leave them kids alone.

You may have heard that Rome is a little bit fucked up. I swear riots follow me round like the plague. The world is under the weather, and it's sort of scary to sit and helplessly watch as everything crumbles. I don't mean this literally, of course. I live in a fairly residential area, and the most I have experienced of this Roman rebellion is a couple of power cuts and rolling news footage. I was speaking to some acquaintances yesterday who said they were at the protest march, but fled as soon as it turned ugly. And this is always the way! I'm all for a good protest, but I think it's such a shame that there are those who set out to cause nothing but violence and destruction.

 I also think it's a shame, however that people are so quick to denounce the 'youth of today' and tar us all with the same brush. Tony Blair said after the riots in the UK that we mustn't be too quick to label our society as 'broken' and harp on about moral decline. I agree wholeheartedly. A generation that is only ever recognised as a group of trouble-makers can never truly thrive, and though I am usually the first to go on about how much I dislike humanity, I think age is completely irrelevant. Besides, we are by no means the first to express alarm at the way our youth is heading:

"The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for
authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place
of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their
households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They
contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties
at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers."

 -  Socrates (469 - 399 BC)

 On a lighter note, as I am sitting in my room and all I can hear is banging, screaming, woofing and sirens and I need to distract myself from what is possibly impending death, I would like to put it to you that of all the brilliant, delicate and satisfying morsels out there, tomato ketchup is one of the simplest culinary delights. This humble condiment has the power to transform even the dullest of cuisines into something worth eating, and can enhance other foods that are already brilliant. A sausage sandwich is good, but a sausage sandwich with ketchup is out of this world. And that is all I have to say on the matter, though I of course accept any challenges to the ketchup crown (if it's possible)! 


I leave you now with a little piece of loveliness from one of my favourite men to counteract all the hate. Sleep well. I hope you dream dreams of Justin Vernon, and not of mindless acts of violence.

grabbing rome by the balls.

I've been in Rome for exactly a month now, and I'm beginning to feel more settled. This is in part due to the discovery of 'LA5', an Italian cable channel which shows only dubbed reruns of American shows including Grey's Anatomy, Will and Grace and Dawson's Creek! Genius. I'm pretty sure this is how I will learn Italian. Through a complete submersion in American television. There's probably quite a lot wrong with that.

A lot of things are very different here, and you can see why people go on about culture shock. Everyone shouts to convey their feelings, and men on mopeds will rage at each other in incomprehensible Italian while driving. Also, the coffee actually tastes nice, and you drink it in about three seconds, standing up in a very European fashion. And it costs about eighty cents which nobody can grumble with. Of course, the bonus points Italians earn for their coffee, they soon lose when it comes to tea. Now, I happen to rather enjoy a cup of Yellow Label, but it just isn't English. Luckily, my mother sent me out here with a big pack of tea and a jumbo bag of Cadbury's miniatures (which came in handy when I couldn't afford proper food), so I feel pretty at home.

So if you have read my little ramblings a lot, you will know that I like making lists and categorising my thoughts in odd ways. Therefore, I give you my definitive list of things I have decided I must do before I return in Julyish:

1. Write at least one hundred blog posts. I've forgotten how to write, and it's definitely time to get back on track.
2. Go to a Catholic mass. I'm curious...
3. Learn Italian - This one is possibly the trickiest. It's just so easy to get completely caught up in the Erasmus scene without actually talking to all that many Italians. Therefore, it is necessary to work that bit harder to make up for it. I also have already befriended some French people, with whom I want to speak lots of French, seeing as I am neglecting it a little bit. French will always be the one with a place in my heart. 
4. Read - This year doesn't technically matter academically, so I am going to take the opportunity to do what I didn't in first year which is to read for pleasure. The more I find time to read, the happier I tend to be. The one hitch is that I obviously couldn't bring many books, and they are pretty overpriced here. Next time I go home, I will return with a case full of books, I think, and if not, it may be Kindle time. I'm just putting that out there...
5. Learn to make proper Italian food in a proper Italian way. I will never eat a ready meal lasagne again. 
6. Earn some money - Because while I arguably could live off the pitiful amount of money I have left when rent is gone, it would mean living like the old man in that Enid Blyton story where the old man lives alone and never leaves his house and all the kids are scared of him. Anyone else? No? But yes, cash = good, so I intend to find a way to earn some of it in a way that doesn't tie me down or make me just as antisocial as the old man in the aforementioned story. Any ideas would be welcome.
7. Find an Italian drink I actually like that doesn't make me a bit vommy - This one's pretty self-explanatory, but I'm not sure I'm willing to put the risky research in, so for now I'm still on the gin in my oh-so-British way. 
8. Go to one of the islands - Because they're warm and pretty. I nearly went to Cagliari instead of Rome. I'm glad I didn't, but I'd like to pay a quick visit to see what I'm missing nonetheless.
9. Go inside St Peter's - Just so I can get all angry at how rich and hypocritical the Church can be.
10. Master eating two big platefuls of pasta per day without gaining too much weight - I think jogging may be the answer. I brought my trainers in anticipation. 

