cause a scene.

I overslept and missed my Italian verb quiz today because I stayed up too late... learning verbs. What a noob. Therefore, to cheer myself up I decided to write a blog post.

This week promises to be full of stress and general melodramatic woe as deadline(s) loom and exam(s) approach. This time next week however, I will be full of glee and general merriment because I will have got my horrid exam out of the way and written my horrid essay (probably) and it will very nearly almost be reading week! It couldn't come at a more opportune moment. I really truly need the break, and will spend the week thinking about starting reading and watching Sex and the City. At least I'm a realist...

I have been listening to Salteens a lot lately. My normal approach here would be to embed a video, but Youtube doesn't seem to have heard of them , so I'll give you the Spotify link. And if you don't have spotify, there's really not much more I can do to help you. Your life will probably be okay without them, I just think they're quite good.

I can't be certain, but I think my wonderful friend Jess is coming to stay tonight. Since she moved to Bristol in August, I've seen her a grand total of three times. I miss the days when we spent all of our time in the little languages staffroom at school. She would sit and work and I would fall asleep under the table, only waking up when I smelled one of her delicious meals being reheated in the microwave. She was always so enviably good at life.

Gosh this is old.

These protests in Egypt make our little student backlash look somewhat measley and half-hearted. I will not go on to write a massive piece of argumentative prose, because there are many people who understand the situation much better than I do (and many people who are more adept at writing argumentative prose). Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean is that I'm glad it has received the coverage it deserved, I am saddened by the loss of human life, I am impressed at the resilience of these freedom fighters. Scary though, isn't it?

I leave you with this extract from a beautiful piece of journalism in Saturday's Guardian

"In the narrow side streets protesters regrouped, wellwishers on their balconies threw down water for those with streaming eyes from the tear gas. “Wake up Egypt, your silence is killing us,” came the yells from below."

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...

the art of looking sideways...

Life is better when you keep yourself busy. The mind craves exercise almost as much as the body. Sitting before a screen all day is hardly the most productive way to spend your time.

But God I've missed it... When I'm busy, my little blog suffers, but you will be pleased to know that as the leaves begin to turn and the nights extend, I will be back here, before this screen, religiously refreshing Facebook and checking emails and consigning my every insignificant thought to this blog once more. In other words, I'm back. Of course, you may not have missed me at all. It is very likely that you hadn't even noticed my absence. Equally likely is that (as absence makes the heart grow fonder), you love me more than ever and have been perched on the edge of your seat, just waiting for the day when I take up writing waffle once more.

I will tell you what I have been up to, but I promise to keep it brief because I'm sure you're not all that interested. First, there was results day. After all the moaning and melodrama, I got AAC, got into Warwick and I leave in October. Needless to say, I was pretty chuffed, but I can't help but feel that I owe you all a bit of an apology. Never again will I be whingey and pessimistic. Much.

Next, Charlotte and I trekked off to Edinburgh for a bit of Fringe fun. It was actually amazing: we saw two plays, one musical, lots of comedy, lots of oddballs and drank quite a lot of beer. Excellent.

I just got back from Greenbelt which was even better than usual because I was volunteering in the Performance Café, where I spent most of the weekend watching bands do lovely acoustic sets and drinking free tea. What's not to like? For those not familiar, Greenbelt is a very cool, liberal Christian arts festival, and pretty much the highlight of my year. A large part of its appeal is the opportunity to catch up with very dear friends, many of whom live further away now than I would like. Greenbelt makes me Christian again every single year. I probably shouldn't need the nudge but it's very welcome.

I am off to Bristol tomorrow to see the lovely Miss Carvlin, so when I said I was back, I didn't mean back back. After that, however, I will be back back. Lucky you.

ten things to eat when you have no food.

I can't sleep because I'm really nervous about the car crash of results day, so I thought 'Hey, I'll write a blog!'. I would like it taken into account that it is very early in the morning, so please don't judge me too harshly.

As you know, my mother is in hospital, and I live in Wolverley which has one shop which opens somewhat erratically, so tonight, I found my fridge stocked only with rancid chilli con Quorne from a few nights ago. Nevertheless, I am a girl who likes a challenge, and I knew I could find something to stave off the hunger somewhere.

