An episode...

Looking for a phone charger.

[Russian Accents]
Me: Is NOKIA?
Dee: Look somewhere else then?
Me: NO, IS NOKIA?
Dee: It's not here?
Me: NOKIA. [waves nokia charger]
Dee: IS HERE!
[dissolve into lolz]

Banter.

BERTIE BOO: AN ODE.

Mainly posting this here so it is not lost among the comments, but also because Bertie doesn't get the appreciation she deserves.

BERTIE BOO: AN ODE.

O! BERTIE, WITH YOUR FUR SO SOFT,
WITH COBWEBS. YOUR FEET, WITH PAWS,
SO PRIM AND TIDY THAT YOUR LACK OF TAIL,
DOES NOT LOOK CONSPICUOUS.

O! BERTIE, SITTING IN A BOX,
WITH EYES O' FAUN RIMM'D WITH DUSK,
SUCH THAT MODELS TURN DEEPEST EMERALD PURE,
WITH MOST CARDINAL OF SIN.

O! BERTIE, BEWEBBÉD, AND JEW'LL'D,
FINE SPECIMEN OF FELINE,
EVEN BASTET WOULD BLUSH AT THE SIGHT OF YOUR
GODLY FORM. BERTIE CONSIDINE.

Personal Goal: Drink less wine.

KEIN WINE IS FINE.

Secret Passages.

One of the benefits of living in a 17th Century cottage is the surprises that come with the territory. Whether that be falling through the ceiling, realising that though your walls are 3 feet thick, they aren't insulated or, today, something altogether more Enid Blyton-worthy.

We've had a new boiler put in and in the process discovered a NEW ROOM! Or rather, a new area of the house which is like something from a Famous Five novel. What we assumed was only an airing cupboard is actually large enough to be a walk-in wardrobe and has an extra level built into it as though it was part of a tree-house. Hopefully we're going to get a proper floor put into it at some point, as its potential as a cubbyhole/den is exceptional!

Built from the wine up...

This week has been absurd. In a bad way. The bad sort of absurd which makes you want to ram your face into a wall untill it bleeds.

First off, I was pretty darned ill. By this I mean I was forced to take more than one day out of sixth form because I could not think straight or breathe. The middle day was spent trying to navigate my drugged up and unsightly way around Birmingham city and university alone, getting quite flustered but being too proud to show it. Things I saw on that little adventure:

• Razor points in the train toilets. Bloody ridiculous: anyone attempting some facial topiary on a train is asking for trouble and is lucky to leave with their nose still attached.
• A full grown man reading Eclipse ashamedly on the train. He was not remotely young. He was on Eclipse which sickeningly means he'd endured the first two books (and probably in an equally public manner) - shocking.
• Smiling at dashing sandwich dispensory staff gets you a sandwich - at standard price.
• Nobody at Birmingham knows where the English department is; apart from myself, and I found it as a fluke.

The morning was (as I attempted to text my dad) 'a hotbed of disaster', until I orientated myself, was given a cup of tea for free, and drowned my sorrows with a bit of shopping (new coloured pencils - score!)

The afternoon was lovely however, with a spicy-spicy mexican burrito and an outline of a gorgeous and enticing looking course. Also having somehow found time to chat to the Head of Admissions and encouraged him to reconsider the A-Level I already have, which he'd overlooked. Score Two!

Came home and went straight from the station to another station: the Fire Station. Learned about weapons of torture hitherto undescribable. Anything that fires iron filings and water so fast they can cut through a man is something to be avoided I say. Came home, crashed out, wept a little, dragged myself into the next day.

Was ill until I decided I couldn't afford to miss today so went into school to find myself faced with a number of prospects:

• Interview at Warwick which I still have yet to have any real feelings either dreadful or delighted about. Later discovered today was the deadline for the coursework and faced the pressure by churning out a commentary in two hours, sending Mr Anderson a mildly freaked out e-mail entitled 'PAINFULLY URGENT' and posting the bloody thing.
• Art that is 'unmarkable' because frankly there's not enough of it.
• The need to summon up some form of title and inspiration for History Coursework.
• Chasing the world about changing the date of my exams because of aforementioned interview which, for some reason involved talking to no less than 5 people about it.
• Nobody seeming to know anything about an essay we were most definitely set.
• Latin certificate - yay!

This evening was a delerious haze of writing frantically, arranging, posting and drinking a nice amount of wine. Decisory factor here: wine makes my life.  ALSO, acquired Radiohead's new album and was grateful to be able to zone out to it after sending off the portfolio from hell. Every cloud, eh?

As to the situation now, I am sitting slightly drunk in full-body bunnyrabbit pajamas, lazing about and listening to Radiohead. Awesome.

The moment you find out you have to write a commentary for Warwick in 2 hours...

Ye Olde V Day.

