don't fear the reaper.

This is a murder-themed blog post. I thought I'd tell you upfront in case you think I'm an oddball and want to leave it at that. I didn't want you to get half way through and realise that there was a recurring theme running through it, and that the theme in question was just a little bit strange. It also contains 'Sherlock' spoilers. Don't say I didn't warn you.

They have Midsomer Murders here in Italy. It's called 'L'ispettore Barnaby' and is dubbed rather than subtitled. This may seem irrelevant, but it actually makes a lot of difference to some programmes. For example, Grey's Anatomy dubbed into Italian is just as enjoyable, whereas MTV's 'Disaster Date' when dubbed has all the fun sucked out of it. Inspector Barnaby's adventures seem to gain something in the Italian language, and everything seems a little bit more dramatic. I would imagine those living in big Italian cities however, find it somewhat difficult to relate to the lives of those living in quaint British countryside.

Sherlock was incredible. The last series was definitely good television, but this was just exceptional. I started watching it at home with Tom, Cait and Cindy, and finished it sitting alone in my bedroom in Rome, but both times, I was equally hooked. Anybody who doesn't find both Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch supremely attractive is maybe a little bit deranged (or likes men who are slightly less angular of face). And now the internet is buzzing with theories of how the great man faked his own death. I have to say, I was a little bit angry that he wasn't dead. I feel the BBC cheated some tears out of me (who wouldn't well up a little at the sight of a very forlorn John Watson unashamedly grieving the death of his best friend) and felt silly for getting so worked up! My anger is not enough to prevent me from really really looking forward to the next series though. I'm sure I will be just as enthralled.

This interesting collection of pictures appeared on the Guardian website the other day. I scrolled through with morbid fascination. I hope you will do the same.

The thing is, I love detective programmes, Agatha Christie novels and that Roald Dahl story where the old lady ran a B&B and stuffed all the guests. I guess what I'm asking is your opinion on whether this is really weird, or if I might indeed turn out normal rather than some vengeful, leg of lamb-wielding housewife. Comment is welcome.

I'll leave you with a pointless gif of Benedict Cumberbatch taking his scarf off. You are welcome!

I am no bird and no net ensnares me...

If you didn't already know, today is the centenary of the first ever International Women's Day. This means the interwebs are filled with feminist rants and badly written articles by supposedly empowered women. It also means that men (and women) everywhere have the opportunity to complain and to suggest that feminism is no longer necessary or even relevant. A couple of years ago if someone had said this to me, I would have embarked upon an angry (slightly squeaky) rhetoric about inequality. I would probably have used the words 'objectification' and 'chauvinism' at least twice, and rendered the person in question either a little bit frightened or a little bit amused.

I've grown up a bit. 

So now, instead of droning on about how much feminism matters, I am instead asking the question: does it? My personal opinion remains unchanged, and I would still very much consider myself a feminist, but I would like to take a softer approach to tackling inequality. Rather than evoking resentment, today should bring about debate and thanksgiving. I realise how lucky I am and I never failed to be amazed by the fact that the (relative) liberation of women is all so recent. It's too soon to be complacent. As soon as the din dies down, it passes under the radar, so apathy can't be the answer either. 

So now what? What does it mean to be a modern day feminist? We have the vote, we have equal rights , we have everything. Right? Do we really have the right to be harping on about inequality when there are women in the world who cannot vote at all? Do we really have the right to employment tribunals and equal pay when there are women who must seek permission before they are even allowed to leave the house? Erm... I think so. Maybe. I suppose the key difference is that it would be really very difficult to completely reverse a patriarchal society, whereas imposing stricter regulations so that women are not objectified in the British workplace is relatively a piece of piss. So yes, we are lucky that we don't live in a country where women are uneducated, are mutilated, are lesser citizens, but feminism is as valid as ever, in this country as well as others.

For me, one of the biggest problems Brits face is equality in the work place. There is disagreement over how much less women earn than men on average for doing the same job, but forty years after the passing of the equal pay act, even the lowest figures suggest that it's over ten percent. Then we must consider the baby factor. If I was a big-shot business tycoon, the simple fact of the matter is that I wouldn't necessarily want to employ a young woman because she would be too much of a liability. When times are hard, the last thing businesses want is to be dishing out money to employees who are not doing their job because they are selfishly too busy having ruddy children! The problem has been aggravated by the recession. Everyone has been hit, but women seem to be at a greater disadvantage, which is a real shame.