Just because it would please me immensely if some of you got back into Dawson's Creek. I had forgotten just how dramatic it was!

i'll run my stick along the public railings and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

Women all over the world seem increasingly obsessed with ageing. We buy creams and lotions, botox and boobs in an attempt to postpone the arrival of wrinkles, and the start of our slippery descent into oldness. I like to think that when the time comes for me to get a bit fat and grey, I'll embrace it good-naturedly and be one of those cool old ladies who seem to model themselves on that poem about purple. Ageing is inevitable, and I think the following six ladies have done it very well indeed.

Number one - Anjelica Huston. I've been watching lots of Wes Anderson films lately with Miss Job, and I have decided that in order to be fabulous in life, I must dye my hair black, wear shit-loads of eyeliner, and somehow grow some incredible cheekbones. I'm not willing to do it quite yet, but as soon as I find grey hair, the whole lot is going jet black, Morticia Addams style. And if children run away from me in the streets, that's probably all to the good.

Number two - Anna Ford. Incidentally, I was named after this woman. The Guardian has dubbed her "glad to be grey, and still full of fire", and in spite of some of her indiscretions, I still think she has a lot of class.

Number three - Margaret Atwood. Because she writes like a dream, and she has such a cool voice. Her sense of humour is so dry and her hair is everything cool old lady hair should be.

Number four - Janet. Of Great British Bake-off fame. It's just finished, but if you didn't watch it, you should definitely find a way to watch it all illegally. This programme made my summer fly by with both its entertainment value and its ability to make me get in the kitchen and try new things. Undoubtedly, the star of the show was Janet - a sixty-something woman with the best facial expressions I think I have ever seen. Her haphazard, cheery attitude to baking (and to life) was nothing short of inspirational. I think if we were all a little more like Janet, the world would be all the better for it.

Number five - Joan Rivers. Because if the whole 'growing old gracefully' thing doesn't work for you, there is always the option of growing old disgracefully. And if Joan is anything to go by, that is just as much (if not more) fun.

Number six - Her Majesty the Queen. She is minted.

change of scene.

Because I had such a massive accidental break from blogging, the whole format of the 'Blogger' experience has changed, and it just took me approximately seven minutes to find the thing you click on to write a new post. I'm no computer scientist...

I got back yesterday from a lovely weekend in Sweden. Tom and I both just decided to fly to wherever was cheap for both of us, and we ended up in Gothenburg, which was a thoroughly lovely sort of place with clean streets and crisp air. I felt very brunette and rather demure in amongst all the super-chic, super-blonde, super-svelte Swedes (both male and female), whose sense of style was ever so cool, and who could definitely rock the long skirt/bicycle combo without getting all caught up in chain like us mere mortals. It was quite nice to be somewhere so cold - like a premature taste of winter, without being plunged unforgivingly into its clutches.

I think part of the reason I have hardly been writing lately is because I'm very aware that it's easy to sound quite pretentious when young, idealistic and (most importantly) living in Italy. So would you do me a favour please? If I'm beginning to sound self-righteous, please do give me a heads-up! Saying that, I am aware that blogging is in itself a pretty douchey thing to do, so maybe only tell me if I've got a bit ridiculous. Deal?

Just because she's Swedish and I love her a bit...

When in Rome.

Normally when I haven't written anything for a while, I start off with an apology, an excuse or a terrible joke to clear the air a little bit, but it's been such an inexcusably long time, that I think it may just be best to start afresh. I took some time off, because I was aware that I should probably make an effort to pass my exams, and actually enjoy my summer, so that's what I did. But hello, it's nice to be back!

A few things have changed since last we met. I'm living in Rome now, how about that? It's scary and beautiful and captivating. I love it, and I miss home, and I'm terrified, all at the same time. I've never really been the adventurous sort, but if there's one place to try it, it's probably here in the eternal city. 

Summer was great, and I got to spend it with all of the people I love (although nowhere near enough time with Miss Sarah Dixon who has been incredibly elusive. I don't think she likes me any more.) I ended up in Sussex with Thomas half the time, and in the Midlands for the rest, all of which was awesome. Home isn't so bad when you don't really have to be there. I even got on with my mother, which is really good. Greenbelt this year was a corker - I worked in the Performance Cafe again, and this year's team was even better than the last. I was really sad to say goodbye!

I also got the opportunity this summer to go to Budapest with Warwick Photosoc, which was a lot of fun. It's a beautiful city, with the added bonus of being pretty unspoilt and wickedly cheap! You should go if you get the chance!

