face after nameless face...

I'm not a very sentimental person. This may shock and appal you, but alas, it's true. But you'll forgive me, I'm sure for coming over all poetic just this once.

This site is nice. It's full of pretty words that don't mean anything and pretty pictures which don't really match the words all that well. It's a pointless way to pass some time if (like me) you have Italian essays to write and gifts to wrap.

And I like this site a lot. The basic concept is that people send in pages torn from books which they have whittled down to a few words that mean something (or not as the case very often is). Lovely.

So I haven't posted for a couple of days, and it's already one in the morning, so I doubt anyone will read this. This means I won't feel too bad about telling you what I've been up to over the past couple of days. On Tuesday night I went with Helen and Chris and the woman who calls herself my mother to see 'Matilda', performed by the RSC , with songs written by the beautiful Tim Minchin. I can wholeheartedly say - without reservation - that it was the best thing I have ever seen on stage. Possibly tied with Les Mis. It was just brilliant! So brilliant, in fact, that I have just bought tickets to go and see it again with my university friend Cait (who was dying to go).

The perfect evening was marred, however by the fact that due to the snow, we had to stay in Stratford for the night. There are many worse places to be stuck, I know, but I had to share a hotel room with she who must not be named, and this was not without consequences. I could spin an exaggerated but amusing tale about my night, but suffice to say that I ended up in the hotel lobby reading my book from five onwards. It was disconcertingly quiet, so when it hit six-thirty, I decided to go for a wonder in the deserted town. It was quiet and snowy and my feet got wet. Beautiful though...

Today I went to a very busy Birmingham with the lovely Sarah Dixon. It was great to catch up. I miss her insane amounts. I spent too much money. I got a cab back from the station with a driver who looked like Jarvis Cocker's fat cousin.

I believe I have run out of things to say. I would wish you a merry Christmas, but who am I kidding? I will be posting tomorrow. G'night!

reach for the stars, so if you fall you land on a cloud... BULLSHIT.

Just over a week in to the Christmas break, it's hard to say just what I have achieved. I certainly have not done any work, have not been anywhere exciting, have not really spoken to anyone. It's been a nice week though; a week of solitude and Salinger and snow. I also have the somewhat lame excuse of having been quite ill, but from tomorrow I will be slightly less pathetic. I will do some actual work, and I will leave the house. Probably.

I'm really really bored of cooking curry all the time. I mean, it's delicious and it's one of the few dishes which is not hindered by the absence of meat, but I'm sick of it. Somebody please give me some ideas! I really do like cooking, but I feel like I'm stuck in a bit of a rut, so if you have any thoughts, or if you would like to come round and cook up a storm with me, send me a little message.

I literally slept all day, and as a result, I'm on top of the world! So it occurred to me, the answer to all the world's problems - sleep. I reckon if everyone got ten solid hours every night, we'd all be a bit less angsty and a bit more pleasant. Perhaps all of our problems would dissolve. We wouldn't have family tiffs, the Koreas would get on, every day would be a good hair day. Call me a dreamer, but in the words of Gloria Steinem 'Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning.'

I hate supposedly inspirational quotations like that one, don't you? It's like the speaker genuinely thinks that their vague, corny words will have an effect on the life of a complete stranger. And everyone's been at it! Even people I quite like (Einstein, Angelou, Woolf, etc) can be quoted in such a way. The thing is though, it is not these lame affirmations that render these people great. In general, their acts speak for themselves, and they are genuinely rather inspiring with or without their empty words.

Words are always empty though. Aren't they?

My sister is a fuckface.