the future was our skin and now we don't dream anymore.

I have never really been one for blogging about music, other than to post a nice song at the bottom of the page that I think you might enjoy. There is one simple reason for this - I know nothing about it. I have no idea what makes the music I like good, what instruments are playing, the correct terminology for the different components or anything about keys and stuff. I don't want you to feel that I'm harping on when it's something I know so little about.

So I'm going to make a deal with you. The music stuff will remain a key part of what I write about, but you are not to expect anything more insightful from me than "ooh this is pretty" or "I like his face". Neither should you think that the songs I select will be particularly new or in any way cool. Okay? Okay.

Perfection exists in the form of a beautiful man from Sweden who is like a scrubbed up Bob Dylan with a voice just the right side of harsh and a super cool wife with odd hair. This song is gorgeous and I must have listened to it twenty times today.



Beach House's Teen Dream is an album I can listen to again and again without tiring of it. Take Care and Walk in the Park are my favourites, but the whole album is cracking. They have a new album out now which is just as lovely. For those of you in the clutches of exams at the moment, rather than being smug that I have none, I am going to be helpful and suggest that you let this band aid you in your revision. It worked for me last year!



I had a dream last night that I was on a boat with Conor Oberst. He renamed me 'Lua' and I remember being less than pleased. Nonetheless, it made me think about seeing Bright Eyes last summer and how much I have been obsessed with them (him) for such a considerable length of time. I think he deserves just one more sneaky appearance with this lovely live version of what is now my song (in my dreams at least).




I'd really like to go to some gigs this summer, so if you have any suggestions, or if you'd like somebody to keep you company, just drop me a little message. Failing that, there's always Greenbelt where lovely people like Gentry Morris come to play and I get to spend my days sauntering round a vegan café, picking up rubbish and making people tea. It's one of the highlights of my year.

we decided just to write after all.

I sometimes have a tendency to get too hung up in music my mother would call "durgey" and forget all about good music played on guitars and drums - the old fashioned way. And while I love clinky piano music and whingey ballads, there's nothing quite like listening to someone sing as loudly as they possibly can about girls and heartbreak and everything that makes music good. Maximo Park have talent and volume in oodles, and I think they are splendid.

Another thing about this band that may appeal to you is the singer Paul Smith, who is not to be confused with the fashion designer. This one does not make cologne, nor will he charge you seventy quid for a wallet. In fact, he may not sell you a wallet at all. The one I'm talking about looks sort of like a cross between a Victorian undertaker and a Tim Burton creation. He has a Geordie accent (the nice kind, not the Cheryl Cole kind) and jumps around a lot. That's the gist really.

Anyway, their first album A Certain Trigger was completely brilliant - all anger and angst and dancing around in your room on a Wednesday night in a hat of some sort. Next came Quicken the Heart, which was pretty much flawless. It was one of the few albums I had on my 1GB Sony MP3 player, back when I was fifteen, miserable and spotty, and had a paper round. I have a very clear memory (though some of those turn out to have been dreams) of a very rainy Thursday evening delivering the Kidderminster Shuttle for next to no money and listening to this record and it sort of making everything okay again. 

Their third album was pants. But we'll ignore that...

And now they have a new album coming out! Hurrah! I am more excited than I was about the return of Mad Men and I am even considering coming home to see them on their little mini tour in June. But maybe that would be excessive! 

To celebrate, here are my five favourite Maximo Park songs. I hope you enjoy them! And if it's raining where you are (it certainly is here), just think - at least you aren't fifteen. And if you are fifteen... erm... it'll get better? 

• Graffiti - "I'll do graffiti if you sing to me in French" - Deal!

• Books from Boxes 

• Apply Some Pressure - "What happens when you lose everything? You just start again. Start all over again."

• Nosebleed - "Did we go too far? Is that why your nose is bleeding?"

• Girls who play Guitar - "It's her life and a life is worth living."

still on my feet.

