evidently, i don't experience things as rationally as you do.

Hello. If this were a friendship, this would be the awkward bit where I apologised for not answering your phone calls or keeping in touch, and you'd pretend it was no big deal, but you were evidently a bit pissed off. But luckily, it's not. It's a blog, and I'll write when I fucking well like.

That was a bit aggressive. Sorry...

I should currently be in French grammar class, but I was defeated by the distance from my bed to the floor, so I decided not to go. Don't judge me too harshly if you have never had the misfortune of attending a French grammar class. It makes me tremble with fear. I am counteracting the adverse effect my absence will have on my skills as a linguist by watching Sex and the City in French. This kind of education I can get on board with.

So exams are looming, and I am once again reminded of just how bad I am at all of this motivation stuff. My washing basket is brimming expectantly in the corner, and I honestly can't be arsed to walk the ten yards from my building to the laundrette. Pity me, won't you?

I stayed up late last night listening to various slam poets, some of whom were enviably eloquent, some of whom were a little embarrassing. I was discussing the concept with my sister who said that she finds it all a little bit unnerving. And I agree with her to an extent, but I also think that discomfort is sort of the point. So I'll let you make up your own mind while I find some old lasagne or something to eat.

gu





That Buddy Wakefield one makes me well up a bit, so you may want to skip it if you're in a good mood...

medicine blues...

Apparently some people have had some snow. We do not, but it is certainly very cold. If it did snow, I would pretty much be screwed because all my shoes are made of muddy white canvas and I have no sense of balance. There isn't a cloud in the sky; it really is gorgeous out there. It feels like proper winter now. We've definitely escaped the fuzzy in-between stage (Autumn if we're being technical) and it's a definite excuse to spend too much money on gingerbread lattes in Costa.

Degrees are so very very hard, but they are not without reward. My French is definitely improving and even though I am definitely one of the less skilled linguists in my Italian group, it's quite astonishing how much I have learned in the past few weeks. Of course in the run up to the Christmas break, the next few weeks will be full of essays and assessments, but after this will follow a blissful month of laziness and presents and frosty walks. I'm never very enthusiastic about Christmas, but I am enthusiastic about gluttony and laziness which will be abundant in this holiday season. Also, Mum is going away which is always a bonus.

Between writing the last paragraph and this one, I went to Tesco and my mood changed significantly. I'm all coughy and snotty and tired.

Between writing the last paragraph and this one, night fell and I watched Beauty and the Beast and I came down with full-on flu. My muscles are aching and I'm shivery and far too hot and cherry tomatoes are all I can eat. I fell asleep for a bit, but now it's late and I'm wide awake and drugged up and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep for a few hours, but sleep isn't coming so I thought I'd continue this blog post. The one I started at lunchtime. When I was annoyingly happy.

Right, so I fell asleep again straight after I wrote that. It is now tomorrow and I feel ten times better. At least this post if nothing else has illustrated how fragmented my writing style is and how my mood meanders quite significantly. I'm going to go now. My day will be one of slippers and honey and translation. Can't complain with that!

can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all...

I am too tired to get up and make tea.



Very, very tired.



Unfortunately, I am unable to prioritise. Instead of cracking on with all the essay work I have to do for the morning, I am doing this.



Slowly.



I am wearing four jumpers and life is sweet. I have to go home again this weekend, which is a bit unfortunate. It is prizegiving, which is also a bit unfortunate. It'll be odd going back to Haybridge but on the upside, I do get to see all of my wonderfully brilliant friends once more. My guess is that I will spend much more time in various Stourbridge establishments than I will at home, and this is fine by me.

This is pretty...



As is this...



And now it really is time to go and make a cuppa before retreating to bed with my 'Ecrire pour convaincre' textbook and walter (I'm not sure if normal people use this term or whether it's a Morgan thing. A 'Walter' is a hot water bottle. Just thought I should clarify. I'm not sure where it originated from...).

you are my sweetest downfall...

It's a little too late to be doing this, but I was in the mood, so doing it I am. I'm yet to decide whether that sentence makes sense.

I'm home. Home in Kidderminster, that is, not campus home. We had a bit of a bonfire last night, which could have been much more shit than it actually was. There was food and company and beer. I was satisfied.

Tonight, we went to a Diwali celebration at a friend's house in Kidderminster. Sparklers never seem to lose their appeal. Helen and I spent lots of time playing with funny filters on Ajay's fancy camera while the boys played some kind of duller than dull football game. Again, there was lots of nice food and I feel thoroughly stuffed.

