who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury...

I love it here. It's seven thirty and I'm yet to go to bed. I opted instead for staying up all night chatting to flatmates in the kitchen, after having watched Black Books and drunk wine. I have a seminar-type-thing at ten, so I'll probably flop into bed at some point after that. The perfect time, then to put on my beautiful new headphones, open up the Guardian website and Tumblr and Facebook and waste some time on the internet.

The film 'Howl' comes out tomorrow. I probably won't see it any time soon, but I'm sure I'll get around to it eventually. I ordered the slim little book a couple of years ago on a whim. I didn't know anything about it, but when it arrived, I remember feeling a little disappointed. It was really quite small (although it did have quite a nice cover). I opened it up and started reading. I finished, made myself a cup of tea, then read it again. I read it once more for good measure, then decided I probably liked it quite a lot. The thing is, it's a very overwhelming work which strives to convey anything and everything all at once in a rush of catharsis, so it's hard to take it all in. I've read it many, many times, and I still have no idea what it means. I know that it's wonderful, and I know that I love it, but I couldn't tell you what on earth it's about, nor why I like it so much. I think it's the frailty that comes through even though it is an assault. I think it's because I become too interested in people's lives and this man had a particularly interesting one. I think it's because it's one of the most brilliant things ever written.

Everything is a chore this week. I can't work and I can't cook and I can't sleep. I can't wait for the weekend when things will be good. I might also stop being a whingey cow, because who can be moody on a Friday night? Particularly when this Friday night holds the promise of dressing up like an old lady and drinking gin. Actually, this could be most Friday nights. Sigh...

nobody's gonna say it outright, just go, la la la...

I remember weird things. If someone I am interested in tells me their favourite song, I remember it. I could tell you what each of my friends got at A-level. I remember the face of somebody I have met once and barely even spoken to (and they never fail to forget me, resulting in an awkward, stilted conversation). I never forget middle names. I remember meaningless quotations from meaningless novels and the lyrics to a ridiculous amount of songs. However, I never retain any useful knowledge: I forget when I've arranged to meet up with my grammar buddy, I never remember birthdays or phone numbers or homework, I don't ever know the date. I wish I could use my superfreakingmemory in a way that would actually benefit me.

Today, there are many things I should be doing. Writing blogs is not one of them, but I'm back on the blogging bandwagon now and I fear I cannot be stopped. I was going to post a picture of my hopelessly untidy room, so that somebody would cajole me into doing something about it, but I am too ashamed. I'll let you use your imagination. The beginning of the week was a bit shit, but I'm getting into the swing of things today. I actually dried my hair, put on proper clothes and ate something that wasn't chocolate. Things are looking up!

I saw my mum yesterday, which is nice. If you like that sort of thing. She wasn't too much of a crazy, and even brought me my UPS parcel which was delivered to the wrong address. Good old Mum! Cait and I went to Stratford (where she happened to be), and in the space of about five minutes, my mother managed to mention the Labour Party, gender discrimination and new shoes. I fear that we may be the same person. This is probably why our relationship is somewhat strained at times.

I hope you have a lovely Thursday, and that you are more productive than I will be. I leave you with a snippet from my favourite album of the moment. Enjoy!

2010: a year to be thankful for.

If you happen to read any sort of trashy, girly magazines (which I of course do) you will know that this time of year is the time for reflection. The glossy pages are adorned with countdowns and summaries: summaries of the highlights and low lights of the last year, of the most costly celebrity divorces, of the most successful makeovers, etc.

Following this trend, I've decided to present to you the highlights of my year. I know that this is quite a self-centred thing to do, and that you may not want to read about my year. I thought about this though and realised that the act of blogging itself is pretty self-centred. So if you want to read on, please do. If you would rather pop to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and watch old episodes of 'Peep Show' on 4oD, that's fine too. In fact, I encourage it. 'Peep Show' is full of well-constructed, subtle humour with a dark yet bohemian twist. My meandering thoughts are all I can offer you, so I won't judge you if you stray a little.

So we'll start at the very beginning, shall we? As 2009 became 2010, I was passed out with my head in the toilet after drinking some horrid yellow concoction brewed up by Olly Dix. This wasn't the best way to kick off the year, but it did prompt me to give up drinking for about seven months which can only have been a good thing.

