MHC ruggers are the biggest and the best...

...and they never take a break, and they never take a rest...

I would like to pretend that the sole reason that I have not blogged for most of my life is that I have been an incredibly busy bunny, and have had much more important things to do. Actually, I am just lazy. But that is not the only way in which this song is a lie. MHC ruggers are certainly not big. Not even slightly. Although we try to convince people that we are big on the inside, often to little avail.

I have been storming New England with the Mount Holyoke Lyons, as we are supposedly called. Although I am entirely of the opinion that we should be the Mount Holyoke Gerbils or something much more fearsome like that. I even went on an adventure to Wesleyan in the rain, only to discover that the match was cancelled due to the weather. Instead all 30 of us invaded a rather small pizza place, and ended up using every chair they owned, and worked our way through approximately 37 tonnes of pizza.

Rugby is wonderful, as always, and we have some fantastic rookies in this semester. So far I have only recieved some fairly minor injuries, and only one trip to a hospital which is something of a disappointment, and I will try harder and do better in future. This semester I am going for cool-sounding injuries only, so ruptured spleen is right up there at the top. Note to Mother: unfortunately, no matter how hard I try, Eliza makes it very difficult for me to inflict these kind of injuries on myself, and just tells me that I am being a 'pain in the butt' and to get off the pitch. BUT I am finally a lineout jumper, which is basically the best thing ever, as I get lifted EXTREMELY high in the air (fear of heights is being overlooked at present, I try to pretend that I am falling head first into a pit of marshmallows or something equally squishy). It also means that I get some really wonderful hand-shaped bruises and/or chafing on my thighs, just above my knees, which is seriously cool, and definitely adds to the 'Rachel is really hardcore' image that I have going on.

The bed fort in my room has gone, and has been replaced by a gigantic bed, which mostly is used to give the illusion that my floor is tidy. Indeed my floor is tidy, as all of the mess that would be on it is now on the bed. Other changes since my last post include further developments in my training to become a real American. I ate at McDonalds in the airport on my way to Washington D.C., and was disgusted with myself; I tried to push over the Washington Monument, I dyed eggs at Easter AND was visited by the Easter Bunny who gave me a wonderful basket of goodies, including a directionally-challenged penguin.

The above learning experiences occured on my many adventures. It seems that I am now a seasoned traveller, having spent Spring Break working my way through as many of the museums in Washington D.C. as could be fitted into my four day escapade there with Allison and the Craft family, along with three Chinese students. Easter was spent a little closer to home, in Reading, Massachusetts with rugby pal Jess. It was on this adventure that I was introduced to the wonder that is the Easter Bunny. He visited us (there were even footprints outside), and left each of us a basket of goodies.

Classes this semester have been largely uneventful, with the exception of my three hour seminar, with a professor who insists that we call him 'Oh Captain, my Captain', or if we prefer, 'Captain Benfey'. Hopefully you will recognise the reference to the 1989 film, 'Dead Poets Society'. If you don't, you are now charged with the responsibility of educating yourself, as it is pretty epic.

My life has been invaded by aliens and they have sucked out my soul. In other words, Chorale has become insane with concerts every other minute, and children, old ladies, dancing and abysmal poetry. We sang 'How can I keep from singing' at a retirement home, and by the end most of us were crying. This weekend is the weekend of death because we have the Mount Holyoke spring concert, and are performing Porpora's Magnificat, 4 of Rachmaninov's Six Choruses (same as last semester), two songs in Xhosa and one in Zulu. Someone, somewhere, then thought that it would be a good idea for us to perform in Mahler's third symphony the following day. I can't wait. Then, when it is over, I can sleep again.

Other escapades have involved posing as a member of the Model United Nations so that I could join in on a trip to Canada, climbing in the boot of Hil's car with two other ruggers and a ball, learning to play soccer, a.k.a. football for all you normal people (I am really struggling with the concept of non-contact at the moment, as it seems to be much more sensible to just shove people out of my way) AND--SUNSHINE!! Massachusetts has officially left the Ice Age, and it is now warm enough to go outside without a coat on!!

But alas, now I must leave, as I have just realised that the bad smell is coming from my rugby boots, which happen to be in my bed. I might go and move them...

But I've got my brand new LAZER BEAM!!

Just over a week ago I made my epic return to the land of the criminally insane. And I am overjoyed to discover that they are still as bananas as when I left, and even more excited to discover that I am becoming one of them. It is fantastic, and I am even starting to use terms such as 'epic fail'; 'legit'; 'elevator' and 'store'.