Here is a list of surprising things to keep you going when your mum is in hospital and you live in a place where Costcutter closes at eight and you are in your pyjamas so can't go further afield (besides, you don't own a car or have a license or anything useful like that. Also, you have no money, so even if you did have a car and a license and you weren't in your pyjamas, you could not afford to buy anything anyway. It's time to close these brackets.)

• nutella straight from the jar
• milk
• raisins
• nesquik powder
  
• flora (on crumpets if you are lucky enough to have them)
• slightly crinkly cherry tomatoes
• dried apricots to stop you getting scurvy
  
• an apple from the tree in the garden (though you are not sure if perhaps it is some kind of secret poison apple tree and nobody has thought to mention it to you. You are hoping for the best.)
• some gone off Quorn fajita strips which taste a bit funky
• a tin of tuna.

I ate all of these things while watching 'An Education' which is possibly now my favourite film. I LOVE Dominic Cooper and Rosamund Pike, but in quite different ways. Also, I now want to go to Oxford. This is unfortunate as I'm not even going to get into the universities I have applied for. I will accept this as my lot in life and become a squatter, caricaturist or busker (ukulele) as was intended when God made me out of a crappy bit of left over person.


Still haven't started War and Peace. I'll keep you posted...

the glory of summer...

Well hello there. I have returned from my excellent trip (see facebook if you're interested, but i won't bore you here). I am once more in the little village of Wolverley which I can't help but feel is bad for the soul. My mother has a better social life than I do, and I can't currently see any means of escape after what is bound to be a disappointing set of results on Thursday. The more I think about it, the more I want to cry, but crying is hardly productive so I won't waste the time.

While away, I read two really good books: 'I Capture the Castle' by Dodie Smith, and 'Everything is Illuminated' by Jonathan Safran Foer. The first is a light, funny book about two girls who want nothing more than to be classic Austen-esque heroines, while the second is much sadder and more poignant. It pretty much blew me away, especially when I realised how young the author was when he wrote it. This makes me feel particularly inadequate, mostly due to the fact that as I have mentioned, I am spending my time in Wolverley doing washing and making various kinds of bean soup. The novelty of being home wore off in about ten minutes. I want to be back in Munich.

The sky is about to burst, which should pass some time. I might watch 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' again. I think it's that sort of day.

Right, enough moping, I still have Edinburgh and Greenbelt (aka God camp) festivals to look forward to which should both be ace. Best of all, I haven't had to pay for either of them. Lucky swine.

exams and tennis and hot men reading books...

It is as I feared. I chopped off half my hair and after completely failing the French exam today I feel Samson's pain. My unruly mop of hair was the source of all my linguistic powers. Without it I am weak. But it does look a lot better. Maybe a good haircut makes a life of academic mediocrity seem less tragic...

This is my new favourite blog, though I can't take the credit for its discovery (thank you Anna Muggeridge). It is simple yet effective and I can't help but wish that I had come up with the idea. Needless to say I will be checking in regularly and might even bring you my personal highlights. If you're lucky... I'm not sure there is anything better than men with beards reading books in an intellectual, sometimes pretentious manner. Correct me if I'm wrong. (Was posting three pictures a little too much?)

This is my new favourite song which you might recognise from the brilliant film Little Miss Sunshine. Unfortunately, I heard it on an X-Box advert today which made me like it a little bit less, but it's still pretty good.

Tonight is prom night and despite my lack of hair and lack of alcohol consumption, I think there's a chance that it could be awesome. It's nice that it's so much more relaxed than the much more formal affair two years ago - not a floor-length dress or orange face in sight. It's very refreshing.

Having finished all my exams now and finally ridding myself of the 'I should be revising' feeling, Wimbledon has become my preferred way to spend the day. I love everything about it from the sun burnt crowds to Federer's cardigans. I dropped into conversation with my mum the fact that I thought Jelena Jankovic was really cool and her reaction was "She's ugly!" in such an appalled tone one might think I had just declared myself a Tory. "Yes Mum, but that's not what I said, is it? I said she was cool." "Well that's all very well but men don't like 'cool' do they?" I feel this needs no further comment.

you're beginning to sound a bit like a tit...