Feminism is defined as a Belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes. Who on earth could argue with that? The word has negative connotations - of bra burning and masculinity and aggression - but when stripped down, there is nothing in this movement, which sadly seems to be losing momentum, that doesn't make complete sense. Equality. No matter what the cost. One day we won't need a day to remind us that women are equal. 

 On a brighter note, the Guardian has today published its definitive list of the top 100 women including the likes of Maya Angelou, Angela Merkel and Rachel Maddow, but also controversially including Madonna, Lady Gaga and Thatcher, to name but a few. It's a good list, and makes for an interesting hour.

Here are my top five sites for womeny folk:

• Dorothy Surrenders
• F Bomb
• Jezebel
• Woman's Hour
• Feministing

I leave you with a link I have shared before, but it was back in May and I simply couldn't top it. I want to be her just a little tiny bit.

And failing all that...

cause a scene.

I overslept and missed my Italian verb quiz today because I stayed up too late... learning verbs. What a noob. Therefore, to cheer myself up I decided to write a blog post.

This week promises to be full of stress and general melodramatic woe as deadline(s) loom and exam(s) approach. This time next week however, I will be full of glee and general merriment because I will have got my horrid exam out of the way and written my horrid essay (probably) and it will very nearly almost be reading week! It couldn't come at a more opportune moment. I really truly need the break, and will spend the week thinking about starting reading and watching Sex and the City. At least I'm a realist...

I have been listening to Salteens a lot lately. My normal approach here would be to embed a video, but Youtube doesn't seem to have heard of them , so I'll give you the Spotify link. And if you don't have spotify, there's really not much more I can do to help you. Your life will probably be okay without them, I just think they're quite good.

I can't be certain, but I think my wonderful friend Jess is coming to stay tonight. Since she moved to Bristol in August, I've seen her a grand total of three times. I miss the days when we spent all of our time in the little languages staffroom at school. She would sit and work and I would fall asleep under the table, only waking up when I smelled one of her delicious meals being reheated in the microwave. She was always so enviably good at life.

Gosh this is old.

These protests in Egypt make our little student backlash look somewhat measley and half-hearted. I will not go on to write a massive piece of argumentative prose, because there are many people who understand the situation much better than I do (and many people who are more adept at writing argumentative prose). Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean is that I'm glad it has received the coverage it deserved, I am saddened by the loss of human life, I am impressed at the resilience of these freedom fighters. Scary though, isn't it?

I leave you with this extract from a beautiful piece of journalism in Saturday's Guardian

"In the narrow side streets protesters regrouped, wellwishers on their balconies threw down water for those with streaming eyes from the tear gas. “Wake up Egypt, your silence is killing us,” came the yells from below."

we'll meet in russian literature...

I was just feeding my dog and somehow managed to flick tripe down my top. This is quite an achievement considering the top in question was not low-cut in the slightest. My reaction was a little on the melodramatic side. My carnivorous former self would be ashamed.

I might start reading War and Peace, but it seems a little bit epic, and it's summer. Epic books are best left for the winter months when the outdoors no longer exist and we (I) retreat into our cosy winter shells.

My mum's in hospital for a bit (nothing too serious) so I have to get over myself and my all-consuming fear of hospitals and visit tomorrow. I'm not sure why I hate them so much, but I will not make the same mistake I have in the past of just not going at all. This seems a bit apathetic. From now on I will be perfect, superdaughter, armed with chocolate buttons and grapes. I hear ill people like grapes... It probably wouldn't be so bad if Helen wasn't in Madeira, because she has a superhuman tolerance for vomit and drips and all things clinical. She would probably calm me down a bit. I might buy myself a new iPod as a reward. Mine has never been the same since I washed it. Its fate was less severe than the phone I flushed down the toilet and the camera I killed in my bike spokes, however.

I realise that in the last week, I have written about absolutely nothing of any merit or interest, and for this I can only apologise. Perhaps tomorrow I will bring you a heavy, slightly obnoxious piece of prose on North Korea, or the plight of women (as you know I love doing), but today I'm not in the mood. Instead, I thought I'd just mention a few things I'm enjoying that are hovering about on the interweb at the moment.