The return journey was decidedly less eventful than its predecessor, and I managed to return to Mount Holyoke with all of my baggage and all of my appendages still attached, albeit a bit battered, smelly and thoroughly exhausted. They even fed me food which was more recognisable on the plane, although I am still not entirely convinced that scrambled eggs should ever be grey.

Since I have returned, my room has been transformed from your average single university bedroom (with an extra bed) into an adventure fort, otherwise known as 'the den'. This took two beds, four mattresses, eight bed risers, two rugs, a rugby banner and lots of fairy lights. Our beds are wonderful in that they can be one of two heights, so I set them as high as possible, put them on risers, pushed them together and put mattresses underneath. I spend a good hour or so lying on my back attaching lights to the inside, and hanging rugs/the rugby banner around the sides. Now I am a recluse and live under my bed(s).

I have not yet made it to breakfast since I have been back, largely because meals are only served in Prospect during January, and that is a ten minute walk in sub-zero temperatures. And I am not kidding. It is currently -10 outside. And has been colder. Also, they have not yet had the decency to serve us any food worth eating. I.e. rice and beans, rice and peach stir-fry (the strangest yet), weird lentil concoctions... However, I have inspected the menus for the next few days and it seems to be getting better. Today they even served us Grandad's favourite--macaroni cheese! And grey carrots. I thought that carrots were one of the easier things to cook. It seems that this is not the case.

My activities since I came back have been limited by the weather, and have largely involved dancing. I am taking two dance classes--one is swing dance and one is musical theatre choreography. Both are fantastic. I even made it to a swing dance lesson and dance in Northampton with real men! (We don't see those very often at Mount Holyoke) A couple of them were actually pretty good as well! It does need to be admitted that I found the dance on my second attempt. There had been one the previous day that Tamar and I had set out to find before realising that we neither knew where it was nor had the phone numbers of anyone else who was going. Instead we made a thrilling trip to CVS (the US equivalent of Boots or Superdrug), and then went and sat in Dunkin' Donuts until the next bus home. I am now legit a real American because I have been to the Seven Eleven AND Dunkin' Donuts. Then we went home and watched DVDs in the den. And managed to sleep three of us in there together despite nearly dying of heat exhaustion.

On our second adventure in Northampton, we went with two intentions. Firstly, we wanted to go to the dance, and secondly we wanted to watch Linn perform at the Yellow Sofa, at an open mic night. She did, and was fantastic. And Tamar read some poetry. And we made friends with a crazy guy called Mario who had an afro. Back next week to wow them some more with our amazing talenty stuff. From talenty land. Etc. What larks.

One thing does need to be said about the inhabitants of Northampton. Some of them are not exactly what I would call entirely normal. The open mic night provided a perfect example of said strangeness. There were a few performances by talented musicians, and we all relaxed and were enjoying ourselves. UNTIL...! The LAZER BEAM man. He began by singing a song about Spongebob Squarepants. We laughed. This guy was funny. From this point onwards it got progressively stranger, involving lyrics about brothers going off to war, getting shot and being feed apple sauce through a straw. A little uncomfortable. Followed by a song about an imaginary wife and child who would never leave him because he had a brand new LAZER BEAM. We didn't know whether to laugh or run away screaming. Instead we did neither and stared in horror and confusion. He stopped singing and I suspect that he won't be asked back. Linn, on the other hand, was very normal and very good. Hurrah!

Last night I attended an 'Awkward Junior Prom', where we all dressed up in absurd prom outfits and danced in an awkward way. And then shuffled home in the cold. Today I stayed in bed. Fantastic. And dreamed about my brand new lazer beam.

'The time has come,' the Walrus said,
'To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings.'

A land of mess and stress and bad smells.

I am in England again, quel surprise! But only for 3 weeks. Or thereabouts. But the tale of how I came to be in England deserves a telling as it was une grande drame!

I left Mount Holyoke at 9:50am on Tuesday morning, on a bus bound for Hampshire College. At Hampshire College I leapt off said bus and leapt onto another bus (actually there wasn't a huge amount of leaping as I was carrying a 24.8 kg suitcase plus a rucksackfull of books and a laptop case full of computery goodness.