There are several things capable of getting a lazy arse like me through study leave: cup after cup of tea, pub outings with friends, and (most importantly) 4od. The day the lovely people at Channel 4 decided to put all their best shows in organised, easily accessed archives was a very happy day indeed.

If you have never watched Green Wing, I urge you to do so now! I can't express in words just how brilliant it is and there is no way anybody could try to attempt to capture its essence in intelligent prose...
Suffice to say. There is love...

Humour...

And cringing galore. It's just brilliant, I hope you watch it, and if you are not immediately seduced by Dr McCartney, you are probably dead inside.

I love the IT Crowd too and I'm really excited about the new series. When I went on holiday there was a guy who looked just like Moss who served us wine every night. Phwoarr. Oh Channel 4, home of Peepshow and Teachers and Glee, (oh my!) what would I do without you?

I'm sorry I haven't written anything in a while, it's been a horrible week. On the plus side, I now only have one exam to go and I have now given up on the delusion of getting into university after the horrific English exam on Tuesday in which I crumbled and forgot how to write. Brilliant. History was surprisingly good though so I guess you never know.

what would plath do?

If you time it just right, there's a place near my house where you can go as the sun sets and just sort of think. There's a stream and a meadow and a little archway made of trees which in the evening is filled with golden light. I think we all live for our happy places a little bit, don't we? The only problem is, I'm not one of those people gifted with a vivid imagination so I can't just imagine that I'm there. Stress seems to take precedent and I can't relax no matter how hard I try, so I have to force myself to take the dog on a walk and just take twenty minutes out to be outdoors in a truly pretty place. It's not like I really mind the stress though. The reason I'm okay at exams (touch wood) is that I can pull it out of the metaphorical bag when it really matters. I'm very much a last minute lady and I am by no means doing a sufficient amount of revision. This is not helped by the fact that I am spending my days making cup upon cup of sweet tea for the Macedonian builders occupying our house (for eternity it seems). I wonder what Sylvia Plath or Rachel Maddow would have to say about this submissive, domestic role I seem to have adopted. I'm sure it would not be good...

My mother just had to ask me my date of birth. And people say the contempt is all in my head...

I would say I'm spending about seventy percent of my (measly) income on music at the moment. I would also say that it is very much money well spent. It does mean, however that my previous wardrobe fixation has become somewhat neglected so I am now a tramp with a very well-stocked iTunes library. What more could you want?

These are some of my recent discoveries:

Noah and the Whale are old news now, but I heard this as I was browsing the rails in Topshop and just thought it was lovely!

I'm yet to see this film, but this song achieves a subtle balance between over the top cute and a little bit depressing. Perfect. I love the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and this sort of works. Sort of.

Long, but by no means dull. Just listen...

I haven't got round to listening to any of her other stuff, but this is just lovely. And makes me wish I had red hair...

And finally, Zooey Deschanel (strong contender for #1 girl crush)'s little duo She & Him have produced a pretty much perfect album. This is my favourite track.

Phallic what now!?

"Feminist theorists have devoted some attention to the gun which Isabella desires, and the whip requested by Catherine at the beginning of the novel, reading both of these as phallic symbols. It is important to note that as phallic symbols they signify desire not for the penis as such, but for the power the penis represents." Good to know, York Notes. Good to know. You know that you have done too much revision in a day when stuff like this starts making sense. After all, what is English Literature without a bit of phallic symbolism? Innocent? Dull? Actually, it is exactly the same. Because you know what? We make it up! NO Septimus Smith's nervous habit of fiddling with his pen knife does not show us that he has erectile dysfunction. NO the dog's tongue in Wuthering Heights is not a bloody penis! AND the word 'prick' does not necessarily have rude connotations. It can just mean prick... Of course, if you are an A-level Lit student, you will know exactly what I'm talking about. The final straw for me was "Oh Remus Lupin? Well he's obviously a phallic symbol isn't he?!" (Mrs Lynn Byford) WOAH, woah. Hold it right there! I didn't let her finish. How could I? Lupin is the best fictional character of all time with his Atticus Finch-esque calm demeanour, wolfish tendencies and friendship with both Sirius Black AND James Potter (earning him instant cool points). I will not have him ruined as all other books have been ruined with all this trouser snake talk.