This cover of Joni Mitchell's A case of you is astonishingly lovely and according to iTunes, I've listened to it fifty eight times. Sounds about right. Up until now, though, I'd never seen the video, featuring Rebecca Hall whom I have loved ever since the first time I saw Starter for Ten. She almost ruined it with Vicky Christina Barcelona which is bad. Really really bad. But this is great, so she's back in my good books. And James Blake never left them.



Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have deleted my Facebook account. I think I'll stick with it for the time being because already today, I have read an awful lot, and this has to be better for the little grey cells. No doubt I will return soon enough, but for now I feel fairly liberated.

Today, I was walking to the supermarket (I use the term lightly. Think Netto mixed with an Esso Garage and you'll get the right idea) down the street from me. I was not immodestly dressed, I wore a long sleeved t-shirt, a knee length skirt and a leather jacket. A middle aged woman stared at my bare legs in disbelief, and without even trying to disguise her abhorrence, tutted at me and mumbled "disgraceful". I would have been surprised were it not for the fact that I seem to be living in a country where they cannot tell hot from cold. Today was beautifully sunny and hit 21°C at midday which is when I ventured out. This is the equivalent of British summertime, and dammit I'll get my legs out if I bloody want to. 

"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.

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... 

dearest.

Let's stop sending each other messages on Facebook. Write a letter. Stamps don't cost much, and handwritten post is always nice to receive. It's nice to find a letter waiting when you get home, recognising the familiar scrawl on the envelope and reading the meandering thoughts of a friend set down on paper. I've already cajoled one unsuspecting person into corresponding with me in this way, but send me something! Send something, and I will always reply (which cannot be said for any other form of communication). A letter, unlike an email, can never be deleted.

I am saddened by the anti-Islamic protest march happening today. The English Defence League demonstrated today under the thinly veiled premise of targeting fundamentalism, but no good can possibly come of these tensions, which are surely more likely to encourage extremism than combat it. I'm struggling to write this paragraph from an objective viewpoint, without just ranting and being cross. I'm not sure it's even possible. I just can't fathom this country sometimes, and I hope that this shameful hatred ceases rather than gaining momentum. The world is a scary place.

My wonderful friend Eilish is soon to be married. I feel like if every betrothed couple was like Eilish and Bob, I would have no reservations whatsoever about the institution of marriage, and I know they will be very happy. She is the macaroni to his cheese.

I have an exam on Monday, and I have to learn seven hundred and twenty three prepositions... probably. The sad fact of the matter though, is that I simply cannot be arsed. Somebody motivate me. That would be lovely.

lord knows, it would be the first time...

So. It's 2011. It's a number that looks odd written down, and nobody quite knows how to pronounce it. Are we in twenty-eleven? Surely two-thousandandandandeleven can't be the way to go? I think we should just revert to using the last little bit of the number. It's not like we're going to get confused about which decade we are existing in, and besides, all the best years are referred to in this way ('66, '89, '91, for example). Let's just call it 'eleven' and be done with it.

Happy new year, anyway. I very much hope that it is a good year for you, that you get promoted or you get one of those baby things or you finally work up the courage to make that girl yours. Whatever it is that your heart desires, I hope that you get it, and I hope it changes your life for the better.

Of course, it's much more likely to just be another mundane year...

Last night was lovely. I had all of my old school friends over, and we just drank and chatted all night. I think we're all a lot more mellow than we used to be. Also, I think it says something about both my friends and my house that when I woke up this morning, it was tidier than it was before everyone arrived yesterday.

As it is the dawn of a new decade, I think it is probably time to lay down in writing the ways in which I intend to change (but never will). Firstly, I will get all my work done on Wednesdays so that weekends can remain free for socialising and whatnot. Secondly, I will eat breakfast every single day rather than choosing instead to stay in bed for ten extra minutes, which brings me on to my third resolution - I will get up when my alarm goes off and not lie in bed pressing 'snooze' for half an hour. I will not dread next year, but embrace it as an Italian adventure which will help mould me into a better, more rounded individual with more stories to tell. I will not eat sneaky bits of Christmas turkey when I think nobody is looking. I will achieve spiritual enlightenment. I will actually read books before seminars and do the prep. I will swap one hour of internet access with half an hour of Italian grammar every night. I will try my hardest to live in the moment, rather than over thinking everything. I will eat more fruit. I will arrive to nine o'clock lectures looking impeccably coiffed and having slept for at least seven hours. I will wear less make-up. I will lose a little bit of weight. I will watch at least one foreign film a week to make me both more cultured and a better linguist. I will not call my dog 'Crapbag' - it isn't fair to him. I will be nicer to my mother. I will be nicer to the Cretin. I will start buying newspapers rather than just reading them online. I will spend less money on clothes. I will spend less money in general. I will complain less when my feet are cold or I have a sore throat. I will cook exciting things, I will be less selfish and (most importantly) I will be kind to those in need of kindness.

