Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining and Mine's Blogging.

As many of you may (or may not) know, I'm currently doing my Post Graduate Certificate in Education. In other words I'm training to be a teacher and doing masters level work side by side and therefore have no time, no life and basically spend my evenings planning lessons and crying into a tub of ice cream.

When people said the PGCE year would be the most stressful year of my life they were spot on!

Unfortunately, things recently took on a whole new stress factor when I was told by the placement school I'm currently training in that I needed to delete my Youtube channel. It was as if someone had asked me to give away my dog. Not that I have a dog. But, you know, I can imagine.

Last weekend I tearfully set three year's worth of videos to private. The positive is I can reactivate everything in 10 weeks time when I finish the course. The negative is I'm pretty sure they're going to be the longest ten weeks of my life! So far it's only been three days and I'm already having withdrawal symptoms. It's only a matter of time before I start narrating my makeup application in the morning when I'm alone in my room.

The good news is I can spend the next 10 weeks showering my blog with the love and attention it deserves. Ever since I graduated from university and entered the world of work, my poor little blog has taken a back seat. After all, after a hard day filled with rush hour traffic, mountainous workloads that will never be conquered and computer screen induced headaches, it's a lot easier to plonk down in front of a camera and ramble on incessantly than it is to try and put together a witty and coherent blog post. Most days, by the time 4pm hits I can rarely put together a logical sentence.

But suddenly I have a bunch of unexpected free time on my hands (you know, if you ignore the 8,000 word essay I have due) so it's the perfect opportunity to show my poor little neglected blog a little bit of love. You know what they say: every cloud has a silver lining!

So I'm going to get over the writer's block and get back into the swing of things. I'm a little rusty and a little short of jet-setting adventures to write about since I graduated, but I'm excited to catch the blogging bug all over again!

The Ultimate University Check List!

For many of us university is our first taste of independent, grown-up life. Suddenly you're solely responsible for buying your own food (and working out how to cook it without giving yourself food poisoning), paying your own bills, ensuring your passport doesn't end up discarded on the bathroom floor of a dodgy night club that smells like mouldy cheese etc.

Seriously, adulting is hard you guys!

To ensure the transition from your parents' spare room to a home of your own (if one can honestly call a 4 square foot box with a wet-room a home of one's own) as easy and successful as possible, it's best to be prepared. For anything!

You'll be surprised how often even the most obscure objects come in handy while you're at university!

And, if nothing else, being the girl who had everything made it really easy to make friends in the first couple of weeks. Whenever my less prepared housemates needed a spatula or some safety pins, I could come to rescue. After all, nobody wants to traipse to Tesco halfway through pre-drinks because no one in the flat had the forethought to bring a corkscrew.

So, to make sure you have absolutely EVERYTHING you could possibly need for your big move to university, I have the ultimate check-list for you.

Documents:

• Acceptance letter from the university
• Student loan documents
• Any housing documents/home insurance documents you may have
• Bank account information
• Medical information/prescription medication information
• Passport 

I'm Back (And in Desperate Need of a Latte)!

I'm back! I've crawled out from the corporate rock I've been stuck under for the past few months. I've thrown off the shackles of business meetings, conference calls and tossing and turning in a pool of sweat at 3am wondering if my new shoes for the office strike the right balance between 'I'm a corporate highflier' and 'I'm a Margaret Thatcher look-alike'. I'm slowly weaning myself off the 5 gallons of caffeine a day it took me to get through my working day without falling asleep at the wheel (sure, there's still a lot of twitching going on, but slow progress is better than no progress).

 I'm finally starting to feel like myself again!

 It's been a while since I last sat down to write a blog post so I apologise if I'm rusty. It's not that I purposely discarded my beloved blog or forgot about all you wonderful people who enjoy a little dose of my madness every week. The truth is, I was so swamped at work that, slowly but surely, without me even realising it, my blog ended up in in the pile labelled 'things I used to do when I had the time'. It was a hefty pile. Yoga was in there too along with reading, going to the gym, spending time with my fiends and, increasingly, eating meals and sleeping.