Right. Penis rant over, I have had a lovely week. The sun has been shining, I have dressed up as Hermione Granger (I am aware that with two Harry Potter references I am beginning to sound like a bit of a loon. This is a sacrifice I am willing to make) and I saw James Cracknell. THE James Cracknell I fell a bit in love with as he trekked through ice and put up with Ben Fogle's constant whinging. I was sat in a beer garden in Devon, and there he was! I was forced to cut my ogling short however, as one of his kids decided to vomit everywhere. Turns out this love is conditional...

I wish I looked a little bit more like Idina Menzel. Look at her! Just look! She's so awesomely talented and cool and... witchy. And so I am back on the Glee bandwagon after a bit of a rain check. I just watched last week's episode, and it was completely amazing. It combined my three main loves: Les Mis, cheekbones and dodgy sixties laments (in the form of The Mamas and the Papas). If you haven't seen it, it's well worth it. It even forged a place in my heart for Billy Joel. Not bad, eh?


On a side note... Ruthie might just rival Idina in the cool stakes. If only they didn't all have stupid names...

Haybridge, we hardly knew ye...

Today was a fairly fitting penultimate day. I woke up far too late, then found that we had no hot water (our bathroom is being refitted) so I had to have the kind of shower that's so cold, your head throbs in pain, so that was fun (it did wake me up, though). I then carved my feet up walking through town in my brand new gladiator sandals (I had to put some plasters on in T.K. Maxx.) Next, I went and drank tea at Christina's house and ended up crying in the car on the way to school when a particularly emotional song came on the radio. Then we dossed around a bit and ate biscuits before going to History and not discussing a single war. Excellent.

In the car on the way back, we accidentally listened to the Glee version of 'My Life Would Suck Without You'. You would think this song incapable of causing a grown girl to well up, but it well and truly succeeded. Man, I'm a mess...

The thing is, I'm not sure I'll ever feel quite as at home as I have done at this sixth form. It's a pretty special place, yes, but it's nothing compared to my INCREDIBLE friends. I don't have one best friend, I have about ten and I will miss them all so much. I think this is the reason I am so apprehensive about university; I know for a fact that I will never find friends who understand me and who I enjoy being around quite as much as our little group of rejects. It's love...

So thank you Haybridge High school. You made me, the laziest person on the planet work! You got me good grades, and, most importantly, I've had a bloody great time!

and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of a toast and tea.

A lot of people say that studying poetry at GCSE takes all the joy out of it, and I suppose I agree. But for me, the problem lies in studying a poem I really can't stand and over analysing it until it becomes even more unlikeable. I think that's what people are getting at and I completely understand. Last year for example, we were forced to reckon with the melancholy of Thomas Hardy's seemingly endless verse. His work was all basically an embodiment of his grief. He mourned the death of his wife, the simplicity of mankind, the (rubbish) century. This guy never stopped complaining and I was put off poetry for life. At least this is what I told myself. Then we moved on to Auden. And I fell in love.

The thing with Auden is that you can not just love his poems, but also be fascinated with his life. He married a lesbian to prevent her from being deported, was a massive lefty and had a somewhat exciting love life. He once wrote "If equal affection cannot be / Let the more loving one be me". So yes, I am a bit in love. Too bad he is both gay and dead. I sure know how to pick 'em...

This poem got me full marks in my English exam last year (shameless, I know). It's kind of sad. On second thoughts, don't read it.

I'm not very good with poetry. With the exception of 'The Love Song Of J. Alfred. Prufrock', they have to rhyme to keep me entertained. They have to mean at least something without months of study, and they have to have a story behind them.

If I could tell you

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

W. H. Auden (1907 - 73)

When watching 'My life in Verse' with Robert Webb, I also discovered T.S. Eliot. I have written about him before and will no doubt mention him again, so I won't bore you right now.

