Party like it's 1995, with a seventies haircut

For some time now I have been longing back to the nineties. The nineties? Yes, I am totally reliving the nineties here in Manchester. Probably I would've been reliving them too if I wasn't in Manchester, but I am here now.
I feel I need to explain this, because even though I can't actually see your faces I bet there's some puzzled ones amongst you.
Most of my reliving the nineties is music wise. Though I took all recent cd's with me, I have been longing to listen to The Dance Hall Crashers, Letters to Cleo, No doubt and many other bands that were popular back then.
I even bought a Texas cd (second hand), just to listen to the songs 'Say what you want' and 'Black eyed boy'. Turns out, the rest of the album is pretty good too. I also bought a cd-single of The Wannadies, anyone remember them? They were on Bhaz Luhrman's Romeo and Juliet soundtrack if I'm not mistaken (wait, looking that up right now....'You and me song' The Wannadies, I rule!!).
I think I know what brought this strange nineties urge on.
A couple of weeks ago I visited indiepages.com for the first time. I found the link because a friend on myspace had recommended me a band (Math and Physics Club!) and I could download some of their songs there. Little did I know that there was a whole lot of other amazing indie bands on there as well (Voxtrot, Colombus and Lovedance to name but a few). I downloaded the best songs onto my mp3-player and listened to nothing else but those songs for a while. A couple of those bands definately have some sort of nineties sound/ feeling to them. And so it came, I think that I started to long back to hearing the music I used to listen to when I was a wee teenager.
I was in for another treat at that level, because twice in the past couple of weeks have I been at clubs where they played classic dance songs from the nineties! Now normally I'm not a fan of dance music, but if they are classic songs I'm the first to bust a move!
Best of those two nights was last friday. I went to Queen of Hearts with a couple American guys and a couple of British ones (one of which it was his birthday) and one German guy. Most of them were pretty drunk already when we got to the club, I was not the least bit under the influence. But hey, who needs alcohol when you're out with a couple of drunk guys? Okay, yeah maybe you need some, to be able to put up with them ;) (Joke, Love you guys!!!!)
Anyway, as you can guess they played a whole bunch of nineties dance classics, like Snap's 'Rythm is a Dancer', Gala's 'Freed from Desire' and Underworld's 'Born Slippy'!!! Boy oh boy was I breaking a sweat dancing to those songs (not really though, or yeah I was but that was because the dancefloor was kind of too crowded)
Then on sunday, as if my weekend couldn't get any better, I listened to nineties weekend all afternoon on a radio station. It was my turn to clean the kitchen, but it didn't matter because there was nineties weekend, oh yeah; REM (shiny happy people) Four Non Blondes (what's going on?) etc.
'Wait Fleur, you skipped saturday!' Yes well saturday didn't really fit into the nineties picture. I went shopping to find a new hat, but didn't succeed. I did go to Primark again, this time trying on six items and thus not having to carry around a bunch of socks ;) I've taken some pictures, now it's up to you to guess which one item I bought. (The pictures are a bit out of focus, but hey, I was in an f-ing dressing room okay?)






Furthermore, I am longing back to nineties by wanting to walk around in old Doc. Martens shoes and I definitely want a Claire Danes 'My So Called Life' haircut. I won't die it that colour though, but I do want the haircut! I'm going for it! So take a good look at my current haircut (actually the people who I'll see in April will get a chance to see my old haircut too), because before you know it I'll be back from the nineties ;)
p.s. I posted the picture that goes with the post on me being excessively drunk.
p.s.p.s. For all the Dutch people who read this, I do occasionaly post on The Holland Corner, could you be so kind as to leave a comment every now and then? :P

