A Fantasy Gown: The Baldoch dress a.k.a renaissance faire vibes

Note: I wrote this blog post back in 2017 and it's been lurking in my drafts ever since, but now I finally got to take some pics of this gown I can publish this post, but CBA changing it. This was written when I was still in my trying-to-be-HA phase, which, as you know if you're a regular reader, has ended. So enjoy!

I haven't made anything non-historical since my first ever project; my fantasy Italian renaissance dress. It currently sits in my wardrobe at my parent's house, but I will have to take proper pictures of it because I still love it to this day. Don't get me wrong, the seams aren't finished, and its completely poly (apart from the cotton velvet bodice). I miss fantasy, and do you know why? Because you can use friggin anything!!

I love historical costuming, believe me I wouldn't sew half of my projects if I didn't, but sometimes it's just so annoying. Because I try to be historically accurate it means that nice fabric gets looked over because it's not 100% natural fibre. I have a growing bookmark list full of polys and poly mixes of the most beautiful fabric just waiting to be bought, but can't be because they're not HA. Well, after my 80% accurate regency spencer (which I think I may have put in the bin), I decided that the next project on the list this year was a fantasy gown I've been thinking about for months.

You're probably wondering at the name of this project. Baldoch (pronounced the Scottish way, please, Bahl-dochhh, like Loch), to my knowledge, is fictional (there is a place in Kent, but it's spelled differently). It is a made-up kingdom that I created in one of my short lived story ideas (the plot was weak and the storyline outplayed), but the idea of the gown remained. I wanted a flow-y dress made of layers and layers of chiffon, with a train that dragged out when I walked, and bishop style (although I hear the youths of today are calling it balloon) sleeves. So I set to work in what is probably the most unplanned project in any sewer's list.

The Making of...

I started out with the best of intentions. I wanted to start learning how to draft my own patterns, and I remembered that one of my books has a section at the beginning that shows you how to draft basic bodice, skirt, sleeve, and trouser patterns. I looked at the bodice and thought why would I draft it from scratch when the pattern I drafted for the Victorian Ball 2017 was exactly what I wanted? I was torn with the skirt. I knew I needed a panelled skirt if I wanted the volume at the hem with no bulk at the waist, and I ended up digging out both my 1860s and 1870s skirt patterns. In the end I drafted one completely from scratch, using the very helpful instructions in the book.

Now, as you may or may not know, I have 2 degrees in statistics, two, and I'm going to be starting a 3rd (a PhD - I know, I'm insane). Taking all that into consideration do you think I could half my waist measurement? Absolutely not. What made it worse was that it took me a week, and a fully drafted skirt pattern, to realise I'd not managed to successfully divide a number by 2. Yet, somehow, despite the spectacular brain malfunction, the completed skirt is still too big!  How...just how?! Numbers don't work the same way in costuming as they do in real life! Needless to say, I'm glad whatever happened did because it meant I didn't have to back to the drawing board - literally.

Fabric was actually quite hard because I didn't know what colour scheme I wanted. If you read this blog a lot you probably know I have issues with colours. I'm not colour blind or anything I just don't know what colours go together. For my first bustle era day ensemble I had to copy the colour scheme from a fashion plate, something I will no doubt repeat in the future. I knew I wanted chiffon for the skirts solely because of the drape and flow-iness, but there are different kinds of chiffon. It's meant to be sheer, but I've seen a few that are quite opaque. The other bad thing about poly is that everywhere does it. Usually I have a select few suppliers that stock HA fabrics, but every fabric shop in existence stocks poly. I still stuck to the usual suspects. I also decided I wanted a tonal effect, if that's how you put it. Because chiffon is see-through to an extent I wanted to create a kind of marbl-y effect through the layers.

The first layer was actually a purple poly crepe, just to make sure that no one was seeing what was underneath the skirts. The next layer was a lovely, yet thick, lilac chiffon. This chiffon was strange as it acted more like a Georgette in that it wasn't shiny, and it was barely see through. I didn't really need to use the crepe lining but I did anyway. The next layer was a bottle green chiffon I got from a shop on Ebay I'd never used before. I couldn't find the right green at any of my suppliers so took to Ebay. It was completely different quality from the lilac. It was labelled as bridal chiffon, and it was shiny with a little crunch, and was practically see-through. I wasn't that impressed with it, but I liked the colour so I cracked on.