Poetry doesn't have to be fancy. It doesn't have to have critical acclaim. It doesn't even have to be all that good to mean something to someone. I love this poem a little bit, especially when he reads it.

and so the tears begin to fall...

I am filled with the sort of divine happiness only achievable when the sun shines this brightly. In two days, my skin has gone from hopelessly pasty and a little bit corpse-like to having a nice sunkissed glow (or something like that). I'm such a summer person, I really am. The only things that get me through the winter are scarves and duffel coats, but otherwise I really do dislike it quite a lot. This is mostly because I am perpetually cold and I hate living in the almost constant darkness winter invariably brings. Today, however it is difficult to imagine even the existence of winter. Today it burns your feet to walk on the same patio we had to shovel snow from in the winter. Mind boggling...

This week is bound to be eventful and emotional as we leave Haybridge forever. It's strange. I've been there a third of my life, which makes me feel both terrified and really rather young. I'm not quite sure how to feel about it all. Even though I'm certain I could not stand being there for another year, this week has arrived pretty quickly and I will be so sad to leave. While at that school, I have gone from an awkward, nerdy twelve year old with no confidence to a slightly less awkward, possibly even nerdier adult. I'm still working on the confidence thing...

On Saturday, I have to battle with my unavoidable hangover to get on a train in Birmingham by nine in the morning. I am now cursing myself for booking such an early train, but I'm sure the destination will make it worthwhile. I'm off to the lovely Croyde in north Devon. We go every year with half of Stourbridge and even if the weather is shoddy, a good time is always had. Unfortunately, I must put up with the presence of my overbearing, manipulative, inconsistent mother and her cretinous boyfriend who I suspect does not possess enough brain cells to even pronounce the word manipulative. I am determined to enjoy myself nevertheless because I love long, solitary train journeys and though I have been to several places much more exotic, there is something about Croyde that makes it a strong contender for my favourite place in the world. So even though I am sure this beautiful weather will exhaust itself long before this weekend, I am excited. And I vow that I will make it into the sea (but wetsuits are such a faff aren't they? I have been known to go in wearing just a bikini at this time of year, but I fear that I may have lost some of the stupidity of my youth, so we'll have to see.)

I will put up photos of all the lovely goings on this week for those of you bored enough to care about the things that happen in my life. To do this, however, I may have to buy a camera. It'll have to be identical to the old one too, as my mother bought it for me and I don't quite have the heart to tell her that I lost it months ago. Goodbye money, it was nice while it lasted.

Bus talk...

The day Charlotte Ireland passed her driving test may have been the greatest day of my life. Instead of having to get up far too early and being crammed onto a train full of loud, obnoxious eleven year olds in uniform, I now get up ever so slightly later and Charlotte picks me up. Unfortunately for her, I don't really do mornings. She invariably arrives bang on time and is left gritting her teeth while I search for shoes or scarves or long lost textbooks. We then cruise to school, blasting out the tunes (highlights include Bruce Springsteen, Lenny Kravitz and even a bit of Jay-Z...). Overall, it is brilliant.

However, sometimes Charlotte will be ill or we don't have to be in at the same time and I am forced to once make my own way to and from the little haven of Hagley village. This involves not only catching the train, but also dragging myself on to a bus. Full of old people. Who smell. It isn't all bad. They talk a lot and sometimes it's fun to eavesdrop. In fact, I tend to use these brief snippets of conversation to judge the vague ebb and flow of public opinion. I realise that my sample of the general public is a little bit selective, but it's sufficient in order to get a general idea.

So with the excitement of the election and the upheaval of the Government, the 'bus talk' has been decidedly political. Interestingly, while a few months ago, the old folk of Kidderminster were intensely critical of the Labour Government, they definitely DO NOT want a coalition either. None of them seem to like Cameron much, and now Gordon has been booted out, they seem rather fond of him. People of Kidderminster, make up your mind! Or join the Labour Party. Or just take a shower...