Oh boy have I got another one for you

Straight out of the life of Fleur. Now I know it says 'juicy details with added flavour and everything' on here, but let me tell you I have not yet had to add any flavour. But then again admittedly I haven't really told every juicy detail either!
This story starts on last friday night (the 17th). I was a little bit in a hurry to get to Sara Cali's flat at withwork park. We were supposed to 'pre-party' there, meaning: drink. After that we were going to canal street, to celebrate St. Patricks day (actually an Irish holiday, but also celebrated in England and actually also in America). I stupidly put my ID in the same compartment as my buss pass. And as I ran to the U.K. North bus I got my buss pass out and my ID must've come out as well. Hence, yes you can guess, I lost it.
No drop of alcohol in my blood and I manage to loose my ID card. I couldn't believe it. Now I also wasn't able to go out because in canal street most clubs ask for ID. Plus the whole thing had kind of spoiled my mood.
I had some drinks though and later when I got home I turned my room upside down to see if I hadn't lost it there. But no. I did the same thing in the morning, because then I was sober. But no.
Thus began another adventure in Manchester; going to the police station.
I wanted to go to the nearest one and so I checked my map. It was a fifteen minute walk from my house. Fair enough I thought and I set out. Not after I had rang back and forth with my mother though. Because Fleur, me, moi, the one and only had very smartly left a copy of her ID with her parents at home. Of course I needed the number of my card, I thought.
I arrived in the area where the police station was supposed to be. But I had left my map at home, yes I know...again stupid (Doh!(for The Simpsons fans)! I walked back and forth for about five minutes trying to find it, when I decided that I officially had to ask for directions. But the big question was; Who?
See, the area of town I was in can safely be called a kind of dodgy one. So I was certainly not going to adress just any bugger. I had just turned a drunk looking guy (mind you it was 12 noon) down as my possible informant, when I saw two African ladies and a child walking towards me. Aha, I thought, now there's good folk!
I asked them about the police station. They told me it was closed down but they weren't sure. 'Let me find out for you' the oldest looking lady said. Oh wow, I thought how kind this lady is willing to go through the trouble of finding out for me. 'Oh no, that's not necessary' I told her I could find it out by myself.
It was closed indeed. But the local news agent was so kind as to give me directions to where they had moved. It was mile up the road turning right to where I had just come from.
Thankfully the weather was sunny and so I was actually very happy to be out and about. I needed to report my ID missing no matter what. And so I walked for another 20 minutes when I found the other police station. Good, I thought.
But when the 'automatic' door didn't open, and when the phone I was supposed to use if the door was locked didn't work, my hopes began to sink again. A guy arrived. He used the phone. It worked...but alas, this police station was closed for public on saturdays.
And so I went on my way once more. I wasn't going to walk back through Moss Side, the way I had came. I was walking back towards the main road and I'd walk back home from there. And so this route had led me in a huge square around my neighbourhood.
After eating lunch at home I went downtown to the headquarters, following my French housemates advice. I should've just done that in the first place, but it didn't matter.
The police man at the headquarters was very nice. He was also very surprised when I told him I had the cardnumber. Apparently I didn't need it. Probably he didn't realize it was my equivalent to a passport.
And that's the story of my saturday reporting my ID card missing.
The next step was contacting the Dutch embassy. It turned out to be a consulate. I had emailed them before I went to the headquartes on saturday, because I had to make an appointment. They emailed me back after the weekend saying I could come on tuesday between 10 and 12. And so on tuesday morning I set out to the Dutch consulate.
The fastest way to get there involved again a bit of a walk. Though not so much as when I went to look for a police station.
I arrived at the building in which the Dutch consulate was located. The consulate itself turned out to be two women, one in charge and the other seemed to be her assistant.
The main lady asked me to fill in a bunch of forms; to report my ID card missing, to apply for a laissez-passez (to travel back and forth in April) and one to apply for a new ID card. Of course I hadn't thought of bringin passport pictures for my new ID card or for the other thing, and also I hadn't brought any cash to pay for everything.
So I went back to Rusholme to have my pictures taken, which obviously turned out hideous despite the fact that I had washed my hair the night before. Nevertheless the guy serving me complemented me on my hairstyle, though it desperately needs to be cut. Men just don't understand hair!
Of course when I got the pictures I immediately started to doubt what the regulations were for Dutch passport pictures. So I was convinced that the lady at the consulate was going to send me back again and I had to have new pictures taken.
Thankfully they were okay. Less thankfully, I had to hand her £63,50 (ouch!).
Even less thankfully; I noticed that I had lost my green hat. I had put it in my pocket at the Dutch consulate but it must've fell out. Fleur? Haven't you learned your lesson yet? Nope. It's quite symbolic though; I lost my ID (identity) and I also lost my green hat (which had quite become my trademark).
So a new ID calls for a new hat! And thus this saturday 'momma's goin' shoppin' for a brand new hat!'
Rest in peace my green hat:


The other people in the picture, I didn't know if they wanted to be posted...