• I really like the blog 'Dorothy Surrenders', which is very funny and intelligently written. Yes, it's written by a lesbian for lesbians and about lesbians, but I rather like it. I particularly like the thought of themed blogs according to the day on which they were written, such as 'Tank Top Tuesday' and 'Gender fuck Thursday'. Excellent.
• After having mentioned 'Alex Reads Twilight' last time, I have discovered his friend and flatmate Charlie's video blog. Turns out I'm fairly out of touch with this one, as he's been rambling on and strumming his ukulele for quite some time. Regardless, I quite like him.
• jezebel.com is the sort of writing I aspire to. It has a great mix of trashy celebrity gossip and more serious subjects such as cats eating peanut butter...
• While the Sartorialist will always have a place in my heart, Hollie Templar (whose blog I visit sometimes just for its sheer beauty) linked me to this site earlier today and I fell in love. This is the cherry on top of my cake of Scandinavian obsession...
• The 'Life and Style' section of the Guardian never fails to throw up something of interest. And even if the subject matter is trashy, the writer always manages to put a homely, middle-class glaze on everything.
• Yes, I've linked to it before, but frankly, it deserves two mentions. Sarah and I saw a boy in deck shoes reading Moby Dick in our hostel in Berlin. She commented on it, and I made a reference to this wonderful, wonderful blog, but was shocked when she knew nothing about it. Sarah, you are welcome. Just while I'm on the topic (feel free to skip this part if you are short of time/have a life) I feel the need to mention a second hand bookshop we found in deepest, darkest Berlin. It was run by two English guys, one of whom looked like Jarvis Cocker and was tuning bongos. We went in and found ourselves in heaven. There were gorgeous old Penguin books for €2, a massive poetry section, and all sorts of bizarre German comic books. They made us a cup of tea, and we must have spent at least an hour there. It was just brilliant...
• Finally, LaBlogotheque, Black Cab Sessions and watchlistentell are all great ways to discover interesting new bands...
  

would you rather get married or lick a tramp?

I often start a blog post with no intent and no idea where it will take me. This is one of those occasions. My mum's come back, so the house has a miserable air. I'm glad I'm only going to be here for a couple more days. She does have her uses though, having just removed a monster earwig from the kitchen for me. I've always hated the vile little things ever since I found one hanging out of my finger a few years back. Grim.

According to the Guardian, Warwick is now second only to Oxford and Cambridge in excellence. This means I will be even more gutted when I fail to make the cut in just over a month.

Also according to the Guardian, one in five of those in a relationship claim to be in love with a third party. The article then goes on to dismiss these feelings as misdirected lust and rather self-righteously explain where these poor, misguided romantics went wrong in their relationships, even stating that they have never known love at all. Of course, just because I think the journalist in question sounds like a bit of a ponse, doesn't mean I disagree with her.

Now, I may be about as cynical as they come. When people ask me why I don't have a boyfriend, I scoff and say something derisive about men, cite my insane independence and say something wry about my general contempt for society. I make no secret of the fact that I don't believe in marriage. I have completely perfected my ''can't argue with the statistics'' argument, and though I try to be supportive to those of my friends who have chosen to get engaged at the ripe old age of eighteen, I can't help but be pessimistic. It's just my nature, I've never been mushy. And when yet another person blames my attitudes to all this crap on the "hard time" I've supposedly had in life, inside I am screaming that I would have been like this anyway! That's what I let myself think.

I think at the end of the day, it's all about what makes us happy. I am perfectly content with the idea of being married to literature and music and goats' cheese. I'm not saying this won't change, but for now I'm dangerously close to the terrifying precipice that is happiness, and I find it disconcerting. After all, youth is supposed to centre itself around self-obsessed angst, isn't it? Meanwhile, the label of a slightly damaged , hostile girl has been working just fine for me, and I will think very carefully before ditching it.

detergent days...

The rain just started slamming down in noisy splats which makes the fact that I have been doing load upon load of washing today seem a little less pathetic. Today is the dreaded day of my mother's return, and as a result, everyone's a little bit stressed out. My sister and her bloke have resolved this stress by taking the dog for a walk (to the pub), while I am sitting with my laptop procrastinating. Youtube appears to be struggling somewhat today so I'm left with the Guardian website and (fully aware that I am becoming a broken record) the brilliant Grey's Anatomy. This blog is also a definite form of procrastination, but somehow it's not as bad as watching Countdown. Which I am certainly not doing.