So that's all from me for now, but as I am taking what is in essence a year's holiday in Rome, you can expect to see much more of me, because when you live in a city as good as this one, you inevitably sit in your room and do nothing quite a lot...

This song is absolutely my favourite at the moment. Can't take any credit though, it was all Tom...

are we sluts?

CRASAC is a Coventry-based charity which provides support and information for women who have experienced sexual violence. It was brought to my attention by my friend Jonny who knew I was moving to the area and thought that perhaps I would be able to get involved. Unfortunately, what with all the gin and all the procrastinating, I haven't got round to doing anything, but I follow them on Facebook, so I know that what they are doing is vital: ridding women of the shame that seems to follow sexual abuse. I am fairly sure that one day I will end up working for some sort of women's charity, because I can honestly think of no cause more worthwhile.

On a related note, Ken Clarke was a dickhead today. Now, this is nothing new. Ken Clarke is usually a dickhead, and usually I quietly seethe, but I could not let this go. If you don't already know, this all came about when in an interview, Clarke denied that "rape is rape", categorising rape into serious, and less serious offences. It has caused an outcry in the media, and amongst women's groups, and so it bloody well should! Not only did he imply that rape is only "serious" when violence is involved, but he also said that "rape has been singled out … mainly to add a bit of sexual excitement to the headlines". 


Sexual excitement. There are no words. 


All of this comes at a time when sexual assault has come to the forefront of our conscience through the various demonstrations or "slutwalks" taking place worldwide. In order to challenge the belief held by some that when women wear suggestive clothing, they are in some way asking to be assaulted, women across the world are embracing their inner slut by going on protest marches dressed in heels and non-existent skirts. 


This in itself has sparked much controversy, but in general, I am of course in favour. The idea that assaulted women should bear any of the blame for the horrible thing that has happened to them - that they have in some way brought it upon themselves - is repugnant. And this should be the case whether the girl in question is wearing next to nothing, or wrapped up in a shapeless duffel coat. Furthermore, these campaigns are not suggesting that women should go out alone at night dressed in next to nothing, just that ideally they should be able to. 


In the brilliant teen classic "Mean Girls", Tina Fey says (and I don't even have to look this quote up) that teenage girls "have to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call [them] sluts and whores", and there are certainly those who argue that these women are sending out the wrong message, and that by using the word "slut", they are somehow encouraging men to do the same. But then it is possible that the only way of lessening the impact of this word is by making it commonplace. It's such a horrible word because there is no real masculine equivalent. A male slut is christened a player - a word with oddly positive connotations. So really what we should be (and are) saying is - yes. I'm a slut. And what?


But is this alternative form of protest really empowering? Are women still not just making an impact and finding a voice the only way they know how; by taking their clothes off? And should we not be able to challenge misconceptions while covering up? Possibly, but at the end of the day, these brave young women are challenging and changing rape culture, which can only be a good thing. Because none of these steps taken can be seen as women just making a fuss, as feminism is often seen. Women will always be physically vulnerable to men, and unfortunately women will probably always be sexually assaulted, but the blame and the stigma of talking about it must be taken away.

apologies.

Dearest followers, I know you may not believe me, but I went to much trouble to write an excellent blog post at some point last week (I think it was Thursday), but Blogger went on a rampage and deleted it all. It coincided with the strop YouTube had, so I'm guessing Google was going through some sort of personal crisis, and was not up to the task of matching all my internet needs. Needless to say, I was fairly disheartened, so I did not bother to recreate the aforementioned post, and I instead went out with my friends like a normal human being whose life does not revolve around the internet.

Nonetheless, I have decided to give it another go. I'm not going to write about the same stuff again, because I feel it would lack the same spontaneity and verve, so I'm just going to write one of those rambly posts which are abundant in spontaneity and not a lot else.

I have given it some thought, and I'm pretty sure that Jamie Parker - the fine fellow who plays Scripps in The History Boys - is one of the most fanciable men ever. He's not even all that attractive, but he has a certain northern charm that cannot be disputed. Although I did always quite like Dakin too. And Crowther. I even quite liked Mr Irwin.

Scratch that, I particularly liked Mr Irwin. Cor.

I've been reading Alan Bennett's short stories, which are so beautifully written, I'm pretty much in awe. I'm so sick of reading overly-laconic novels by young writers who seem to be able to do nothing but mimic their predecessors (who tend to have done it all with so much more grace). Bennett writes stories which are actually touching, and honest, and undeniably funny and he is responsible for The History Boys, which I love. If you hadn't already noticed.

Also, at the risk of sounding like the celebrity stalker I am, Caleb Followill - the man with eyes bluer than Joni Mitchell - has got married - to Lily Aldridge of all people! Oh I'm so ruddy jealous!