At the top of the post: Something Fleur could use?

Crazy times in Manchester I'm telling you!

Short update:
I have been ill two times already, though both time it lasted only a couple of days thankfully. Me and my American friend Sarah from Cali went out to an indie club called 42nd street some time ago. It was a blast. I kissed two guys. I went on a date with one of them, it was nice but nothing more. So as usual Fleur is not going to go out with him again. No! Don't try to convince me, I've already given it too much thought!
And then there was last friday. Me and Sara were going out again. As usual, we were drinking before hand. Obviously the student way because it is a lot cheaper than drinking at a club. Though we were going to the BOP, where drinks are a lot cheaper. That is because it is this club kind of night at the bar of Owens Park (Halls of residence).
So in the afternoon we had bought a bottle of Vodka, some orange juice and some peach juice to mix our own drinks (oh god I still feel sick when I think of it).
In the evening I went over to Sarah's flat. A friend of her's was there as well. He was also American but currently studying in Leeds(see post earlier). We mixed ourself some drinks, quite strong but tasting very much just like OJ mixed with peach juice. And so Fleur drank a more than reasonable amount of vodka before we set off to Owens Park.
There we went up to someone else's flat to leave our coats and bags there. I must admit that at that point I was already a little bit drunk, but nothing serious.
The moment we arrived at the BOP however, the alcohol really hit me.
I could try and tell you what happened but the story would just consist of some inconsistent moments in time. I was really out of it. But according to Sara, at least I was smiling all of the time.
At some point this other American guy, Dave, whom I hardly even knew, decided it was time to get me home safe. Sara went to get my stuff, apparently, because I don't remember. (Pleas note, that I am laughing my ass off right now, so don't read this and go all like 'Oh no Fleur, that sounds serious.' rather be like 'Oh fleur, you're 23 and you get yourself in situations like this? Ha ha!').
I also don't remember how we got home. I just remember being in the kitchen all of a sudden and Sara handing me a glass of water.
Sara and Dave were leaving and asked if I was going to be alright. I can remember nodding my head. I can also remember closing the door behind them but not being able to get my key out of the lock. 'Oh well, somebody else will get it out for me.' Next thing I remember standing in the upstairs hallway with the rest of my flatmates. One of them carrying a camera. They were asking me questions, but I couldn't answer them.
Later Sara told me that when we arrived at my house, where we got on the bus and by foot, I wouldn't let her or Dave handle the key. I was going to open the door myself, which obviously did not go very fast.
Inside, after leaving my key in the lock, I apparently went upstairs but couldn't get into my own room because I had locked it. So I went downstairs again still not succeeding in getting my key out. One of my flatmates saw me, but didn't know whether I wanted to go inside or outside. She helped me get my key and asked me a couple of questions about me being in such a state. I couldn't answer them. Apparently when she later asked me the same questions again upstairs, when I thought I couldn't answer them, I did answer them.
Next thing I remember cleaning up my floor, where I apparently had thrown up on. Earlier at the BOP I had also thrown up already.
Saturday morning I didn't wake up with a hangover. I woke up with a migraine. So I spent the rest of the day in bed making the occasional trip down to the bathroom.
I can't help it, I don't know why I suddenly find myself drinking like I am 18 again. It's just the student life over here I guess. It's so different. And the clubs are much nicer over here. Though the BOP really isn't that nice at all, the music is kind lame, but that's why you need a few drinks to go there.
'Yeah, a few drinks Fleur. Oh well, we love you anyway!'
'I love me too!'
p.s. I study too, no joke, really it's not all about partying!
p.s.p.s. Look close at the picture to see the stamp...

