“I need some water”, I say.

“Repeat after me,” says my friend. “Wah-tuh”.

“Wah-der”.

“Wah-tuh”.

“Wah-der”.

“Wah-TUH!”.

“Wah-DER!”.

“Listen,” he says, “Tuh, tuh, tuh.”

“Der, der, der,” I go.

As a part of my be-a-better-Phil yearly resolutions, I started taking pictures as a photographer for the Oxford Student or OxStu, one of two student newspapers at the University.

It’s too bad yesterday’s assignment was a photographer’s nightmare.

I was to cover the Oxford election count which, at first mention, didn’t sound half bad: Bustling townspeople, maybe a rousing speech here and there, well dressed politicians going apeshit — you know, it wasn’t the Super Bowl, but I still had hopes of something I could work with.

What a joke.

First, the technical difficulties: The town hall was a yellow, tungsten-ly mess. It started at 10:30 PM, so there wasn’t any natural light to soften the features and brighten things up. The (admittedly beautiful) cathedral-like ceiling made it difficult to bounce off light from a flash, and the glossy, coloured walls were an equal pain.

Future brides and grooms, here’s a tip when you’re looking to book a wedding venue. Want wonderful pictures you can cherish for years and years? I have one word for you: Light, light, light.

Light is what makes people beautiful and light is what makes beautiful people in photos beautiful.

The best photographers know how to use light effectively, whether this means capturing a sunset or using multiple flashes to light you up for a portrait.

Finally, let’s not even mention the fact that Press was confined to the balcony — about 20 feet above where all the action was.

This was the final nail in the coffin, you see, since my longest camera lens wasn’t quite sensitive enough for the lighting, while my other lens, the one sensitive enough to capture the light, wasn’t long enough to see all the way down. Yech.

Now when I said ‘action’, I was actually referring to three hours of the most boring proceedings known to man. I mean, let’s reiterate: they’re counting votes for Christ sake.

By the time they finished, the senile politicians were half comatose, and even the winners could hardly muster anything more than a squeak of acknowledgment.

During this time, I was running around trying desperately to find something — anything to photograph, all the while being harassed by security who were so bored they insisted on pestering me (Puleeeeze, what is this? The US presidential elections? Half the people in this town have no idea elections are even going on.)

Then at midnight, I gave up with trying to cover the politicians and instead turned my attention to some of the more interesting aspects of my surroundings — the equally bored, equally tired people who were, for some inexplicable reason, milling around on the balcony.

Good lord, I’m never covering politics again.

By the way, this may just be the ravings of a deluded mathematician on a lonely Friday night, but is that shot of the bare-shouldered girl like, the sexiest thing ever?

I was standing in line at the supermarket.

In one hand: two containers of ice cream (mint and chocolate, and cookies and cream). In the other: two bags of carrots (two for £1!)

I turned to the girl standing behind me and grinned.

“Carrots,” I said, holding up one hand, “And ice cream,” I said, holding up the other.

“Part of a complete meal,” I finished.

She stared at me — literally just stared. No laugh, no nervous chuckle. Not even a slight grin. Then she looked away and pretended to be intensely fascinated by her shoes (they were pink).

Carrots! Ice cream!

That’s gold, dude. That’s friggin’ gold.

I don’t understand. I just don’t understand. What is up with these Brits?.

An amazing thing happened today as I made my way to the supermarket: It snowed.

Of course, having been brought up in the harsh Canadian climate, this wasn’t all that exciting for me. After all, as young lad, I was often forced to leave my warm igloo wearing nothing but my earmuffs, snow shoes, and thermo-heated undies, trudge over treacherous mountains and fend off ferocious polar bears — just to get to school.

No, the exciting thing for me was to bear witness to the Oxonian reaction to snow. Little kids sticking out their tongues and twirling and dancing among the snowflakes; couples huddling closer together and hopelessly trying to avoid the onslaught using their umbrellas; and best of all, the huge crowd of citizens huddled at the entrance of the nearest shopping mall — waiting for the ‘ferocious’ storm to pass.

In fact, it was so amusing to see people actually take shelter that I couldn’t help but turn around and snap a picture.

And then, 15 minutes later, it was all over; little puddles on the ground remaining as the only traces of what had happened earlier.

Meanwhile, back home in Ottawa…

Today was the annual Varsity basketball match pitting the Oxford Men’s Blues against the Cambridge Lions.

While most of the crowd was entertained by the actual playing, I instead spent most of my time endlessly amused by the fact that neither of these two teams — supposedly representing the best these two fine institutions could find — had a single Afri– oh hell, black player.

Yep.

Let’s see, there were a (surprising?) number of East Asian players, mixed in a flurry of European and English players. Oh, I might have spotted a South Asian at one point, but it could have been a trick of the light.

Having played basketball a great deal in my Canadian youth, I suppose it’s just the first time I ever saw something like that — barring say, the Swedish Olympic Basketball team.

Then again, it really does give you an idea of the slight demographic problem we have here in the City of Dreaming Spires.