The Smile

This issue has been on my mind since I arrived in St Andrews. At first, it was just that I did not understand it: why did people I had met just a couple of days earlier ignore me when we passed each other on the street? It took me a while, and then I realised people here are just not as good at remembering faces or names. Then I just learnt to deal with it, and come to terms with the fact that people often just 'blank' each other here for no apparent reason.

My never-ending question in relation to this is: what is so wrong with smiling in this town? Not even saying 'hi', but just a smile of recognition. People look so uncomfortable when I do it. A smile doesn't mean much, I think, but blanking a person really does. "What did I do?", one wonders. Smiling is just a friendly way of acknowledging people you kind of know, but with whom you've never really spoken: a way of saying "we know each other", and then moving on. Ironically, smiling can even be a way of keeping this, seemingly, very desired distance. Smiling politely does not mean "let's have a conversation right here, right now", which is what I think most people must think it means. But at least it doesn't leave you feeling like you are some sort of non-person, something the eyes must avoid.

The worse is when the blanking is accompanied by the 'raped walk'. This applies to men only, I think. Have you noticed how some men who think highly of themselves walk with their legs kind of really apart, with a strange little bounce that suggests some kind of pain in the butt area? The blanking in these cases is so much more arrogant, but then again, watching this kind of person walk away, I can never resist but to crack a little smile. 

The Yahs

OK, give me some credit. I have been writing this for a few months now and I haven't touched upon this subject yet. It would have been the self-evident thing to do, really: such an enormously big component of the student community, so much room for parody. Indeed, they already are parodies of themselves...

My early days observing the yahs were both amusing and disturbing. High on the list was a conversation I overheard outside the Union: "Yah mate, our flat is such a mess right now...like, yah, there's champagne all over the ceiling." Most recently I was standing in line at an ATM: two girls, one of them getting money out for the night. Girl 1: "So, how much should I get? £500?" Girl 2: "That's a little too much don't you think?" Girl 1: "You're right. £250?" I really do wonder where they were heading out to...

My best yah moment was, of course, interviewing Matt Lacey for The Saint last year. Such a win. He definitely tops all my yah stories, serious quality. I have, of course, come across my fair share of 'gap yah' stories here too; "Africa girl" stands out for commenting on how, when "she was there [Africa...just, Africa], although people were so poor there were always happy...and they never smacked their children". Read and rejoice. 

A close encounter of the third kind with a yah at the bus stop: I was on my way to horse-back riding, and in my full-on riding outfit. Guy approaches me: "Sorry. I was just wondering, does the University have a riding team?" Me: "Yes, we sure do. But I'm not part of it." Guy: "OK, fair enough. Does the University have a Polo team?" Me: "Yes, yes it does." Guy" "OK, great. And do you like the riding school here?" Me: "Yes, it's really great." Guy: "Thanks!" At this point I thought this had been a pleasant exchange of information. Guy: "Oh, just one more question. Did you bring your own horse?" Me: *repressed horror/laughter* "No. No I didn't..." This has been making me question if I really do like riding, after all.

Most recently, it has been incredibly interesting to see how yahs cope with fourth year. A girl posed the following rhetorical question to me recently: "Reading just takes so long, doesn't it?" I am still wondering: so long in comparison to what?!

My biggest concern is that these are the individuals we're going to be seeing on TV and newspapers not too long from now (Exhibit A: the royal couple). I do worry that this niche group is so emblematic of our University. Alas, I guess we could be infamous for worse things...

Contextually Specific Sex

Lots of things are constantly in our faces in St Andrews. The library. The annoying kids from Madras. The flute player. Our classmates. I think sex ranks quite high up that list: at least, it's not in our faces all the time (that would be bad, actually) but it definitely is a huge conversation topic.

Sex in St Andrews is no different than everywhere else. It is in advertising, it is in the fashion shows, the events... It walks hand in hand down the street, plastered on the faces of all the happy couples. You would think this is a simple matter of life, yet it is all but simple. 

Seen that we talk about it so much, I think clearly this must be a reflection that it is a subject that crosses our mind quite a lot. Yes, even girls. This is a riddle I've been trying to solve: we take it for granted that men think about sex every 15 seconds (or some similarly crazy statistic), but is it true that men think women don't do the same? And, conversely, can it be that men are increasingly content with just having a nice meal out, a goodnight kiss, and nothing else? 