The art of film: The art of teaching, and head to heads with my lecturer

I have been taking classes here at manchester uni for 4 weeks now. I take two linguistics courses; American English and Englishes of the world. They are both second year courses. Before I chose I figured it'd be best to take second year courses because of the language thing.
I was wrong. Though I thoroughly enjoy both classes; they are phonetics, which is something that is not really present in my program at the university of Amsterdam. I must say it might have been better if I had just taken third year classes.
In the lectures (which last only one hour, yay!) the lecturer often repeats what he has told us last lecture. And then he asks all these questions about things he has already told us about three times. Now I know I am not the only one who knows all the answers, but alas nobody opens their mouth. So a week ago I decided that I was going to resort to just giving all the answers.
Now am I also one of the very few people who like to sit a bit up front in the lecture theatre. As a result my lecturer has resorted to just directing all his questions to me. Sometimes when the question is too easy, I keep my mouth shut as well. Nobody answers. I look at my lecturer and smile. He knows I know the answer, but I won't give it.
So basically I have four head to heads with this lecturer a week. And then on friday there is the other course I take; The Art of Film. It is the most amazing class I have ever taken. I really regret that I am not here for another three years to complete the whole Drama degree.
But for now I am satisfied with taking this wonderful course. I mean watching movies and analyzing them can it get any better? Yes it can! Because this course is being taught by the most amazing professor I have ever met.
The first time I met him is when I went to his office to ask if I could take his course. I knocked on the door and when I opened I found him sitting on the floor amidst huge piles of coursework. He was more than happy to have me on his course. Little did I know what big a treat I was in for!
His lecturers might be the least fun; very packed with information but accompanied with little jokes that mostly are not really funny but because it's Dr. David Butler you laugh anyway. Most fun is his ability to improvise. One lecture where we were talking about Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941) and cinematography a girl walked in half way thourgh the lecture. 'Citizen Kane greatest movie of all time?' David almost attacked her. The girl was completely taken by surprise and did not have a clue what he was talking about. She was at the wrong lecture theatre and with a dark red blush she quickly left. David felt very sorry; 'Shall I go and get her back?' he asked the class, nobody really answered as we were just as surprised as the girl. And so he went to get her back but he did not succeed.
More fun is the seminar on friday morning. This is a tutor led class with a small group of people. I happen to be priviliged with being in Dr. David Butler's seminar. It takes place in his office! The first few times we had seminar there was hardly any space for the people that were there; his office was still inhabited by big amounts of coursework that still nedded marking. He deeply appolagized for the mess, but we didn't mind.
Last week, he had cleaned up! 'Wow it is so clean in here.' I said, 'I didn't know your office was so big!'. 'See Fleur' David replied, 'It is all an illusion I have just pushed everything to the side.' 'Well that's only fair I guess when we're discussing misce-en-scene' I joked. It made him laugh.
Me and one other girl had arrived early for seminar that morning but we were invited in. David left the office, the radio was turned on. Not only was it kind of strange sitting in a professors office when he is not there. It was even more strange that there were sermons being read on the radio and it was playing songs where people were singing 'Marching in the line of God'. Not that I frown upon religious people, but it was somehow very out of place in DB's office!
Also very fun, naturally, are the screenings. We have screening on friday and wednesday afternoon. And I ask you, what is more fun than going to the university to watch a movie? And if that is not enough, on friday's we play 'stop the pigeon', or rather 'stop the penguin'. Before the screening David plays the theme song from the 1969 cartoon Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines. He then throws, what I assume was originally supposed to be a pigeon, but is really a penguin (or more specific Pingu (1986)) into the lecture theatre. The students have to throw it around until the music stops. Whoever has Pingu when the song ends has to answer a question about last weeks screening. When answered right that lucky person wins a dvd. When wrong supposedly they have to wear a silly had all throughout the screening, but so far nobody has answered a question wrong. So far I have not yet been in the possesion of Pingu when the music stops, alas. I gotst to win meself one of those nice dvd's. That would be the best souvenir of my Manchester Uni experience.