 There weren't nearly enough hours in the day!

 

So, I took the plunge (for better or for worse), discarded my 'sensible' boring, black, low-heeled shoes, and quit my high-flying, corporate job. As tempting as the image of myself as a fancy business woman with a bank account healthy enough to justify a closet full of Laboutins was, at the end of the day, I'm not a fancy business woman. I hate graphs. And schmoozing. So in September I'm heading back to university to train as an English teacher. Because what could be better than talking about books for a living? Except, of course, talking about books for a living and getting paid enough to justify a closet full of Laboutins.

 But, hey, you can't have it all!

The Blur that was my 2014!

Generally speaking, 2014 has been a weird year for me. For a start, it went so quickly that my head is still spinning, but I have no real idea of what I've done in the last 12 months to show for it. In 2013 I took up blogging, had a bizarre overseas romance, partied with elves, went on more spontaneous nights out than any one person has a right to do in the course of a single year, and travelled Europe, just off the top of my head.

From Public Pools to the Royal Treatment

Everything suddenly came to a screeching halt. No new blog posts, no new Youtube videos, my nails are a disaster and I can barely remember what my friends look like. Over the past month all of my time has been sucked into some kind of vortex and I'm not entirely sure what I've even been doing other than looking for jobs and mourning the loss of my footless and fancy free student days.

Maybe I haven't adjusted to living with my parents again yet. I'm used to waking up to a plan I made the night before or a totally blank canvas ("What's the plan for the day? Four hours of Netflix followed by cocktails and the Sex and the City drinking game with my housemates? Why not?") Last week I woke up to the sound of Lauren scampering into my room.
"We're going swimming!"
I broached the subject with my mother. Admittedly, rather tactlessly.
"Swimming? Nobody consulted me. I could have had plans for all you knew."
"You don't though, do you?" She said, knowingly.

She was right. It was meant to be one of those blank canvas days. Maybe I'd have gone to pilates. Maybe I'd have gone to the pub. Maybe I'd even have finally gotten around to writing my new blog post. But my blank canvas day was snatched away and instead I was heading to the swimming pool with two small children. Still, my soul was, as of yet, uncrushed.

That quickly changed.

We drove all the way over the Swansea, only to find out the gym we're a member of wasn't open to children for another hour. Try explaining that to a four year old diva. So we ended up on the road again, heading towards the public pool in Neath, which, as it turns out (the lady on the phone failed to mention this little gem) is free for all school children after 2pm. Wonderful if you're a ten year old, but not so great if you arrive at quarter to 2 with a small child in a wheelchair and a tiny loon with no patience and find yourself in a queue that winds itself around the building. Especially as my mother had phoned ahead to make sure we could go straight over with the wheelchair with no problems.

Lost adrift in a turbulent sea of scores of screeching children with a worrying lack of manners, I started to lose it. To cut a long story short, the staff at reception made me despair at the state of humanity (and the education system) and I ended up wandering around in a towel looking for change for the locker. This is why I pay a monthly membership for the Village. That and the Village has ample room to do hair and make up when you're done working out.

Anyway, that's the kind of thing I have to put up with now that I'm no longer living the glorified student life. One small mercy is that I had to come back to Exeter for today's exam and I stayed overnight on campus. It was like being a fresher again, brushing my teeth in my little en-suit, collapsing into bed safe in the knowledge that there was nothing to wake me except an alarm I personally controlled. No one tried to make morning conversation. No one asked me to do the dishes. It was bliss.

The red line is the ridiculous route I took

What made it even better was that I was staying in Holland Hall, which will mean nothing to you if you didn't go to the University of Exeter and will mean everything to you if you did. Back when we lived on campus, hearing someone say, "I live in Holland Hall" was like hearing someone say, "My father wears tweed and shoots pheasant...which the servants then cook." At £6988.80 for a 32 week contract, it's officially like the Mecca of Exeter rah culture. Oh the rumours I've heard about that place...