Let this be a lesson to anyone reading. When drafting your own pattern I recommend writing instructions on how to assemble it. I can hear the snickers of derision from here, but I didn't do this because it's a dress, with two pieces that go together, how hard can it be? It wasn't to be honest, except that I forgot about the layers of the skirt. Another foolish thing I did when cutting out the skirt panels was making them all different widths, and this was because all 3 fabrics were different widths, and because I was lazy, and knew I wanted the skirt pleated to the bodice, just used one width by the desired length. I thought it would be a pain in the arse to put all three panels together and pleat them as one, so I attached the lining to the bodice first, pleating to fit. Have you seen the problem yet?

The mistake

The top most layer of the skirt is meant to go right sides together with the bodice, but because I'd done that with the bottom layer, it meant there was no way of attaching the other two layers. Now, I hate the seam ripper, and there was another reason I didn't want to use it on this project (you'll understand when I come to the bodice). What do you do when there's lemons? You make lemonade, kids. There is also more than one way to skin a cat.

The crepe layer was attached, and I was drowning in metres of chiffon. My solution was to hem both top and bottom of the remaining panels, and then attach them on top. This would create a lot of bulk, so I kind of planned to grade them, with the top most layer hiding the very visible seam of the middle one. The order was, crepe as the base, lilac as the inter-layer, and then the bottle green on the top.

I had attached the lilac layer with semi-visible blue thread, and it was looking good. Then when I went to drape the green layer on I stopped.

It ruined it. The green layer just muted the vibrancy of the lilac and made the whole thing....well....meh. Not to mention, because I was planning on covering the lilac layer I hadn't measured the pleats, and they weren't even in the same place on either side of the front!

What was I going to do? I had cut and hemmed this nightmare chiffon layer, and couldn't bear the thought of not using it. One seam hadn't been sewn up yet, so I thought of making it like a detachable train, then realised I hadn't sewed up the CB, the longest piece. Ugh.

So I made lemonade again. I took inspiration from the regency era. I read somewhere on a pattern (think it might be S&S) that some empire gowns were only pleaded between the curved side back seams. The bodice had these as well, so I did the same thing with this skirt.

I also made it so the skirt didn't go all the way round, leaving the bright lilac on show in the front. I was satisfied, considering what a disaster this project was already turning into.
One more note about the lilac skirt is that I faced the hem. I couldn't quite get away from historical costuming, but there is a reason for this. I faced it with bias binding all the way round, but corded the back panel. I wanted the skirt to pull out behind me, and thought adding the cord would weigh it down, thereby dragging behind me. To make matters worse because I thought I was going to cover it the binding is that tartan I can't seem to finish and have used on most of my projects since the beginning of time, and obviously the cord makes the hem look a little weird as well. Oh well, we live and learn.

Let's move onto the bodice. This was another weird one. As I stated above I used the pattern from my first bustle era ensemble made for the Victorian Ball 2017. I knew it fitted me perfectly over a corset (which I was wearing with this dress anyway), so I used it. The first thing that went wrong was the waistline. For some reason it lost a few inches in the process of transferring it from the Victorian pattern to its own one. This dress is meant to be at the natural waistline, but you can see it's crept up an inch or two, not that it's a bad thing, I suit that as well (just not empire, please, God, not empire waistlines). But considering I made a mock up of it anyway, was surprising. I even added a seam allowance to the bottom! I suppose this is what happens when you don't plan anything.

Mock-up

Next we have the fabric. Let me start this by saying I love this fabric, absolutely love it. It's embroidered velvet, and boy was it expensive for poly. At £25 p/m (and it comes in different colours) I was a bit reluctant, but bought it anyway, thinking it would be perfect and I would only need 2 metres (but still, for a poly blend?). I've only worked with cotton velvet, never a poly blend, and this was so bad. It moulted worse than my dog! For days and weeks after it had been on the cutting table I was finding bits, and I had even vacuumed after each cutting session because I know how bad it can be for dog's lungs. So much for that effort, evil stuff.