I love Regina Spektor. I have for a long time. I went to see her a few years back at the height of my obsession. Since then, I have discovered lots and lots of bands and my music taste has changed quite radically, but she's the one I always find myself coming back to. She's just so cool with her Soviet charm and unique voice. I. Love. Her. Anyway, because she's so prolific, it's easy to discover something of hers that you've never heard before.

I must have listened to this at least twenty times in the past few days since hearing it in my coffee-filled state at some obscene hour of Friday morning when striving to finish my abysmal essay on Annie Ernaux's ambivalence to her past (yes, I know).

This one is pretty...

And this one's just plain odd...

Happy listening, and good night! ♥

I have just realised that everything in this post has been positive. It even contains a heart(!) I can only apologise, and promise to be more like myself next time!

sei molto cocciuta...

Now, because I chose to follow my pockets rather than my heart, I am not doing a degree in creative writing. You probably know this because you probably know me, and therefore know a little bit about me. I do know, however, that there are a few people dotted around the world who read this (yes, I'm as surprised as you are) who probably don't know much about me. Please bear in mind that this is not the original premise of the blog post, so feel free to join me in a couple of paragraphs' time if you already know all this about me.

My name is Anna Mary Morgan and I am eighteen years old. I currently study French and Italian at the University of Warwick. I am from Kidderminster which is a bit of a dive. It is near Birmingham which I think is an underrated city. I am half Welsh. My favourite food is goats' cheese, but I also like spinach very much. I put it in everything. I am vaguely vegetarian but I eat fish and I eat meat if I have no choice (for instance at someone's house if they haven't realised and have prepared a gourmet meal). Saying this, I have only eaten meat once since February. My favourite meat is lamb. My favourite film is probably Juno, but I like Lost in Translation a lot. I'm sad sometimes because some sad things have happened to me, but I'm lucky in lots of ways so I try not to let it bog me down. My favourite book is probably something Brontëish, but I haven't fallen in love with a book since I was pretty young and read 'Sophie Hits Six'. I'm not sure how I have friends. I don't like to purchase clothes or books online as much as physically going shopping, but I do it all the time anyway. I really like James McAvoy. I like old detective shows. Berlin is the place I like most in the world. So far. I really dislike foetuses. I am a socialist. I am frustrated by the fact that I'm still not fluent in French. I'm not frustrated by the fact that I'm not fluent in Italian because I started learning it four weeks ago. My favourite band is Bright Eyes. I would like to be either taller or shorter. I would like to be either blonder or more brunette. I would like to be either thinner or fatter. Oh, wait, I'd just like to be thinner. When at home, I live with my mum and my sister and my dog. I miss my dog much more than the other two. Death doesn't scare me. I like floral patterns, but I'm indifferent to flowers. But I like plants. I only fall for people I have no chance with. I always forget to take an umbrella out with me. It always rains on the days I've straightened my hair. I am a Christian, but I put Christian far too far down on this list. This should give you an idea of just how Christian I am. I used to drink, and then I didn't drink for a while, and now I drink a bit again. I don't know how to talk to human beings. I have had a sore throat for a week. This list has fallen into anarchy.

So there you have it, and to get back to my original point, I'm not doing a degree in which I have to write all that much. The other day, however, we had to come up with a dialogue between two people who meet randomly. This was mine:

Emma: Scusa, lavori qui?
Connor: No, ma Stefano lavora qui. È un ragazzo alto e ha i capelli biondi.
Emma: Non importa. Piacere, io mi chiamo Emma.
Connor: Io sono Connor. Piacere! Sei inglese?
Emma: No, sono polacca, di Varsavia.
Connor: Polacca? Davvero? Sei qui per studiare?
Emma: No, sono con un’amica; è una studentessa di medicina. Dove abiti?
Connor: Abito a Firenze
Emma: Ah sì? Che bello!
Connor: No, TU sei bella!
Emma: Grazie ma ho un ragazzo.
Connor: Allora, sei contenta?
Emma: Sì sono molto contenta
Connor: Va bene, però io sono speciale!
Emma: Sì, ma...
Connor: Vuoi venire al cinema domani?
Emma: Domani, parto per Roma!
Connor: Sei molto cocciuta! A presto!
Emma: A presto! Ciao!

I had SO much fun writing it that I feel a little ashamed. She said that it was the only one she enjoyed reading. I'm not sure why I made 'Connor' a bit of a twat.

Can I say 'twat' on here? If not, sorry.

dirty pretty things...

Things I like about university:

• There are very few (if any) children here.
  
• Everyone is clever. Like. Everyone. This means you actually have to think about what you say in everyday conversation. Things said in Kidderminster might not make all that much sense here.
  
