Profile for alcuin:
Yes, I am indeed the mad monk of Cambridge (and Oxford occasionally - huzzah!). Been lurking here for a _long_ time (well, at least a year before signing up). Not very clued up on the photoshop stuff, but I will try my best. Lots of love to all those who post regularly on the board - you all make my life that little bit more insane.
Can't abide most chatrooms/messageboards , as they are populated by blaspheming codpieces of the lowest order.
Long live b3ta!
The real Alcuin- "I would kiss your toes like Habbakuk" ? Yes, he probably was a little bit mad. A common affliction it seems.
The Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic Department of Cambridge University, where oi be studying. Not particularly amusing link, but it'll give you some idea of what I'm doing with my life.
Quite randomly, my father makes mustard. Click here if you like that kind of thing. The farm has accommodation too, so if you fancy a break from town life, check out the site.
Profile messed around with...the b3ta profile messer arounder, naturally, courtesy of djol. Check it out here if you fancy some profile oddness.
If you're into NSFW side-splitting comedy and piss-takes of half-forgotten low budget science fiction, go to Blackmoon's profile and download (teh upload codez!!1111one11eleven!!) his Professor P0rno and War Of The Worlds overdubs. Then crack open a beer, and laugh your smelly socks off.
Because of this conversation, I thought a b3ta Viking clan would be cool. To enter you must:
1: Be able to eat a Danish Pastry
2: Enjoy shouting "arrr!" (after all, Vikings were just medieval pirates) and such phrases as "By Loki's beard!" a lot
3 (optional advanced level): construct a set of flatback bookshelves from Ikea without having a nervous breakdown, or hitting your thumb with a Hammer of Thor.
If you think you qualify, pinch the badge below and paste it into your profile. Or, I may award it to you for some particularly worthy piece of Scandinavian skulduggery.
If you pinch the badge for no good reason, be warned...the fire feels hottest to the man who is burned...it is hard to fight a man from Hel.
...plus I'll stick a spear up yer bum!
On the advice of my friend Mim, who has a show called Digital Candy here's my last.fm audioscrobbler thingyummy:
Free Hit Counter
WOW! YOU ARE A TRUE B3TAN!!! COME IN! JOIN THE
PARTY!
Are You A Natural B3tan
brought to you by Quizilla
You are a GRAMMAR GOD!
Congratulations! If your mission in life
is not already to preserve the English tongue,
it should be. You can smell a grammatical
inaccuracy from fifty yards. Your speech is
revered by the underlings, though some may
blaspheme and call you a snob. They're just
jealous. Go out there and change the world.
How grammatically correct are you? (Revised with answer key)
brought to you by Quizilla
...
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 19 years, 0 months and 3 days
- has posted 296 messages on the main board
- has posted 3 messages on the talk board
- has posted 1 messages on the links board
- has posted 5 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
- They liked 67 pictures, 1 links, 0 talk posts, and 18 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
Yes, I am indeed the mad monk of Cambridge (and Oxford occasionally - huzzah!). Been lurking here for a _long_ time (well, at least a year before signing up). Not very clued up on the photoshop stuff, but I will try my best. Lots of love to all those who post regularly on the board - you all make my life that little bit more insane.
Can't abide most chatrooms/messageboards , as they are populated by blaspheming codpieces of the lowest order.
Long live b3ta!
The real Alcuin- "I would kiss your toes like Habbakuk" ? Yes, he probably was a little bit mad. A common affliction it seems.
The Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic Department of Cambridge University, where oi be studying. Not particularly amusing link, but it'll give you some idea of what I'm doing with my life.
Quite randomly, my father makes mustard. Click here if you like that kind of thing. The farm has accommodation too, so if you fancy a break from town life, check out the site.
Profile messed around with...the b3ta profile messer arounder, naturally, courtesy of djol. Check it out here if you fancy some profile oddness.
If you're into NSFW side-splitting comedy and piss-takes of half-forgotten low budget science fiction, go to Blackmoon's profile and download (teh upload codez!!1111one11eleven!!) his Professor P0rno and War Of The Worlds overdubs. Then crack open a beer, and laugh your smelly socks off.