It was also a bit** to get the scissors through. The gold vines are this strange golden embroidery thread I've used before, kind of like imitation thread of gold, not really sure if it has a name and what that name is. It was also bejewelled, and because the pattern pieces sometimes rested on these jewels I had to hack them off, and for anyone who was worked with poly velvet will know how painful this can be.

It was thin fabric, and in hindsight I should have flat lined it instead of just lining it, but oops, I didn't. Can't remember what my logic for not doing it was. I bag-lined it (is that the term?) with blue marble-y effect cotton I had in the stash. That's what you can see poking from the arm holes.

For once the lining actually fit perfectly to the bodice, so I took this small victory. There are no bones in this, because CBA, and this dress was meant to be flowy and delicate, so bones would have been a little counter-productive.

The sleeves were a joy in that they were the easiest part of the entire damn thing. I have always been a fan of bishop/balloon sleeves and read online how to alter a straight sleeve pattern. The book I used by Elizabeth Friendship also has instructions on how to draft a straight sleeve pattern, and I felt so clever! Since this isn't a tutorial blog (yet) I won't go into detail (not to mention I took no pics of the process), but I ended up with this huge pattern that wouldn't even fit onto the fabric, so I trimmed it accordingly.

I made the sleeves of the lilac chiffon, and was going to put cuffs at the wrist, but then CBA with that, so ended up hemming them and putting a ribbon through as a drawstring. Finished with lovely etched aglets that I've always wanted to use.

This was my last project in my old sewing room as I moved house a few weeks after completion. As people reading this blog will probably have seen or know about the other costuming blogs out there, they always have really cool photoshoots, and for years I've been planning to have one. I had the perfect location, but no suitable camera, and buying it was put off and put off, so it took me 2 years to actually photo this project on me. I am wearing my natural form era corset underneath.

Travelling Scot: Nottingham

So I mentioned in one of my previous posts that I spent last Friday in Nottingham after having completed all of my coursework; to be honest even if I hadn't I still would have gone.  The night before I charged up my phone, I spent too long on Google maps, and I planned my day so I wouldn't be disappointed.  The three attractions, well if you count a church as an attraction, were St Mary's, the Galleries of Justice, and of course, Nottingham Castle.  The city name, Nottingham, comes from Snota inga ham, Saxon for village belonging to Snota, or Snot, who was a Saxon chieftain.

There was no particular reason why I went to the Galleries of justice, I've rarely written about the law in the 19th century, in fact I've rarely written about the 19th Century at all until recently and even then it's set in Glasgow, but the law is different in Scotland; to put it a charming and very official way, we have Scots Law that is independent of England and Wales, and Ireland.  That being said it was a most enjoyable visit and very informative in case I ever did want to write about it.  It was the first thing I went to see because they have a lot of school trips during the week and so the first thing I did when I got off the train, and followed my GPS a potential mugging way, was go and book my own tour at 12.30.  This gave me roughly 2 hours to look at the castle and the church.

For those of you who haven't been in Nottingham they seem to have jumped on board this fetish with bringing the trams back into major cities.  I've seen them in Manchester and Birmingham but have never been on one, and Edinburgh made such a disaster of theirs that there's not really any point in going on them.  In hindsight I should have jumped on it into town instead of nearly getting lost with my GPS, that being said I wouldn't have known what stop to get off at and would have got lost anyway.  Needless to say I got one back to the station but more on that later.

Thankfully St Mary's church is practically right beside the Galleries of Justice.
So I walked to the very front of the church, which is rarely where the actual entrance is these days, took a few snaps here and there, read that the entrance was in the south porch, not unusual.  The place was really quiet because it's away from the main town centre and no one seemed to be walking past either.  My stomach was talking to me and instead of looking around in wonderment I should have eaten the cereal bar in my bag but I didn't, and more fool me for not.  I found the porch it was talking about and when I entered I found the door on the below right.  Looks pretty solid, and more importantly closed doesn't it?  My heart sank.  This was the oldest church in Nottingham, built in the 14th century as an improvement to one that had already been there and was reported in Domesday book, I really wanted to see inside.  I looked around at the noticeboards I didn't take a picture of to the left and right and found that it should be open.
Bravely....I mean gingerly I stepped towards the door, the heels of my boots thudding on the hollow ramp at my feet, and slowly I began to push on this door.  My God was it heavy, which is kind of obvious when you look at it.  It's the part on the right that opens and in I slipped, straight onto four people of the church having what looked to be an important meeting.
This is the thing about churches, anyone can just walk in.  To be honest the meeting was happening at the other side of the knave from the door, but because of the high ceilings and lovely echoing I would have a problem with a little later I could hear their mumblings and conversation.  I felt very conspicuous, as anyone does when they're the only guest in a church, or customer in a shop.  I walked around the side of the church, taking everything in, passing a man who was carrying the chairs into the knave.  No pews inside of this church, which now I think about it is weird although that thought didn't occur to me at the time.

