The British Minute

- is, again, longer than the 'continental' one (by 4 seconds)

- the wash-dryer always, but ALWAYS either stains or burns your clothes

- the... well, so many comments come to my head

Conclusion: may we all get to have our OWN wash-dryer!

The "Blonde" One Out

I am a woman on a mission, my mission is to graduate from my PhD within the designated time limit. Then find a good job in the very complex world of academia (I discovered I really like teaching, maybe more than researching, I still need to figure this out).

Until I achieve my goals I still need to live, to find normality where apparently there's no such thing.

The craziest thing I have ever done was not bungee-jumping (I was the third woman in my country to jump when the bungee crane was brought in), was not riding some scary roller-coasters. It was moving to Manchester, on my own, without knowing virtually anybody in the city. Whenever I have "stage fright" I remind myself that I am the one who chose this, who imposed this wish on her family, and I should do anything in my power to fulfil my dream.

Although I have found new friends, let us be honest, they are still acquaintances at this point. Friends stand the test of time - so, there is still plenty of time to test these new faces.

I do not have time to get bored, but I have time to get very lonely. I still make plenty of mistakes and go against my better judgement - it means I am still young. Sometimes when I feel like going out oooops!, there's nobody to go out with.

I learned to queue, to swear in a very diplomatic way, to drink larger amounts of beer than the doctor recommended, to stand for myself (some people would say that I knew this before; now I really have to, because I am on my own), to meet new people (while in other times I was so scared to walk out of the house on the streets). I have been told that I am probably one of the most un-shy persons in the world (you don't say! noooooo, you really don't say! I am really shy, but people like me wear a shield. mine is being pushy and presenting myself with a lot of... nerve, and smiling too much). If I was to graduate from a "let's see how many men are running after you" PhD I would have been top of my class (if I only knew this when I was 17 and crying my heart out that all my friends had boyfriends and I didn't, I would have saved a lot of tears).

But... there is always a "but"... I am still "the blonde one out" - I still need to be accepted with my weird and blunt style, I need for people to see that I am not such a tough cookie and I do need support, I need to fit in a society which usually rejects people coming from my country (I do advertise for Romania!!! if you would only know me, I bet you would all want to visit my country), I have to ultimately survive.

The second "but" is: but, I am blonde, which means I am almost... perfect :) (which suddenly makes it a little bit better)

Sticky contracts

I came to Manchester with the clear idea that my life would change forever.

But I hoped that the change would not inflict pain and mental torture upon me. I now that changing always involves a t least a small revolution, but it should not imply 'tidal waves' sweeping you all day long, day after day.

I have lived in the UK for two years, in a way this country is my 'stepmum'. Well, at this point she really looks like the vicious and ugly stepmother to me.

The difference between following a 'sponsored' dream and a'self-funded' one is that you really have to be on your own. And to challenge whomever stands in your way with little or no help from the others.

London was a pre-negociated experience. Sheltered from ambiguous and heavy letting contracts. Manchester proves to be one of the most absurd little places in this world.

Yes, I am angry with the system, and I will try to fight it until I am feeling satisfied with my life here.

Never in my life had I thought that the only thing standing between me and my peace of mind, and my achievements would be the 'sticky contract' I am stuck into right now, and the staff from my hall of residence.

I know how it is to leave like 'a student', I have done that before (true, at an older age than expected, but I have fully experienced the living with others, in a shared student accommodation, bla bla, study rooms, not bed-rooms - as if when you study you have to be continuously tormented).

But Manchester is a totally different cup of tea, and not mine, obviously.

Never in my life had I thought that you are obligated to fulfil the terms and conditions of a contract which has never-ever-actually been signed.

I had no idea that I have to submit my wellbeing to the whims of a 'Flat Tutor' and his 'Warden' - which would imply that I was living in the Jail, Prison, you name it. So, in my accommodation I have a TUTOR and a WARDEN. It doesn't matter that I am nearly 30 years old. I HAVE A BLOODY WARDEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am paying 600 GBP per month so I can get the chance to be scolded by the WARDEN, picked at by the TUTOR, and bullied by the employees at the Reception Area.

My correspondence is being held 'hostage' without explanation. I am constantly verballly abused by these people, but when I request to officially complain agains these problems, I am being told that I cannot do that. And that I have to learn TWO PRINCIPLES from the whole affair: that the Warden and his staff are ALWAYS RIGHT; and, if I have a problem with that, it means I am a mental case.