After that, things started looking up. A-levels passed in a flash, I stopped dying my hair, summer happened.

The highest of all highlights has to have been my trip with Sarah across our gorgeous continent. I definitely caught the travelling bug and intend to do it again when I have money and time. I say this like it's a certainty. Seriously though, it was the most fun I've had in such a long time. I got to spend time with one of my dearest friends in some of the coolest places in the world. We made friends we had no intention of keeping and drank some fine Czech beer. It was simply wonderful.

Although the election in May was an utter disaster, the run-up was exciting and could easily have led to me failing all my exams. I didn't, so I look back on it fondly. If I was doing a 'Shit bits of 2010' blog, however, I'm pretty sure the election result and our sham of a government would be hovering somewhere near the top.

In February, I gave up meat for lent, and just sort of carried on. I wouldn't label myself a vegetarian because I use stock-cubes and eat fish and suchlike things. Hypothetically, if I was eating at somebody's house and they didn't realise and accidentally cooked a big fat steak, I'd eat it. This has only happened once, but I'm hoping for a repeat... But yes, no meat means I'm eating a lot more healthily. Everything I cook seems to be full of chickpeas and coriander and spinach. Yum, yum, yum.

This summer was immense. Aside from the hosteling, Edinburgh and Greenbelt were both lovely. A trip to Bristol and a couple of pretty camping trips, paired with really nice weather made the season a complete delight from start to finish.

Coming to university has been completely wonderful. I was so scared that I was doing the wrong thing, but I've settled in so quickly and made such good friends that it's hard to have misgivings. Warwick is home now. I can't believe I have to leave for Italy so soon. Life is proper scary sometimes.

On reflection, really not that much has happened, but it's been a really good year of music and friendship and recovery and education and adventure and Italian. What more could a girl ask for?

a stranger is just a friend you probably won't like...

This is my bedroom. I thought about posting pictures as soon as I moved in, but this way you get to see it like it really is; a bit of a dump.


As you can see, it's a tad yellow. This is not okay so I strive to fill my walls with crap. Crap that's not yellow...


This is the wall of cool. If you're not on it, I don't love you. Or perhaps I just don't know you. Or perhaps I met/grew to love you after September when these photos were developed.


This is my desk where my laptop often lives and I play Radiohead while reading Harry Potter in French or playing online scrabble or other things that aren't work and which won't help me to get a degree. In this picture, you will also spot a lot of dirty laundry. I would like it noted that I have spent all evening doing washing, so the basket is no longer overflowing, but empty and unchaotic.
This is where I keep rogue bags. They overflowed a bit and I haven't quite got round to putting them back.


This was the view from my window at some point this afternoon when I decided I would get the camera out. Who says Warwick is ugly?


So there you have it! I feel like this is sure proof that if one day I am lucky enough to own a house, it will be mental and messy and full of utter rubbish. I wouldn't have it any other way...

Anna Mary: an outsider's view...

Hello everyone. It's reading week and it's really really cold and boredom has set in, so I agreed to let my lovely flatmate Tom write a post. I feel I should write a short disclaimer, but that would betray the trust inherent in this very act. So here it is, this one off guest blog. Enjoy!

Well we have been at Warwick for just over one month now, and although i live in the same flat as Anna i have only known her for 3 weeks. I Feel i must take full responsibility for the two weeks of awkward hellos and silences in the kitchen, this is because of my built in defence mechanism when getting to know new people which is to be over confident and loud which, understandably Anna did not take to. However after two weeks I felt comfortable enough to grow up and talk to the girls in our flat and not just the boys. So for all you regular readers of this rather fine blog, I'm going to give you a brief glimpse of what life is like in our flat and an outsiders opinion on what Anna is really like.

So, life in our flat, well its normally fairly harmonious, the kitchen is always messy and disgusting, bathrooms are fairly well kept and everyone seems to get on with each other. So I guess we really are lucky to live where we do...

Now here's what i have learnt about Anna from 3 weeks of getting to know her and reading her blog.