• The Guardian is half the regular price
• Contrary to popular belief, you can get away with not drinking all that much. When drunk, I am a pleb, so I haven't done it for a few months. It's a simpler life...
  
• There is a library of foreign cinema. This one pretty much explains itself.
• Ditto magazines.
• It's not far from home, so I can go back if I so choose (I don't, but I'm being hypothetical.)
• It's full of raving lefties. Last week, I stood for ten minutes while a man from the Socialist Worker Party told me that Communism was the way forward. He was so passionate, I didn't have the heart to disagree.
  
• When living on campus, everything is a five minute walk. Of course, it gets a little bit samey, but in theory, this is good. Also, there are ducks everywhere.
  
• My 'lecteur' who is named Thomas and is strangely appealing. Hard to say why...
  

In short, I could probably stay forever. I banned myself from updating during my first week, but as I have no television, I daresay you will be seeing much more from me. You lucky buggers...

I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else.

It appears that I am approaching rock bottom. I am sat alone on a Friday night drinking wine and watching French films about murder and adultery. Of course, to me this is pretty much the perfect evening, but soon my mum will come home from wherever she's been this time, and she will make me feel pathetic and lonely. Both she and Helen have admitted that they find being alone at night in my big, horrible house a bit creepy, but I don't mind it one bit. I'm the sort of person who needs time to myself which I haven't really got much lately while Mum has been off sick and Helen has been home.

This weekend will either be ace or a bit of a bore; I guess you could say that of anything really, so I'm sorry for talking bollocks. Last night we all stayed at Christina's for one last time and tomorrow evening I'm going to Bewdley with Hagley people which seems a bit odd, but it's close to home so I'm not going to complain. On Sunday, I'm going with Sarah to Ikea for the all important university shop. It's difficult to get excited about cutlery and pen-holders, but I do like the general Swedishness...

I really do need a phone now, but I hate spending money on things that aren't shoes or books, so I'm generally quite sulky about the prospect. Things are complicated somewhat by the fact that this time next year, I will be in Italy, making contracts and stuff tricky. I've just realised that I am writing about frightfully dull things tonight, so I can only apologise (though the phrase frightfully dull does make me feel like a prim Victorian, which is fun in moderation).

Goodnight!

P.S. watch 'Free Agents' on 4od. It's good and she's stylish. End of.

do not for the fame, but for the glory. learn the difference.

My mother is currently in the corner of the room with a carpet fitter, looking at samples which all look exactly the same and deliberating loudly, while denying me the joys of my iTunes. We're finally getting our (avocado eighties nightmare) bathroom ripped out and starting again. Trust me when I say that anything would be an improvement.

I finally bought Fyfe (Fyfe, love of my life)'s album and in no way is it disappointing. Every song is magnificent. When you are a shambolic aspiring writer as I half-heartedly pretend to be, occasionally you read a book and think 'wow. I wish I had written this.) I imagine lots of music-types feel similarly about this album.

I'm currently reading 'One Day' by David Nicholls and storming through it (this is one of the aforementioned novels). It's sort of a nice compromise between a critically acclaimed but difficult to trawl through novel and a trashy beach read. I'm only half way through, but already it's established a firm footing amongst my favourites. I'm sure most people think this, but I feel that I am strangely similar to the protagonist, Emma. She's pretty clever but a bit of a skank who waitresses instead of getting a job while her less intelligent but copiously charismatic best friend shoots to fame. She has idealistic newspaper cuttings lining her walls and becomes too cynical and too critical. This is pretty much the life I have mapped out for myself. So anyway, I would definitely recommend it, even if you are not really the reading type.

I used to read all the time, but have somewhat lapsed lately. I really love books, but I have picked up the bad habit of spending loads of money on books, beginning them, then giving up half way through, or even worse, just letting them sit on my shelf (floor) gathering dust. So from now on, I vow to read more. I imagine that books will help Sarah and me immeasurably on our trek across Europe in the summer, and I reckon that as I'm doing a French degree (bleugh, don't get me started), a bit of literature in my native language will become a treat once more.

Inspiring isn't really the word, but I found myself clinging on to this awesome woman's every word. It really doesn't seem twenty minutes long, I promise. I think you'll enjoy it. Lesbianism aside, I pretty much want to be this woman. I fear that I can only be disappointed...

The prophets and their bombs have had another success and I wonder why we bother at all...

Marion Cotillard epitomises pretty much everything I want to be. She is French, she's successful, and , most importantly, she rocks Converse Allstars with ease. She completely nails every role she plays, whether in a bizarre Indie film, or something much more OSCARiffic like 'La Vie En Rose'.