That was a lot more things than I had planned. Now to slob around in my pyjamas all day doing none of these things. I feel like I need to end this with an up-beat song that will lift your spirits and send you hurtling positively into the new year, but I don't know many of those so it'll have to be The Smiths. Sorry about that...

in a town that's cold and grey...

When I am a bit gloomy and the world seems to be failing me a little, I like to revert back to the things that are important to me: family, friends and books, for example. Today was a good day because it combined all three of these things, and as a result, I am in a very good mood. I awoke on Sarah's floor, having stayed the night after a lovely night out in a somewhat icy Birmingham. I then went downstairs and had a good old chat with her mum over tea and toast, before heading to Hay-on-Wye to meet my auntie and uncle for lunch. Hay is one of those places that is so beautifully unreal that you could never really live there. It seems to exist solely for the occasional visit in order to fill yourself with tea and your bookcase with Penguin Classics. I also got to hear people speaking Welsh, which always reminds me of my youth. I was glad to find that it still sounds a bit made-up.

My new favourite band is a little group named Clarensau. They are fairly adorable and make pretty music. Their album 'Until Our Lungs Give' is lovely (and all on Spotify).

It's time to do some work, but the thought fills me with... not dread, exactly but certainly not joy. Sometimes I wonder whether I made the right choice taking the academic path, but then I think about going home to university in just over a week, and that thought makes me happy. I certainly couldn't live here for any extended period of time, and if my spell at Morrisons has taught me anything, it's that I really hate Morrisons. I would imagine that this sentiment would apply to most retail/catering/mundane jobs, so that choice doesn't really appeal. At the end of the day, I am just a disgustingly lazy human being. If I was a cow, I would be shot.

baby you're a sparkler...

Christopher Thomas Yapp (yappattack) just told me that my last post was "very whingey". Good point well made. So this one is going to be full of positivity and light. Just don't get used to it.

This weekend is the time for the return of all my friends which is very exciting. I've missed them all so much, and hopefully we will be a bit less shit than usual and go out and suchlike things. I should probably do some more Christmas shopping, but my overdraft seems to be reproducing with itself and my finances really aren't too hot at the moment.

Today has been spent watching The Hills and marinading things and wrapping up warm to go out in search of Lemsip and soya milk. I also wrapped up all my Christmas presents so far, which is a shame really because that's the best part of the festive season!

Have you seen the video for Katy Perry's Firework? It's mental. Basically, people keep erupting into a big ball of sparkly flame in various states of emotional imbalance. For example, a couple has an argument and then explode a little bit, a lady has a baby and explodes a little bit, two men kiss and explode a little bit. It's all a bit odd. Throw in a bit of Katy looking uncharacteristically classy, and you've got the gist. I'm sure they're going for some sort of symbolism, but it's just a bit shit.



I promise I will never put another Katy Perry video on here again. Sorry 'bout that...

Go on this blog! It led me to listen to lots of new music and it's beautifully written. In a chart of the best songs of the decade, Sugababes Four Tet and Radiohead all featured. Talk about diversity!

This song is proper good, back from the days before they started rapping and they still had Mutya and the ginger one.

well, the bells out in the church tower chime, burning clues into this heart of mine...

I'm a little bit emotional. Tonight (as you probably know by now) was prizegiving, and not only did I see my best friends in the entire world, but beloved teachers and my excellent school with which I have a bit of a love/hate relationship. My old French teacher made me cry, my old English teacher roped me into organising a Christmas reunion and my (very) old maths teacher helped me find my mother's coat when she was being inept.