It's my Italian oral exam tomorrow, and I am absolutely terrified. Hence the blog. Hence the fact that I am once again absent from French Grammar. Shit shit shiiiiit.

To calm us all down, I'll leave you with a pretty song.

evidently, i don't experience things as rationally as you do.

Hello. If this were a friendship, this would be the awkward bit where I apologised for not answering your phone calls or keeping in touch, and you'd pretend it was no big deal, but you were evidently a bit pissed off. But luckily, it's not. It's a blog, and I'll write when I fucking well like.

That was a bit aggressive. Sorry...

I should currently be in French grammar class, but I was defeated by the distance from my bed to the floor, so I decided not to go. Don't judge me too harshly if you have never had the misfortune of attending a French grammar class. It makes me tremble with fear. I am counteracting the adverse effect my absence will have on my skills as a linguist by watching Sex and the City in French. This kind of education I can get on board with.

So exams are looming, and I am once again reminded of just how bad I am at all of this motivation stuff. My washing basket is brimming expectantly in the corner, and I honestly can't be arsed to walk the ten yards from my building to the laundrette. Pity me, won't you?

I stayed up late last night listening to various slam poets, some of whom were enviably eloquent, some of whom were a little embarrassing. I was discussing the concept with my sister who said that she finds it all a little bit unnerving. And I agree with her to an extent, but I also think that discomfort is sort of the point. So I'll let you make up your own mind while I find some old lasagne or something to eat.

gu





That Buddy Wakefield one makes me well up a bit, so you may want to skip it if you're in a good mood...

definitely night time now.

Evening comrades, or is it night time now? By the time I have finished this and you are reading it, it will almost certainly be night time. So I should probably say good night. But then that sounds a bit dismissive, doesn't it? A bit like I've ended before I've even begun. And while I'm sure this would be a relief for you, Mr Reader, it would sort of defeat the point. I have digressed... no matter.

I am pretty much only writing this because I have told myself that I have to complete my essay on representations of the Italian Family by the time I leave for Bristol on Sunday, and at the moment, that is looking like a tremendously unappealing prospect, so I am blogging and applying for work experience on The Archers instead. Such is my life. As an incentive, I have told myself that I am not allowed the new Harry Potter DVD until the aforementioned essay is done and dusted, but my resolve could crumble at any moment.

This woman, artist and freedom fighter Rania Matar has had the brainwave of photographing teenage girls in both the US and the Middle East in the comfort of their own rooms. Turns out, the appeal of messy floors and collaged walls transcends background. What a lovely thought.

Also, stolen from the same website (thehairpin.com) is an interesting demonstration of the way in which the feminine ideal is vanishing before our eyes. Quite literally. Marilyn Monroe was at least a size ten. Just saying.

Time for music time now. Have a lovely weekend, and if any of you know anything about Italian literature, do let me know.

ten things that make the holidays excellent.

1. I never have to wear makeup or look at all good ever - I haven't even put mascara on for four whole days. It's liberating. Of course, I'm always kicking yourself on the rare occasion that someone of interest decides to pay a surprise visit, and I look a bit like the evil one from The Little Mermaid, but luckily, we're not very sociable people.
2. I get time to get back to the important things in life, such as Waking the Dead and Inspector Morse, then watch lots of silly comedy when I've freaked myself out a bit by watching too much Waking the Dead and Inspector Morse. 
3. Sun.
4. I get to see my excellent friends, who much to my relief have remained excellent friends, and whom I shall adore for all eternity. 
5. There is food in the fridge. Sort of. If you count lard as food. 
6. The village in which I live is actually quite pretty at times. The neighbours have a beautiful magnolia, and though it becomes less lovely with the passing of the days, it is still pretty magical. And there are ducks and shit residing on the canal. And by shit, I mean actual shit. 
7. I can catch up with my correspondence (by which I mean texts). 
8. I saw two cows kissing yesterday. 
9. I get to spend lots of time with my doting, oh-so-maternal, caring mother. 
10. Spaced.

N.B. from this point onwards, when I have said little of interest, and as a result can find no relevant picture, I will include a random snap from the Guardian website. You have been warned. 

maybe.

It may shock and surprise you to learn that Wolverley is not the most left-wing of places. There is a man I encountered during my brief stint in the Old Village Store (a wealthy landowner) who comes in on a daily basis to pick up his copy of the Telegraph, never failing to comment wryly on the way in which Gordon Brown ruined the country, or how Cameron is a "solid fellow". Now, I'm not saying all inhabitants of this weird little village are as extreme as the aforementioned gentleman, but I live in one of the most conservative sections of a generally conservative area, and it's a little bit depressing.