. She likes tea.
. Shes fairly feminist.
. Shes political.
. Shes driven.
. She like harry Potter
. She doesn't like home very much
. She writes very well

In essence she is everything i am not (apart from the tea and Harry Potter) however if you don't know Anna personally its easy to get the wrong idea of what she is actually like. From her blog you may think she is a bit emo slightly lesbian and not that great to be around. I too thought this for the first two weeks of being at Warwick, but in the last three weeks I've realised she is actually very pleasant to be around and very easy to talk to, and if every so often she has a grumpy day, who can blame her?

So in true "mindbop" style i will leave you with a song...

she's got everything to gain 'cos she's a fat girl with a lisp...

I only ever really write a blog post when there's something important I need to be doing. Something other than writing a blog post. It's reading week next week. Expect lots of blog posts.

Today has been a good day. I feel like I have been fairly productive despite the fact that I have done nothing. Which is an achievement in itself. My stomach muscles have also just about recovered from the amount of laughing I did while watching 'I Love You Man' last night. The film wasn't even that funny. The cackles of my flatmates enhanced the experience 100%.

As I said, next week is reading week. This can only mean one thing - there is no longer a valid excuse to not go home. It's not even like I live far away or the train journey will be expensive. If home wasn't so unpleasant approximately 73% of the time, I'm sure I would be looking forward to it, but while other people are looking forward to returning to their warm houses full of wholesome meals and welcoming parents, I am not. Last winter, our house was not heated at all; the central heating had broken and Mum chose to wait until May to get it fixed. Right now, my house does not have a functioning shower, certainly will not have any food - other than soft biscuits and curdled milk - and contains my mother.

Now, don't get me wrong, if she was around all the time, I would complain about that, too. She is a very difficult person to live with, and it's nice that she isn't always under our feet, however, it would be nice if sometimes she was a little more maternal. I actually can't remember the last time she cooked a meal, or the last time we all sat at the dining table. It's funny how family dynamics can shift so dramatically.

This month is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. I am not partaking, but I love the idea of a bunch of young writers pushing themselves to find ways of expressing themselves by putting words onto paper. I would have loved to have given it a go, but as I can barely complete the work I already have, I thought it best to leave it until next year when I will surely be bored and lonely in Italy. I also feel like I would be incredibly ashamed of whatever I managed to come up with. Novels just don't happen at the age of eighteen, do they? So while one day, I will almost certainly come up with a pile of literary shite full of all my deepest thoughts and fears, I'm far too happy to do it now. We all know that books written by the content are always atrocious. I'll wait until I'm miserable again.

Sigh...

living for the weekend...

I have a headache this morning. I blame gin.

According to Yvette Cooper, the astronomical cuts of our times will hit women twice as hard as they will hit men, which is a travesty considering that on the whole, we already earn much less. Childcare will no longer be an option, and women will be forced back into the home. Can't you just taste the regression?

Saturdays at university are somehow infinitely better than Sundays, even though the basic concept is the same. Nobody is really up yet (I think I got off easy last night), so I'm just sitting in my room, tidying sporadically and drinking tea whilst listening to Aqualung and writing this. What more could a girl want?

Because the Civil Service pension people made a killing from the premature death of my father, I get a bit of money every month. This is the reason I was able to quit the deathjob and go on my European adventure. They've stopped it now, though and will only start it again once I've proven that I am a genuine student. This means a trip to University House which is on the other side of campus, and my bed is so warm.

Warwick Labour is full of lovely people. I think I'll be going back.

I need to do some washing.

I'm not sure whether it's time for breakfast or lunch. I have an excellent (although I say it myself) chickpea curry in the fridge, but it doesn't really feel like savoury time yet. Then again, Weetos taste no good with skimmed milk. Nutella is usually the answer...

I saw Chiddy Bang in the union last night. I think the less said about this, the better.

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...

a stash of blue ties...

I just spent half an hour sorting odd socks. Laugh all you want, but I found twenty pairs, so the joke's on you. Or maybe not on you, but on those lousy socks who just don't seem to want to stay together.

I have tomorrow in which to pack. I'm also getting my hair cut and going out in the evening, so the day will be pretty full, and I will be pretty stressed. Of course, I could have done it today but I went to the dentist and I bought a coat and I spent the evening in Stourbridge. With all the faffing that fell in-between, the day pretty much vanished. I did get as far as putting all my clothes haphazardly on my bed, but I couldn't get a case to put them in or anything because I'm always scared that if I go in the attic without somebody holding the ladder, it will slip and I will plunge down thirteen stairs to my death. It also means that my bed is occupied so I have nowhere to sleep. Troubling...