Because of this conversation, I thought a b3ta Viking clan would be cool. To enter you must:
1: Be able to eat a Danish Pastry
2: Enjoy shouting "arrr!" (after all, Vikings were just medieval pirates) and such phrases as "By Loki's beard!" a lot
3 (optional advanced level): construct a set of flatback bookshelves from Ikea without having a nervous breakdown, or hitting your thumb with a Hammer of Thor.
If you think you qualify, pinch the badge below and paste it into your profile. Or, I may award it to you for some particularly worthy piece of Scandinavian skulduggery.
If you pinch the badge for no good reason, be warned...the fire feels hottest to the man who is burned...it is hard to fight a man from Hel.
...plus I'll stick a spear up yer bum!
On the advice of my friend Mim, who has a show called Digital Candy here's my last.fm audioscrobbler thingyummy:
Free Hit Counter
WOW! YOU ARE A TRUE B3TAN!!! COME IN! JOIN THE
PARTY!
Are You A Natural B3tan
brought to you by Quizilla
Your Birthdate: May 18 |
 You are a cohesive force - able to bring many people together for a common cause. You tend to excel in work situations, but you also facilitate a lot of social gatherings too. Beyond being a good leader, you are good at inspiring others. You also keep your powerful emotions in check - you know when to emote and when to repress. Your strength: Emotional maturity beyond your years Your weakness: Wearing yourself down with too many responsibilities Your power color: Crimson red Your power symbol: Snowflake Your power month: September |
You are a GRAMMAR GOD!
Congratulations! If your mission in life
is not already to preserve the English tongue,
it should be. You can smell a grammatical
inaccuracy from fifty yards. Your speech is
revered by the underlings, though some may
blaspheme and call you a snob. They're just
jealous. Go out there and change the world.
How grammatically correct are you? (Revised with answer key)
brought to you by Quizilla
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid: | Low |
| Schizoid: | Low |
| Schizotypal: | Very High |
| Antisocial: | Low |
| Borderline: | Very High |
| Histrionic: | High |
| Narcissistic: | Moderate |
| Avoidant: | Very High |
| Dependent: | Very High |
| Obsessive-Compulsive: | Moderate |
-- Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Information -- | |
| Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Alcuinosis | |
| Cause: | thinking too hard |
| Symptoms: | speaking in tongues, listlessness, receding gums, embarrassing noises |
| Cure: | don't do it again |
 I am an Asteroid.I am a drifter. I go where life leads, which makes me usually a very calm and content sort of person. That or thoroughly apathetic. Usually I keep on doing whatever I'm doing, and it takes something special to make me change my mind. What Video Game Character Are You? |
You Are Scary |
 You even scare scary people sometimes! |
...
Recent front page messages:
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Best answers to questions:
» The Police
Never been done by the cops, but there's still plenty of time...
My dad has though.
Having refreshed himself with a few gallons of cider in Bournemouth, he was just cruising home merrily (in his Ford Cortina, bless him), when he clipped a parked car and broke off the wing mirror. Being an honest soul (I suspect I might have just floored it and made for the horizon), he knocked on the owner's door and apologised, and because he is such a charming bloke, got everything sorted out. After saying goodnight and shaking hands, he got back into his car.
Then the "filth" arrived.
It turned out, some nosy neighbour had actually witnessed my poor dad "vandalising" the car, had called the boys in blue, who promptly showed up en masse. Handcuffed, he was driven to the copshop, where a lugubrious sergeant wrote out a report of the incident. Handing this to my father, he simply said "Sign there"; my dear old drunken dad did better than that. When the sergeant got the report back he had fit - dad had gone through the whole thing correcting the near illiterate sergeant's spelling mistakes, and giving it a D minus grade ("Must try harder - see me after the lesson").
After a night in the cells, he was woken by the viewing grate opening, and a grunted question "You want some breakfast?". "Sure," replied dad, "What's on the menu?".
Slam.
(Sat 24th Sep 2005, 15:23, More)
Never been done by the cops, but there's still plenty of time...
My dad has though.