We're all going to see Harry Potter tomorrow and I'm disproportionately excited. The books, while a little lacking in stylistic narrative are brilliant. The films are obviously less good, but still offer a better cinematic experience than most other films around at the moment. I'm sure many will disagree...

I am getting on oddly well with my usually tempestuous mother at the moment. This is probably because we haven't spent more than a couple days together since I started at university. The thing is, despite what I say, Mum and I were always going to work things out eventually. We are simultaneously the same and completely different. I'm quite a practical person: I can change light bulbs and fix the electrics and get dead mice out of traps. None of these things are particularly tricky, but my mum is a woman and is therefore incapable of completing these menial tasks. It's partly a generational thing, I think. We're also quite different in our attitudes to men, music and friendship. But I begrudgingly admit that we are SO similar: we're both pretty left wing, we did the same A-levels, neither of us are stupid and we both really like food. I think we both really needed a break. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and I certainly resent her a little less.

I've taken up drinking coffee which I used to really hate. Tea doesn't quite cut it when you need to stay up because you've left it a bit late to do that essay, so I've upped the caffeine stakes. I'm also very much aware of my looming year in coffee-mad Italy. I don't want to seem like a complete tourist. I'm sure I'll be gulping down espresso in no time...

In the past couple of years, my music taste has definitely become a bit more abstract. I like quite obscure bands and melancholy melodies, but I've tried my hardest not to become too pretentious or take my music too seriously. There's nothing worse than a pop snob. Often pop music is popular in the first place because it is genuinely good. An example of someone who has lived up to the hype in my opinion is Ellie Goulding. I really liked her album, and now this gorgeous cover has emerged which I can't get enough of:



And this is the thing that converted me in the first place:

can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all...

I am too tired to get up and make tea.



Very, very tired.



Unfortunately, I am unable to prioritise. Instead of cracking on with all the essay work I have to do for the morning, I am doing this.



Slowly.



I am wearing four jumpers and life is sweet. I have to go home again this weekend, which is a bit unfortunate. It is prizegiving, which is also a bit unfortunate. It'll be odd going back to Haybridge but on the upside, I do get to see all of my wonderfully brilliant friends once more. My guess is that I will spend much more time in various Stourbridge establishments than I will at home, and this is fine by me.

This is pretty...



As is this...



And now it really is time to go and make a cuppa before retreating to bed with my 'Ecrire pour convaincre' textbook and walter (I'm not sure if normal people use this term or whether it's a Morgan thing. A 'Walter' is a hot water bottle. Just thought I should clarify. I'm not sure where it originated from...).

Anna Mary: an outsider's view...

Hello everyone. It's reading week and it's really really cold and boredom has set in, so I agreed to let my lovely flatmate Tom write a post. I feel I should write a short disclaimer, but that would betray the trust inherent in this very act. So here it is, this one off guest blog. Enjoy!

Well we have been at Warwick for just over one month now, and although i live in the same flat as Anna i have only known her for 3 weeks. I Feel i must take full responsibility for the two weeks of awkward hellos and silences in the kitchen, this is because of my built in defence mechanism when getting to know new people which is to be over confident and loud which, understandably Anna did not take to. However after two weeks I felt comfortable enough to grow up and talk to the girls in our flat and not just the boys. So for all you regular readers of this rather fine blog, I'm going to give you a brief glimpse of what life is like in our flat and an outsiders opinion on what Anna is really like.

So, life in our flat, well its normally fairly harmonious, the kitchen is always messy and disgusting, bathrooms are fairly well kept and everyone seems to get on with each other. So I guess we really are lucky to live where we do...

Now here's what i have learnt about Anna from 3 weeks of getting to know her and reading her blog.

. She likes tea.
. Shes fairly feminist.
. Shes political.
. Shes driven.
. She like harry Potter
. She doesn't like home very much
. She writes very well

In essence she is everything i am not (apart from the tea and Harry Potter) however if you don't know Anna personally its easy to get the wrong idea of what she is actually like. From her blog you may think she is a bit emo slightly lesbian and not that great to be around. I too thought this for the first two weeks of being at Warwick, but in the last three weeks I've realised she is actually very pleasant to be around and very easy to talk to, and if every so often she has a grumpy day, who can blame her?