I went to the pub yesterday evening, but after I returned, I decided it would be fun to brush up on the ConDem cabinet (though I resent calling it this. 'Cabinet' implies a spirit of unity.) Aren't they a dismal lot? I pretty much googled each and every one and hated them all apart from William Hague and Vince Cable. Hague may be a big fat Tory, but he's intimidatingly bright, and that has to stand for something. Cable has a funny face, and I saw him at Cheltenham Literature Festival (he smiled at me as he was buying a hemp book bag). I do like him for other reasons besides his face, however. But not really. It's a good face.

George Osborne must be the worst. Just the very sight of him makes my skin crawl. He and Cameron both have this horrible smirk whenever they give an answer/lecture they are pleased with, and whenever they here the affirmative chorus of the back-benchers, most of whom seem to have barely changed since their days at public school. This is just speculation, of course. They might have come a long way since they were forced into that patriarchal, unnatural environment. But I doubt it...

Off to bed now.Where, I'm not quite sure, but I'm too tired to even drink my tea, let alone successfully ridicule our 'Government'. I might blog mid-pack tomorrow. Or would that be verging on sad/a waste of time? Sad/a waste of time could probably describe this whole blog Or life indeed. Wait, is that morbid?

the art of looking sideways...

Life is better when you keep yourself busy. The mind craves exercise almost as much as the body. Sitting before a screen all day is hardly the most productive way to spend your time.

But God I've missed it... When I'm busy, my little blog suffers, but you will be pleased to know that as the leaves begin to turn and the nights extend, I will be back here, before this screen, religiously refreshing Facebook and checking emails and consigning my every insignificant thought to this blog once more. In other words, I'm back. Of course, you may not have missed me at all. It is very likely that you hadn't even noticed my absence. Equally likely is that (as absence makes the heart grow fonder), you love me more than ever and have been perched on the edge of your seat, just waiting for the day when I take up writing waffle once more.

I will tell you what I have been up to, but I promise to keep it brief because I'm sure you're not all that interested. First, there was results day. After all the moaning and melodrama, I got AAC, got into Warwick and I leave in October. Needless to say, I was pretty chuffed, but I can't help but feel that I owe you all a bit of an apology. Never again will I be whingey and pessimistic. Much.

Next, Charlotte and I trekked off to Edinburgh for a bit of Fringe fun. It was actually amazing: we saw two plays, one musical, lots of comedy, lots of oddballs and drank quite a lot of beer. Excellent.

I just got back from Greenbelt which was even better than usual because I was volunteering in the Performance Café, where I spent most of the weekend watching bands do lovely acoustic sets and drinking free tea. What's not to like? For those not familiar, Greenbelt is a very cool, liberal Christian arts festival, and pretty much the highlight of my year. A large part of its appeal is the opportunity to catch up with very dear friends, many of whom live further away now than I would like. Greenbelt makes me Christian again every single year. I probably shouldn't need the nudge but it's very welcome.

I am off to Bristol tomorrow to see the lovely Miss Carvlin, so when I said I was back, I didn't mean back back. After that, however, I will be back back. Lucky you.

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.

hard graft...

If I ever get my arse in gear and actually do some work, I will go to university. While there, the matter of careers is bound to cross my mind, so I'm prematurely giving it some thought. There are several problems with entering the 'job world'. Firstly, I am very lazy and don't actually ever want a proper job, but I am aware that this aspiration is pretty unrealistic and one day I will have to do more to earn the food on my plate.

Having worked in Morrisons, I am no stranger to hard work. Dishing up suspect looking meat, clearing up vomit, cutting and burning and bruising myself all over the place, cleaning fish juice out of bins, being polite to impossible customers, cleaning some sort of bright pink bacteria off the dishwasher, chopping, probing, sweeping, mopping, wiping, smiling... the list is pretty much endless. Of course, there were some things that made it possible to bear it for such a long time. Some of the staff were awesome. I'm trying to think of something else but it's just not happening. Suffice to say that it wasn't all bad!

