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!

all-nighter...

The deadline for my second piece of history coursework on the trial and execution of Charles I is tomorrow at three thirty. I started it this morning and my progress so far has been limited. My inherent inability to do anything constructive, or prioritise means that I am writing this and watching Scrubs instead of opening any text books. I think I'll just give up on the idea of sleep tonight. The sun has made me happy. We've reached the point now where if it's sunny, it's not automatically freezing. It's getting dark later too, which is always lovely. I can't wait for summer! Thunderstorms and lawnmowers and strawberries grown locally. Summer always brings positivity. I hope this year isn't an exception.

Ellie Goulding is making me happy. I must have listened to her Live Lounge performance of 'Starry Eyed' at least ten times today! Also, Bombay Bicycle Club's version of 'Whatcha say' puts a rather large grin on my face. I love them, what with their geeky beats and Jack Steadman's haunting warble. Also, the ginger guy is really cute. Maybe this is just me. The vast majority of girls are not attracted to skinny, pale, musical boys. This just makes me think less of girlkind...

Yesterday was a sad day for me. It marked the first anniversary of the death of my lovely dad. Once, Dad and I decided to play badminton in the back garden of our old house on a hot, sunny day. Neither of us were sporty at all, so it was a long, slightly gruelling process, but we always made an effort to get outside and spend some time together (it was during one of these times that I discovered my insane skill for petanque). I ungracefully but enthusiastically brought my racket backwards to hit the shuttlecock, not knowing that our big, ginger mongrel Albert was stood right behind me. I hit him hard on the nose, and was horrified at the yelp he let out. My dad spent all of that day trying to console me (and mopping up the blood pouring from the dog's nose - he was fine, I would like to clarify). We went to the Co-Op and he bought me a book to try to cheer me up. Memories like this never fail to bring a grin to my face. So goodbye Dad, I miss you every day.

bella notte

Okay, so I didn't keep my promise. I know it's been a few days, but it's better late than never. I've had a lovely few days! Monday is my day off so I've taken the dog for a nice long walk, and now I'm sitting in front of the fire watching Lady and the Tramp. I love watching films I haven't seen for years. There are always jokes and puns hiding beneath the shiny surface- things that just fly over your head when you are little. So yeah, this film is ace! Good old Disney...

Most of Friday was spent on a coach going to and from Haworth in Yorkshire where the Brontë family lived and wrote. In the short amount of time we spent there, however, I fell completely in love with everything Brontë; the village, the alcoholism and the writing. Emily in particular fascinates me. As far as I can make out, she was pretty much autistic. She didn't take to teaching, didn't like travelling or the Church. She taught herself to speak German and Latin, and they think she was pretty radical compared to Charlotte. The revelation that Wuthering Heights had been written by a woman resulted in general disbelief. It is such a harsh, brutal novel, yet a day on the moors showed us all that in the desolate, unforgiving village of Haworth, there was really very little to do but let your imagination run wild.

I'm reading a beautifully written book; If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor, lent to me by Fiona the vicar quite some time ago. I figured it was probably time to give it back, but I thought I'd give it a go first. It's a masterclass in descriptive language. Nothing much happens, yet McGregor writes it in such a way that you never get bored. The narrative focuses on several characters which can be confusing but it isn't. The basic idea is that the little things we do everyday, though often unnoticed are 'remarkable' if someone thinks they are. Throw in a bit of unrequited love and some unwanted pregnancy, and you get a novel that I enjoy!

ZZZZzzzzz

I just wrote a paragraph, and it was abysmal. I'm so tired, I'm going to bed instead. But I've had an ace day and I'll write about it tomorrow. If you're reading this, have an ace weekend!

traduire?

I should be writing an essay on the changing influence of public opinion on the conduct of warfare, or at the very least trawling through a truly horrific amount of French translation, but it's a Monday night, and as such, I am watching Glee. I am also quietly celebrating the return of my wireless connection, so instead of freezing my metaphorical balls off in Helen's room, I am nice and cosy in the lounge, drinking endless cups of tea to keep me sane in the face of all the trouble I will get in tomorrow due to the general lack of work I have done this half term. This year in fact. I really need to step up my game, get back on track and any other sports metaphors you can think of.