After searching for it for 20 minutes and seeing no sign of it, I was concerned. I'd lived down that end of the campus two years ago. It isn't a big place. I took the most obscure route possible, finding myself lost more than once. ("Wait...why is there a children's park here? Where am I?" And so forth.) I started to worry there was some kind of Hogwarts-style enchantment over the place so that peasants couldn't see it.

And then I found it. Perched on the perfect spot for stunning panoramic views, close enough to campus to crawl there in the mornings with the least amount of uphill walking (a big problem in Exeter), courtyards, an outdoor dining area, a bar, full English breakfast with a selection of cereals and juices on the side...it lived up to all my expectations. Still, a girl like me with a valleys accent and an aversion to gilets would have burned upon crossing the threshold if it hadn't been during the summer vacation.

So call me a loser, but my trip to Exeter to sit my exam has been like a mini holiday. I got to have fried bread with breakfast, didn't have to share my bathroom, and no one ordered me to go swimming. In reality, I'm not really all that hard to please...

My Life as a Grown Up gets Boring...and Sticky

I know things have been quiet on the blog-front recently. That's an understatement. I'm actually surprised virtual tumble-weeds haven't started rolling across the page. But that's just a reflection on my life right now. No job = no money = no fun = nothing to ramble about. I haven't even graduated yet and I'm already fed up with life as a full-time grown up.

I had every intention of sharing the highs, lows and inevitable humiliations of my night out in Swansea this past Wednesday. Unfortunately I woke up on Thursday morning with nothing more than a vague recollection of a McChicken sandwich and the stench of shisha clinging to my hair (I dread to think how much that cost me) and that hardly makes for a gripping blog post. Seriously though, that was the first and last time I will drink Bacardi. 

Hayfever destroys my face 

I'm meant to be on an exciting adventure today, but I managed to make a pig's ear out of it. Tonight is the Cosmopolitan Super Bloggers Masterclass (or some kind of similar awesome name to the same effect) and I've had my ticket for months. I was counting down the days until I could go up to London, make new friends, learn lots of great tips, and, perhaps most exciting of all, take home an epic goodie bag. Unfortunately, while I was counting down to the 23rd July, the event was in fact on the 23rd June and, while planning a trip to London was never going to be easy, planning one in two days with no money was impossible. Especially when certain friends who live in London refuse to return your frantic messages, begging them to let you sleep on their sofa. I will name no names. Cough cough Tim! I'm so disappointed I can't go!

To make things even more boring (and miserable) my hayfever has forced me to barricade myself in my bedroom. I genuinely thought there could be nothing worse than sitting in my little room with a flannel over my face, wheezing like Joseph Merrick and listening to the rest of the world enjoying the first glorious summer Wales has seen since the Dark Ages. But then I went downstairs and realised all the Jaffa Cakes were gone and I hit a whole new low.

In other news, the fire alarm the firemen installed a few months back started screeching incessantly in the early hours of the morning because the battery was starting to wear out. It wouldn't shut up until someone hit it with the feather duster. This ridiculous ritual would start again every fifteen minutes until I lost my patience and ripped it apart with my bare hands. Now it's just making a feeble, but continuous ticking noise and there are bits of plastic scattered all over the landing.       

So, the past few weeks have been fairly uneventful. But, regardless of how high the pollen count gets and how swollen and sticky my eyes become and, in spite of my ever-dwindling lack of funds, I simply must get out and have some crazy new adventures. Even if it's only because the bloody ticking of that fire alarm is going to drive my crazy otherwise.

Life After the Dissertation

I've been back in Exeter for an entire week now and I have the dwindling bank balance and bags under my eyes to prove it. There has been an abundance of cocktails, many bad life choices (I have no idea why I insist on taking advice from strangers I meet in the girls' toilets) and many days like today, curled up in my bed of shame, watching 'Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse' on my brother's Netflix account.