Anyway, I've been thinking about it, and I reckon there are a limited number of jobs I could do and actually be satisfied. My friend Charlotte and I always say that our greatest fear is mediocrity, but I don't think I'd mind being mediocre at a job I actually found rewarding. Unfortunately, I am not easily pleased, so here is the (somewhat limited and delusional) list of jobs I would really like to try:

• Journalism - I've always said it and will probably never quite give up on the idea. I think if I could somehow find the money to do a post-graduate diploma in journalism, I might not be all that bad. Even if I just worked for a local paper writing about jet-skiing budgies or primary school fetes, I would think that there are worse jobs.
• Translation - Is lovely. As I plan to become fluent in a couple more languages before my degree is through, I should be at least a bit desirable. It's possible that once more I would have to do a masters in translation, but this wouldn't be the end of the world. I'd get to travel and I really do rather enjoy working in foreign languages so this is a definite possibility.
• Teaching - Now don't get me wrong, I don't want to teach as such, but it's hardly the worst option. I think teaching in a sixth form college would be ace, and I'd be quite content teaching French to others, I think. Maybe...
• Politics - I love politics and I am fairly sure that my allegiance to the Labour Party will never falter. I am a realist. I know that politics is stressful and unforgiving, but I'm pretty sure I could hack it. I could be the next Harriet Harmon. Okay, maybe I'm not that much of a realist after all...
• Writer - Of books. At a push, I am probably articulate and imaginative enough to write the kind of lame beach reads we know and love. I am not arrogant enough to think I will ever have the substance to write with critical acclaim or great success. Surely though, the life of a penniless writer is much more appealing than number crunching and office parties?
• Waster - I shall do my degree, then I will do a masters, then a PhD, then I will travel, then I will do a bit of tutoring, then I will travel some more, never really getting a proper job but working when I can simply no longer afford food and a bed. This is one of the most appealing options...

I have run out. I will never be successful in life, simply because I never want to sit in an office all day long, drinking espressos and bitching about 'Tracy from personnel'. Money will never motivate me and I am doomed to live in squalor for all eternity. Splendid.

"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?

nutella goes large...

I am excited about the impending election. This will come as no surprise, I'm sure, but it's true. There are posters everywhere, politicians all over the t.v and puns all over the internet. Mark Garnier, the local Tory candidate, knocked on our door yesterday. He was lovely... Bastard. I am not naive. I know the chances of us actually winning are not that great, but they exist. In the meantime, the pace picks up and the stakes are continuing to rise.

I wonder what it is that determines everyone's place on the political scale. I think parentage has a lot to do with it, whether complying with your parents' views, or dashing their hopes in a deliberate rebellion. My mother is pretty left wing. She would probably disown me if I voted Conservative, but I like to think I would be around the same point on the spectrum with or without her influence. I'm in the classic ' idealistic, lefty student' phase. I very much hope this will never end. After all, I intend to be a student forever and ever. I will do my degree, then go travelling, then do an MA, then go travelling, then do a PhD in something useless with imaginary funds. I will then marry a penniless writer and live in an oh-so-bohemian squat in Paris during which, I will surely continue in my lefty ways. See, I've got it all mapped out...

I have decided to go to Nottingham, with Warwick as my second choice because it's a slightly lower offer. This is a slightly odd decision. This means Spanish not Italian as my second language, which will obviously be more useful (as hoards of people have told me). Not that any of this matters. I WILL be going through clearing unless I get my arse in gear. Oh the joys of uncertainty...

They make REALLY big jars of Nutella. Mind. Blown.

Also, the Juno soundtrack is probably my favourite album. Buy it. It rocks my socks...

Lazy saturday...

I should probably do something productive today. This does not class as productive, though it is probably better than sitting around watching 'Bananarama's Girlband Anthems' all day. Oh, wait. I'm doing that too...

I had a fun day yesterday hanging out chez Vaid and seeing his gorgeous 10 month old Indian/Columbian nephews. Now I am not really the baby type, but the twins are just adorable. They are called Kiran and Ishan and I'm pretty sure it would be impossible not to like them. The picture is of a stroppy Kiran (and was not taken yesterday. Sorry...).