I find Valentine's day eminently amusing. Not only is it a commercial reason for people to avoid romance the rest of the year round (because how else would such a day remain special?) but it also allows me to amuse myself with various Scrooge-esque activities. An example of this is sitting listening to music very loudly and being entertained by the number of songs which fit today perfectly. For example, Eros' Entropic Tundra by Of Montreal which I have just spammed my dash with. :)

It also gives me something to complain about - being British this is an essential ingredient of my life blood, along with tea, rubbish public transport and emotional repression etc - which is excellent. For example, the fact my padre marched into my room this morning with brazen cheerfulness and announced "I am taking your mother out for a curry later. Have fun on your own." or that, as I was given 3 roses by my chum Esther, a girl gasping at the sight of them and going "She's got three roses!" as though the extra pound spent on three instead of one meant I was quietly cheating the system.

I love what a big deal people make of today, but for all the wrong reasons. I have never been a romantic person, and so taking a holiday like this ironically is probably more fun than any other approach I could take. This view culminated in a Soppy Romantic Tale of Sop which I wrote for Ellie. It was one of those stories which is so sticky and sickly that you might wish to vomit just looking at the title (soppy is not repeated for no reason!) and told the tale of how Ellie got together with Mr Collins from Pride & Prejudice as they wept over Lady Catherine's jugs. There were rose petals, hair touching, tears, gasping and lots of pretentious imagery. Or at least, there was until it was cut off in its prime by the end of lesson bell. Gutting.

So with that, I shall leave you and return to my soon-to-be-free house, where I shall be happily tucking into chocolate, television and a romantic dinner for one, cooked by my own fair hand.

To approach the end of this blog in the style of my friend Anna: what are your views on this corruption of the martyrdom of a Christian chap? How have you spent your day? Tell, tell!

And I shall leave you with some nice, fitting tunes for you to enjoy ironically. :)

This evening...

has been quite honestly one of the most hilarious of my life thus-far. Death by choking on laughter nearly occurred. That is how amused I was. I am giggling at the mere memory of it.  Anna came over for a delayed Pub Therapy Sans Pub, and we had a great time being silly. Here are some quotes to illustrate:

"Milo is the son of Gelamen's sex-mayor."
*
"I am in shock, look I have a boner - I MEAN BLANKET."
*
"Ezra's voice gives me weird hand cramp..."
*
"Saving your Boo."
"If I was ghetto, I would say get off my woman."
"But we're not ghetto, we're fucking ETON."
*
"WHY WON'T IT LOAD?"
"OHHHH GOOOOOOD, I'M AAAAAAAAAAGING."
*
"Roland! You bastard! Stop putting your cock in that socket, my friend. You are in some serious trouble."

That is not half of it.

The Weekend (and all it entails).

Sooo, it's the weekend. Everyone's favourite piece of time outside of the week. A veritable haven between the exhaustion of Friday and the feet-dragging toil that is Monday morning. This weekend, I have been productive, but not in the way I ought.
Apart from experimenting with new hairstyles vis-a-Val Denton and Diana from The Years between, I have been a busy, busy thing:

This morning I had an interview with the District Commissioner and various official people about being a Scout Leader which was possibly one final check that I wasn't a paedophile. It went well, and I got a free bacon roll and cup of tea out of it. Not bad for Saturday morning.

Also went to gather materials and shiny new pens from Hobbycraft which, other than being a rip off, is the magical place where all stationary and craft materials go once they've sold out to The Man. Needed a sketchbook, and fast, so there was no real choice.

Then found out through that wonderful gossip machine, Facebook, that there was a Jumble Sale on in Blissworth. Being a sufferer of Boot Sale withdrawal, myself, I was up in arms about going. So we went, and I swear I have bought a poor-man's wardrobe in clothes, along with some books, a DVD, a bowl, some free tupperware from a woman who insisted that being a student equates to needing charity aaaand a pipe which makes me feel like Sherlock Holmes. Also some pressies for my Padre, whose birthday is on Wednesday. :)  ALL of this, I add, for under £3. Mind. Blown. Milo would definitely be proud.


Thanks, Worley.

So, as far as other plans go. Tonight is set to be an excellent Stay-In-Day-Late-Pub Therapy session, with added amusement and DVDs and Annas. Which makes me unreasonably excited, but I think I'm still riding the high of feeling like an utter thief for paying only 10/20p a piece for clothes. I love living in a village.

That is all for now, darlings, over and out, a bien tot!

Milo Minderbinder, in all his odd-eyed, money-spinning, ginger glory!

Leisurely re-read of Catch-22. Milo's just appeared for the first time. I love this book more than the words used to write it. Unf.

Also, The Years Between by Daphne De Maurier this evening at the Royal: I am rarely impressed by actresses, but the darling playing Diana was quite, quite spectacular. As was the ever ebulient Ernest, and the vertically priveledged Richard. Gorgeous.

For those who know, I have found a probable solution to what has become known as The Elf Dilemma. Thank Moses.

Everything I have to say this picture says for me.