And Just Like That...

...you can kill a week.

Back off holiday, back to work, and back into the same old, same old that I was ten days ago.

Feck.

Starting at the beginning...

Friday saw me heading off the Unicorns event, and engaging in some very US Marine type roleplay before heading off to scout out Sonalista. Much declaring of brotherhood, promising to leave no-one behind and saying that we're all really brave. This all went off well and put people in the right frame of mind. Incidentally, I'm glad that during the time when people could pray if they wished, I did so. Having Peter whisper in my ear as we traveled through the void almost made my night. Word up to Bristlebane Fizzlethorpe.
The actual mission was three hours of some of the most wonderfully immersive roleplay I've had the pleasure of experiencing. I'm sure that I got fully into Rhinyn for the first time: There are a couple of moments where memory is hazy, probably catalysed by actually doing what I desgined him to do in the first place: Pathfinding. This was a scouting mission, for rangers and pathfinders to find out what was around. We planned it as a group, worked it as a group, and it was coming off beautifully until an Elder tainted started sniffing around the gorse bush I'd been left to hide in in preparation for firing a flair to direct the fleet landwards the following morning (sort of a one-shot lighthouse affair).

It all started going wrong when I heard Peter's voice:
"Tracking - are there any players in the area?"

@$$

"Yes."
"How many?"
"One."
"Are you in an area that you could feasibly run out of?"
"Yes."
*Tainted howls*
"Mass fear."
"No effect."
"Bugger."

Cue the tainted beginning to scrabble into the gorse bush, finding me looking straight at it. In the absence of anything better to do, I made probably the best call of my life.

"I hope I give you the shits, you fucking wimp." (Spoon - Dog Soldiers)

The tainted attacked, I stabbed it with a knife, it couldn't reach me. I found this amusing.

"Narrative stop. The tainted grabs you and throws you out of the bush. Take a blunt to a leg of your choice."

I found this less amusing.

I ran around, trying to find somewhere to go. Dived into the water, had both my knives washed away and a tainted following me.

@@$$$$

Back out on the shore, standing face to face with the tainted, unarmed. Best option?

Started punching the furry bastard. Never managed to connect, but I held my own for a good ten seconds before I had my chest gouged out. Commence the stopwatch.

The rest of the party heard the howls and returned to find the tainted over me, eating my legs. Four minutes down. They ran over but kept getting mass feared away. Wolfgang almost got there and was healing but got mass feared away as well. Seven minutes down. The elder tainted then decided that simply eating me was not sufficient and channelled a ritual circle into my leg, breaking it in...many...places. This hurt quite a bit. Nine minutes down.
The party finally overran the elder and healed me up, with thirty seconds of life remaining. Nerelet then did one of his nifty site to site ports and had me back in capital city's royal hospital before you can say "directions".

All in all, a bloody good way of staging my being able to leave on saturday morning. Everyone thought I was dead. Let them think what they wish.

Both Wolfgang and Antarios subsequently died - leaving Rhinyn minus both his best friend and his captain, and me without the ability to join the in the roleplay surrounding their deaths. I'm sorry to both of you, guys - at least you went down swinging.
____________

And so to the holiday. The Lake District was as beautiful as we remembered it, much imbibing took place and we didn't do much - perfect way of relaxing for a week. I finished two books, forgot my camera so there are no pictures, visited the cinema once, and failed to do any of the course-based reading I had intended to.
Muncaster Castle has a fabulous array of rhododendrons - but you'll have to take my word for it. It also has the World Owl Sanctury - more hoots than you can shake a stick at and a shop containing possibly the most plush cuddly toys in existence.
Gasmere is a beautiful village on a beautiful lake, and makes beautiful gingerbread.
White Scar caves are a wonderful example of a flowstone tunnel system, and the guides there know less about cave formations than I do.
The Aquarium of the Lakes is a rarity among things of its type - a freshwater aquarium for British fish. Just for once, seeing roach, carp, tench etc. rather than various exotic species was a very welcome change.
The Waters Edge Inn is still my favourite pub in the country, despite how busy it gets in the evenings.
Ambleside has several places where other plush items of excellent quality can be bought. Stuck without any ideas for spoils to present Emma with, I splurged on cuddly things and managed to acquire a Madcat, the aforementioned Wol and a giant Mr. Happy that is irrefutably cute. Not very Lake District, I know, but the best I could do all week.
Reviews:
Scarecrow was previously described in this journal as a book with too many action sequences to actually make into a film. By the end of the book it was apparent that the quality of writing was also so unbelievably low that no producer would look at it twice. It was written by a military fanboi who spent more time describing the various weaponry and hardware in use than actually writing a story, but it was good fun to read and light as a feather.
On the other hand, The Da Vinci Code was heavily involved with both good characterisation and a cracking plot. I enjoyed the story, and Brown's interpretation of evidence is both interesting and worthy of further reading. However, for my overall opinion on the "issues" it raises, all I can say is that I'm glad that Langdon and I agree: Your faith is the explanation of the unexplainable that you feel most comfortable with - that's why it's both faith and yours. Roll on the film - I think it might be quite good.
Mission: Impossible III is an utterly shit film. There is almost nothing that redeems it. While carrying out the one credible performance, Laurence Fishburne looks like he's in a perpetual state of questioning why he bothers - a little bit of IC/OOC hazing that I think he deliberately fails to cover up.

Good holiday, won't be hesitating to go up there again - possibly with Emma this time.
____________

Results of the Societies Awards were mixed. BUSMS won best Arts Event - fair enough considering how good the show was, regardless of the backroom harranguing. Giles managed to swing Best Individual Performance for Puck in MSND, which I consider a triumph of memory over student slackness considering how long ago it was performed.

However...

Sweet Charity won Best Publicity Campaign. I could have cried.

I'm not sure how they managed to persuade people, but they gave my publicity campaign an award. All I can say is that they're bloody lucky that I wasn't there, or I'd have been up to the podium like a shot and, in the name of all the crap that was heaped on me and the gross mismanagement of the affair, refused the award.
Sweet Charity had the worst publicity campaign I have ever known. Equivocation, backroom backstabbing, dithering and worse made it an absolute nightmare and a work of social assassination. How it was kept under wraps enough to give it a reward I don't think I'll ever know, but I am seriously considering a letter to the student newspaper divulging a few home truths.

With that, I come back to University. Rested, yes. Relaxed, yes. Happier than when I left, considering net effects, no.

At least I have Emma back. Those first couple of moments seeing her again in the pub were like heaven on earth.