You know that you're in the middle of nowhere when...

~Not when one of your uni buildings has a field with a horse next door, because while it is odd some people do have enough land in the outskirts and suburbs to keep horses (there were some such people round the corner at home, and I kind of miss being able to walk the dogs past the horses. Maybe I'll go visit the horse here)
~Not when there are fields with cows in them, as while you do not get that even in the outskirts and suburbs you do see such fields lining the motorway and most people who live in cities have indeed seen a cow before.
~Yes, when you see random pheasants off the edge of the path when you're walking across campus. Seriously, a frickin' pheasant. You don't even get those things at nature reserves. I mean, I have literally only ever seen them at my Dad's golf club, and I think somebody puts them there deliberately just to make it look posh. That is how far out in the middle of nowhere I am right now, there are pheasants walking about the place and I swear I was the only person who looked even remotely surprised by it.

Notably, I am procrastinating right now. Not only was I given an essay over a week ago now that I've not yet even started (and I think may be due in for Monday) I also HAVE to start editing, for a story going into an anthology, and I DO have a deadline for when it has to be done by. As anybody whom actually reads this shall soon learn, I am not a fan of editing (and it would seem my stories do need a lot more editing than I often assume, although that's partly because I look for any excuse I can to get out of editing). So, yeah, that's why this blog is being written, because I'm actually supposed to be doing something else.

And in other news, I actually cooked a whole stir-fry all by myself the other night and I haven't died from food poisoning yet - yes, I did actually eat it, and it was for the most part tolerable. I'm quite proud of myself for that.
So, that's about it really. And now I have absolutely no excuse but to get back to work (I always swore that I would never come to think of writing as work; oh how wrong I was)