The second bus took me to Northampton where I got off the bus and wandered for about 15 minutes until I arrived at the Peter Pan bus depot, which was NOT very easy to locate. It was now approximately 10.30am. I was due to catch the 11.35 bus to Springfield. When I arrived at the bus depot there was a sign informing me that my bus would probably be at least half an hour late. More likely to be an hour late. Oh thrills. The joys of missing my flight were starting to run around inside my Brian.

I also had the wondrous experience of watching a documentary about a plane crash while waiting for the bus. The side of the plane ripped off and people fell out and were mangled in the engine. It just so happens that I have never been particularly fond of flying, and this emission did nothing to calm my fears.

When the bus did arrive (only 10 minutes late!) we were all bundled on board by the driver who had not taken his happy pills, and we were off. There were about fifteen people on the bus, so I was able to take up lots of space and sit and panic about the fact that I was probably going to get lost in New York and not catch my flight and die etc.

When we arrived at Springfield, I was able to stay on the bus, and the same happened when we arrived in Hartford as well. So, alas, I stayed on the bus until we came to a stop in the Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York City.

I then located the subway, and even managed to buy the right ticket and get on the right train, and wasn't mugged on the way, which surprised me. I sat on the train for most of my life (i.e. an hour) and then a nice person who understood my bemusedness told me when to get off. Which I did, bought a ticket for the AirTrain, and climbed aboard. There was a minor panic when someone told me that it wouldn't stop at my terminal, but it did. Panic over.

At the airport I had the privilege of being the awful person who has to rearrange their baggage at check-in because it was too heavy. A couple more of the beast books made their way into my hand luggage and I was set. I found my gate in the airport and collapsed in a large and bookish heap of death.

Our flight was delayed as they needed to move another plane away from the terminal and move ours in. We boarded the plane about an hour late. And then were fortunate enough to be able to sit on the plane for four hours while they de-iced it. I was fortunate enough to be seated next to someone with bad flatulence. After four hours of not really knowing what was going on, we left, and six hours later arrived in London.

During the flight I had such privileges as eating 'chicken' and pasta, i.e. cat and pasta. Also, I was able to experience losing all feeling in my backside, which was rather bizarre and unpleasant. I got off the plane, collected my suitcase and located Daddums. And then drove home and ate real food!!

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things...

Life has continued since I last posted and the world and his aunty have had adventures. And they took me along.

However there were no shoes/ships/ceiling wax/cabbages/kings. Although It would have been nice, I would think. And I would say that pigs almost certainly do have wings.

But alas, back to my life of escapade after escapade.

Dastardly adventure number 1: Tacky Practice and the preparations for said adventure. Tacky practice is a rugby tradition that largely involves making an idiot of yourself. For some people, this is accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol. I am fortunate enough not to require any alcohol to make a complete and utter idiot of myself. The week before tacky practice, every senior on the team is entitled to making three demands of the rookies; these ranged from the provision of baked goods, being woken up in the morning, putting up banners telling the world how wonderful our rugby seniors are etc... I, being both a rookie (ish) and a senior got to see the best of both worlds. I was allowed one demand, but had to fulfill the demands of the other seniors. So... we expeditioned to Smith College, our rivals, and chalked 'MHC Rugby was here' all over their campus, and wore shirts that said 'Smith is so not cool'. We also put up posters of one of the other seniors telling the students of Smith how wonderful she is. Tacky practice happened on the Thursday, and the requirement is to dress as something tacky. I became a 'chav', a concept completely unbeknownst to these Americany folk. And I was pregnant for an evening. It was utterly fantastic. At tacky practice some demands were fulfilled, mine included. I demanded that the rookies arrived, taped together in a line by their ankles. They didn't quite meet the challenge, taking 15 minutes to walk about 1 foot, but it was fun watching. We also performed a beautifully choreographed dance to 'Wannabe' by the Spice Girls.

Dastardly Adventure number 2: Rugby banquet. My second adventure was also rugby related and happened the following day. The rugby banquet is also a bi-annual event which happens, and we all dress up nicely and eat and receive awards. NB: the awards are largely ridiculous, thus fitting in well with pretty much everything the rugby team does. My award was presented by El Capitan Margot Wade, and says on it: 'The Penguin Award; Too Legit de Quidt.' In summary, my shin splints make me run like a penguin and I am practically a real American now as I have been to the Seven Eleven.