I won't go into detail about the history of the church, mainly because I don't know anything about it.  There was no handy guidebook to tell me everything, only the occasional sign marking something of interest in the chapels or on the walls.
From what I can remember there isn't much left of the original masonry of the 14th century, but the stained glass window on the right is partly intact from then; you can kind of tell by the face near the top, definitely a medieval drawing.

Now as I was walking around the church my stomach decided to begin grumbling again and this is where my unfortunate run in with the echoing came in.  Yes, it's almost transcendent when you hear a choir sing, the voice of the reverend...minister....priest (? I'm not catholic, I don't know) carries all the way down the knave, but guess what, so does a grumbling tummy.  My stomach and I have had many embarrassing moments of a similar nature, mostly during a silent exam, many silent exams, but in a church is a first.  Thankfully there was no one around, well not many people around, to share in my embarrassment.

The painted ceiling was pretty (pictured on the right).  What I find interesting about churches is that they force people to look up, handy when God is meant to be in heaven.  Walking around in every day life no one ever looks up at buildings, or at people like me looking out of high windows at the tiny figures walking around, but it's different in a church.

I would definitely recommend St Mary's church for those of you who like medieval architecture, quiet and tranquil places, and just like churches in general.  Obviously if you're a Catholic, too.  And as is tradition when I go into a catholic church, I lit a candle at one of the chapels, and donated to the church's upkeep.

By this time I think I had about an hour and a half to find Nottingham castle, look around, and then get back to the Galleries of Justice.  I'm a stickler for time, if I have an appointment or somewhere to be I am constantly looking at my watch so I'm not late; this case was no different.  Rather than using my GPS to find my way from St Mary's to the castle the signposts were very helpful in pointing me in the right direction, which turned out to be a straight road practically.  Thanks Nottingham council.  The last time I used tourist signs I got lost in York, anti-thanks York council!
The castle isn't really a castle anymore, rather it's a stately home placed slap bang in the middle of a city.  It did used to be a castle, a proper one like everyone imagines, but it was destroyed, rebuilt, etc.  As a result I don't know much about the castle either, so Wikipedia will come to the rescue.  All I do remember off the top of my head was that Richard I besieged the castle with his brother, John, still in it.

During its medieval heyday it must have been quite something to behold, even now the views are breathtaking from "castle rock" where the mansion is built.  There used to be a keep situated on the spot where the ducal mansion now sits.

The first castle was built by William the Conqueror in 1067, built in stone under Henry II and remained grand and important throughout the centuries.  Edward III, whose reign I have the most knowledge about, began his own rule at this castle after he staged a coup against his mother and Roger Mortimer who had been acting as regents.
The current castle, or mansion, is your typical 18th century building, and houses an art gallery which was unfortunately closed the day I visited as they were making way for a new exhibit.  The views were the best thing about this castle for me, and I wish I had gone a little later when the sun came out and the clouds went away because when I went, as you can see, it was overcast in typical British style.





Actually before I even got into the castle I was waylaid by English people asking me to take a picture of them in front of the Robin Hood statue outside the castle walls.  They said it was for a team building exercise.  Before that I was asked for directions.  This isn't a rare occurrence for me, well the picture one was, but certainly not directions.  When I was visiting family in Carlisle I actually managed to point someone in the right direction and I had only been in the main city less than 30 minutes.  I must have one of those faces, I inherited it from my mother who can't go out of the house without being approached by a stranger.
Nottingham can't be mentioned without thinking of Robin Hood, and believe me the Nottingham tourism office has taken full advantage.  He is everywhere, statues, signs, merchandise.  It is a shame that he isn't real.