"Ah elle aime bien ça les stratagèmes! En fait, elle est un peu lâche. Je crois que c'est pour ça que j'ai du mal à saisir son regard"

Yesterday, after the exam from hell, I retreated to my home from home (the little room in Languages. It has a kettle and a microwave and some French magazines. As a result I probably spend more time in there than I do sleeping. It's a sorry state of affairs...). I was so annoyed with myself for being rubbish that I did the unthinkable. That's right, my friends, I rang my mother. She answered the phone and I croaked pathetically at her because this damn cold isn't going anywhere. I told her about my woes and she said the one thing I didn't want to hear; "Well I think you should be doing English anyway...". Since that moment, I can't stop thinking about my choices. On top of it all, I'm not even sure I want to go to university at all!

I'm not sure whether what I'm feeling right now is actual hatred of the French subject or whether I'm just being my typical, indecisive self. Let's see, shall we?

Rubbish things about French:

• Speaking - The exams are stressful and in my opinion, 20 short minutes cannot give an accurate representation of the student's prowess as a whole. Also, have you ever spoken French to a French person? It's really not all that good for one's ego...
  
• Literature - We are studying Maupassant. He doesn't like war. He uses nice language. He fights for the French people. I should love his work, but actually it's a load of long-winded, overdescriptive, hippie drivel. In French.
  
• France isn't all that great, is it? Okay, the south is gorgeous and sunny, but have you ever been to Calais? The Alps are cold, Normandy is grim, and Paris is full of tramps.
  
• Grammar - Trawling through textbooks doing question after question is not how I like to spend my evenings.
• Teachers - well one teacher actually. The less said, the less trouble I can get in.
  

Things that make me love French:

• Translation - Yum, yum, yum...
• Literature - Despite my indifference to Maupassant, the French brought us Les Misérables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Beauty and the Beast. Now, I have never exactly read any of these but the songs sure are catchy...
• France - Paris, Nice, Paris. Actually, I can't pretend any longer, I love France. It has Kristin Scott-Thomas, and Marion cotillard, and Carla Bruni. It has PARIS; the Pompidou centre, Amélie's café and Le Marais.
• Grammar - It's like algebra but with words!
• Teachers - The other two French teachers are nothing less than lovely and they took us to the Med, which was quite nice really...

So in conclusion, I both love and hate French in equal measure. Maybe this is what true passion for something is? Loving it so much that you really can't stand it. Maybe I really should do English. If I made a list for English, I'm pretty sure there would only be one point in the 'cons' column; my teacher has given us NINE hours of private study to be completed this week. Insane...

I just voted and intend to stay up tonight for as long as possible. It's very cloudy, perhaps this is pathetic fallacy?

Lost in Coventry...

Today has been terrible. I completely messed up my French exam and as a result I have been in a foul mood all day. Yes, I know you thought I was delightful all the time, and that I live my life with all the grace and charm of a unicorn, but I'm afraid I must disappoint. Today I have all the grace and charm of a sloth. An old sloth. In pyjamas.

I had a complete panic on Monday night with the realisation that my history coursework was due in the next day, not today as I had been convinced. This resulted in a distinct lack of sleep on Monday night. Propped up with Lemsip and caffeine, I managed to make the deadline. I spent the weekend with my smelly big sister in Leamington. My mum and I went for a meal with her and we made a quick visit to Coventry Cathedral which was lovely. Luckily I didn't stay with Helen on Monday night as I had intended. I really would have been in quite a lot of poo...

Tonight I'm celebrating the fact that all my coursework has been handed in and I don't have any more exams for forty eight days. As a result, I'm going to watch Lost In Translation which always calms me down (particularly when, like today, mean, bullying men make me feel about as big as a flea). It's just so good! I love Scarlett Johansson at the best of times, but in this, she is just wonderful, Bill Murray is a definite old man crush and some of the locations are just ace... It seems that in most of my favourite films, nothing really happens, and this is no exception. Right, I'm watching it!

Also, if you get the time, listen to Antony and the Johnsons. They have a really unique, lovely sound. 'Hope there's Someone' is gorgeous and my favourite song at the moment...

It happens every time. They all become blueberries...

Today I handed in my two pieces of English Coursework. For good. That is it on the coursework front. Unless you count History. Which I don't (it's a sort of un-subject in my opinion). This means I never have to open my somewhat worn copy of The Bell Jar again. Of course just because I am not required to do so, doesn't mean I won't. Whenever I'm full of melodramatic teenage angst or general melancholy, Sylvia is always the one who teaches me a little bit of perspective. I know it's dull to read about my considerable workload, so over the next couple of months of hell, I will try to keep the school talk to a minimum.

