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.

2010: a year to be thankful for.

If you happen to read any sort of trashy, girly magazines (which I of course do) you will know that this time of year is the time for reflection. The glossy pages are adorned with countdowns and summaries: summaries of the highlights and low lights of the last year, of the most costly celebrity divorces, of the most successful makeovers, etc.

Following this trend, I've decided to present to you the highlights of my year. I know that this is quite a self-centred thing to do, and that you may not want to read about my year. I thought about this though and realised that the act of blogging itself is pretty self-centred. So if you want to read on, please do. If you would rather pop to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and watch old episodes of 'Peep Show' on 4oD, that's fine too. In fact, I encourage it. 'Peep Show' is full of well-constructed, subtle humour with a dark yet bohemian twist. My meandering thoughts are all I can offer you, so I won't judge you if you stray a little.

So we'll start at the very beginning, shall we? As 2009 became 2010, I was passed out with my head in the toilet after drinking some horrid yellow concoction brewed up by Olly Dix. This wasn't the best way to kick off the year, but it did prompt me to give up drinking for about seven months which can only have been a good thing.

After that, things started looking up. A-levels passed in a flash, I stopped dying my hair, summer happened.

The highest of all highlights has to have been my trip with Sarah across our gorgeous continent. I definitely caught the travelling bug and intend to do it again when I have money and time. I say this like it's a certainty. Seriously though, it was the most fun I've had in such a long time. I got to spend time with one of my dearest friends in some of the coolest places in the world. We made friends we had no intention of keeping and drank some fine Czech beer. It was simply wonderful.

Although the election in May was an utter disaster, the run-up was exciting and could easily have led to me failing all my exams. I didn't, so I look back on it fondly. If I was doing a 'Shit bits of 2010' blog, however, I'm pretty sure the election result and our sham of a government would be hovering somewhere near the top.

In February, I gave up meat for lent, and just sort of carried on. I wouldn't label myself a vegetarian because I use stock-cubes and eat fish and suchlike things. Hypothetically, if I was eating at somebody's house and they didn't realise and accidentally cooked a big fat steak, I'd eat it. This has only happened once, but I'm hoping for a repeat... But yes, no meat means I'm eating a lot more healthily. Everything I cook seems to be full of chickpeas and coriander and spinach. Yum, yum, yum.

This summer was immense. Aside from the hosteling, Edinburgh and Greenbelt were both lovely. A trip to Bristol and a couple of pretty camping trips, paired with really nice weather made the season a complete delight from start to finish.

Coming to university has been completely wonderful. I was so scared that I was doing the wrong thing, but I've settled in so quickly and made such good friends that it's hard to have misgivings. Warwick is home now. I can't believe I have to leave for Italy so soon. Life is proper scary sometimes.

On reflection, really not that much has happened, but it's been a really good year of music and friendship and recovery and education and adventure and Italian. What more could a girl ask for?

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...

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.

dirty pretty things...

Things I like about university:

• There are very few (if any) children here.
  
• Everyone is clever. Like. Everyone. This means you actually have to think about what you say in everyday conversation. Things said in Kidderminster might not make all that much sense here.
  
• The Guardian is half the regular price
• Contrary to popular belief, you can get away with not drinking all that much. When drunk, I am a pleb, so I haven't done it for a few months. It's a simpler life...
  
• There is a library of foreign cinema. This one pretty much explains itself.
• Ditto magazines.
• It's not far from home, so I can go back if I so choose (I don't, but I'm being hypothetical.)
• It's full of raving lefties. Last week, I stood for ten minutes while a man from the Socialist Worker Party told me that Communism was the way forward. He was so passionate, I didn't have the heart to disagree.
  
• When living on campus, everything is a five minute walk. Of course, it gets a little bit samey, but in theory, this is good. Also, there are ducks everywhere.
  
• My 'lecteur' who is named Thomas and is strangely appealing. Hard to say why...
  

In short, I could probably stay forever. I banned myself from updating during my first week, but as I have no television, I daresay you will be seeing much more from me. You lucky buggers...

a stash of blue ties...

I just spent half an hour sorting odd socks. Laugh all you want, but I found twenty pairs, so the joke's on you. Or maybe not on you, but on those lousy socks who just don't seem to want to stay together.