After I had taken in some fresh air at the castle and been awed by the views over the entire city I made my way back into town, did some light shopping, and by the time I was done realised I only had 20 minutes for lunch.  I beat one of my deepest social fears by walking into a busy Costa and having lunch on my own (I do eat on my own but I usually pick empty cafes and places, or I eat on a bench).  After wolfing down a nice toastie and an Orange, festive, hot chocolate, I made my way back to the Galleries of Justice.

I said in my previous post that I was asked to be a witness for the prosecution, and with my best Scottish accent I read the script.  The tour guide said he thought I was American when I first came in, I wonder at this since I didn't say a word to him.  I was with various other Europeans; Italian, Spanish and Brazilian, then the couple from Lincolnshire.  We walked around the prison/courtroom learning all about the horrors and injustice of 19th century law.  Apparently it's haunted, although I am impartial to a well written ghost story, I think they're solely reserved for the pages of a novel or short story, needless to say I never saw any ghosts.  Perhaps you will if you visit.
It was horrific to learn how bad the system was, but I have a feeling that only the truly awful stories and cases were illuminated for the visitor, even then I may just be being optimistic. Definitely worth a visit if you like passionate actors, and a run around an exercise yard.  I would also like to personally thank my first tour guide, the 19th Century usher, who gave me my new name for this blog.

After coming from the Galleries of Justice I had about an hour to kill before I needed to be back in the train station.  There had been a sign post to the old market, or market square, and I wanted to go and see it.  What should I stumble upon but a Christmas market!  I was so happy and it was such a good end to a brilliant day.  In Glasgow the Christmas Market, or German market as it used to be called, is there from December onwards and it really does help you get in the christmas mood.  Leicester doesn't have one and so the only Christmas I get is a thorntons smiley face from my advent calender and the speciality disposable cups you get from Cafe Nero and Costa.  I can't even have a speciality drink because they're too sweet for me, and I've also had to cut out caffeine from my life.  After this week is over ( my last week of the semester, yay!) I will endeavor to ask them to put less syrup in my drink and then it will be Christmas.

I didn't buy anything at the market, mostly because the food makes me cringe.  I did get a decaf latte from the Costa though and after that it was tram time!  I know it's childish of me but I really wanted to ride in a tram.  I had seen them in these cities, waited patiently and without reward for them in Edinburgh, but I'd never been on one.  It was expensive.  There was two stops between me at the market and the train station, a single was £2.10, it would have been cheaper if I had a melon card (at least I think that was what it was called, like the Osyter card for London transport).  It was so fun, the other people must have thought I was a complete nut having just run away from the psychiatric ward, but I don't care, I never do.  The tram was fun and I would reccomend getting it from the station into town raher than walking.  For those of you who do it's the first or the second stop after the train station for the city centre.

I would recommend Nottingham because it was a really nice city and I had a good, relaxing day out.

The social tight rope between the sexes

I was actually reluctant to write this post because of the obviously precarious subject matter; don't want to go insulting any of the four regular readers I have accumulated.

I don't have to deal with this much, the relationships between men and women thing.  My friends are girls, I now live with girls, and I don't have a boyfriend to worry about (not in that way but from what I've heard, boyfriends are....work...some of the time).  I live quite a male-secluded life.  There are men on my course, as there were in my old one, but as you can tell from my single status nothing's ever come of it, they're colleagues, people I am forced to see 5 days a week and then I get a Masters in return.

The relationship between men and women is a long stretching, complicated, dangerous, sensitive, and at times rewarding one, but how long has it taken us all to get to this questionable truce?  Hundreds of thousand of years, folks!  I do not consider myself a die-hard feminist, I simply believe in human equality and the right to make independent choices.  Women have had a notoriously oppressive history, seen as nothing but objects, deemed as "imperfect versions of men" (thanks Christianity), and restrained from reaching their full potential.  The world isn't like that now, this is the 21st Century and the bickering and fights between the sexes should be over.

