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What your favourite pasta shape reveals about your personality

I have long speculated that a person’s favourite shape of pasta is closely aligned to, and revealing of,  personality traits which I propose to explore in this enlightening blog post. So here is it, a penne for my thoughts!

Fusilli

Starting with the most popular of all the pasta shapes, if Fusilli is your favourite pasta, chances are that you are equally as popular! Your taste for spirals and twists indicate a playfulness in your personality which simply does not exist amidst other shapes. Through allowing equal distribution of sauce, Fusilli is also one of the more balanced of the pastas and thus indicating your desire for equilibrium and moderation in day to day life. However, if your balance is compromised and you end up a little overcooked, the Fusilli-lover will inevitably spiral out of control and potentially end up as soggy as a wet sock.

Fusilli

Bows

Incidentally the bow-shape is my own reigning champion, although that wont stop me highlighting the frivolity of the bow-lover’s personality. Lets face it, we enjoy frills and getting dressed up in the pearls we spent two pounds on in Primark. Yet, despite a potential streak of vanity in our characters, the chewiness of the pasta’s inside indicates there’s far more than just meets the eye. In fact, it could even be p’a’stulated that our well-groomed outer layer is merely a distraction from an inside that simply needs a little more cooking and a little more love before we can fully flourish. Aw.

Bow

Penne

It perhaps comes as no surprise that the hollow nature of the Penne shape embodies the intrinsic hollowness of its lover. As a result of this, you often let people in a little too easily which can lead you to spending time with the wrong crowds. The jealousy you hold for your slightly cooler and more fun-loving uncle -the Macaroni- suggests that you’re also almost certainly predishposed to jealousy. The simplicity of Penne reveals that whilst you enjoy the quiet side of life, you are well-liked and particularly cherished by your close family whose love you appreciate most in the world.

Penne

Lasagna

Lasagna is undoubtedly the most friendly of the pasta personalities; even your name sparks the comfort and friendliness which your many layers sing to the tune of warmth and tastiness. You are traditional and proud of your moral compass which is as sturdy as an uncooked lasagna sheet. Despite your squared shape, you are deceptively fun and adventurous. However, your reliance on mince and onions to create your dish means that you’re almost certainly a little co-dependant, but that’s nothing a little cheese can’t hide.

lasange

Shell

Your love of the Shell shape unveils a need for protection and almost certainly aligns to your protective nature. Similarly, your caring nature often coincides with loyalty; you would sooner run out of Parmesan cheese than let a friend down. Although that isn’t to say you’re predictable- sometimes you’re open and sometimes you’re closed- and the Shell relies on its uncertainty to remain the life and soul of the party. In this way you are also the blurred line between extroverted and introverted and you refuse to shell yourself short.

Shell

Spaghetti

The malleable and flowing shape of spaghetti means that you enjoy a carefree and relaxed existence. Your flexible nature, whilst making you good at compromising and thus relationships in general, means that you are easily taken advantage of. It is most likely due to your carefree attitude which makes you the messiest of all the shapes and as a result you are terrible on first dates.

Spaghetti

Alphabetti Spaghetti

You’re either attempting to eat this through your nose because you’re two years old or you need to learn to let go.

Alphabetti

 

with thanks to jefurber for his drawings of the more expert-level shapes.  

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A poem about a man with no legs

He’s old -middle aged-
and he sits on a plastic white
garden chair, at the end of your street.
You’ll see him with a cigarette-
most hours. But the man has
no legs.

Half-limbed, semi skimmed
his stumps raise red as he stubs
his cigarette. And you wonder
why he chooses the flames on his
lips, the power – to turn the tables-
lights to his fingers
-he holds on longer than he has to.

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Words that changed my life

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I will leave it up to you to decide whether or not this particular room contained only myself and the teacher who spoke these particularly warming words to me, indeed, at a moment I was desperate for any shadow of confidence in preparation for both exams and the rest of my life!

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These words have haunted me for perhaps too long now, but are only painful when I think of the 18 year old me who did not make the nicest of acquaintances nor meet with the most fortunate of situations.  Yet, I have chosen these words because they annihilated all my denials, for indeed I wasn’t the person who I wanted to be, or felt like I was.

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It was my first month at university and I was still very much a tiny fish in a rather large, foreign and sticky pool. Soon my homesickness was to spread into actual sickness and never had I felt so alone. Yet, a recently made friend offered to make me soup and it remains as one of the kindest gestures anyone has done for me, at a time when I didn’t think I had anyone  close enough to even sneeze on.