When I emphasised the fact that they wages are paid from my rent as well, I have been informed that I am a mere STUDENT, which makes me SUB-HUMAN, and this makes me AGGRESSIVE.

No, the Students' Union does not support people in my situation. My student colleagues have had the opportunity not to move into a Hall of residence, so they just support me mentally, but wouldn't have any idea about the struggle I am going through, my fellows academics shrug their shoulders, and have no advice, as I am being told I am one of the few to be going through such a horrible situation.

Outcasted for smoking, bullied and harrassed for asking official explanations for my missing correspondence, I seek justice where there obviously is none, but the embedded culture of stripping young professionals from their families' money. No returns, no understanding, no alternative, just narrow-mindedness and disdain.

I hope that one of these days a miracle will happen, but what I am going through right now has cleared up my initial thought that my homecountry is not that bad. There are worst places in this World. Only I will not give up and I will make my way through this maze of absurd and crappy regulations, until I find a way out.

York from Yorkshire

So I decided to visit something last week-end. I went to York.

I admit, I was pretty excited by the idea, until reality stepped in: out of all the days of the week, Saturday had to be the coldest and sunless one. At least it didn't rain.

Yorkminster- huge, expensive. I admit, I will not pay 8 pounds to visit a church, the house of God. I can't believe the prices. Fortunately from the entrance you get a glimpse of what you could visit, and maybe it was the truth, maybe I was prompting myself to think about the pocket, but I decided it wasn't worth the financial effort. Beautiful windows, but not that beautiful to extract a ticket from me.

Then, off to the next objective (which suffered alterations on the way) - The Dungeaons. Well, if you have seen the queues in London, myabe you understand, that was not worth it either.

Well, the result was I went to visit Jorvik, the remains and replica of the Viking settlement in the area. They even replicated the smells, which left me nauseated for half an hour (I guess soap wasn't very popular in those days), but thinking better about York. Unfortunately my camera decided to 'die' on my way there, so no proof of ever having visited the place :)

The Shambles - now that I think better, I guess I have seen just the ebginning of the street. Didn't get to taste the charm of it.

You may say it sounds like a 'never go there' place. I guess one sunny summer day I will get there again, but with more research done. And I will skip the shops, because you can find shops everywhere. I am still looking for that je ne sais quoi of England. Hope I will find it eventually.

In the Pursuit of Happiness

- you stumble on 'benefactors' and 'good-doers'

- you get swore at for being true to your principles

- you see your dreams going ashambles, but you put them back together

- you resist change until you realize that maybe 'some change will do you good', no matter where it comes fromand how

- you shout, you kick, then you relax, and sleep

- you put up with ignorants

- you work

- you get insomnia

- you wake up and put a smile on your face - today maybe better than yesterday, but tomorrow will definitely be even better - or tomorrow will be worse

- you laugh before you forget how to do it

- you live and move on

- you 'don't die' when others wish for it to happen.

You just make yourself strong agains the World and you prove everybody that you are 'there', and you won't put up with half measures.

'hi, luv, what will it be, half a pint?'

'no, luv,A PINT, I never go for half-measures'

Tutoring Tips

- set the rules straightforward
- active listening
- give them bonbons or sweets to calm them down
- no talking on the mobiles
- 'you don;t read, you don't succeed'
QUESTIONS: a question is never too stupid not to be answered
ANSWERS: an answer is never too stupid not to be valued

- just ask, nobody was born knowing everything

Enjoy, no matter what, and use 'the Voice'. It always works.

TEHENU, with love

Mancunian Snow - view from a window

Eșec

... sau nu.

Nu cred că există eșec.

Există 'nu s-a putut', și știi că nu a fost din cauza ta,

'nu acum, și poate ține de tine intr-un anumit fel,

'niciodată', când e chiar la latitudinea tuturor,

'poate', adică nu,

dar mai există și 'vreau".

Dacă vreau pot, este acum și nu există cale de întoarcere.

Eșecul vine din 'nu pot".

Whatever you do, have Pride!

Asta este reclama la o bere englezească. Nu, nu îmi place brand-ul respectiv, e slăbuț, deși mi-a fost recomandat cu căldură de colindătorii de pub-uri locale.

Mie îmi place mesajul. E simplu și ajunge exact unde trebuie. Se compleetază foarte bine cu versurile cântecului ”The White Cliffs of Dover”, pe care acum vreo 9 ani îl cântam cu mare plăcere pe plajele din România, până la punctul de a primi nisip în ochi de la cei care nu apreciau talentul meu artistic, la a primi invitații să înregistrez un disc.