Call me a cynic, but romance really is dead. In a bid to chat me up earlier today, someone I barely know thought it would be a good idea to commence proceedings with a simple sentence - "u am cute". My sarcastic, somewhat harsh reply seemed to land without much comprehension and the culprit continued to misjudge the situation; his remarks becoming more and more sleazy. With yet another snide remark, I blocked him fairly quickly. I will let it slide, and I will not go off on a massive rant, but do boys really think they will get what they want over Facebook chat? If so, this force of stupidity is not to be reckoned with. It is bigger than you and I. We are doomed.

I had said that I would decide which university to go to by Wednesday. This is a big fat lie. I am no closer to making a decision. It may happen eventually...

all you can eat politics...

It's been a hectic week full of coursework deadlines and French essays. But would I have it any other way? Err... yes, yes I would. Despite this, I've had a great week, and with Easter just around the corner, next week should be ace too!

Nottingham on Wednesday was lovely. The language department is based in a lovely, old building, the campus is very pretty and we got free lunch! Now, not one to be swayed by free food(!), I am still on the fence. The university is compiled mostly of public schoolers, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, I just don't want to graduate all posh... So now I have to decide. Warwick or Nottingham? I love them both, so really it comes down to whether I want to learn Italian or Spanish, or more importantly, whether I want to spend a year in Spain or in Italy. Decisions, decisions...

Last night, I went to a 'Question Time' type event at school. During English that afternoon, I had been roped into helping out, asking a question, etc, by my fairly flustered teacher who was organising it all... It was actually very good. The 'panel' was comprised of all the candidates for the seat in the local area and a lady from Worcester University. The Tory guy was impressive. You could almost hear the audience drinking in his outrageous lies. The Labour guy was just lovely. He told the truth, too, though this was not always what the audience wanted to hear.

I want to go on holiday!!! That is all...

Napoleon wears the trousers...

Life is moving at a truly terrifying pace. Summer beckons. Weeks are passing with little warning. There are buds on the trees and the crocuses are poking their little, happy heads out from the soil. While I love Spring, it always seems to be marred by looming exams. In short, I am scared shitless. I feel unprepared and unconfident and though I keep looking at universities, I stand little chance of actually getting in to any. I am in coursework central and cursing my inability to be organised. My sleep pattern is erratic at best (not helped by my mother crawling in at one each morning, rousing the dog and therefore rousing me too) and I am so stressed! I do not mind this time of year, however. On the contrary, I quite enjoy it. It is difficult to put into words, but during the spring months, laziness is not an option. I feel like I should be spending most of my free time working, and it's really quite motivating! I keep telling myself it's the final push, not much longer now. At least with my subjects (English Lit, French and History) there isn't all that much revision to do. But this also means that you go into the exam feeling unarmed. I have got used to it over the years.

I am going to Nottingham tomorrow just as a final effort to like anywhere other than Warwick and Sheffield. After this, I have given myself a week to decide where I am going. I know that if I don't do this, I will dither for months before I make up my mind. This is something I would like to be sure about.

I have decided (far too late in life) that pink is my new favourite colour to wear. Because I have such a corpselike complexion, a bit of pink makes me look a little bit less yellow, which can only be a good thing. From now on, rather than greys and blues, I vow to wear pink and turquoise (just because it makes me happy) for all eternity. I will make an exception for my red duffel coat, however as it is an extension of my being...

The devil owns a bookshop

Well it's been a while. I have been wearing the same clothes since yesterday morning. This is gross. I ended up going to a Warwick open day yesterday and then on the spur of the moment stayed with Helen in Leamington. A very bad thing has happened. I really like Warwick... I had resolved to dislike it, mostly due to the fact that if I go there I will be studying French and Italian rather than Spanish. Obviously Spanish is the more useful language as everybody told me when I was trying to decide what to apply for. The Warwick language department is pretty small so they don't offer Spanish. Another thing which was putting me off was the fact that the year abroad is in the second year rather than the third, however I came away convinced that this was best. Also, Italy is really, really nice. So yet again, we'll see...

I sent off my application to volunteer at Greenbelt today which is exciting. I'm also hoping to do a bit of work over the summer at an English language camp for French kids. They've expressed an interest in my application, so I'm hoping I get it. It would beat the Safari Park, surely?