What's more, Ms Cotillard is currently cosying up with the one and only Guillaume Canet: intellectual, visionary and overall French Hottie. The two starred together in 'Jeux D'enfants', one of my all time favourite films. It's funny and cute without being at all naff, as English and American films seem to slip into. If you haven't seen it, it really is wonderful and I recommend it. Those two would have cute babies...

The reason she's so great in 'La Vie En Rose' is the way she's unafraid to make herself look well and truly minging. It's possibly the most unattractive role she could have taken but it turned out to be a very wise move. Now she walks among Hollywood's elite, gracing the covers of magazines and seeming very classy and gracious with it. I think the fact that she failed to get her Oscar acceptance speech out over the flood of tears shows that she genuinely did not expect to win. Or she is a very good actress. Which sort of goes without saying really.

So this week has panned out much better than was expected. I did have a rubbish driving lesson on Monday, but everything else has been pretty good. Usually the double dose of double French on Tuesday and Wednesday pretty much finishes me off, but something odd has happened in the Modern Languages department; the teachers have gone soft. So instead of sheet after sheet of grammar, we got to watch TWO films. So yesterday, we watched 'He loves me, he loves me not' starring Audrey Tatou and a guy with really good hair. I'd never seen it before, so didn't know what to expect, but it was brilliant! It was exactly like Enduring Love, but Frencher and even creepier. The plot was almost identical, but because of the style of the film, the viewer is hooked much longer. Today, we watched 'A very long engagement' which was sad, but good. This had Tatou AND Cotillard in, therefore was automatically going to be ace. It did not disappoint. To say I enjoyed it would be a bit sick really - there was an awful lot of graphic mutilation, but it was pretty awesome. Cotillard plays an amazing, gutsy prostitute who seeks to avenge her bloke who dies on the Somme. If I didn't love her before, this certainly did it. Watch it. Please?

Fyfe Dangerfield (Fyfe, Fyfe, love of my life) may be my crush of the week. I just love his voice, love the Guillemots, love the John Lewis advert (about which I have already gushed). He's probably a bit of an arse, but he has lovely eyes and the voice of an angel. I think this is enough to absolve him. Trains to Brazil is an amazing song!

"Ah elle aime bien ça les stratagèmes! En fait, elle est un peu lâche. Je crois que c'est pour ça que j'ai du mal à saisir son regard"

Yesterday, after the exam from hell, I retreated to my home from home (the little room in Languages. It has a kettle and a microwave and some French magazines. As a result I probably spend more time in there than I do sleeping. It's a sorry state of affairs...). I was so annoyed with myself for being rubbish that I did the unthinkable. That's right, my friends, I rang my mother. She answered the phone and I croaked pathetically at her because this damn cold isn't going anywhere. I told her about my woes and she said the one thing I didn't want to hear; "Well I think you should be doing English anyway...". Since that moment, I can't stop thinking about my choices. On top of it all, I'm not even sure I want to go to university at all!

I'm not sure whether what I'm feeling right now is actual hatred of the French subject or whether I'm just being my typical, indecisive self. Let's see, shall we?

Rubbish things about French:

• Speaking - The exams are stressful and in my opinion, 20 short minutes cannot give an accurate representation of the student's prowess as a whole. Also, have you ever spoken French to a French person? It's really not all that good for one's ego...
  
• Literature - We are studying Maupassant. He doesn't like war. He uses nice language. He fights for the French people. I should love his work, but actually it's a load of long-winded, overdescriptive, hippie drivel. In French.
  
• France isn't all that great, is it? Okay, the south is gorgeous and sunny, but have you ever been to Calais? The Alps are cold, Normandy is grim, and Paris is full of tramps.
  
• Grammar - Trawling through textbooks doing question after question is not how I like to spend my evenings.
• Teachers - well one teacher actually. The less said, the less trouble I can get in.
  

Things that make me love French:

• Translation - Yum, yum, yum...
• Literature - Despite my indifference to Maupassant, the French brought us Les Misérables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Beauty and the Beast. Now, I have never exactly read any of these but the songs sure are catchy...
• France - Paris, Nice, Paris. Actually, I can't pretend any longer, I love France. It has Kristin Scott-Thomas, and Marion cotillard, and Carla Bruni. It has PARIS; the Pompidou centre, Amélie's café and Le Marais.
• Grammar - It's like algebra but with words!
• Teachers - The other two French teachers are nothing less than lovely and they took us to the Med, which was quite nice really...

So in conclusion, I both love and hate French in equal measure. Maybe this is what true passion for something is? Loving it so much that you really can't stand it. Maybe I really should do English. If I made a list for English, I'm pretty sure there would only be one point in the 'cons' column; my teacher has given us NINE hours of private study to be completed this week. Insane...