I was shocked nonetheless when I found out that there is not even a Labour candidate standing in the upcoming election. That is how Tory Wolverley is. I am only nineteen years old, so the ability to vote is still a massive novelty, but now it's a toss-up between abstaining and voting Green(!). I would abstain, but I distinctly remember a Citizenship lesson with Mrs Nightingale in year 6, in which we were told that voting was a large part of becoming a 'Good Citizen'. I always take these things to heart, so I think I probably will vote, even if it is for a non-party with only one objective.

Besides, I'm going to have to vote in the AV election anyway, in spite of my indifference. I'm going to vote Yes, because in general, it's a more positive word than 'no', and because lovely Ed told me to. Indeed, I'm all about change. Even if it's only a little, slightly wimpy change like this one. If you happen to live in Wolverley, you should vote for Robin in the parish election. He lives next door, and is a thoroughly nice fellow. The time he shouted at us because the dog was barking at an inappropriate hour was, I'm sure, an isolated incident.

.

Two and a bit weeks left of holiday. Not much has changed, if I'm honest.


I've spent most of the day watching old reruns of 'Inspector Morse' interspersed with stints in the sun. It wasn't a memorable day, but unlike yesterday, I did not fall asleep outside and wake up with an unceremoniously red nose. It's odd how I always think I'm a winter person until summer arrives, but then I realise that being warm is quite pleasant really. Although wearing lots of knitwear is frowned upon when it's above 10°C.


I have sort of run out of things to say. This is because I have become immensely dull and uninspired in my old age, so I'm going to embed some short films that will break your heart, and some songs which will only make it ache a little bit. 




The Search from Phase VI on Vimeo.



That last one is a killer...







So you see, the unthinkable has happened, and I have finally run out of words.I hope your Saturday night would blow mine out of the water.

it hurts to look at you.

I'm not all that good at having lots of time off. One of the good things about university is that I don't really have the option of spending all that much time alone. I'm not exactly a social creature by nature, so it's nice that I've had to work on my people skills a bit. The third week of my five week holiday has now begun, and though I've enjoyed it so far, I'm beginning to get a little bit bored, and more than a little bit grumpy. I have no money, no car and no desire to do anything but sit and watch rubbish t.v. all day long.

So that is what I have been doing. Big time.

Firstly, I've got into 'My So-called Life', which is melodramatic and depressing and everything a teenage drama should be. It stars Claire Danes and Jared Leto back when they were completely beautiful. Danes's drawling pearls of wisdom achieve just the right level of melodrama and even at the ripe old age of fourteen, she really was a rather good actress. It's honestly quite enjoyable. If you're in the right mood.




Next up is the almighty 'Friday Night Dinner' which is one of the best things that has been televised in really quite a long time. It has Mark Heap and Tamsin Greig in it, so I was always bound to be a fan, but I'm glad i wasn't disappointed.

I've also just got into series two of Glee, and am as yet undecided over whether it is so shit it's un-shit, or whether it's just shit. Your opinions are welcome, and I think I know on which side most of them will fall, but all I'm saying is that it's fun to find an hour every week to absorb yourself in a world where people express themselves through autotune and swap boyfriends every episode.

So yes, there has been lots of television. I'm not saying I haven't done anything else (just ask Baudelaire), but I am beginning to hear a Claire Danes-esque monologue in my head, so it's possibly time to get out. I went to Merry Hill earlier, but that wasn't exactly any better. Woe is me.

"I don't think that there are any limits to how excellent we could make life seem."

Have you ever fallen in love with someone just from the words they write? I seem to do it about seventeen times a day. Looks are irrelevant in this equation, it's all about the writing that people have squeezed out of their very being, put to paper and published, baring their soul. There's nothing like a good poet to soften a heart.

My latest literary crushes include A. E. Houseman (in spite of his homosexuality and death), Nick Laird (Irish hottie extraordinaire), Jonathan Safran Foer (whom I simply adore), and Milan Kundera (who makes me feel a bit more normal). I'm sure none of these people are really all that well-rounded or personable, but crushes are meant to be utterly without foundations, so there you go. So gentlemen, if you ever want to woo your lady, use a thesaurus. Just a little tip. 

I spent the weekend in beautiful Aberystwyth catching up with Sarah and Jordan and partaking in much merriment. One of the best bits was the stunning drive through the Elan Valley where I always used to go with my family, but haven't been for years. It was a gorgeous day, and despite driving through what was very possibly somebody's back garden and seeing ten thousand dead pheasants, Charlotte and I were almost sorry to see the journey end. Oh and I dyed my hair. I feel much more like my sixteen year old self, which may or may not be a good thing. 

Time for some pretty music!

Jonsi...



Jay Jay Pistolet (who can say things better than I ever could, therefore putting him into the aforementioned category)



The Yeah Yeah Yeahs because they are consistently brilliant...



And Mazzy Star just because.

my top ten fictional heroines.

