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."

in a town that's cold and grey...

When I am a bit gloomy and the world seems to be failing me a little, I like to revert back to the things that are important to me: family, friends and books, for example. Today was a good day because it combined all three of these things, and as a result, I am in a very good mood. I awoke on Sarah's floor, having stayed the night after a lovely night out in a somewhat icy Birmingham. I then went downstairs and had a good old chat with her mum over tea and toast, before heading to Hay-on-Wye to meet my auntie and uncle for lunch. Hay is one of those places that is so beautifully unreal that you could never really live there. It seems to exist solely for the occasional visit in order to fill yourself with tea and your bookcase with Penguin Classics. I also got to hear people speaking Welsh, which always reminds me of my youth. I was glad to find that it still sounds a bit made-up.

My new favourite band is a little group named Clarensau. They are fairly adorable and make pretty music. Their album 'Until Our Lungs Give' is lovely (and all on Spotify).

It's time to do some work, but the thought fills me with... not dread, exactly but certainly not joy. Sometimes I wonder whether I made the right choice taking the academic path, but then I think about going home to university in just over a week, and that thought makes me happy. I certainly couldn't live here for any extended period of time, and if my spell at Morrisons has taught me anything, it's that I really hate Morrisons. I would imagine that this sentiment would apply to most retail/catering/mundane jobs, so that choice doesn't really appeal. At the end of the day, I am just a disgustingly lazy human being. If I was a cow, I would be shot.

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!

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...

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.

open wide, here comes original sin.

Hello there. It's Tuesday and I thought I'd write a blog. As yet, I'm not sure what I'm going to talk about, but that doesn't usually stop me.

Right now I'm in the sort of mood where I'd like nothing more than to curl up in a ball and forget about the world, but instead I'm opting for listening to pretty music on headphones so I don't annoy everyone else. I've been working for probably the last time today. It was pleasant but tiring, and I got a really odd night's sleep last night, so I'm a little bit dazed.

At some point this week, I'm going to need to pack; a daunting and unpleasant task which I am not looking forward to in the slightest.

Sometimes I act like a twat. It's usually covering up the fact that I am in fact incredibly shy. Bear with me, I'll try to be a more rounded, nicer person. I mumble too, apparently. Again, it's the shy thing.

These are my favourite songs of all time (right now):

• First Day of My Life - Bright Eyes

• No Children - The Mountain Goats

• Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley

• Flux - Bloc Party

• Burning Benches - Morning Runner

• If You Can't Sleep - She & Him

• Expectations - Belle and Sebastian

• Eskimo - Damien Rice

• Heartbeats - Jose Gonzalez

• Unfinished Sympathy - Massive Attack

• There is a Light that never goes out - The Smiths

• Boys don't cry - The Cure

• Street Spirit - Radiohead

That will do for now. I will probably delete this post later when I am in a more rational/alive mood.

Just because I think it's beautiful. I think Mr Burton still has my dvd...

Just because I think it's cool.

Sunday morning...

Well, it's been over a week, and for this I can only apologise. Happy Sunday, everyone! For lapsed Christians like me, Sundays are a particularly special day. I try not to find myself awake around ten o'clock because this is when I feel I should probably be in church, not eating biscuits for breakfast. So when I eventually rise around midday, I make some tea and invariably go on Facebook for a bit, before wallowing about in self pity. Sometimes I make porridge.

Thing is, even when you're a good-for-nothing layabout like me, and the days merge so utterly, Sundays never stop being depressing, do they? You can never shake that back to school feeling, even if you know your Monday will be just as empty as the day before. A while ago, my friends and I decided that to combat this Sunday feeling, we would mark the end of the weekend in celebration rather than mourning by going out and keeping ourselves occupied (getting drunk). Unfortunately, these outings only lasted a couple of weeks, so I wouldn't exactly call them a success.

Tonight, however, there will be a certain legitimacy to my Sunday night blues. That's right, I have a job. This week, I will be working in the deli in the village alongside my lovely sister who I'm sure will criticise me 'til the cows come home about my waitressing technique. I'm probably a bit rusty, to be honest, but as it's only three days, it's not like I have to really make a lasting impression on those in charge. Unfortunately, even I like to be liked sometimes, so I probably will try really quite hard, and I'm sure I will be exhausted next time I write here (which will not be another week. I'm a bit ashamed.)

Oh! Yeah, I went to Wales. It was very Welsh. I got to see my great uncle Danny who is now 93 and probably more active than me. Of course, this isn't saying much, but he is pretty damn old. Then we went to deepest, darkest Gower and stayed on my auntie's farm with the chickens and geese and sheep (oh my!). It was nice, but also nice to come back to civilisation (and by this, I mean my dvd player).

Bye then!

P.S. I love Jonathan Creek. Why is it always the fictional ones?

the ghost of corporate future...

I write all the time. It's a disease. When I was in Europe, I had to buy myself a little notebook because I missed jotting things down and turning my silly thoughts into silly words. I have so many exercise books in my room (mostly robbed from the Languages staff room) filled with endless description and unsuccessful metaphor. This is why I will never be able to do anything else with my life.

I was looking at graduate jobs earlier. Just for a laugh. A lot of them, although not requiring a particular degree stated that 'money driven' candidates were required. Funny then that I would rather eat a leper than consider myself to fall into this category. I am always poor. I gave up my part time job when I started being given a pension around a year ago. Had I continued to sell my soul to a supermarket, I could have been quite well off. Had I not spent so much time being self sufficient this summer, I could have saved up quite a sum. Had I any sort of entrepreneurial skills, I'm sure I would never have to scrape every ten pence piece in my purse together just to buy an ice cream from the village shop.

The thing is, it's all bullshit, isn't it? To become 'money driven' is to sell your soul to consumerism. I think we all do this to a point, but surely it's best to earn just enough to scrape by in life, going on as many holidays as possible and working as little as we can get away with? If we spend all our time at the office, we spend all our time away from our friends and loved ones. If my short life has taught me anything, it's to spend as much time as possible with the people who matter most, and I don't care how lame that sounds.

Perhaps my bohemian attitudes reflect my age and there are more experienced people reading this right now marvelling at my naivety, but that's okay, because this is my idealist manifesto, and things never turn out quite like the business model. I guess my point is that we are all so rich in comparison with the rest of the world, and that should be enough. Those who strive for millions have very little sense of self. Money can't buy me love, etc.

Goodnight.

P.S. the picture is a letter from Virginia Woolf. Just because she was a writer. And I like her handwriting...

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.

still hanging...

I'm in a splendid mood today. This is partly because I never quite got round to getting dressed and partly because I wrote an essay. This is a very rare occurrence and should be marked with champagne and fanfare! Unfortunately, I only have fishcakes and disheartened laments, but I'll take what I can get.



You've probably come across this before, but it never fails to make me smile. Yes, it's lame, and once you've watched it, you pretty much forget it all; all seven minutes of it, but I pretty much love it all the same. I'm not sure I'd watched in the past year, however, so the bit about 'getting to know your parents' made me a bit sad. Nevertheless, if in need of a bit of a lift, this is the place to get it.

And look! I've learnt to embed! I feel this is the thing I need to take my blog into new territory.



Oh look! I did it again!

Finally, Heidi Montag has a new face to celebrate her separation from the Pratt.

She went from this...


To this...


This absurdity is compounded by the fact that she is twenty four. She also got her boobs done. Big time. What is wrong with society? Grumble, grumble, grumble...

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.

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...

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.