Dastardly Adventure number 3: FEAST. This was possibly the best moment of my life so far. Or one of. Another aspect of my Americanness is that my life almost entirely revolves around food now. A night came along, much to general distress and peril, when we couldn't decide which dining hall to grace with our wondrous presence for dinner. By 'we' I mean the Fantastic Four: Emma, Christina, Moni and myself. So, we split up willy nilly and with gay abandon and went to different dining halls, used our meal swipes and collected large quantities of the coveted foods and took them away in 'To Go' containers, back to Buckland common room. We laid out a picnic rug and gorged ourselves and almost died from the amount of food. Foods consumed included: cheese tortellini, garlic cheese bread, chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, waffles with assorted toppings, omelettes, vegetable lo mein, fried rice, 40+ mini egg rolls (Tamar fetched us some more) and ice cream. And then we all groaned and lay on the floor and discussed the necessity of hibernation.

Dastardly Adventure number 4: Thanksgiving. I visited four different states in one day: Massachusetts, Conneticut, Maryland, Virginia. I went to see Liz, Virginia-Ann and family in Virginia. And had lunch with all the wonderful guidey-types that I met at SWInG in the summer. And it was wonderful. I experienced a real American Thanksgiving and Black Friday. AND on the way back to Baltimore to get the flight home, we visited Washington D.C. and went to the Natural History Museum. Fantastic. Plus I got to spend a few days playing with dogs and children. And ate a lot.

Dastardly Adventure number 5: Vespers. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat... I didn't put a penny in the old man's hat. But I did sing a lot. We did three Vespers concerts - one in New York City and two in our very own Abbey Chapel on campus. They went well, and I got to go on an adventure to New York, and bought a penguin hat. AND, when we sang in Abbey Chapel I got to wear a rose pinned to my nun outfit because I am a senior-type thing. Or at least someone posing as a senior.

Dastardly Adventure number 6: Hot Chocolate Run. I ran 5km in aid of victims of domestic violence. I wore fleece-lined spandex and the penguin hat and it was fantastic. Sadly my shin splints let me down and I had to walk some of it, so it took me 35 mins and 35 seconds. We had magic computer chips attached to us to time when we crossed the start and the finish, and when we were done they gave us hot chocolate and oranges and cookies. And mugs. And there was a man wearing a penguin suit and he liked my hat. And then Mickey realised that she had lost her phone. She had left it in her registration pack, which had been thrown away, so I climbed into a dumpster and sorted through sacks of rubbish to locate her phone and wallet. And I am now a hero. And someone took a photo of me in the giant dustbin for a local newspaper. Strange.

Dastardly Adventure number 7: SNOW. There was snow. Not much, and it didn't last very long, but it happened. We saw from inside our sauna (the heating in my room is aggressively over-enthusiastic), and ran outside and screamed and danced at 12.30am. It was fantastic. The penguin came along for the ride.

And now exams are upon me and death is involved. Much work which I am not a fan of. But I got to write a play, which was enormous fun to write. It is about our futile existence, and what has become of the Fantastic Four now that winter is well and truly upon us. Basically, we sit indoors and don't do our homework. And talk about food. If I have time I may post extracts up here at some point.

Is this a Pinknose I see before me?

There is a new celebrity living in Buckland 418. His name is Pinknose. And he has his own bed.

There have been many adventures lately, which involve bed manoevring and the suchlike.

An unknown personnage in Abbey Hall bought their own bed a few weeks ago. I don't know why, but she did. Said bed sat outside her room in Abbey for two to three weeks. FacMan (Facilities Management) never came to collect the sad and lonely bed which was mourning for its lost owner. I happen to be tenant of a large single room which was devoid of furniture. No more.

I was aided and abetted in my michievous dealings by three trusty companions. We were able to transport first the bedframe and then the mattress in the lift/elevator in Abbey, carry it through the dining hall where people were still cleaning up from dinner and up in the lift/elevator in Buckland to the fourth floor. The bed is now assembled in my room as a useful sitting-on type thing. It is somewhat sofa-esque and was free. No complaints on that front. I even have very exciting spotty sheets on the bed which co-ordinate with the stripey sheets on my bed, and it is made up beautifully with my spare blankets.

This is not an unoccupied bed, however. I have a roommate, who had been inhabiting the space under my bed since I arrived in this beauteous country. Now my companion has a bed to himself. This wondrous creature who lives with me is named Pinknose. He is a hedgehog. Actually, that is a lie, in the same way that the geek cake is a lie. He is a hot water-bottle case resembling a hedgehog. With a pink nose. Hence the name Pinknose.