• Number One - Lisa Simpson - an eloquent, sarcastic Buddhist vegetarian Democrat nerd who campaigns tirelessly for social justice and - and is eight years old. 

"Dad, as intelligence goes up, happiness often goes down. In fact I made a graph... I make a lot of graphs."

• Number two - Juno MacGuff - an eloquent, sarcastic Democrat nerd who happens to be with child. The fact that she can be silly enough to get pregnant at sixteen and remain brilliant really says something, I think...

"I could like, have this baby and give it to someone who like totally needs it."

• Number three - Summer Finn - As in Summer. From 500 Days of Summer. Her name was even in the title, and I'm not sure there's a young girl alive who can watch this film without wanting to just be her. And the difference with Summer (unlike most of the females on this list) is that boys like her too. So you can always cajole one of them into watching it with you. This also works with films starring Keira Knightley and Jessica Alba, but unfortunately not really with Julie Delpy or Kristin Scott Thomas. 

"So, what if I'd gone to the movies? What if I had gone somewhere else for lunch? What if I'd gotten there 10 minutes later? It was - it was meant to be. And... I just kept thinking... Tom was right."

• Number four - Grandmother Willow - The only member of this list who is a tree. A tree who can kick arse and scowl and advise. She is so very wise, and talks sense to Pochontas when everyone around her fails to see past the fact that she has fallen in love with the enemy. The fact that John Smith happens to be hopelessly dull seems irrelevant to all.

 

"It's enough to make your sap boil!"

• Number five - Clementine Kruczynski- From Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Kate Winslet just seems to improve tenfold when she dyes her hair orange and hooks up with Jim Carrey. Then erases him. Then hooks up with him again. She's a little bit crazy, but who isn't? All in all, a brilliant lady to admire.

"Drink up, young man. It'll make the whole seduction part less repugnant."

• Number six - Lyra Belacqua- From the 'His Dark Materials' trilogy. I wish these books had been around when I was little, because I would have been able to have a fictional role model who wasn't Milly Molly Mandy (who incidentally was not even shortlisted for this little chart.) She's just so cool and fearless and gutsy. She is impulsive and unafraid to speak her mind or take a risk. I also sort of wish we could all a little animal daemon like Pantalaimon to keep us company and give advise and suchlike things.

"'I wish…' she said, and stopped. There was nothing that could be gained by wishing for it. A final, deep shaky breath, and she was ready to go on."

• Number seven - Hermione Granger - Yes alright, she whinges a hell of a lot, and she can be a bit full of herself, but she also punches the insufferable Draco Malfoy and is the cleverest witch of her age. Everyone says so. And she's muggle born, therefore disproving all the right-wing, closed minded pure-blood fanatics that threaten the wellbeing of the wizarding world.

"Wingardium Leviosa', not 'Leviosaaa!"

• Number eight - Kat "I'm not hostile, I'm annoyed" Stratford - From '10 Things I Hate About You', which despite my best efforts remains one of my favourite films. She reads 'The Bell Jar' and 'The Feminine Mystique' and refuses to mingle with her peers and their "meaningless, consumer-driven lives". Amazing.

"I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls."

• Number nine - Meg - From Hercules. She's such a mahoosive feminist and has a really cool voice. What more could you want?

"Well, you know how men are. They think "No" means "Yes" and "Get lost" means "Take me, I'm yours."

• Number ten - Jo March - From 'Little Women'

"I find it poor logic to say that because women are good, women should vote. Men do not vote because they are good; they vote because they are male, and women should vote, not because we are angels and men are animals, but because we are human beings and citizens of this country." (I think this says it all)

spring forward, fall back.

Hello chumlies. Shit is going down in the world today, particularly in Libya, Portugal and Israel - even in Britain where the budget has been unveiled. Unfortunately - despite my best efforts - I'm not very clued up on any of these things, and there are people in the world who are, so I suggest you read their blogs instead. If however, you want to read about Elizabeth Taylor, Bangable Dudes In History, Cheltenham Spa and deadpan political satire, you are in the right place!

So yes, Elizabeth Taylor died and I am sad. That is the gist. She was married a grand total of eight times, which I think is quite incredible. One of those marriages was to Richard Burton, need I say more?

Continuing on the theme of lusting after the deceased (this could refer to either Taylor or Burton, let's face it), I would like to introduce you to this site which offers an array of interesting political, intellectual and important figures from times gone by, accompanied with a little commentary (laced with bad puns) explaining just why this particular person should be deemed 'bangable'. You couldn't make it up. My particular favourite is Lewis-president-killer-Powell, whose piercing blue eyes and nonchalant air apparently absolve him of his crime.

