I'm not exactly sure what to write about today. And yes, I know it's been a long time since I last updated. What, do you people want me chained to this bleedin' keyboard? Some people, I swear...

Anyways, yes: I'm not sure what to write about today. That's different from merely not knowing what to write about: I am knowledgeable, but unfortunately very indecisive.

I first logged on intending to write something concerning the whole 'Men are from Mars / Women are from Venus' debacle, but then I was reminded of something I had made a mental note to myself about a while ago to write, namely a continuation of the Twilight slagfest I started earlier (Breaking Dawn! I'M COMIN' FOR YA!), but then my eye was caught by one of those oh-so eyecatching little advertisements that hover around the top of my 'blogpage like plague-bearing locusts.

So you can see my dichotomy. Three equally juicy subjects to choose from, and no idea which one may suit best my purposes this evening. If anyone is reading this, please leave a comment and end my misery.

Well. I don't mean kill me, obviously, but... Gah. You know what I mean.

No, seriously. As I said in my last post, I got a suit so that I may look especially smart at my Oxford interview, which kind of necessitated me being in Oxford at the time. I suppose I could have arranged for a webcam link betwixt Oxford and mine own humble home, or learned telepathy so that I could astrally project my soul over there, but since I have neither the time or the inclination (or the ability) to do either of those things, I had to be physically present in Oxford.

Well, I'll tell you this: Oxford is awesome. It has beautiful ancient architecture and modern conveniences. It has wide pedestrian precincts so you don't have to worry about being run over while crossing from shop to shop (unless the driver happens to be particularly unhinged). But most of all, it's the sense of sheer... well, dignity, and age in the place. Oxford is so obviously a city that has been around for a long time, and it knows what it's doing.

However, that's not the thing that makes it truly awesome (my, I'm using a lot of italics here am'n't I?). As I have often said (not in this blog, but elsewhere): 'it's the people that make a place'. And I don't just mean they make it physically, although they do - what I meant was more the... well, the spirit, or the emotional charge that a place has. The people in Oxford, or at least in St. Peter's College of Oxford (the place I was interviewed in, of course) are urbane, pleasant and, what's more, they understand me, or at least if not me then what I say and why and how and etc.

Seriously though: if I say something here in Pembrokeshire, out in the rural provinces where people are... how should I put this? Perhaps not quite as intelligent as their inner-city kin (whoo, that was close. If I'd said 'thick as pig shit' there may have been trouble), people will often look at me as though I'm speaking an alien language - which I am, to them. Now I don't mean to get elitist - actually, screw it, I do mean to get elitist, so I'm going to say that the average Pembrokeshire plebeian's vocabulary is limited to a plethora of base swearwords and Neanderthal-like grunts.

That's why it was so incredibly liberating to talk to people who actually have more than two brain-cells to rub together: I was amongst people who spoke my language; with whom I could converse to the fullest of my intellect and repartee. There is nothing quite like being with people who understand you - this is something I stand by very firmly.

My Personal Tutor at College (whose name I shall not reveal here - if you're really that desperate you could probably find out by hacking the College databases or summat after that fashion) is a brilliant illustration of this. She is basically me, just older and more experienced (and female, obviously). No matter what problem I come to her with about myself, she hits 'em out of the park everytime. If I could do it, I'd just give my personality to her: she'd be much better at handling its varying temperaments, that's for sure.

But then, I suppose if I did that I'd never get the chance to pass on what I have learned to the generation that is yet to come after me. Who knows? Maybe someday I shall be the one dispensing mature and learned advice to a neurotic teenager. I very much hope so: another of my tutors says my manner is very didactic, which could be a bad thing in some circumstances I suppose, but certainly not in that one.

Signing off...

P.S.: I noticed an advert for Warhammer 40,000 stuff at the top of my LJ page when I first took a look at it today. Seeing as how it's one of my tags, I reckon that LJ has some kinda deal goin' on with Ebay (it was an Ebay advert) to sell them stuff that they might be interested in, taking the clues from their tags. Sly, sly stuff. Marketing and Advertising people must have minds like a weasel negotiating a greasy corkscrew in a tornado.