Having refreshed himself with a few gallons of cider in Bournemouth, he was just cruising home merrily (in his Ford Cortina, bless him), when he clipped a parked car and broke off the wing mirror. Being an honest soul (I suspect I might have just floored it and made for the horizon), he knocked on the owner's door and apologised, and because he is such a charming bloke, got everything sorted out. After saying goodnight and shaking hands, he got back into his car.
Then the "filth" arrived.
It turned out, some nosy neighbour had actually witnessed my poor dad "vandalising" the car, had called the boys in blue, who promptly showed up en masse. Handcuffed, he was driven to the copshop, where a lugubrious sergeant wrote out a report of the incident. Handing this to my father, he simply said "Sign there"; my dear old drunken dad did better than that. When the sergeant got the report back he had fit - dad had gone through the whole thing correcting the near illiterate sergeant's spelling mistakes, and giving it a D minus grade ("Must try harder - see me after the lesson").
After a night in the cells, he was woken by the viewing grate opening, and a grunted question "You want some breakfast?". "Sure," replied dad, "What's on the menu?".
Slam.
(Sat 24th Sep 2005, 15:23, More)
» Now, there was no need for that...
There are many, many occasions where I've thought, "There was no need for that".
Therefore, for my anecdote I shall relate the most recent example: living in Cambridge as I do, I am constantly meeting poor souls begging, or trying to sell the Big Issue to disinterested punters. I generally have a lot of sympathy with anyone in this position (a small change of circumstances and I cold be in the same place), and I did voluntary work at a Homeless Shelter back home in Oxford, and in Cambridge I effectively got two lads off the streets in December when they were suffering from hypothermia. I'm no saint, but a little more conscientious than most of the other student population.
So, there's this one character, allegedly a Big Issue vendor, who I had met about six times before, and his line was always, "Oh sorry mate, I've only got one left - give me a little change and when I see you again, I'll owe you one" - I played along for a while, being a very generous bloke (my nickname is "Captain Host"), but the last time I encountered him, which was yesterday, he tried the same trick again. I told him that, contrary to what he might think, he should not be begging, but instead actually selling a product - I wasn't going to donate to his personal charity any longer. Having been generous before, and approaching him in good humour, I thought he would accede to my argument.
Instead, he called me a wanker, and, as I was walking away, perhaps having an insight into why the guy was homeless in the first place - he shouted after me "You're just like all the fucking students, you tight-fisted cunt!", causing a wave of passers by to look at me with scorn. No need for that mate, no need.
This may classify as a rant - if so, apologies.
(Tue 21st Jun 2005, 14:54, More)
There are many, many occasions where I've thought, "There was no need for that".
Therefore, for my anecdote I shall relate the most recent example: living in Cambridge as I do, I am constantly meeting poor souls begging, or trying to sell the Big Issue to disinterested punters. I generally have a lot of sympathy with anyone in this position (a small change of circumstances and I cold be in the same place), and I did voluntary work at a Homeless Shelter back home in Oxford, and in Cambridge I effectively got two lads off the streets in December when they were suffering from hypothermia. I'm no saint, but a little more conscientious than most of the other student population.
So, there's this one character, allegedly a Big Issue vendor, who I had met about six times before, and his line was always, "Oh sorry mate, I've only got one left - give me a little change and when I see you again, I'll owe you one" - I played along for a while, being a very generous bloke (my nickname is "Captain Host"), but the last time I encountered him, which was yesterday, he tried the same trick again. I told him that, contrary to what he might think, he should not be begging, but instead actually selling a product - I wasn't going to donate to his personal charity any longer. Having been generous before, and approaching him in good humour, I thought he would accede to my argument.
Instead, he called me a wanker, and, as I was walking away, perhaps having an insight into why the guy was homeless in the first place - he shouted after me "You're just like all the fucking students, you tight-fisted cunt!", causing a wave of passers by to look at me with scorn. No need for that mate, no need.
This may classify as a rant - if so, apologies.
(Tue 21st Jun 2005, 14:54, More)
» It was a great holiday, but...
Moscow Underground Violence!!!