I just voted and intend to stay up tonight for as long as possible. It's very cloudy, perhaps this is pathetic fallacy?

Lost in Coventry...

Today has been terrible. I completely messed up my French exam and as a result I have been in a foul mood all day. Yes, I know you thought I was delightful all the time, and that I live my life with all the grace and charm of a unicorn, but I'm afraid I must disappoint. Today I have all the grace and charm of a sloth. An old sloth. In pyjamas.

I had a complete panic on Monday night with the realisation that my history coursework was due in the next day, not today as I had been convinced. This resulted in a distinct lack of sleep on Monday night. Propped up with Lemsip and caffeine, I managed to make the deadline. I spent the weekend with my smelly big sister in Leamington. My mum and I went for a meal with her and we made a quick visit to Coventry Cathedral which was lovely. Luckily I didn't stay with Helen on Monday night as I had intended. I really would have been in quite a lot of poo...

Tonight I'm celebrating the fact that all my coursework has been handed in and I don't have any more exams for forty eight days. As a result, I'm going to watch Lost In Translation which always calms me down (particularly when, like today, mean, bullying men make me feel about as big as a flea). It's just so good! I love Scarlett Johansson at the best of times, but in this, she is just wonderful, Bill Murray is a definite old man crush and some of the locations are just ace... It seems that in most of my favourite films, nothing really happens, and this is no exception. Right, I'm watching it!

Also, if you get the time, listen to Antony and the Johnsons. They have a really unique, lovely sound. 'Hope there's Someone' is gorgeous and my favourite song at the moment...

Lovelily lonely...

Long time, no blog! I got nine hours sleep last night after a day of absolute hell. The sleep set me straight again, so now I almost feel human again. The French exam on tuesday was by no means disastrous (despite fire alarms, no sleep and a bitch for an examiner) though I feel I could have done better. There's no point dwelling on it now, however, so it's time to finish off all coursework once and for all. I think things will get a bit better then. Maybe...

I've started reading Harry Potter again from the beginning. This can only be a bad thing, but it's a lifelong affliction. Like herpes. I'm only on book one, and I keep noticing little foreshadows of characters and occurences in the later books. It's pretty much awesome. Fine, it's not exactly a Booker prize winner, but it got me and millions of other kids into reading. Surely it's worth acclaim for this alone?

The sun makes everything seem a lot better, doesn't it? Coupled with the return of Glee, the return to school has been almost bearable. Only twenty six days left now. But who's counting? I considered applying for one of the post-sixth form jobs at school in September, but then I realised that I genuinely couldn't stay at Haybridge High School for another year if they paid me. Which they would be. Hmm, maybe I should reconsider...

I feel like I'm in the midst of a bit of a music revolution. I don't like blogging about music so I will keep it short and sweet.

• Belle and Sebastian - Just genius. The Boy with the arab strap, expectations and Piazza New York Catcher are all worth a listen
• Conor Oberst. Made my life. That is all.
  
• Stornoway - I saw you Blink is loveliness embodied. In song...
• She & Him - Who knew Zoe Deschanel could sing? Mind. Blown. If you Can't sleep is really good!
• The Mountain Goats - No Children is lyrically awesome. Actually, it's just awesome full stop. Really enviable writing.
  

Shorty's like a melody in my head that I can't keep from, got me singing like 'na na na na' every day, like my ipod's stuck on replay...

I am a rubbish teenager. There are many reasons for this. For example, I think a cup of tea is the best thing in the world. I barely drink. I have read at least three Maeve Binchy novels. I don't think we need a fourth reason... My excuse now is that I have turned eighteen, and so I am technically an adult, therefore I can wear slippers all day, read the Guardian and complain about those younger than myself if I so wish (which I invariably do). I like to think, however that my ownership of GHDs, my addiction to the internet and my ability to sleep for fifteen hours running all show that in fact I am still young (though my hands are creepily wrinkly).

If I wasn't so hellbent on being a writer, I'd probably become a translator. Translating is the one form of homework I can stand. I enjoy putting my own spin on the text, and not sticking rigidly to the meaning, embellishing slightly. If you don't like languages, you probably don't understand, but I think it's ace!

Tomorrow is Mothering Sunday. I haven't as such bought anything for my Mum. I used to go to loads of effort for such occasions, but we're not exactly close anymore. I think we're going to Birmingham to see Helen, which will be nice. The three of us shopping does tend to end in tears, however. We are all so similar, and equally stubborn. It could go either way...