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.

nobody's gonna say it outright, just go, la la la...

I remember weird things. If someone I am interested in tells me their favourite song, I remember it. I could tell you what each of my friends got at A-level. I remember the face of somebody I have met once and barely even spoken to (and they never fail to forget me, resulting in an awkward, stilted conversation). I never forget middle names. I remember meaningless quotations from meaningless novels and the lyrics to a ridiculous amount of songs. However, I never retain any useful knowledge: I forget when I've arranged to meet up with my grammar buddy, I never remember birthdays or phone numbers or homework, I don't ever know the date. I wish I could use my superfreakingmemory in a way that would actually benefit me.

Today, there are many things I should be doing. Writing blogs is not one of them, but I'm back on the blogging bandwagon now and I fear I cannot be stopped. I was going to post a picture of my hopelessly untidy room, so that somebody would cajole me into doing something about it, but I am too ashamed. I'll let you use your imagination. The beginning of the week was a bit shit, but I'm getting into the swing of things today. I actually dried my hair, put on proper clothes and ate something that wasn't chocolate. Things are looking up!

I saw my mum yesterday, which is nice. If you like that sort of thing. She wasn't too much of a crazy, and even brought me my UPS parcel which was delivered to the wrong address. Good old Mum! Cait and I went to Stratford (where she happened to be), and in the space of about five minutes, my mother managed to mention the Labour Party, gender discrimination and new shoes. I fear that we may be the same person. This is probably why our relationship is somewhat strained at times.

I hope you have a lovely Thursday, and that you are more productive than I will be. I leave you with a snippet from my favourite album of the moment. Enjoy!

dear mr clegg...

Yesterday was an odd day. We all trekked off to London for the protests I'm sure you all have heard far too much about. Unfortunately, the coach journey took an obscene amount of time, so we were rather late, but nobody can argue that a trip to the capital for a fiver is an alright way to break up the monotony of reading week.

After the protest had begun to die down, I sat in a bar with Warwick Labour, watching things turn nasty through the medium of a big screen. A fairly relaxed end to what can only be described as a bit of a duff day.

So though we weren't exactly in the midst of all the exciting action, there was a definite waft of rebellion in the air. It almost seemed like the eighties. Of course, there were those who got carried away and did stupid things. I have read many articles with many differing viewpoints on the occurrences. David Cameron's comments which can be summed up as "the public voted us in therefore we have to do what the public wants: cuts." bugged me, but I'm sure this comes as no great surprise. I begrudgingly admit that Boris summed it up rather nicely. He almost enthusiastically spoke of one's right to a peaceful protest, but said that a "tiny minority" went too far.

Personally, I hope that there are much more protests on the horizon. Peaceful protests that remain peaceful would be nice. It would also help if there were some more police around next time...

living for the weekend...

I have a headache this morning. I blame gin.

According to Yvette Cooper, the astronomical cuts of our times will hit women twice as hard as they will hit men, which is a travesty considering that on the whole, we already earn much less. Childcare will no longer be an option, and women will be forced back into the home. Can't you just taste the regression?

Saturdays at university are somehow infinitely better than Sundays, even though the basic concept is the same. Nobody is really up yet (I think I got off easy last night), so I'm just sitting in my room, tidying sporadically and drinking tea whilst listening to Aqualung and writing this. What more could a girl want?

Because the Civil Service pension people made a killing from the premature death of my father, I get a bit of money every month. This is the reason I was able to quit the deathjob and go on my European adventure. They've stopped it now, though and will only start it again once I've proven that I am a genuine student. This means a trip to University House which is on the other side of campus, and my bed is so warm.

Warwick Labour is full of lovely people. I think I'll be going back.

I need to do some washing.

I'm not sure whether it's time for breakfast or lunch. I have an excellent (although I say it myself) chickpea curry in the fridge, but it doesn't really feel like savoury time yet. Then again, Weetos taste no good with skimmed milk. Nutella is usually the answer...

I saw Chiddy Bang in the union last night. I think the less said about this, the better.

moving on...

Well it's been a good weekend. My brand new iPod arrived, the Labour Party was saved and I went to Surrey to a silver wedding celebration/renewal of vows/apparent excuse for old people to get drunk. I also discovered that a maroon chunky knit beret is a brilliant way to cover up shit hair. Which I definitely have at the moment...

So we'll start with the lovely Ed, shall we? Finally, a genuine socialist has taken the reigns, and things are going to change. It's not like we can underestimate the impact of such a disappointing election, but the shiny veneer of the coalition is starting to crack, and now we are in opposition, the left is cool again. I really liked David Miliband, but I voted for Ed because his values are the closest to my own. In May, I must have heard the phrase "well they're all the same, aren't they?" about fifteen hundred times, and even though this is really quite untrue, Ed is definitely different. And he's fairly young and punchy, and with Harman beside him, I feel like the party's in good hands.

Today was the twenty-fifth wedding anniversary of my uncle's stepson and his wife (yes that's right). They are only in their early forties, so they must have got married incredibly young, but in fairness, they seem very happy. To celebrate the longevity of their relationship, we got up at five and drove down to Surrey to make it to the church service on time (incidentally, today is 'back to church Sunday'. Fairly fitting as this was the first time I had set foot in a church in months.) The vows were renewed and rings were exchanged (again) during a fairly bog standard service. The vicar did manage, however to centre the entire thing around the importance of commitment and love and not murdering one's spouse. He also mentioned something about Lazarus and a rich guy, but I think this was unrelated. Next, we went to a pub-type place where the champagne flowed (although I drank lime and soda because I had enough trouble staying awake without the interference of alcohol) and there was food. Lots of food. I gritted my teeth while many distant un-relatives grilled me on my lack of a male escort. At least two people asked me whether wedding bells were on the horizon for me. The exasperated response "I'm eighteen!" did not seem sufficient to quell their disapproval. Coupled with the fact that my mum kept telling everyone that I hate men, I'm not sure I gave off a great impression, but I probably shouldn't look into it too much. They probably just thought I was a friendly lesbian.

And the thing is, it's not even true! To say I hate men would be a grossly unfair generalisation. There are several men I like including Stephen Merchant, Conor Oberst and Gordon Brown. See? My mother also fails to bear in mind that far from hating only men, I don't like women all that much either, and as such, I am probably a pretty poor excuse for a feminist. So all in all, it is more of a general dislike of humanity than of males in particular. And I'm sure one day, there will be a man who will sweep me off my feet and with whom I shall fall uncontrollably in love, etc, but until that day, it just doesn't seem worth the bother, and as such, I'll have to deal with the prying questions for a little while longer.

Tory glory...

Have you ever seen Oliver and Company? The film is lame, but when I saw this, I couldn't help but think that this dog is a bit like the streetwise main character (also a dog. This could explain the resemblance). The thought of a politically active, thrill-seeking dog is strangely comforting on this day of mourning and general woe.

So we are effectively without government. It's quite exciting, though it was a disappointing night for everybody really. Of course I stayed up all night so I'm well and truly shattered today. I'm also dealing with the realisation that I now live in a Tory constituency. The West Midlands itself is almost entirely blue, with the important exception of Birmingham. It's places like Halesowen and Dudley which are the real surprises. I can think of nowhere more working class, so it seems odd that the majority voted Conservative. I can't really imagine that their community will thrive under right-wing rule, but maybe it's time for someone else to be under constant public scrutiny for a change.

One good thing has come out of this election, however. I have discovered that I really quite fancy David Milliband. My crushes seem to be becoming more and more middle aged and
demure. In my opinion this is no bad thing, though I'm sure there are a few psychologists in the world who would disagree...