I've now entered the horrid vortex of boredom that is the Easter holidays. I have plenty to be getting on with, such as learning two languages and reading lots of books, but all that can be put off for quite some time. Today I went to Cheltenham Spa, which has put me in an excellent mood. I spent lots of money and enjoyed the sunshine and hung out with middle-class, middle-aged women. In all, a splendid day. I then spent the whole evening watching 'The Thick of It', which I'm now a bit obsessed with. I am told by Labour Party insiders that it is really quite accurate.

The trouble with The Unthanks is that when you get one of their songs in your head, you sing it in a ridiculous accent. This is a gift I would like to pass on.



p.s. my new favourite author is Milan Kundera. Check him out, he writes beautifully. As does his translator...

pour a little salt we were never here...

Hullo there.

Following the triumph of last year's lent for which I gave up eating meat (and carried on for a long, long time until some floor ham made me see sense about a month ago), I decided that like last year I would give up something that would really challenge me. It's more fun that way. So I thought long and hard (but not really, it's just a turn of phrase) and I thought it would be a good idea to steer clear of alcohol for forty days and forty long nights. More than anything, I think it's a good sociological experiment. Is it possible to be a first year student, to go out and actually enjoy it without drinking a drop? It's also perfect timing because I was drinking a bit too much and it was affecting my sleep patterns, results and general wellbeing.

So tonight I headed out to the potentially wonderful Top Banana, fuelled only by orange squash and a vague sense of determination. It was actually alright. Of course, there was the first weird hour when everybody was somewhat inebriated, bad songs were playing and I was dancing self consciously. But then I got into it a bit more. I suppose if everyone else is wasted, they don't really care what you look like, do they?

In all, I will save money, calories and dignity and still have an okay time. Hopefully. It's pretty tricky though.

I miss gin.

Music time!

Firstly, I am a massive fan of this lovely song by Fossil Collective. It's a bit Band of Horses-esque, and just generally quite pretty.



Next up, a Bon Iver cover. I'm not sure who by. I like it though. I think.



And finally, Blind Pilot. We saw them supporting the Decemberists the other night, which was definitely an added bonus. I fell a little bit in love with them and their lovely beards. Sigh...

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

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

I've grown up a bit. 

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

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

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

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

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

Here are my top five sites for womeny folk:

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

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

And failing all that...

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...

the people's king.

It's only ruddy Tuesday, and to celebrate, I thought I'd write one of these. I hope that you are well and not too disheartened by the horrid weather and horrid-er goings on in the world.

There is lots of lovely music around at the moment, and exciting people are releasing exciting things! Obviously I have to talk about Radiohead. King of Limbs sort of came from nowhere, and though I am still holding out for its physical release (I am a CD junkie), I have of course had a few listens online. I have always preferred trippy, pretty Radiohead to the more electronicy stuff, but this is good. Good but not astounding. It has promises of brilliance, but doesn't quite follow through. I'm hoping it's a grower, but I'm fairly sure it's not going to be a classic in my mind.

Next up, the wonderful Conor (because what would this blog be without him!?) who has come up trumps with a rather spectacular album The People's Key. I am obviously biased because Bright Eyes are my favourite thing since they made those slippers that you can microwave, but this album is really rather good. If you like music for its feel-good factor, you should probably listen to Beach House or Clarensau instead, because this album isn't exactly uplifting. But then uplifting Bright Eyes wouldn't be Bright Eyes at all, would it? It's almost a bit poppy, very easy to listen to, funny, sweet, sad and (most importantly) better than all Oberst's solo work put together. So yes, I am a fan.

It's not new anymore, but The Suburbs by the magnificent Arcade fire is, in short, phenomenal. I still like Funeral best, but this is now their third brilliant album, so I think they are now officially a brilliant band. I'm pretty sure that's how it works...

What would we do without music? Life would be so grey.

you can stand under my umbrella ♥

Right, so it's Valentine's day. I bet you're all thinking that I'm about to go off on some bitter tirade about this stomach-churning, pernicious money maker, but that would be a little bit too obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, this year I'm not feeling all that resentful. I don't actually mind this day that much, though I'm sure this comes as a surprise. I do not think, however, that February 14th should be a day for smug couples, but a day for declaring our secret love (in an anonymous, harmless kind of way) through the medium of shitty cards like we did in first school.

So in celebration rather than derision of this weird concept, I give you my top ten love songs of all time.