So in true "mindbop" style i will leave you with a song...

you are my sweetest downfall...

It's a little too late to be doing this, but I was in the mood, so doing it I am. I'm yet to decide whether that sentence makes sense.

I'm home. Home in Kidderminster, that is, not campus home. We had a bit of a bonfire last night, which could have been much more shit than it actually was. There was food and company and beer. I was satisfied.

Tonight, we went to a Diwali celebration at a friend's house in Kidderminster. Sparklers never seem to lose their appeal. Helen and I spent lots of time playing with funny filters on Ajay's fancy camera while the boys played some kind of duller than dull football game. Again, there was lots of nice food and I feel thoroughly stuffed.

I love Regina Spektor. I have for a long time. I went to see her a few years back at the height of my obsession. Since then, I have discovered lots and lots of bands and my music taste has changed quite radically, but she's the one I always find myself coming back to. She's just so cool with her Soviet charm and unique voice. I. Love. Her. Anyway, because she's so prolific, it's easy to discover something of hers that you've never heard before.

I must have listened to this at least twenty times in the past few days since hearing it in my coffee-filled state at some obscene hour of Friday morning when striving to finish my abysmal essay on Annie Ernaux's ambivalence to her past (yes, I know).

This one is pretty...

And this one's just plain odd...

Happy listening, and good night! ♥

I have just realised that everything in this post has been positive. It even contains a heart(!) I can only apologise, and promise to be more like myself next time!

sei molto cocciuta...

Now, because I chose to follow my pockets rather than my heart, I am not doing a degree in creative writing. You probably know this because you probably know me, and therefore know a little bit about me. I do know, however, that there are a few people dotted around the world who read this (yes, I'm as surprised as you are) who probably don't know much about me. Please bear in mind that this is not the original premise of the blog post, so feel free to join me in a couple of paragraphs' time if you already know all this about me.

My name is Anna Mary Morgan and I am eighteen years old. I currently study French and Italian at the University of Warwick. I am from Kidderminster which is a bit of a dive. It is near Birmingham which I think is an underrated city. I am half Welsh. My favourite food is goats' cheese, but I also like spinach very much. I put it in everything. I am vaguely vegetarian but I eat fish and I eat meat if I have no choice (for instance at someone's house if they haven't realised and have prepared a gourmet meal). Saying this, I have only eaten meat once since February. My favourite meat is lamb. My favourite film is probably Juno, but I like Lost in Translation a lot. I'm sad sometimes because some sad things have happened to me, but I'm lucky in lots of ways so I try not to let it bog me down. My favourite book is probably something Brontëish, but I haven't fallen in love with a book since I was pretty young and read 'Sophie Hits Six'. I'm not sure how I have friends. I don't like to purchase clothes or books online as much as physically going shopping, but I do it all the time anyway. I really like James McAvoy. I like old detective shows. Berlin is the place I like most in the world. So far. I really dislike foetuses. I am a socialist. I am frustrated by the fact that I'm still not fluent in French. I'm not frustrated by the fact that I'm not fluent in Italian because I started learning it four weeks ago. My favourite band is Bright Eyes. I would like to be either taller or shorter. I would like to be either blonder or more brunette. I would like to be either thinner or fatter. Oh, wait, I'd just like to be thinner. When at home, I live with my mum and my sister and my dog. I miss my dog much more than the other two. Death doesn't scare me. I like floral patterns, but I'm indifferent to flowers. But I like plants. I only fall for people I have no chance with. I always forget to take an umbrella out with me. It always rains on the days I've straightened my hair. I am a Christian, but I put Christian far too far down on this list. This should give you an idea of just how Christian I am. I used to drink, and then I didn't drink for a while, and now I drink a bit again. I don't know how to talk to human beings. I have had a sore throat for a week. This list has fallen into anarchy.

