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.