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...

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.

Sunday morning...

Well, it's been over a week, and for this I can only apologise. Happy Sunday, everyone! For lapsed Christians like me, Sundays are a particularly special day. I try not to find myself awake around ten o'clock because this is when I feel I should probably be in church, not eating biscuits for breakfast. So when I eventually rise around midday, I make some tea and invariably go on Facebook for a bit, before wallowing about in self pity. Sometimes I make porridge.

Thing is, even when you're a good-for-nothing layabout like me, and the days merge so utterly, Sundays never stop being depressing, do they? You can never shake that back to school feeling, even if you know your Monday will be just as empty as the day before. A while ago, my friends and I decided that to combat this Sunday feeling, we would mark the end of the weekend in celebration rather than mourning by going out and keeping ourselves occupied (getting drunk). Unfortunately, these outings only lasted a couple of weeks, so I wouldn't exactly call them a success.

Tonight, however, there will be a certain legitimacy to my Sunday night blues. That's right, I have a job. This week, I will be working in the deli in the village alongside my lovely sister who I'm sure will criticise me 'til the cows come home about my waitressing technique. I'm probably a bit rusty, to be honest, but as it's only three days, it's not like I have to really make a lasting impression on those in charge. Unfortunately, even I like to be liked sometimes, so I probably will try really quite hard, and I'm sure I will be exhausted next time I write here (which will not be another week. I'm a bit ashamed.)

Oh! Yeah, I went to Wales. It was very Welsh. I got to see my great uncle Danny who is now 93 and probably more active than me. Of course, this isn't saying much, but he is pretty damn old. Then we went to deepest, darkest Gower and stayed on my auntie's farm with the chickens and geese and sheep (oh my!). It was nice, but also nice to come back to civilisation (and by this, I mean my dvd player).

Bye then!

P.S. I love Jonathan Creek. Why is it always the fictional ones?

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).

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.

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...

Raindrops on roses and big Green Peace sit-ins...

Julie Andrews seems to dig pointlessly listing her favourite things in an effort to cheer herself up (particularly during savage thunderstorms). I am already in a good mood, and it is merely drizzling, yet it's important to be positive amidst all the cynicism and despair in the world. Now, I am aware that I am usually responsible for much of this cynicism, but just for today, I'm going to put this aside. This is utterly random and so I apologise, but it suits my odd mood.




These are a few of Maria's favourite things...

rain, whiskers, kettles, mittens, packages, horses, pies, bells, german cuisine, nocturnal geese, fancy girls, the cold, more cold...

These are a few of my favourite things, the things that truly cheer me up "when the dog bites, when the bee stings", etc...

• James McAvoy - In Starter for Ten. Atonement would not cheer Julie Andrews up on a dreary day.
  
• Tea - White. No sugar. Nice mug. Sorted.
  
• Duvets
• TS Eliot - (I refuse to blog about poetry because it so easily becomes pretentious and there are thousands of people who have much more original, interesting ideas than I do. However, 'The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock' is the best thing I have ever read. It is just phenomenal. This doesn't count as writing about poetry. It is in brackets...)
• The Guardian - I used to want to be Hadley Freeman so much. Then I decided she was a bit too try hard. Now I want to be Jess Cartner-Morley (though of course I would never do the double barrelled thing)
• Juno - Teen pregnancy aside, she is pretty much my idol. She has a wicked turn of phrase, has a really good soundtrack AND bags Michael Cera. There aren't many girls, fictional or otherwise who can to that...
  
• Paris - I can trace this back to my obsession with Anastasia when I was little. This also lead to a slightly unhealthy obsession with the Romanovs. Anyway, Paris is just brilliant. The clothes, the cafes, the museums. Bahhh I love it...
• This
• Your face.

I am aware that even the best writers in the world probably couldn't write a hit anti-Nazi musical with these things as its basis. Maria and I don't appear to have all that much in common. She probably wouldn't make those children sing about James McAvoy, for example, but these are the little things that put a smile on my face. Apart from Paris. Paris is quite big...

Shorty's like a melody in my head that I can't keep from, got me singing like 'na na na na' every day, like my ipod's stuck on replay...

I am a rubbish teenager. There are many reasons for this. For example, I think a cup of tea is the best thing in the world. I barely drink. I have read at least three Maeve Binchy novels. I don't think we need a fourth reason... My excuse now is that I have turned eighteen, and so I am technically an adult, therefore I can wear slippers all day, read the Guardian and complain about those younger than myself if I so wish (which I invariably do). I like to think, however that my ownership of GHDs, my addiction to the internet and my ability to sleep for fifteen hours running all show that in fact I am still young (though my hands are creepily wrinkly).

If I wasn't so hellbent on being a writer, I'd probably become a translator. Translating is the one form of homework I can stand. I enjoy putting my own spin on the text, and not sticking rigidly to the meaning, embellishing slightly. If you don't like languages, you probably don't understand, but I think it's ace!

Tomorrow is Mothering Sunday. I haven't as such bought anything for my Mum. I used to go to loads of effort for such occasions, but we're not exactly close anymore. I think we're going to Birmingham to see Helen, which will be nice. The three of us shopping does tend to end in tears, however. We are all so similar, and equally stubborn. It could go either way...