The question rises out of my bafflement at hearing that men feel used by the women of this town. I agree that some of us here come off as slightly aggressive, but hey, walking around in high heels on cobblestones whilst wearing incredibly tight trousers can give a girl a slightly violent air (although I have been told by the wise people at hercampus.com that there are ways to get around this serious issue...). Generalisations aside, I'll give the guys some credit: I am fully aware that not all men are keen on the meaningless sex, and go you for admitting it.

The fact remains, however, that in some form or another we all want it: whether it's a quicky outside the Union (or God forbid, the toilets at the Lizard), a very compliant fuck buddy, or a full-on wedding at St Salvator's chapel in a few years' time, I have a feeling that collectively we all think about sex much more than every 15 seconds. The important thing to remember, however, is that it has to be contextually specific. Be sure to be on the same plane; if both people are in it for just one night, then go for it. If one of you has put on a look of intense post-coital endearment whilst the other is bolting for the door, there is some serious imbalance taking place. Essentially, communication helps. It avoids making one feel used, or makes using each other much simpler. 

Code Names: the sequel

The amazigness of our living room window is not easily conveyed. We see everyone...every-one. I see you, and you can't see me. We know that there's a guy living in front of us who runs barefoot in the mornings, and we know what time the waiters at Mitchell start work in the mornings. Creepy, I agree, and yet, so much fun.

Metaphorically speaking, this is a window facing into a whole new world of code names. Beginning with our neighbours across the street. Notably, "Hair Guy". This man sits in front of his computer in the evenings, presumably to work, and proceeds to groom his hair for hours. With his hands, a comb, a pen...his girlfriend does it for him some times too. He just sits there and pulls at his hair, untangling it, parting it to one side, then the other, then combing it back, then caressing it...we are fully convinced he suffers from some kind of fetish. Also, how soft must his hair be? "And how greasy?", some of our visitors have asked. How has his hair not fallen off after this amount of pulling?

Now, of major interest this year are the Scandinavians of St Andrews. Funnily enough, I hear they have been baptised the "Slytherins of St Andrews"...I don't know how I feel about that code name. But, nevertheless, we get creative with their identities too. Like last year, we had named one of them "Babyface". This summer something happened; maybe his mum gave him an extra Gerber or two, but Babyface has now been promoted to "Manface". In any case, several of the Scandinavian men here seem to have gotten older over the break. Some not for the best (I hate to say, Mr "This-is-what-perfection-looks-like").

Then I discovered "Lady Moves", and boy oh boy do I wish I could move my hips that way. And have such little facial hair as he does. There's always something wrong when a guy looks like he uses more skin products than a girl. Maybe it's just better genes, who knows. For sure though, I will be asking him for some dance lessons before the semester ends (maybe some beauty tips as well).

This year we are (not really) missing our old neighbour, "Naked Girl"; she had a tendency to get changed without closing her bedroom curtains (or the windows). Winter was a bitch back in old Lade Braes, but she had the skin of an elephant and was not affected by the Siberian winds, I guess. "Naked Girl 2" has also been spotted this year, fully clothed for the time being , but I'm sure once the fashion shows start hitting town I'll be seeing more of her ass on posters. 

"Mould Girl the Second" has made an appearance in my Swedish counterpart's life, as a cruel reminder of the life we could have had if we had moved into that house we viewed last year. The library, as usual, has provided some fantastic new additions to our repertoire, mainly "Our Little Non-friend" who, believe it or not, ALWAYS manages to get there before us. And despite the fact it is only the three of us in that area of the library at 8.15 a.m., he still won't even smile 'good morning' to us.

"Mexican Guy", who turned out not to be Mexican, was sighted a few times, although we dislike him for his lack of sass. Added to our favourites list is "Angel (ravish me) Face", who unfortunately does not reside in the same country as us, but is still very worthy of his nickname. 

Best of all this year is finding out one's own code name: I apparently live with "Boots Girl" (and by looking at the shoes in my hallway, I think she kind of deserves that title). We've also had a few reappearances, such as the "Hot/Annoying Nerd"; wasn't he supposed to graduate? "Old Spice Guy" and "Smelly Balls Guy" are, sadly, classics we just can't shake off. Needless to say, however, this year we are seriously making the most of this: wherever we end up next will probably not have this amount of note-worthy people, and we will hopefully not be running into them day in, day out. The silver lining of graduating, huh?

Busker Trauma

I could start this post with a series of very rude and aggressive words, but I will try to contain myself (for the most part, at least). I cannot deny how incredibly amazing our new flat is, especially location-wise. Close to basically everything there is in St Andrews, and giving us perfect bird-eye view of Market Street (best entertainment e-ver!). But nothing this good can come without a price, and we have, unfortunately, learnt the price of living on Market Street.