But, while many of my post-dissertation celebrations have involved tacky, overpriced Exeter night clubs and hidden hip-flasks, my housemates and I have found other forms of entertainment over the last few days. Of course, when you live in Devon it's sometimes necessary to think outside the box. The most exciting thing we could find within an hour's drive was a hedgehog hospital, which, if anything, would surely make for a very depressing day out. So, when we decided to seek out fun on Tuesday it was...varied.

"...our cultural adventure..."

I was forced out of my bed of pain at an unearthly hour to go to Brody's all you can eat breakfast buffet. Usually I'm not a big fan of buffets (or salad bars for that matter), but I loved it! Up until the point where I'd eaten so much that it hurt to breathe. It wasn't quite on par with the breakfast buffet I had in Florida (then again, does anyone really need ice-cream for breakfast?), but it was delicious. There is no such thing as too many pancakes.

After a brief time of resting my head on the table with a glazed stare, too full to move or communicate in any way, we headed across the road to the Royal Albert Memorial Museum. I can't say I learned a great deal, but they had costumes to try on and mosaics to play with so it was a big hit with everyone. I particularly enjoyed the World Cultures exhibition, which was a bit like being on the It's a Small World ride in Disneyland. But without the boat. Or the cool music.

When our cultural adventure was over we decided the logical thing to do next was to splurge on white clothing to take home and tie-dye! Let me just say, I had no idea Primark pants was so large. I now have four pairs of enormous tie-dyed knickers, which really aren't in any way as cool as I'd envisioned.

What a great way to pass an afternoon though! Yes, Jess may have dipped her hand into the bucket of purple dye without her glove on and stained her fingers. Yes, we may have forgotten to take the clothes off the washing line before the rain started and made all the dye run. And yes, to anyone walking past our conversations on why whites are easier to work with than blacks may have sounded like the ravings of a group of racists rather than the innocent discussions of a merry band of crafters with fabric dye. But now I have a new skill, some unique t-shirts and some hideous giant pants. Overall I'd call that a success.

I'm glad I have housemates who enjoy a day of trying on ridiculous hats and flicking dye onto pillowcases. How boring it must be to be normal! 

Rumour has it next week we're going to paint mugs!

My Life is no Fairytale...Yet

I'm back in Exeter, patiently waiting for my housemates to finish their exams and doing my utmost not to run into their study area with a bottle of tequila and demand someone entertains me. Instead, I've spent my afternoon looking up a half-decent questions tag for my blog (note to whoever writes these, 'what do you order at Starbucks?' is not an interesting or enlightening question). Eventually I found the fairytale tag and, as I am on board with anything Disney-related, I've spent my time typing away at this and avoiding housework. After all, I'm not Cinderella. 

"I am on board with anything Disney-related"

Snow White - Do you consider yourself beautiful?

There are some variables to consider here. For instance, am I wearing make up? Did I just wake up? Am I sober? Sometimes I can look in the mirror and think, "Oh wow! I look great!" but I'm always treading the line between Beauty and the Beast and you never know which way it's going to go.

Sleeping Beauty - How many hours do you sleep at night?

Somewhere in the region of 10-12 hours a night, which is slightly excessive.

Cinderella - Do you have a curfew?

It would be rather ludicrous for my parents to officially implement a curfew now that I'm 22 years years old, have been living alone on and off for three years and have proven myself to be an upstanding member of society (most of the time). They always know exactly when I return home anyway because I've usually forgotten my keys and have to wake them up to let me in. I'm a joy to live with all round. 

Rapunzel - Do you love being outside?

"I'm always treading the line between
Beauty and the Beast"

I'm no hiker if that's where we're going with this. I have hayfever, I'm allergic to insect bites and camping is my idea of the ultimate torture. In a world where you can get a room in the Premier Inn for £20, why would you choose to sleep outside on the floor? But I'm more than happy to be outside if it's on a beach. A warm beach. A warm beach with men who bring me cocktails. 

Red Riding Hood - Do you trust strangers easily?