Bottom line, Have Pride and „merely survived because of my pride” dau bine.

Numai să îmi intre și mie mesajul ăsta în sânge, odată, și încă o dată, și încă o dată.

Whatever you do, have Pride. A ta mai bine decât London Pride.

Being an Eastern European

... Not by choice, but by being subject to the EU regulatory mechanisms of allocating each country to a region within Europe. The "late bloomers" such as Romania were pushed in the "Eastern" pile, even though geographically speaking Romania belongs to Central Europe. Well, apparently the historical argument has the magical power to modify geological structures, I would like to learn that magic too.

Anyway, it is "exotic" to be an Eastern European (EE) person living in - let's say - Manchester.

You have to continuously explain that Romania is a member of the European Union. That as an European citizen no, you don't need to carry your passport with you at all times, yes, Easterners such myself are... white??? (doh!), and yeah, we do live in nice cities, we do have apparently more advanced home appliances than the UK citizens... and yes, lucky us, we speak more foreign languages than Brits do.

I certainly did not emerge from a hut/cave/grotto and yes, Eastern European women are more elegant than the ones living in these parts of the world.

And, if an EE person such as I enrols in a Doctoral programme, no, she doesn't do it in order to later work as a cleaning lady for a blob monster of an incapable Brit woman and her spawns of Hell.

I may sound aggressive, but I have honestly and sincerely resented a certain article in the Marie Claire UK magazine, which stated that PhD EE women are good for cleaning ladies. I am certainly not working my butt out and investing money in such a Programme just for later to be allowed to clean the bathroom of such ignorant individuals such as those who may read and approve of such an inept article.

... does not mean that you are a "second-hand" citizen. Maybe other Europeans should study more about the ... civilizations surrounding them, otherwise they will find themselves stormed out of their natural environment without a two-week's notice.

I rest my case, I am proud of being an EE individual, more exactly a CE one. Because, as opposed to other individuals, we do look different one from the others, and we do work more to prove our abilities and skills, but once we do it we prove to be more capable than the carbon-copies who believe that Romania, for example, is situated in the Middle-East.

Destination Buxton

Welcome to Buxton!

Don't ask me the location, I am still struggling to make the difference between the surroundings of Manchester and Derbyshire (hope I am not mistaken). Anyway, lovely, as Brits say.

Fresh air,a traditional town, not much to be seen, but the surroundings and the forest make it quite pleasant.

I had the chance to to visit a cave for the first time in my life, pretty interesting, although I would have expected it to be larger.

Above you will see some photos from this location and the town. Please notice the bookshop, a piece of fairy-tale scenery, and what I like to call "walking bird flu" (everybody's got some fixed ideas).

Ok,back in Manchester I went to a pretty French restaurant.Of course, there were some French people in it.OK, just one girl, on her first date with a bloke who spoke French pretty well, but with a strange accent. It's not very important for this stiry.

The important aspects were the following:

- she was fat, highly unlikely compared to the impression that Brits have with regards to French (that women are quite classy and thin)

- he was fishing for a ... shag

- she was flirty, he was... just a blabber-mouth

- he received the bill from the waiter, and without her seeing threw it on the floor; then, with not that subtle movements of his feet he began pushing the bill towards her, while talking loudly so she wouldn't notice his intentions

- eventually she realized the bill was on the floor, picked it up and drew out her card, to pay it

- he didn't make any move to stop her from paying, even though it was obvious for everybody around it was their first date.

Well, folks, what can I say? I am an old-fashioned Eastern European woman. The man has to pay on a first date (on a second one etc :)). The only thing I could put up with would be to split the bill, but only under special circumstances. But, maybe I am just being out-dated and do not understand how the modern world works.

Bottom line, the day was a success, I highly recommend a day out in Buxton and the food at Cafe Rouge in Manchester (so what if it is a franchise? the food is better than in some London restaurants who claim to be creme de la creme)

Mancunian Soup

This is an enticing recipe for a dazzling broth:

- take one late-twenties gall

- add four spices from India, Nigeria, Liverpool and China

- pour a hint of misery (from being away from home)

- stir well (daily debates over whom should have a certain shelf in the fridge)

- boil to an acceptable standard (eating in your room, washing the crockery in your room... due to heavy slime in the kitchen, yummy)

- season well with sour cream, butter and some houmus (Eastern europeans can deal with everything, and overcome foreign adversity. The shelf is MINE).

Deee-licious!!

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