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It was nighttime in York when a stranger walked passed me and declared me ‘stunning’. Although I don’t doubt the darkness compromised his judgement, it wasn’t something I had ever been told quite so earnestly and it made me happy enough to remember it still.

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My class had just finished when the teacher told me to stay behind. She sat in the chair opposite me and whilst I was surveying all the possible reasons I might be in due of a telling off she began what I remember as the words above.I can only think she could tell that I was quite unhappy and though she was under no obligation, she took her time to tell me some exquisite words of encouragement and simultaneously allowed me to believe I wasn’t alone.

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The primary school I went to, when I was 8 years old,  used ‘privilege cards’ as a way of awarding good behaviour. If a child did something nice they would receive a signature on their card and depending on how many signatures you had at the end of the term you could watch a film. One particular term I had all but one signature required for this exclusive prize and my teacher at the time found out, most likely by my mother who also worked at the school and knew of my shortcomings and desperation to join the other children in the hall. My teacher took me out of class one morning and told me to open the door for him. I was quite perplexed at this peculiar request but did so, nonetheless. It was to my happy surprise that opening this door for the teacher, despite how he had no intention of leaving the building, enabled me to receive my crucial signature! Another beautifully sweet gesture that still makes me smile.

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These words made me realise that it’s okay not to enjoy the best experiences of your life. It was during my trek in Iceland, each day the porridge become more repulsive that the last and I’m quite sure I’d never been so entirely exhausted. The early mornings and long days were painful and I found myself hating more of it than I thought I should. That was until a fellow trekker said these words. I wasn’t alone and it is mostly certainly an accurate statement, if ever there was one!

A sentimental poem

Onder Meer (Among others)

There’s a patch of burnt grass,
Still blackened by the sausage rolls
We set alight when we were
Fourteen years old.
By the Beck, our prepubescent
Hand holding professed  a love
Now lost.  But still I hold
Onto the memories like a tree
Clings to its leaves-
-They twist
And fade
And somehow fall
Away.

I hear our laughter
When I see the burnt patch,
But I cannot place our faces
And I cannot taste  the  ash.

I am  a  world of many worlds,
And though I am no longer
A fourteen year old girl,
I am the smoke – the embers- of
All I have ever known.

This poem was written for a friend who’s putting together an anthology based on the significance of one’s home.

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Single-sided Handkerchief (a poem)

The  single-sided handkerchief,
damp and crisp.
Folding,
against the white
of my skin,
and think- just think-
of bliss.

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A poem about pigeons

Cry me a pigeon
And spread your filthy wings.
I heard the others whispering
When the proud dove sings.
Oh, in the sky,
What a sight!
When the filthy birds shadow
Twelve arrows of white.

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How Not to University: First Impressions

Having survived my first semester at university, albeit somewhat haphazardly, I like to think that I  have already learned a great number of things with regards to surviving the ‘outside world’. In what I hope will become something of a ‘how-to’ series, I will share my snippets of advice  alongside my first-hand woes that naturally stem from a girl who has yet to master the art of living smoothly.

A lot can rest in first impressions- it is the difference between being ‘that intelligent female  who knows a lot about 17th century literature’ and being ‘that girl who parades around with yesterday’s lasagne stuck to her face’. And never are first impressions quite so important than when you start university; when every impression is both first and nightmarishly   immortal. It’s not breaking news to reveal that a drunken slobbery kiss the night before is a terribly awkward encounter in Tesco’s the day after.

But even those ‘did I really lick his face last night?’ encounters do not compare to the events of my first day of higher education. It started with the mishap we all dread- walking into the wrong class- complete with a  sorry face of  pleading embarrassment together with  lost eyes longing for a hug and a forgiving cup of tea. The mathematics seminar group looked almost offended when I asked if this was the literature seminar. It wasn’t.
But all hope was not lost.

I turned around to see a young man waiting in the seats opposite the room I had attempted to enter. He was witness to my    shortcoming  and in a blaze of nervous adrenaline I blurted out my unrefined introductions. ‘Are you waiting for this room?’. I was relieved to learn that he was indeed waiting for the same class as me and- seeing a fine opportunity to start my quest for making friends- I began to chant my pleasantries.
‘Oh! That’s so cool! Where are you from?! That’s awesome! I’m from North Yorkshire! I really like your jumper! Do you have any plans for tonight?! That sounds awesome! Me? Oh! I need a night off, had a bit of a mad one last night that ended in me and my flatmates comparing dolphin impressions in the kitchen! …So, is it American literature you’re studying?’
‘Oh no’ he said.
‘I’m teaching it.’

And that is how not to make a fruitful first impression with your lecturers.

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