I just discovered this on the Guardian website. It's fairly lovely as acoustic Biffy usually is. Simon Neil is THE sex. That voice! Those eyes! That... err... beard? I love how his accent isn't at all compromised when he sings. Also, he has a tattoo across his chest saying 'God only knows what I'd be without you'. Normally I am on the fence tattoo-wise. Personally I can't imagine ever liking something enough to get it scrawled across my body but I think they can look good sometimes. If ever there was a tattoo that could make a man soar up the ranks in my eyes, a good Beach Boys reference is probably it. Well played Mr Neil...

I'm still off meat but very much on the fish. I really didn't used to eat all that much fish, but being sensible, I am conscious that I need to get some protein somehow. My preferred source of this is cheese, but aware that I may swell up like Violet Beauregarde, I have decided to go for fish and fish-type things instead. Fish fingers have become my token comfort food and I had some really nice salmon the other day... Also if I eat fish, I can convince myself that it's meat. I cannot do this with any sort of mycoprotein, no matter how hard I try!

I seem to have replaced sleep with reading, a calm, serene room with one filled with revision-based post-it notes, and nutrition with biscuits. I keep telling myself that if I just work hard for the next month and a bit, doors will be opened to me for my entire life. It's strange that this sort of psychobabble can actually keep you going. Not that it will matter if I get scurvy. Maybe I should eat an orange...

She can't be convicted, she's earned her degree...

I have been super motivated today and completed the second draft of my English coursework, full of feminist drivel. It's depressingly mediocre but it's a start. I decided to reward myself by writing an entry (yes, this is what my life has come to) before I crack on with the other piece of coursework.

I had a bit of a meltdown last night. All of a sudden I decided that I really didn't want to go to university. It hit me that in four years time, I will still be living at home having accumulated thousands of pounds of debt and I probably won't even get a job at the end of it. I was in such a distressed state that I even spoke to my mother. Her response? "Well you can always go back to Morrisons!" Thanks Mum, thanks a bunch.

I really like the new John Lewis advert. Yes it's naff and yes I know that while the woman in question ages, her clothes remain constantly very 2010 throughout. The featured woman is very conventional in her lifestyle. She gets married, then pregnant and watches her family swell as she falls into retirement (during which we know the sun never ceases to shine). The advert manages to tug at the heartstrings, however and Fyfe Dangerfield (Guillemots frontman)'s rendition of 'Always a woman to me' is flawless. I hope he releases it because at present it is nowhere to be found. So all in all a (six million pound) success. Let's hope Mister John Lewis makes his money back...

Lovelily lonely...

Long time, no blog! I got nine hours sleep last night after a day of absolute hell. The sleep set me straight again, so now I almost feel human again. The French exam on tuesday was by no means disastrous (despite fire alarms, no sleep and a bitch for an examiner) though I feel I could have done better. There's no point dwelling on it now, however, so it's time to finish off all coursework once and for all. I think things will get a bit better then. Maybe...

I've started reading Harry Potter again from the beginning. This can only be a bad thing, but it's a lifelong affliction. Like herpes. I'm only on book one, and I keep noticing little foreshadows of characters and occurences in the later books. It's pretty much awesome. Fine, it's not exactly a Booker prize winner, but it got me and millions of other kids into reading. Surely it's worth acclaim for this alone?

The sun makes everything seem a lot better, doesn't it? Coupled with the return of Glee, the return to school has been almost bearable. Only twenty six days left now. But who's counting? I considered applying for one of the post-sixth form jobs at school in September, but then I realised that I genuinely couldn't stay at Haybridge High School for another year if they paid me. Which they would be. Hmm, maybe I should reconsider...

I feel like I'm in the midst of a bit of a music revolution. I don't like blogging about music so I will keep it short and sweet.

• Belle and Sebastian - Just genius. The Boy with the arab strap, expectations and Piazza New York Catcher are all worth a listen
• Conor Oberst. Made my life. That is all.
  