I have tomorrow in which to pack. I'm also getting my hair cut and going out in the evening, so the day will be pretty full, and I will be pretty stressed. Of course, I could have done it today but I went to the dentist and I bought a coat and I spent the evening in Stourbridge. With all the faffing that fell in-between, the day pretty much vanished. I did get as far as putting all my clothes haphazardly on my bed, but I couldn't get a case to put them in or anything because I'm always scared that if I go in the attic without somebody holding the ladder, it will slip and I will plunge down thirteen stairs to my death. It also means that my bed is occupied so I have nowhere to sleep. Troubling...

I went to the pub yesterday evening, but after I returned, I decided it would be fun to brush up on the ConDem cabinet (though I resent calling it this. 'Cabinet' implies a spirit of unity.) Aren't they a dismal lot? I pretty much googled each and every one and hated them all apart from William Hague and Vince Cable. Hague may be a big fat Tory, but he's intimidatingly bright, and that has to stand for something. Cable has a funny face, and I saw him at Cheltenham Literature Festival (he smiled at me as he was buying a hemp book bag). I do like him for other reasons besides his face, however. But not really. It's a good face.

George Osborne must be the worst. Just the very sight of him makes my skin crawl. He and Cameron both have this horrible smirk whenever they give an answer/lecture they are pleased with, and whenever they here the affirmative chorus of the back-benchers, most of whom seem to have barely changed since their days at public school. This is just speculation, of course. They might have come a long way since they were forced into that patriarchal, unnatural environment. But I doubt it...

Off to bed now.Where, I'm not quite sure, but I'm too tired to even drink my tea, let alone successfully ridicule our 'Government'. I might blog mid-pack tomorrow. Or would that be verging on sad/a waste of time? Sad/a waste of time could probably describe this whole blog Or life indeed. Wait, is that morbid?

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.

the ghost of corporate future...

I write all the time. It's a disease. When I was in Europe, I had to buy myself a little notebook because I missed jotting things down and turning my silly thoughts into silly words. I have so many exercise books in my room (mostly robbed from the Languages staff room) filled with endless description and unsuccessful metaphor. This is why I will never be able to do anything else with my life.

I was looking at graduate jobs earlier. Just for a laugh. A lot of them, although not requiring a particular degree stated that 'money driven' candidates were required. Funny then that I would rather eat a leper than consider myself to fall into this category. I am always poor. I gave up my part time job when I started being given a pension around a year ago. Had I continued to sell my soul to a supermarket, I could have been quite well off. Had I not spent so much time being self sufficient this summer, I could have saved up quite a sum. Had I any sort of entrepreneurial skills, I'm sure I would never have to scrape every ten pence piece in my purse together just to buy an ice cream from the village shop.

The thing is, it's all bullshit, isn't it? To become 'money driven' is to sell your soul to consumerism. I think we all do this to a point, but surely it's best to earn just enough to scrape by in life, going on as many holidays as possible and working as little as we can get away with? If we spend all our time at the office, we spend all our time away from our friends and loved ones. If my short life has taught me anything, it's to spend as much time as possible with the people who matter most, and I don't care how lame that sounds.

Perhaps my bohemian attitudes reflect my age and there are more experienced people reading this right now marvelling at my naivety, but that's okay, because this is my idealist manifesto, and things never turn out quite like the business model. I guess my point is that we are all so rich in comparison with the rest of the world, and that should be enough. Those who strive for millions have very little sense of self. Money can't buy me love, etc.

Goodnight.

P.S. the picture is a letter from Virginia Woolf. Just because she was a writer. And I like her handwriting...

a not-so helpless world...

So it's been a while since I've actually dared to write about anything serious. But (thinking you might be a bit fed up with accounts of my mundane life), I thought it was probably time.

The world is a bit shit. When opening a newspaper, it is easy to be overwhelmed by all the terrible things happening. Civilians are slaughtered in wars they can neither understand nor support, young men are sent to the gallows for falling in love with one another, HIV tears communities apart. The world reeks of unjust death and there are so many causes we feel we should support. Palestine, Nigeria, Burma. It will never be possible to protest against every tyrant, every mass killing, every dose of oppression. So how do we choose the ones we take interest in and those we let slip by? Obviously the press has almost unlimited power when it comes to bringing selective suffering to our attention; while the death of every British man killed in Afghanistan is reported (and not unjustly), if every civilian death from the same war was mourned in such a way, there would never be time for any other news items. To the media, local lives lost are worth far more than their faceless counterparts.