1. The Kinks - Lola - A song about falling for someone who is wrong for you (in this case a transvestite with a preference for young boys who have "never kissed a woman before". Genius.).
2. Jeff Buckley - Lover, you should have come over - A song about painful youth and the uncertainty and intensity of adolescent love. Probably. It's well good, anyway...
3. Adele - Someone like you - Because I love it more than most things in the world. It's about habouring feelings for a man who no longer feels the same (we've all been there). Don't listen to the album version, because it is a pile of poo. Opt instead for the Jools Holland live version and you will be weeping into your overpriced roses in no time. 
4. Bon Iver - Skinny Love - Harrowing and heart-wrenching (just like every good love song should be).
5. Aqualung - Strange and beautiful - Creepy. In a sweet way...
6. Maccabees - Love you better - "I will love you better". A desperate plea from a spurned lover - excellent stuff.
7. Bloc Party - Flux - "We were hoping for some romance, all we found was more despair". It's probably the most upbeat song in my CD collection because of its 'fuck it' sort of attitude. It never fails to make me smile. And dance. But mostly smile.
8. Rhianna - Umbrella - Who needs intricate, poetic lyrics when it can all be summarised in the selfless act of letting someone stand under your umbrella (ella, ella, eh, eh...)
9. Coldplay - Shiver - Before he met Gwyneth and got all smug. I bet they are having a sickening Valentine's day.
10. Joy Division - Love will tear us apart - mmhmm.   

So happy Valentine's day, everybody! I will be spending my evening having a roast dinner with my mother and my sister, both of whom will be seething because they cannot be with their boyfriends tonight. Teehee... 

remus and liz and mini with one 'n'...

I haven't as such been out today, so I thought I'd compensate by writing a brilliantly political post about the situation in Egypt, perhaps, or the ongoing drought in China, or even Berlusconi's latest little pickle. But THEN I found out that Elizabeth Taylor has been rushed to hospital with congestive heart failure, so I thought I'd write about that instead. I am no doctor, but I know that heart failure is never exactly good. I have always had a strange fascination with Liz. She was my iPod's namesake until I washed her (my new iPod is named Remus Lupin). So Liz, please don't die. I would miss you and your scary, scary face.

Over the past couple of days, I have been watching Skins. I always managed to resist before, but I cracked. Don't judge me, I'm home and I'm bored. My verdict? It's... okay. I do like it, and it's not too in-your-face or too tear-filled. Plus it's filled with pretty people who have lives much more interesting and shallow than my own. So while there are many things I prefer floating around on the box at the moment, this is a good way to pass some time while sipping tea at home alone on a Friday night. Just kidding. The dog was here. I've made my choice in life...

Okay, so I usually link to a nice little song at the bottom of a post, but today I give you the video that completely transformed my mood earlier. Life can be complicated, but thank God we always have videos of animals doing funny things to cheer us up...

all about the fire in your life on the evening news...

There is blossom on some of the trees, therefore, it is Spring. As a result, I bought a flowery dress today. I will probably not be able to wear it for some months, so it will sit in my wardrobe [floor] and I will forget I ever bought it. How exciting though!

I am writing this on the floor of the lounge in the house my mother owns in Wolverley. I spent the day getting my hair cut and shopping in Birmingham - what a girl! Haircuts are always so blooming awkward. Maybe this is just me because I'm a bit of a socially inept being, but I never know how to act. First, there is the haggling over the amount of hair for the chop. I wanted lots and lots cut off because I'm spontaneous like that, but the silly man talked me out of it in his passive-aggressively persuasive, pretty way, so I only had quite a lot chopped off. It looks irritatingly good - I hate that he was right. Next comes the awkward hair washing 'can he see up my nose?', 'should I keep my eyes open?' 'do we really have to talk about the X-factor?' phase of the game. Then you're made to feel like a terrible person for buying shampoo from Tesco rather than paying twenty quid for a bottle of organic-nourishing-split-end-busting super hair redeemer. You are offered a cup of tea, but there never seems to be a convenient moment to lean forward and pick it up, so it sits and goes cold and separatey. Hairdressers always seem to think you want to discuss your personal life with them. And then they tell you about theirs! And then suddenly you're entangled in a bitter tale of heartbreak and despair, and all you can bring yourself to say is 'Erm, I'm sure she'll come round eventually'. It's a minefield. Honestly.

I have something exciting to tell you. I will be spending the next academic year in Rome. The very thought of this is enough to fill me with dread and fear and excitement and dread. I completely backtracked on my 'small town' plan, because - well why the hell not? Rome happened to be under subscribed, and I couldn't resist. It will very possibly destroy me, but there is a teeny tiny chance that I will come back in July skinny, tanned, fluent and sickeningly stylish. I can dream...

I plan to spend the next few days drinking tea and reading beautiful prose by Jon Mcgregor. The house will be empty and my tummy will be full. It's going to be immense. It's been a bit of a shitty week lacking in sleep and abundant in alcohol. I am feeling the effects.

Yesterday, I had a slightly spiritual musical experience. But not really. But sort of. I borrowed Cait's iPod and rediscovered Paul Simon's 'Graceland'. I realise I'm completely ridding myself of any dignity I had left by writing about this, but honesty is key. The thing is, it was always one of our 'car tapes' when we were little, and it turns out that I still know every word. 'Crazy Love' is a genuinely brilliant song. Honestly.