So there you have it, and to get back to my original point, I'm not doing a degree in which I have to write all that much. The other day, however, we had to come up with a dialogue between two people who meet randomly. This was mine:

Emma: Scusa, lavori qui?
Connor: No, ma Stefano lavora qui. È un ragazzo alto e ha i capelli biondi.
Emma: Non importa. Piacere, io mi chiamo Emma.
Connor: Io sono Connor. Piacere! Sei inglese?
Emma: No, sono polacca, di Varsavia.
Connor: Polacca? Davvero? Sei qui per studiare?
Emma: No, sono con un’amica; è una studentessa di medicina. Dove abiti?
Connor: Abito a Firenze
Emma: Ah sì? Che bello!
Connor: No, TU sei bella!
Emma: Grazie ma ho un ragazzo.
Connor: Allora, sei contenta?
Emma: Sì sono molto contenta
Connor: Va bene, però io sono speciale!
Emma: Sì, ma...
Connor: Vuoi venire al cinema domani?
Emma: Domani, parto per Roma!
Connor: Sei molto cocciuta! A presto!
Emma: A presto! Ciao!

I had SO much fun writing it that I feel a little ashamed. She said that it was the only one she enjoyed reading. I'm not sure why I made 'Connor' a bit of a twat.

Can I say 'twat' on here? If not, sorry.

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.

eally eally fustating...

My 'R' key won't go down. I got that one by copying and pasting some female's facebook status. By consequence I have decided not to use it in this blog at all. This means changing each sentence so it isn't what is in my head. This bugs me. I think it's a stone in it. It might be something else. I apologise because a lot of sentences seem odd without the function of this key.

But I always like a challenge...

Helen just made the seat die.

Man, this is difficult.

Songs! I can embed videos and not type a thing. Excellent.

Abysmal. I can only apologise. I will now spend my evening attempting to fix my laptop. Night night!

open wide, here comes original sin.

Hello there. It's Tuesday and I thought I'd write a blog. As yet, I'm not sure what I'm going to talk about, but that doesn't usually stop me.

Right now I'm in the sort of mood where I'd like nothing more than to curl up in a ball and forget about the world, but instead I'm opting for listening to pretty music on headphones so I don't annoy everyone else. I've been working for probably the last time today. It was pleasant but tiring, and I got a really odd night's sleep last night, so I'm a little bit dazed.

At some point this week, I'm going to need to pack; a daunting and unpleasant task which I am not looking forward to in the slightest.

Sometimes I act like a twat. It's usually covering up the fact that I am in fact incredibly shy. Bear with me, I'll try to be a more rounded, nicer person. I mumble too, apparently. Again, it's the shy thing.

These are my favourite songs of all time (right now):

• First Day of My Life - Bright Eyes

• No Children - The Mountain Goats

• Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley

• Flux - Bloc Party

• Burning Benches - Morning Runner

• If You Can't Sleep - She & Him

• Expectations - Belle and Sebastian

• Eskimo - Damien Rice

• Heartbeats - Jose Gonzalez

• Unfinished Sympathy - Massive Attack

• There is a Light that never goes out - The Smiths

• Boys don't cry - The Cure

• Street Spirit - Radiohead

That will do for now. I will probably delete this post later when I am in a more rational/alive mood.

Just because I think it's beautiful. I think Mr Burton still has my dvd...

Just because I think it's cool.

we'll meet in russian literature...

I was just feeding my dog and somehow managed to flick tripe down my top. This is quite an achievement considering the top in question was not low-cut in the slightest. My reaction was a little on the melodramatic side. My carnivorous former self would be ashamed.

I might start reading War and Peace, but it seems a little bit epic, and it's summer. Epic books are best left for the winter months when the outdoors no longer exist and we (I) retreat into our cosy winter shells.