Now I know I do tend to ramble on a bit in my writing, but I have finally found a way in which I can channel this misdirected enthusiasm. Anna Muggeridge came into sixth form earlier having bought two Mills and Boon books for her mother's birthday. I was leafing through in my usual, cynical manner, expecting the books to be poorly written, but they weren't. They were abysmally written. I even spied the phrase "He whispered stuff in her ear." Then, to my horror, several of my friends admitted to reading these books without any sense of irony. One of these friends, I won't name names, is eighteen in two months, and it hit me. For her birthday present, I am going to write my very own romance novel. My friends and I set out the rules. It has to be as cheesy as possible, but I'm not allowed to be mocking. It will genuinely be my best effort at a story that the birthday girl will actually enjoy. Who knows? I may have found my calling... I hear those substandard authors are loaded!

Five days into the veggie thing, I have had my first proper meat craving. I was lusting over a greasy, disgusting sausage roll this morning. I didn't even eat those when I was eating meat! Nevertheless, I am determined to see this through. I haven't cheated at all!

boy prey...

Charlotte and I have decided that backpacking around Europe is the only way we could possibly spend this summer. We have a very vague plan to go Germany - Austria - Hungary - Czech Republic - Poland - home. We both agreed that while all of these countries are slightly more originial than a couple of weeks in Ibiza(!), we should be fine backpacking there and they do not seem too scary for a couple of teenage girls. I'm excited! We're also hitting Edinburgh festival in August and I am determined to spend a weekend in Dublin, possibly with my friend Sarah at some point. Finally, I am going to Greenbelt arts festival (as usual) later in August, though I plan to volunteer instead of just attending. Greenbelt is my favourite thing in the world; it would be nice to give something back. So a jam-packed summer, and I can't wait!

Sam Taylor Wood, the 42 year old eternally cool artist is pregnant and engaged to Aaron Johnson who is 19! Now I'm all for shaking things up a bit, but surely this is a little on the creepy side? It was only a couple of years ago that he was playing the male lead in Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging, which should probably say it all. He was even rumoured to be getting fairly cozy with his co-star who is my age and seems even younger. It seems quite a leap to then date a woman old enough to be his mother. Saying this, however, I am not sure anybody would bat an eyelid if the genders were reversed. Many famous men have a much younger woman as their armcandy, for example Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, yet a woman is branded a "cougar" if she goes for a younger man. I am on the fence when it comes to large age gaps in relationships. In ten years time, Taylor-Wood will start to become less attractive to the boy, and I am fairly sure he will not be with her in another ten, baby or not. Saying that, they seem to be happy, and they are certainly an attractive couple... See for yourself.

Chickpeas and Wayne Sleep...

I've always loved writing. When I was a little girl, I would spend hours creating elaborate beginnings to stories I would never finish (I'm no novelist) and create heroines who were, without exception, cooler versions of myself; everything I wanted to be. As I grew up a bit, the stories became love stories and as I turned older still and read more bitter, feminist literature, the twee fairytales became cynical tales of heartbreak, almost always without the happy ending I had previously craved. In between these stages came essay writing, an obsession with Les Miserables and a dabble in the twisted world of Fanfiction. I am aware that this confession earns me no cool points.

So this is where I find myself. Eighteen and, in the immortal words of A-ha, slowly learning that life is okay. This last year has been a tough one and I'm sure I have changed beyond recognition, but there is no point dwelling on the past and letting it mar the future. Something somebody said to me earlier made me realise that I have it all going for me. I've got in to some of the best universities in the world and rarely feel out of my depth in conversation. Sod the little stuff. I've realised that happiness isn't something we just stumble upon, it's a frame of mind. I'm not saying that from now on I will be miraculously happy, but it's time to stop being so miserable and move on with my life.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm listening to the Cabaret soundtrack. I went to see it a couple of months ago with my friend Robyn and her friend Lee in Malvern, not having seen it before. The songs are brilliant and though I think its main competition in the dark Nazi undertones, The Sound Of Music, may trump it in terms of classic status, Cabaret seemed to tick all of the right boxes and I enjoyed it immensely. Sally Bowles was played by the understudy who put on a very strong performance; consistently very easy to watch, with a brilliant speaking voice. The male lead was magnetic and charismatic (by this, of course I mean he was HOT). The second half as a whole was slightly patchy in terms of storyline and showstoppers, but I left feeling that I had had a very good night, enhanced by the fact that my ticket was a mere £8 due to the scheme to get young people into the theatre (I intend to take advantage of this again with The History Boys and La Traviata later this year).

Finally, giving up meat is turning out to be a doddle, though my house is chickpea central. I think this could be the beginning of a healthier me, mostly due to the fact that they simply do not make any decent vegetarian ready meals.