And even when we take an interest in this seemingly unstoppable suffering, if we wish to continue our middle class, comfortable existence, we are really powerless to stop it. Is it worse to know these horrible things are going on and do nothing about it, or be ignorant to it? Ignorance is bliss, but surely an indifference to the plight of mankind is one step away from condoning it? I just hate this helpless feeling.

Just so I don't explode with the injustice of it all, I tend to take interest in just a couple of these causes at once. Recently, I've been reading a lot about the situation in Iran. I won't turn this into another of my feminist rants, although it would be so easy. Let's just say that women are caught up in a system steeped in oppression and regressive laws. It's easy to say that this nation is too far gone to be helped; to help itself. When I watched this film however; the film the Iranian authorities tried to conceal from its people, I couldn't help but feel that Iran is far from doomed.

There is a somewhat stifled revolution taking place; a challenge to a corrupt government, a yearning for peace. Unfortunately, this uprising has been greeted with shocking violence. The striking image of the beautiful Neda Agha-Soltan's blood streaked face as she died at the hands of the Iranian regime was the reason I, and millions of others began to understand the severity of the problem. The film is brilliant, and I urge you to watch it (not least for the amazing voice of Shohreh Aghdashloo who narrates and who also starred in a recent episode of The Simpsons).

For me, the important thing is that in the face of violent militarism, the people of Iran are beginning to revolt. It's not like these things can be resolved in a couple of years, but I firmly believe that Iran will come out of the darkness in time. If only the years in between could be more peaceful than those preceding them.

and thatcher thought she had problems...

Harriet Harman has said that she would like the new Labour shadow cabinet to be compiled of a 50-50 split of men and women. I'm really not sure how I feel about this. While I am all for female empowerment and I believe that our lack of female MPs is a problem that needs addressing, I am fairly sure that strict quotas and restrictions are not the way to address it. If people think a woman is in power simply because she is a woman, it seems to discredit all the hard work she did to get there, doesn't it? Equally, if a man is better suited, more experienced, should a woman really be chosen over him? Nevertheless, our current Government seem to be little more than a clique of obnoxious Etonians born with a silver spoon in their mouth, who are supposed to understand and improve the plight of the working man. Something's gone wrong, hasn't it?

When faced with difficult times, our nation's knee-jerk reaction can be summed up in one word; regression. So maybe something drastic does need to be done, not only to bring more women into the picture, but also to radicalise our country, held back by war and the parasitic recession. Britain, while once progressive seems to be lagging behind; trapped by ceremony and overly aggressive politicians whose priorities are unclear and whose actions are far too motivated by a fear of upsetting the media. While other European countries are storming ahead, electing a much higher proportion of female MPs, it seems that in order to succeed in British Politics, a woman must become formidable and rigid; ridding herself of that vulnerable femininity in order to compete with her male counterparts. Many Asian countries have seen a spate of female leaders but liberal, forward-thinking Britain is drowning in patriarchy and really something should be done...

I want to make you cups of tea all night long in so many ways...

So the nation is doomed. The Conservacrats reign supreme and everything is shit. I do think though that this can be seen as a good thing. I'm not quite sure how yet. I'll keep you posted.

Tonight I went to see my lovely cousin Mikey in Lord of The Flies at Old Swinford school where he goes and my uncle teaches. I feel like a bit of a failure because all my knowledge of the play before tonight was based on an episode of Simpsons. I was thoroughly impressed though and definitely did NOT cry when people kept dying. Not at all...





Ooft. I think I'm in love...

still hanging...

I'm in a splendid mood today. This is partly because I never quite got round to getting dressed and partly because I wrote an essay. This is a very rare occurrence and should be marked with champagne and fanfare! Unfortunately, I only have fishcakes and disheartened laments, but I'll take what I can get.