In an ideal world yes, and although in economy, jobs and family life, etc, we all are, but what about the contentious area of actual inter-sex relationships?  I'm making this post sound so serious when it's not.  This post is simply about wolf-whistling and inappropriate methods of flirting with the other sex.  Unfortunately due to my limited time spent out in the real world I've been sheltered from the true horrors of inter-flirting, at least I think that but I have been told differently by several of my friends who have seen me oblivious to the flirting of the opposite sex (yes, I am that girl).

Living a life as a semi-hermit has its perks, it also has its understandable disadvantages.  I went to the local supermarket for an extension to my weekly shopping usually done in Aldi (I love you Aldi but sometimes...you know....you just aren't enough).  Everything was good, I bought too many tins of soup, and smoothie's that just jumped miraculously into my hands of their own volition, I swear.  Walking back down the busy road to my flat I was changing my Ipod, innocent, in my own little cloud world when boom!  or rather Honk!

It came from right beside me where the road was, the lane closest to me.  Cars and trucks beep at each other all of the time, but this was a short sharp sound that made me look up instinctively.  What happened was the most disturbing and weirdest thing that has happened to me this year (to my reflective knowledge).  I looked up and made eye contact with a middle-aged man driving one of the trucks pictured left (but the British version) and he gave me a sort of nod.  How to explain this nod is difficult, it wasn't a chin-up "how you doin" nod; if I was to explain it I would say it was an encouraging nod, but I think we can safely say what it really was.

I don't know if it's common in other countries to be beeped by passing cars, lorries, trucks.  It comes in different forms in vehicles, the most frightening and obvious one is of course the ominous engine rev.  It's the vehicular form of a wolf-whistle.  Was it, or is it, appropriate for men to still do this to women walking on the street?  On this line of thought is the outdated wolf whistle still appropriate?

I think even women are divided on this issue; some see it as a compliment, which I suppose it is, whilst others see it as an insult of one kind or another, a kind of objectification.  All I can say is that I was utterly gobsmacked.  This has never happened to me in such an obvious form.  I was the only one on the pavement and he was looking directly at me.  The first thing I said was "did that just happen?".  I thought it was funny, don't get me wrong, slightly gross but funny.

It was more of the shock of it happening that inspired me to write this post than any other motive.  At least I haven't heard one of those awful pick-up lines dropped, I would burst into laughter right in front of the poor sod.  The fact that it was a middle-aged guy, the fact that in all of the older movies you see the guys wolf-whistling, is it an outdated thing, beeping horns and whistling?  Is it as common for women to do?  Men seem to be more under the influence of their impulses, they can't control them as well as women seem to, for the most part.  I've seen attractive men and I don't start making noises in their direction.  Where did this culture come from anyhow?

Although my story is mild, very very mild, do you have an embarrassing story like it?  Did you get dropped a pick-up line when he was being serious (you poor thing)?  Do you think it is outdated?

Life has themes: this week's = Morality!

Recently I wrote a very long post about protagonist morality and whether a hero or heroine can ever be truly morally corrupt.  I meant to publish it to the world today until something unusual happened which mirrored that post.

We all like finding money whether it be in our pockets, pressed up against the washing machine door as your clothes are spinning, or in our bank accounts.  Some of us even like finding it outside on the ground.  When I was younger I never found money; I think I found a £2 coin once and was so happy.  Then adulthood hit and my belief system formed.  I am not a Christian or any of the other accepted religions of the world, I prefer to think I'm Wren Religion.  I don't want to go into the complicated labyrinth of my beliefs in deities but jumping straight to the main pivoting point of my entire life and the one thing that makes my decisions; Karma!

In the most basic definition of the word I have taken Karma to be simply, "what goes around, comes around" or sometimes "do good things and good things will come".  I mentioned in my post (soon to be published) about character morality that the reason why I staunchly believe in Karma is my childhood watching Japanese Anime and then my late adolescence and current life watching South Korean dramas.  Those cultures are very moral, they indoctrinate their youth with a clear sense of right and wrong from a very early age, obviously mirrored in their TV shows.  Like every population there's always outliers (showing my statistics roots there) but for the majority of people in Japan and South Korea they do the right thing; this is proven by the lowest crime rates, and highest reported safety by many foreigners that go over there to live.  I heard a story from Simon and Martina (if you haven't heard of them go and check out their blog.  They're a couple who have been living in South Korea for years and regularly post videos about life there) that someone lost their wallet in South Korea, they either went to the police station or someone handed it to them and all of the money, credit cards, etc, were still inside.