About three years ago my school organised a trip to Moscow and St Petersburg (I always thought my History teacher had dealings with the Kremlin). While out and about in Moscow I spotted this fantastic Soviet general's coat for sale, and thinking this will be the ultimate souvenir, I bought said coat and a fur hat for a pittance (about a fiver).
But how to transport my new purchases? Easy! I'll simply wear them on the trip back to the hotel, via the notoriously busy tube...hardly subtle, particularly when our tour guide advised us in strong tones not to draw attention to ourselves. Ha!
This was post-communist Moscow; admittedly one of the nicer parts of the Federation. Believe me friends, in a crowd, the gentlemen wearing a f*ck off Soviet coat and hat _always_ attracts attention. I fitted in like Boy George at a Klan rally.
Got away with just a bloody nose though. Silly bugger.
PS On the same trip, we had to take a sleeper train to St Petersburg. About 10pm, a rather burly guard opened our compartment door, and opened his bulging coat for our viewing pleasure - thinking that he was some crazy pervert, we were more surprised instead by the ten bottles of vodka lining his coat! Cue quick exchange of cash, and lashings of neat, rocket fuel spirits.
Apologies? Bah!
(Thu 21st Apr 2005, 17:16, More)
Moscow Underground Violence!!!
About three years ago my school organised a trip to Moscow and St Petersburg (I always thought my History teacher had dealings with the Kremlin). While out and about in Moscow I spotted this fantastic Soviet general's coat for sale, and thinking this will be the ultimate souvenir, I bought said coat and a fur hat for a pittance (about a fiver).
But how to transport my new purchases? Easy! I'll simply wear them on the trip back to the hotel, via the notoriously busy tube...hardly subtle, particularly when our tour guide advised us in strong tones not to draw attention to ourselves. Ha!
This was post-communist Moscow; admittedly one of the nicer parts of the Federation. Believe me friends, in a crowd, the gentlemen wearing a f*ck off Soviet coat and hat _always_ attracts attention. I fitted in like Boy George at a Klan rally.
Got away with just a bloody nose though. Silly bugger.
PS On the same trip, we had to take a sleeper train to St Petersburg. About 10pm, a rather burly guard opened our compartment door, and opened his bulging coat for our viewing pleasure - thinking that he was some crazy pervert, we were more surprised instead by the ten bottles of vodka lining his coat! Cue quick exchange of cash, and lashings of neat, rocket fuel spirits.
Apologies? Bah!
(Thu 21st Apr 2005, 17:16, More)
» Posh
Poshness
Well, I do my best not to appear too posh, but at times really cannot help it. I deplore people who put on fake estuary / scally accents (why bother? usually so unpleasant to listen to in those trying to eumlate a "gansgta" image...duh!), but my own voice wanders at times from RP to Oxford local via South London (depending entirely on how pissed I am, and who I'm with, I'm afraid...having so many different friends in different circumstances (but mostly in London) does this to you (or at least to me)...I work occasionally in staging and sound systems and the like, usually in poorer, less well off areas of either London or generally the whole country...
As for my family - apparently one branch of my paternal gran's family was related to Nelson, of Trafalgar fame. Although, considering how popular a chap he was, I'm sure loads of desperate families claimed that. Same branch of that family (the Walpoles) were also huge landowners in Ireland (mostly in Kilkenny).
On the other side, mum's family are mostly incredibely posh - great grandfather was an artist in Paris during the roaring twenties, knew many many writers and other bohemian types (the rakish writer John Collier was a frequent visitor to his house), and his sons, daughters and their offspring have since become actors, high standing lawyers etc etc. And the send all their kids to v. posh public schools (mostly the Dragon in Oxford).
And I have a large house in the middle of nowhere (which for this part Oxfordshire is quite unusual). And I'm now studying at Cambridge, where I do in fact dine with Professors and such (although I was educated at the local comp, where I wasn't even allowed to run for head boy - was considered too subversive and dangerous - yay!).