It's working again now...

I leave for my grand European adventure a week today and I'm feeling distinctly unprepared. I have bought suncream and facewipes. Perhaps some more effort is required. This website will get me through. And books. Books will help...

It happens every time. They all become blueberries...

Today I handed in my two pieces of English Coursework. For good. That is it on the coursework front. Unless you count History. Which I don't (it's a sort of un-subject in my opinion). This means I never have to open my somewhat worn copy of The Bell Jar again. Of course just because I am not required to do so, doesn't mean I won't. Whenever I'm full of melodramatic teenage angst or general melancholy, Sylvia is always the one who teaches me a little bit of perspective. I know it's dull to read about my considerable workload, so over the next couple of months of hell, I will try to keep the school talk to a minimum.

I just discovered this on the Guardian website. It's fairly lovely as acoustic Biffy usually is. Simon Neil is THE sex. That voice! Those eyes! That... err... beard? I love how his accent isn't at all compromised when he sings. Also, he has a tattoo across his chest saying 'God only knows what I'd be without you'. Normally I am on the fence tattoo-wise. Personally I can't imagine ever liking something enough to get it scrawled across my body but I think they can look good sometimes. If ever there was a tattoo that could make a man soar up the ranks in my eyes, a good Beach Boys reference is probably it. Well played Mr Neil...

I'm still off meat but very much on the fish. I really didn't used to eat all that much fish, but being sensible, I am conscious that I need to get some protein somehow. My preferred source of this is cheese, but aware that I may swell up like Violet Beauregarde, I have decided to go for fish and fish-type things instead. Fish fingers have become my token comfort food and I had some really nice salmon the other day... Also if I eat fish, I can convince myself that it's meat. I cannot do this with any sort of mycoprotein, no matter how hard I try!

I seem to have replaced sleep with reading, a calm, serene room with one filled with revision-based post-it notes, and nutrition with biscuits. I keep telling myself that if I just work hard for the next month and a bit, doors will be opened to me for my entire life. It's strange that this sort of psychobabble can actually keep you going. Not that it will matter if I get scurvy. Maybe I should eat an orange...

Raindrops on roses and big Green Peace sit-ins...

Julie Andrews seems to dig pointlessly listing her favourite things in an effort to cheer herself up (particularly during savage thunderstorms). I am already in a good mood, and it is merely drizzling, yet it's important to be positive amidst all the cynicism and despair in the world. Now, I am aware that I am usually responsible for much of this cynicism, but just for today, I'm going to put this aside. This is utterly random and so I apologise, but it suits my odd mood.




These are a few of Maria's favourite things...

rain, whiskers, kettles, mittens, packages, horses, pies, bells, german cuisine, nocturnal geese, fancy girls, the cold, more cold...

These are a few of my favourite things, the things that truly cheer me up "when the dog bites, when the bee stings", etc...

• James McAvoy - In Starter for Ten. Atonement would not cheer Julie Andrews up on a dreary day.
  
• Tea - White. No sugar. Nice mug. Sorted.
  
• Duvets
• TS Eliot - (I refuse to blog about poetry because it so easily becomes pretentious and there are thousands of people who have much more original, interesting ideas than I do. However, 'The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock' is the best thing I have ever read. It is just phenomenal. This doesn't count as writing about poetry. It is in brackets...)
• The Guardian - I used to want to be Hadley Freeman so much. Then I decided she was a bit too try hard. Now I want to be Jess Cartner-Morley (though of course I would never do the double barrelled thing)
• Juno - Teen pregnancy aside, she is pretty much my idol. She has a wicked turn of phrase, has a really good soundtrack AND bags Michael Cera. There aren't many girls, fictional or otherwise who can to that...
  
• Paris - I can trace this back to my obsession with Anastasia when I was little. This also lead to a slightly unhealthy obsession with the Romanovs. Anyway, Paris is just brilliant. The clothes, the cafes, the museums. Bahhh I love it...
• This
• Your face.

I am aware that even the best writers in the world probably couldn't write a hit anti-Nazi musical with these things as its basis. Maria and I don't appear to have all that much in common. She probably wouldn't make those children sing about James McAvoy, for example, but these are the little things that put a smile on my face. Apart from Paris. Paris is quite big...

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...