I never realised how much watching these things when I was younger affected me until my late teens, probably about 17 or 18, maybe even before that.  Getting back to the main point of this blog post, money....I mean morality.  Whenever I find things that don't belong to me, I hand them in, regardless of what it is, even money.

The first instance of this is when I was at John Knox's house in Edinburgh.  I found £40 pounds on the floor and handed it into reception.  They took my phone number and thanked me; I thought that was the end of it.  A few weeks later they phoned me saying none had claimed the money and did I want to come and pick it up.  I was probably about 16 at the time, £40 was a lot of money for me.  I told them to donate it to themselves (all heritage sights in Scotland are run by charities).  I gave away the money because it wasn't mine to keep.  Was it a stupid thing to do?  I don't think stupidity really factors into anything to do with morality.  Morals are very much based on individual beliefs, and people with none are usually the ones who say what I did was stupid.

The second instance was a few weeks ago.  There is a flat right beside mine, our doors are separated by a very small space.  As I was about to enter my flat I saw money, £30, lying on the floor.  It was over the border between my flat and theirs.  I wish I was joking when I said this but I stood there for what felt like 5 minutes trying to decide what to do.  What was the right course of action to take in that moment?  This is the problem with any belief system, there always comes a time when there's grey areas.  Good thing about my religion is I can make it up as I go along, change to suit circumstance.  Because it was lingering more outside next door's flat than mine, I picked it up and chapped on their door.  Handing it to the disgruntled occupant I entered my flat with a sigh or relief.  The money may not have been hers, and I'm not so naive in thinking she didn't just pocket it herself, but I did the right thing and my Karma is all I care about, not hers.  The only other thing would have been to trudge all the way down to reception and hand it in there, but from where it was positioned on the ground it either belonged to someone in her flat or mine, and it was closer to their door.  This was an exciting thing to happen in my life but it was soon forgotten, until today!!

So it wasn't as fancy as this but still

The elevator is out for the second time in 2 weeks (see here about my post when the lift was out of order the first time).  This means that the 200+ people in my block are all having to use the stairs again (but fret not, it's worth it because all of us got a small box of Roses chocolates and an apology note: I would walk up to the 14th floor of my block if it meant getting another box, but I am expecting a bigger box this time).  I ordered something from Amazon this week and got an email saying it had been delivered today.  Unfortunately it was too large to fit in our small mailbox and so I got a letter telling me to pick it up at reception.  Dumping my bag in my room and signing this little note, I went down the stairs again, and lone behold what did I find, £10!!

It was just lying there, on the stairs where 200 and more people walk.  To be honest it hadn't been there on my way up the first time, but on my way down there it was, crumpled and lost.  It was impossible to tell who it belonged to.  And so began another moral dilemma.  Now, I've been having a really Sh** week this week, my attempts at buying a new pair of glasses that actually fit me has left me out of pocket by more money than I'd care to admit (and no matter how many times they're adjusted they're still not right), and it's a coursework week which means stress with some more stress on the side.  I was on my way to the reception, and when I picked it up I did think about handing it in, but then I thought, what were they going to do with it?  There are 600+ people living in my building.  They would most likely keep it for a week and then if no one claimed it keep it themselves.  Yes, someone could have asked but that's not British is it?  We accept that if we lose money someone is going to take it.  Peeps, today I was that person, today, I was British, or more specifically, Scottish.  I was like any other person I know whose belief system is "finders keepers".

This is the question, was taking that £10 bad karma?  I have never kept money in the two instances before this.  Why during such a bad week did I find the money?  Coincidence would be what a rational person, and probably I, should say, but I am also a writer and I like to believe in more than that.  I was having a bad week, am having a bad week, and finding that £10 did cheer me up, before the onslaught of Karma worrying came.  I will admit, my belief system broke down a little bit, but don't they all?  I don't feel guilty about picking it up, after writing this post I do feel slightly guilty about keeping it, but aren't people permitted strays from their beliefs?