Pinknose has swiftly become a celebrity in the same way that Beaker is a celebrity. He is loved by all and has even featured on the Mount Holyoke Confessional, which is an anonymous forum where MHC students moan about how they looked at a boy and are now therefore pregnant. Pinknose is of course above such comments, and spends his days lazing about in his bed and warming up friends and neighbours with aches and pains and cold feet.

"Maurice...I have a plan!"

Maurice being coach, of course. We played rugby. Again. But this time it was a little more adventurous than usual.

There is this strange 'Friends and Family Weekend' malarkey that the Hamburgese folk favour, which involves the strange 'Friends and Family' folk visiting. And eating a lot. And there are even exciting adventures in which to partake. For example, my 'Friends and Family' joined the special and adventurous choir who sang with us Choralers at the concert on Saturday. And we sang a monstrous piece which nobody really understood. It was about birds and whatnot.

However, only taking on one very demanding activity in a day would be utterly unlike me, so I decided to attempt to play rugby as well as sing in a concert. Lawks a mercy. So the day happened somewhat like this:
8:30am - la famille arrives and we venture forth into the unknown a.k.a. Prospect for breakfast.
9:00am - back to my room for banking nonsense avec Vatikins. Also other dull businessy things.
11:00am - Friends and Family choir rehearsal.
11:30am - Rachel sneaks out of said rehearsal and runs super-speedily to the rugby pitch for warm ups and nonsense.
12:00pm - Kick off playing at Inside Centre because of my 'good hands' now turned to gimp because of the mysterious not-broken but yet unhappy thumb.
1:45pm - the most bizarre rugby match ever.
2:20pm - Rachel changes from rugby kit into hideous Chorale nun dress on side of rugby pitch. Still sweaty and disgusting.
2:40pm - arrive at Abbey Chapel to prepare for concert.
4:00pm - concert, Chamber Singers in particular were AMAZING.
7:00pm (ish) - collapse in a heap of death.
8:00pm - really awkward moment involving Choral director, head of music dept, accompanist etc in a restaurant. We left.
8:30pm - dinner at Judie's in Amherst.
10:00pm - SLEEP!

So more needs to be said about one of my escapades. The rugby. As it is the best thing ever. And now that the season is over I cry myself to sleep at night from the extreme and over-enthusiastic woe inflicted upon my tortured soul. Need. More. Rugby. Now.

I have played at inside centre (no. 12) once in my life before. It was probably my third game ever at the beginning of last year and I managed to break the opposing no. 12's fanny. Or so she said. Alas I was terrified this time, as I have issues with not knowing exactly where I am meant to be on the pitch at all times. But it was great fun and larks, and I managed to squish people repeatedly. Gimp thumb was made invincible by coach before the game (i.e. taped up specially). However, I wasn't making all the tackes against the big people. So Lola subbed for me and beat them all up for me. Which was fun to watch.

Then more adventures happened. The opposing team was already made up of two entirely separate teams, and our team was a mixture of A and B side players. So we mixed up even more, and switched shirts until there was a mix of all four teams on two new teams. And we played a truly mind-blowing game without really knowing what was going on a lot of the time. And I set up a try. And cried because I wasn't the one who scored, but at least I got the ball for approximately the third time this season.

Then after the first half I had to abandon ship, and I leapt over to the sidelines and did strange getting changed in public, trying to keep myself somewhat decent, and almost succeeding. And hopped off to Abbey Chapel to sing.

And now I must go eat dressed as a savage norseman.

I'm a little elfling, short and stout, here's my handle, here's my fuzzy pyjamas...

I am an elfling! Hurrah! As I didn't think that I would get to be one. Which made me sad inside. And I found out the secret of who my elf was.

Every year here the sophomores/second years are assigned a new student as their elfling, and this week have been leaving special gifts outside our rooms in the dead of night. So when I woke up each morning there was a surprise outside!

My gifts were mysteriously themed - largely including chocolate, pain-relievers and cold medicine. So I realised that my elf must be someone who knew me well...the mystery began.

In addition to the wonderful gifts there have been some creative advertisements taped to the walls in the corridors, on the stairs and in the bathrooms. These have been adapted for each of the elflings, so I had posters saying: 'I only have eyes for British Rachel'; 'I wish I was like British Rachel'.

AND I have magic jumping beans! I.e. seed pods with moth larvae in, and they move around! I have already lost one in my room somewhere...but I can hear it occassionally...I think it might be under the bed...

What my elf doesn't know is that I plan to send her gifts in return...when she least expects it!