So, let me say, with all the gentleness and poise which are so natural to me, that those buskers need to HIT THE ROAD. Literally, head-first, if possible. And may their instruments perish in the process too. Why, why, why OH why do we need to suffer this every single week, if not day, that we spend in our living room? 

Let me begin with the infamous flute player, enemy to all Market Street residents. Are there even any words to describe this man? Or someone who understands what compels him to stand there for hours on end playing the same three songs over, and over, and over... I cannot count the times we have heard 'Yesterday', 'Rhythm of My Heart' and 'Memories' this month. If he loves music this much, he seriously needs to go back to a sound-proof room and practice some more, because this really isn't working (despite playing hours on end, heaven knows how he hasn't mastered those songs by now). I fully encourage anyone who is gifted to share that gift with the world, but for crying out loud, expand on the bloody gift!! There are millions of songs he could play. Or, possibly, not...

Then, of course, because we are in Scotland, the bagpipe player. Fortunately he doesn't appear too often and not for too long, but still, give us a break: Saturday mornings are for sleeping, not to ceilidh down to Tesco's. Of course, wherever he is we will hear him (not like the flute player, who fortunately sometimes stands on the corner by Tesco's and is not always audible) because the bagpipe is a very manly instrument, some would argue. 

And let's not forget the accordion player; mind you, the only person who has a degree of musical talent in this list of traumatic characters. I don't know if perhaps I have been given this impression because he tends to appear after the flute player, and believe me, nothing sounds worse than that. My discomfort and anger are often transformed to intrigue when he starts playing 'Cielito Lindo' and I begin to wonder how an accordion could ever play a song that was written by mariachis, but hey, the world is beautiful because it's varied, or so I've been told.

The most recent addition to this lovely crowd of people was the wooden flute player. This is a very geeky and old-school reference, but the sound squealing out of that instrument reminded me of Nintendo 64 and 'Zelda: The Ocarina of Time'. Needless to say, a moment from the 90s that I really did not want to revisit. Worse still, this man thought it would be a fabulous idea to perform the 'Barney' theme song a few times. Video game AND paedophile dinosaur reminiscences, all in one day...what a treat!

But, truth be told, these people do have one very well-developed talent. The moment one sits down to do some actual, serious work, they start playing. The 'self-certificate of absence' page should add a new category to the list of reasons for absence from class: madness due to bad busking. 

Angry Library Guy

We all have different names for him, but we all know who he is. That's what happens with code names in this town; for instance, if someone tells me "Feminist Man" gave them a lecture that day, something clicks in my head and I immediately realise who they are talking about. This happened a few weeks ago, when someone told me he got told off by "The Evil Man" for eating a grape on the top floor of the library. "Oh! You mean 'Angry Library Guy'!", I said. And so the story continues...

I am currently looking for someone who has not been terrorised, told off, shushed or just generally intimidated by Angry Library Guy. Personally, I have been scolded for: sneezing too loudly, chewing gum, taking the lid off my cup of coffee, placing my lunch on the floor next to me, putting my unopened packet of crisps on the desk, and for silently mouthing 'Hi' to a friend as she was passing. His death look is piercing. Considering this man is not particularly tall, I am impressed at how successful he is at making me feel so small.

One time, I observed as he almost banished a girl for discreetly eating a sandwich on the middle floor of the library. OK, I know we're not supposed to do it, but still, she had been there since 8:00 a.m., give-her-a-break! She did not deserve to be yelled at in front of everyone: "Put that away immediately! It's like a bloody pick-nick up here!" Also, I don't know about you, but my stomach always gets really tight if my matric card isn't swiping correctly at the entrance and he's there, fulminating me with his eyes but not opening the sliding doors and waiting for my matric card to work...which obviously fails as my hand begins to shake and sweat and then the card starts slipping away from my fingers...you get the idea. I always hear the soundtrack to 'Jaws' playing in the back of my head, the suspense is unnerving: will he open the doors before he yells at me? Will he yell at me when I least expect it? Where will I hide my snacks today?!

The worst is that when there's people who are actually making noise and being incredibly rude in the silent area, or littering, or spilling stuff and not cleaning up, he is never around. How is this fair, may I ask? I look forward to my last day at the library: I will blast some music, eat a pie and open my coffee cup right in front of him. Such a bad ass move, I know. But hey, at least I'll get the satisfaction of giving him a reason to be angry, and not suffer the consequences of being followed by his grudge on the following semester. I always say, it's the small pleasures of life that keep us going in this town...