Some of you may think I'm contemplating this too much, it was only £10 after all, but for some people that could be something important.  Maybe it was just the fall-out from someone else's bad week (yes, pun intended).  It brightened up my week a little and has some new friends in my purse instead of being abandoned on the stairs with no one.  On the other hand, at least it came to me and inspired me to entertain people with this post, and at least I actually thought about doing the moral thing whereas most of the other people here would have snatched it without another thought on the matter.

What do you think?  To much contemplation or the foundations of future bad karma?

Halloween post: presentations are the most frightening thing

So for those of you who are my frequent readers, which I estimate to be about 4 at this point, you will know that I suffer from social anxiety.  There is nothing more frightening to someone like me than being told you have to stand up in front of people and talk.....about anything.  Even introducing myself is a nightmare.  I've figured out my limit is about 4-5 people, anymore than that and you can forget actual intelligible English coming out of my mouth.  So when I attended my course's induction and they said there would be a group presentation to do every week you can imagine what my feelings on this subject were.  Not only would I have to mingle with everyone I would then have to stand up and speak.

Thankfully they're not graded or marked in any way because I wouldn't even be getting 50%.  We're given about 2 hours to make a presentation together before we have to present them; this has led to something forever called "presentation Friday".  Since we're only in half a day on a Friday they decided that during the morning we would be subject to standing up and presenting the half-dashed attempt at understanding whatever we had done that week.  Then came this week.

We had not one, not even two, but three presentations.  You'd think after four weeks of standing up on a regular basis that I wouldn't be nervous anymore but this time I hit rock bottom.  On the first day I began to laugh to myself when I deviated from my script that was quivering in my shaking hands and then proceeded to start talking, just using any words that sounded relevant when someone asked a question and no one else in my group answered.  The second day was actually ok save from the sweat soaked script in my hand, and on the third day my poor little piece of paper had a heartbeat of its own and was shaking uncontrollably in my hands the entire way through.  I would like to take this opportunity to thank my group members who, by far, have made it the best group week I've had since I started.

Deviating slightly from the subject I will say a few words on student life, or rather Masters life.  I thought my undergrad degree was bad, stressful and upsetting in so many ways.  I thought, somewhat naively, if I could get through it then I could get through anything.......hahahahahaha.  Holy crap was I wrong.  Coursework weeks are not as kind as they sound; you get an entire week off classes just to do coursework!

Thankfully the deadlines were all met and to be honest because I break up the coursework into pieces and chip away at that giant iceberg from the moment we get it, things haven't been that hectic for me.  Unfortunately what did stress me out was everyone else constantly asking me for help, but I won't go into a rant about it here (believe me I could write an entire post about how irritating my classmates were on the last coursework week; why are you asking me, I don't know either!!!)

I haven't used a pencil for years, we weren't allowed to use one for my exams so all mathematical calculations had to be done in pen; cue many ugly scribbles adorning my notes and exam scripts (sorry lecturers).  Since I came down to Leicester pencil has been my saviour because with the amount of mistakes I made in the first few weeks my notes would have looked unreadable with the amount of ugly, but colourful, scribbles.

This happens a surprising amount; just remember, kids, highlighters aren't always your friend.  In fact I think I remember reading somewhere that they were actually detrimental to studying because your mind is busy thinking you should highlight it rather than read and learn it.

At the end of my undergrad degree I'm pretty sure my entire class suffered from this (it had been a long four years) and 8 exams within two weeks is criminal!

So if uni is so stressful and awful, why do people continue to go?  It would be so easy to be upbeat about this but the fact is, sorry folks, it's the done thing nowadays.  We live in a society that places a lot of importance on a university degree, and if your school was anything like mine, we were made to believe that if we didn't have one then we would never get a good job.  I know now that's not true but at the time we were impressionable.

It is easy to get stressed about uni, to get really irritated over the small things, but at the end of the day I chose to do a masters.  I didn't need one (actually I do but that's besides the point) but I like being a student; I like the stress and I like that it's interesting and challenging, how boring would life be if everything was easy?  My favourite saying is "anything worth doing is never easy".
Besides, it's all good, we get student discount!

If only they didn't have an expiry date on them