• Stornoway - I saw you Blink is loveliness embodied. In song...
• She & Him - Who knew Zoe Deschanel could sing? Mind. Blown. If you Can't sleep is really good!
• The Mountain Goats - No Children is lyrically awesome. Actually, it's just awesome full stop. Really enviable writing.
  

with a dreamy far off look, and her nose stuck in a book...

I haven't been out of the house for two days. Usually I would find this depressing, but right now it's really rather wonderful. I've been watching LOTS and lots of House, as well as The Devil Wears Prada and Step Up (an awful film. Seriously.) Because none of these things are all that distracting, I've actually managed to get some work done. If I were to prioritise, I would do history coursework, followed by preparation for French speaking which falls a week tomorrow, then finish up my English coursework. Of course, my brain does not work in such a rational manner. I've been doing general English work, Wuthering Heights mostly. I've been colour-coding, note-taking, partaking in general literature-based merriment, the works. The exam isn't 'til mid June. I'm not really sure what I'm playing at, but some work, whether important or not is better than no work at all. Right?

I had everyone round here on Friday night which was nice. There was minimal vomit and I think the house actually turned out tidier after the party than before. This is because my friends are awesome. And really bizarrely tidy. My messiness is as mystifying to them as their urge to live in a clean, pleasant environment is to me. Minimalism has never really been my thing. What's the opposite? Squalor, or just plain mess? Either way, that's how I live my life. Anyway, it was really nice to see everyone. Equally, the next night, I had the pleasure of catching up with some old friends, including my ex-vicar Fiona and her husband Martin who had us all over for dinner. It was absolutely lovely despite the fact that we all seemed really tired due to holidays and hangovers.

It's time to lose weight for the summer. I don't like winter much but it does hold the advantage of being able to conceal rolls of fat beneath rolls of fabric. As soon as the snow melts and the gladiator sandals come out, there is no escape. I do this every year. Yo-yo? Me? We've acquired an archaic rowing machine from he who must not be named, which is a start. I may not lose weight, but my arms are now really manly. Score.

Everyone is breaking up. This is bad at the best of times, but I have unusually high levels of cynicism in my blood, so when there is a spate of break-ups like this, I climb further in my metaphorical (though not insignificant) bitter hole. People cheat, people get divorced, people die. I always thought Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella were wet. Esmerelda is awesome and beats up her future husband whom she chooses over the evil man who could ensure her safety. Belle strives to escape her "provincial life" by choosing an ugly guy over the town hottie. Mulan gains the gratitude of the emperor of frigging China! They all end up happy. Well, they all end up married. According to Disney, I'm pretty sure these two things are interchangeable. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, so I will summarize. Girls with principles and a strong will end up happy too. They do tend to be animated though...

Is it weird that I find Laurie strangely attractive?

I've got back into House lately. It is Brilliant. Completely and utterly, wonderfully fantastic. I have a lot of it on DVD but really haven't watched much for a couple of years. The trouble is, once you watch one episode, it is really rather difficult to refrain from watching another. This tends to lead to a whole day completely wasted and with A-levels looming, I'm not really sure I can afford to waste days.

This holiday is awesome. Three whole weeks off, and so far it's sailing by nicely. I managed to haul myself down the road for the dawn service at five thirty(!) in the morning on Easter Sunday for the dawn service. Now, I have hardly been a consistent church-goer over the past couple of years, but it was really nice to be there. I love the dawn service and I haven't missed one for about five years, which I think is pretty impressive. The service is always long and serious with lots of readings and lots of dramatic pauses. I used to find it dull, but this year, perhaps because I barely go to church anymore, it was just good. I'm not being very articulate. As I get older, my faith seems to waver. I'm not saying I suddenly have reverted back to blind belief, but Easter is surely a time to think about all these things. So that's what I'm doing. Also, if you ever find yourself a bit sad, a half hour, moonlit walk at five o'clock, blasting Radiohead and dancing because there is nobody around to see it really sorts you out. Not that I did this. I was just, you know, saying...

I have just redrafted my second piece of History Coursework and now I intend to move on to English. FML.