off and roll over. But spare a thought for those of us who are genuinely, really, trying to get up for that 10 o’clock lecture (libraries, lectures – I’m a new woman). And who are genuinely, really, appalling at doing so. I don’t know how I manage it, but I frequently sleep through my own inane, verging-on-maniacal tinkle, waking up, on one particularly spectacular day, at 2pm. I wasn’t even grinding in Cindies the night before. I’m just an old woman.
Laundry Judgement Day. It’s that time of the month – the end – when you’ve been here long enough to warrant the first of your dates with the rusting appliances in the basement laundry room. Approach your nemesis and whack it on 30°. You know your lecture neighbour will appreciate the remedy of the contentious ‘I-know-this-top-smells-slightly-clammy-and-it’s-definitely-got-an-orange-juice-stain-down-the-front-but-if-I-spray-copious-amounts-of-Lynx-this-will-definitely-do’ problem.