Exam results came back today. I got a B in my history resit (after getting a C the first time). This sounds good, but in fact I only went up a few marks. This sounds bad, but I was convinced that after the Nullification Crisis crisis, my marks would have gone down. Any improvement is welcome.

I'm tired and moody (shocking I know) so I intend to spend the evening replacing homework with sleep and dinner with chocolate.

I saw Alice In Wonderland on Tuesday at the Imax in Birmingham for the lovely Jordan's birthday. It was pretty enjoyable, if only for the stupid "3D grannywag" glasses. I love getting engrossed in the film then turning round and chuckling at your friends looking ridiculous, sat beside you. The film was ace anyway. Of course it was no Sweeney Todd, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Anne Hathaway didn't even annoy me that much. The Devil Wears Prada haunted me for weeks...

This website is awesome! www.modcloth.com I want it all please!

I thought I should post something, though as I write, I still have no idea how this will turn out. I had a Radiohead reawakening earlier. This happens fairly frequently. The band possesses powers of which I can only dream. We were in English and as usual I was putting all my energy into pretending to work when my teacher put The Bends on. This does happen to be my favourite studio album of all time, but I still stopped, put my pen down and just listened. For half an hour. If you don't have this album, buy it. If you do, stick it on. Thom Yorke instantly stirs something within me. If I am happy, I feel happier. If I am sad, he seems melancholy and understanding. If I am having an ugly day, I will never look quite as strange as him. I know the album word for word and yet would never sing along. Anyone who knows me knows that I am constantly singing so this is a pretty big deal.

The rest of the day was spent drawing a life-sized, provocatively posed Heathcliff to display in our other English classroom. He turned out casually coiffed and a little bit emo-chic. This had been my plan all along, though he does not exactly look threatening, laid out nonchalantly underneath the window in the far side of the room. I think it is impressive that I always somehow manage to avoid doing work of any value and end up debating whether Heathcliff has quite enough stubble.

Double French, normally the low point of the week was bizarrely very enjoyable. We debated equality of men and women in the western business world, and of course I enjoy any opportunity for a mini feminist rant. I am, as I type, feeling very positive about my French based future. Emo-Heathcliff will just have to take a backseat. This does not mean that I am A) working hard enough or B) anything other than indifferent towards university choices and where I will end up for four years. Five if I decide to do a post-grad diploma in journalism. I'm trying to get work experience at the BBC which would be completely awesome. I will not give up easily.

Wuthering, Wuthering, Wuthering Heights...

I have a sudden, very real yearning to be in France right now. Everything pretty much sucks here and I'm sick of school and covering the fact that I have once again done no homework. I would much rather be in Paris or Nice. I'd even settle for the Grenoble, despite my ability to be perpetually cold. Tired of England and all its implications, I have been researching different French cities. Nantes looks really cool and has a fascinating history. It also has a university. I wonder whether I could choose to spend my year abroad there?

As we speak, I am covering my ancient copy of Wuthering Heights in post-it notes covered in scribblings. Considering I hated this book so much on first reading it, I have really grown to like it quite a lot. Of course, I am not a member of the 'we heart Heathcliff' fan club, and I can safely say I never will be. I'm pretty sure it says something about womankind that such a man can be hailed as a hearthrob. I am, however, completely on the Mr Darcy bandwagon, though I think Mr Knightly is somewhat overlooked. I really love the book Emma. My vicar once said that I reminded her of Emma, and I was not altogether offended, and secretly quite pleased. I do interfere too much when it comes to my friends and the matters of their hearts. Equally, I do not see marriage in my future, I am stubborn, and I am a bit of a snob at times...

I have a vague plan to do a post-graduate diploma in journalism. Of course, this is a long way off and I am fairly prone to changing my mind, but journalism is the only career I have ever really considered (leaving out my desire to be a spy when I was about seven). Money has never been much of a turn on for me and I genuinely feel, having recently quit my job at Morrisons, that I would rather be broke and doing something I am passionate about, than being understimulated but overpaid. Right now, I am completely skint but I have time to myself and I am really quite happy with the exception of one or two things. I won't bore you with the details.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABbe33fMrkM I have loved Damien Rice for as long as I can remember, and can't believe I have only just discovered this song. It's fairly fitting for where I am right now.