Cor...reading all that back sounds fucking dreadful (and too much like an unfunny blog)...I think there's more a feeling of faded nobility with my family, rather than out and out poshness, which in my book is more defined by pretension and obsession with money...urm, maybe. Alright, fuck it, I'm posh ;)
(Fri 16th Sep 2005, 13:09, More)
Poshness
Well, I do my best not to appear too posh, but at times really cannot help it. I deplore people who put on fake estuary / scally accents (why bother? usually so unpleasant to listen to in those trying to eumlate a "gansgta" image...duh!), but my own voice wanders at times from RP to Oxford local via South London (depending entirely on how pissed I am, and who I'm with, I'm afraid...having so many different friends in different circumstances (but mostly in London) does this to you (or at least to me)...I work occasionally in staging and sound systems and the like, usually in poorer, less well off areas of either London or generally the whole country...
As for my family - apparently one branch of my paternal gran's family was related to Nelson, of Trafalgar fame. Although, considering how popular a chap he was, I'm sure loads of desperate families claimed that. Same branch of that family (the Walpoles) were also huge landowners in Ireland (mostly in Kilkenny).
On the other side, mum's family are mostly incredibely posh - great grandfather was an artist in Paris during the roaring twenties, knew many many writers and other bohemian types (the rakish writer John Collier was a frequent visitor to his house), and his sons, daughters and their offspring have since become actors, high standing lawyers etc etc. And the send all their kids to v. posh public schools (mostly the Dragon in Oxford).
And I have a large house in the middle of nowhere (which for this part Oxfordshire is quite unusual). And I'm now studying at Cambridge, where I do in fact dine with Professors and such (although I was educated at the local comp, where I wasn't even allowed to run for head boy - was considered too subversive and dangerous - yay!).
Cor...reading all that back sounds fucking dreadful (and too much like an unfunny blog)...I think there's more a feeling of faded nobility with my family, rather than out and out poshness, which in my book is more defined by pretension and obsession with money...urm, maybe. Alright, fuck it, I'm posh ;)
(Fri 16th Sep 2005, 13:09, More)
» When animals attack...
Pygmy Goats...no, really!
I was about 5 years old, and my dear parents decided to take me for a day out on a farm open to the public...pretty weird considering I was actually brought up on a farm, but the promise of ice cream (and tractors!!) overcomes almost any misgiving in a 5 seven year old (please insert paedo joke HERE).
So, there I was, enjoying this bucolic scene, perched on a fence by the goat enclosure. The parents wish to record the moment for posterity, and in order to emphasise the cuteness of their son, they feel a prop is required...why not a full bucket of feed for the goats?
After few moments, I'm having trouble holding up the bucket and staying balanced on the fence. The inevitable happened, and plunging arse over tit into the mud on the other side, I am greeted by a pack of rampaging, red-eyed monsters, who only seconds before had been docile, fluffy herbivores.
They wanted my blood I tell you! Never, ever, trust a goat. Or your parents.
PS. I was also bitten three times by the same dog, over a course of about two years - I still have the scars today, after about 17 years - they look fucking scary. Apparently this hound had a history of attacking kids, but no one told my parents...! Perhaps my paranoia isn't quite as unjustified as I thought.
(Thu 2nd Jun 2005, 17:47, More)
Pygmy Goats...no, really!
I was about 5 years old, and my dear parents decided to take me for a day out on a farm open to the public...pretty weird considering I was actually brought up on a farm, but the promise of ice cream (and tractors!!) overcomes almost any misgiving in a 5 seven year old (please insert paedo joke HERE).
So, there I was, enjoying this bucolic scene, perched on a fence by the goat enclosure. The parents wish to record the moment for posterity, and in order to emphasise the cuteness of their son, they feel a prop is required...why not a full bucket of feed for the goats?
After few moments, I'm having trouble holding up the bucket and staying balanced on the fence. The inevitable happened, and plunging arse over tit into the mud on the other side, I am greeted by a pack of rampaging, red-eyed monsters, who only seconds before had been docile, fluffy herbivores.
They wanted my blood I tell you! Never, ever, trust a goat. Or your parents.
PS. I was also bitten three times by the same dog, over a course of about two years - I still have the scars today, after about 17 years - they look fucking scary. Apparently this hound had a history of attacking kids, but no one told my parents...! Perhaps my paranoia isn't quite as unjustified as I thought.
(Thu 2nd Jun 2005, 17:47, More)