You've probably come across this before, but it never fails to make me smile. Yes, it's lame, and once you've watched it, you pretty much forget it all; all seven minutes of it, but I pretty much love it all the same. I'm not sure I'd watched in the past year, however, so the bit about 'getting to know your parents' made me a bit sad. Nevertheless, if in need of a bit of a lift, this is the place to get it.

And look! I've learnt to embed! I feel this is the thing I need to take my blog into new territory.



Oh look! I did it again!

Finally, Heidi Montag has a new face to celebrate her separation from the Pratt.

She went from this...


To this...


This absurdity is compounded by the fact that she is twenty four. She also got her boobs done. Big time. What is wrong with society? Grumble, grumble, grumble...

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...

Ingrid's not very happy today...

I love Ingrid Michaelson. She is nerdy and funny with a lovely voice and clever lyrics. Charlotte and I used to blast out a bit of Ingrid on the drive to school, but lately she has fallen by the wayside. I've just started listening to her again. She is refreshingly un-naff which is really my main requirement in a singer and she wears glasses. what's not to like?

So Gary Barlow is a Tory, eh? This revelation shocked and pretty much appalled me. He's in Take That! They used to dance around in cropped, spangly tops, for Pete's sake! However, you have to hand it to the guy for taking such a big risk. Will it affect sales of records? Probably not, but it can't do the Conservatives any harm...

I spent the day leafleting in Stourbridge. The sun turned a menial job into something fairly enjoyable, and with the amount of steps I have been up and down today, I will have a petite Kylie-esque bottom by the end of the week. I've also been told that you can't be nasty about someone who buys you ice cream. There's a loophole here somewhere, surely?

nutella goes large...

I am excited about the impending election. This will come as no surprise, I'm sure, but it's true. There are posters everywhere, politicians all over the t.v and puns all over the internet. Mark Garnier, the local Tory candidate, knocked on our door yesterday. He was lovely... Bastard. I am not naive. I know the chances of us actually winning are not that great, but they exist. In the meantime, the pace picks up and the stakes are continuing to rise.

I wonder what it is that determines everyone's place on the political scale. I think parentage has a lot to do with it, whether complying with your parents' views, or dashing their hopes in a deliberate rebellion. My mother is pretty left wing. She would probably disown me if I voted Conservative, but I like to think I would be around the same point on the spectrum with or without her influence. I'm in the classic ' idealistic, lefty student' phase. I very much hope this will never end. After all, I intend to be a student forever and ever. I will do my degree, then go travelling, then do an MA, then go travelling, then do a PhD in something useless with imaginary funds. I will then marry a penniless writer and live in an oh-so-bohemian squat in Paris during which, I will surely continue in my lefty ways. See, I've got it all mapped out...

I have decided to go to Nottingham, with Warwick as my second choice because it's a slightly lower offer. This is a slightly odd decision. This means Spanish not Italian as my second language, which will obviously be more useful (as hoards of people have told me). Not that any of this matters. I WILL be going through clearing unless I get my arse in gear. Oh the joys of uncertainty...

They make REALLY big jars of Nutella. Mind. Blown.

Also, the Juno soundtrack is probably my favourite album. Buy it. It rocks my socks...

all you can eat politics...

It's been a hectic week full of coursework deadlines and French essays. But would I have it any other way? Err... yes, yes I would. Despite this, I've had a great week, and with Easter just around the corner, next week should be ace too!

Nottingham on Wednesday was lovely. The language department is based in a lovely, old building, the campus is very pretty and we got free lunch! Now, not one to be swayed by free food(!), I am still on the fence. The university is compiled mostly of public schoolers, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, I just don't want to graduate all posh... So now I have to decide. Warwick or Nottingham? I love them both, so really it comes down to whether I want to learn Italian or Spanish, or more importantly, whether I want to spend a year in Spain or in Italy. Decisions, decisions...

Last night, I went to a 'Question Time' type event at school. During English that afternoon, I had been roped into helping out, asking a question, etc, by my fairly flustered teacher who was organising it all... It was actually very good. The 'panel' was comprised of all the candidates for the seat in the local area and a lady from Worcester University. The Tory guy was impressive. You could almost hear the audience drinking in his outrageous lies. The Labour guy was just lovely. He told the truth, too, though this was not always what the audience wanted to hear.

I want to go on holiday!!! That is all...