My mum's in hospital for a bit (nothing too serious) so I have to get over myself and my all-consuming fear of hospitals and visit tomorrow. I'm not sure why I hate them so much, but I will not make the same mistake I have in the past of just not going at all. This seems a bit apathetic. From now on I will be perfect, superdaughter, armed with chocolate buttons and grapes. I hear ill people like grapes... It probably wouldn't be so bad if Helen wasn't in Madeira, because she has a superhuman tolerance for vomit and drips and all things clinical. She would probably calm me down a bit. I might buy myself a new iPod as a reward. Mine has never been the same since I washed it. Its fate was less severe than the phone I flushed down the toilet and the camera I killed in my bike spokes, however.

I realise that in the last week, I have written about absolutely nothing of any merit or interest, and for this I can only apologise. Perhaps tomorrow I will bring you a heavy, slightly obnoxious piece of prose on North Korea, or the plight of women (as you know I love doing), but today I'm not in the mood. Instead, I thought I'd just mention a few things I'm enjoying that are hovering about on the interweb at the moment.

• I really like the blog 'Dorothy Surrenders', which is very funny and intelligently written. Yes, it's written by a lesbian for lesbians and about lesbians, but I rather like it. I particularly like the thought of themed blogs according to the day on which they were written, such as 'Tank Top Tuesday' and 'Gender fuck Thursday'. Excellent.
• After having mentioned 'Alex Reads Twilight' last time, I have discovered his friend and flatmate Charlie's video blog. Turns out I'm fairly out of touch with this one, as he's been rambling on and strumming his ukulele for quite some time. Regardless, I quite like him.
• jezebel.com is the sort of writing I aspire to. It has a great mix of trashy celebrity gossip and more serious subjects such as cats eating peanut butter...
• While the Sartorialist will always have a place in my heart, Hollie Templar (whose blog I visit sometimes just for its sheer beauty) linked me to this site earlier today and I fell in love. This is the cherry on top of my cake of Scandinavian obsession...
• The 'Life and Style' section of the Guardian never fails to throw up something of interest. And even if the subject matter is trashy, the writer always manages to put a homely, middle-class glaze on everything.
• Yes, I've linked to it before, but frankly, it deserves two mentions. Sarah and I saw a boy in deck shoes reading Moby Dick in our hostel in Berlin. She commented on it, and I made a reference to this wonderful, wonderful blog, but was shocked when she knew nothing about it. Sarah, you are welcome. Just while I'm on the topic (feel free to skip this part if you are short of time/have a life) I feel the need to mention a second hand bookshop we found in deepest, darkest Berlin. It was run by two English guys, one of whom looked like Jarvis Cocker and was tuning bongos. We went in and found ourselves in heaven. There were gorgeous old Penguin books for €2, a massive poetry section, and all sorts of bizarre German comic books. They made us a cup of tea, and we must have spent at least an hour there. It was just brilliant...
• Finally, LaBlogotheque, Black Cab Sessions and watchlistentell are all great ways to discover interesting new bands...
  

winter's waiting...

Today has been dismal, but in a brilliant way. I listened to Regina Spektor which got me in the mood to watch 500 Days of Summer which got me in the mood to listen to The Smiths which got me in the mood to wallow a bit which got me in the mood to eat Weetos from the box. After that of course, I needed some refreshment, so drank seven hundred cups of tea and quietly seethed for the hour the Cretin was in my house.

So while today has been sort of fun, tomorrow it is time to get out of the house. I may go to church for the first time since Easter because in a couple of weeks I will be in a field with thousands of God types and I don't want to let the side down. I may dig out my walking boots for the first time since Duke of Edinburgh and walk the dog all day long, just for the hell of it. I may go shopping for the first time in hours because it's nearly Autumn, and this can only mean one thing. Knitwear. Normally, I dread the longer nights and slippery pavements, but not this year. This year, I'm ready for it. After all, Winter has many perks: duffel coats and hot water bottles, cableknit and boots, bonfires and an excuse to be miserable, to name but a few.

If you haven't already come across 'Alex Reads Twilight' (which I'm sure you have), I urge you to watch. Unless you are a fan of the books. I personally feel unable to mock them without having read a word, so I take great pleasure in watching someone else do it. He's Quite funny...



So yes, two blogs in two days. This is because I wrote nothing but postcards for three weeks so I have been itching to get something down. Just don't get used to it...

(Just to get you in a wallowy Winter mood).