Unfortunately yes. There was the time Kirsty found me making friends with a large group of Iranian men who were giving away free champagne. Then there was the time Hayleigh and I agreed to follow a group of army officers in posh suits back to an after party in the Grand Hotel. (Free gin? Why not?) And who could forget the incident in Venice when I led my friends into a wine cellar because the waiter told me he owned it? And that he had a gondola. 

The Wolf and The Seven Young Kids - Are you easy to fool?

See the above story concerning the man with the gondola who, in hindsight, had so obviously illegally broken into that wine cellar. 

The Little Mermaid - What would you sacrifice for love?

I'm a true romantic. That said, I don't think I would ever willingly give up my voice the way The Little Mermaid did. I'm sure there are many people who wish I would, but it would take a seriously amazing man to convince me to shut up for more than five minutes. However, there's plenty I would give up. I'd move away, I'd spend all my money, I'd set aside my plans...I wouldn't give up my shoes, though. That's not negotiable. 

The Frog King - What do you find disgusting?

There are many things I find disgusting, but what instantly pops to mind (probably due to some recent escapades) is the decline of chivalry. Call me sexist (I'm sure you will), but there is nothing more disgusting to me than a man who pushes past a woman in a queue, allows a door to slam in her face, or dashes for the last seat on the train and lets a girl stand. If this is progress, hand me an apron and count me out.

Jack and the Beanstalk - What plants do you have?

None. I have an excessive amount of mould growing in my bedroom in Exeter if that counts?

Puss in Boots - Do you have pets? If not, do you want them?

I have no pets. I have no desire to get pets. And I do not appreciate pet owners trying to force me to love their pets. You may see it as some kind of small child with fur, but I wouldn't take kindly to your real children slobbering over me and I don't appreciate it from the dog either.

Pinocchio - What is your biggest wish?

I've got my fingers crossed for a miracle. My nephew has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, which is a progressive muscle-wasting disease. My biggest wish is for a cure. 
Yeah, I know, way to darken the mood.

Peter Pan - What is your mental age?

My mother calls me childish. I prefer to think of it as a youthful inner glow. After spending some time at home I realised just how much I have in common with my niece. We love the same films, I envy her amazing pink dresses, we discuss Barbie at length. So, from that, I would put my mental age at four. No. Four and a half.

"We discuss Barbie at length..."

The Star Money - What is your most valuable possession?

I have some fancy mod-cons, I have my cute little car, and, when my Nanna was alive, she used to buy me expensive earrings (which I am too terrified to wear). But I'm very sentimental. My most treasured possession would be something left behind by my grandparents, photos of me when I was tiny and adorable, or the weird gifts my niece and nephew get me.

The Princess and the Pea - Are you sensitive?

Yes. I especially react badly to being shouted at. My neighbour shouted at me a couple of weeks ago and I cried for four hours. That probably had more to do with the fact that my dissertation was due in a few days later and I hadn't slept in nights, but, either way, I am still slightly terrified of him.

Bluebeard - What is your weak point?
Chocolate cake. That counts, right?

So there are some random insights into my life based on beloved children's stories...and some stories that I've never heard of in my life. Now all I can think about is chocolate cake so I'm probably going to have to buy some. Seriously, I'll never be fairest of them all if I'm popping out of my jeans.

Prepare Yourselves for Food Envy: Pizza Express Review!

It seems like it's been a good while since I wrote my last post so I apologise to those of you who use this blog as a means of procrastination. I know there are quite a lot of you. I get stopped by drunken people I I've never met before in Timepiece and Arena who tell me my blog posts are their favourite distraction from revision or dissertation writing, which I love. It's kind of like being a really low grade celebrity. In a really low grade club. But then they ask me about the Beacon and I have to explain my break up story to someone I've never met before when I'm half a bottle of whisky worse off than I probably should be. I don't know what it is about the queue in the women's bathroom, but I always get into the most in-depth conversations with people.

Anyway, on a less irrelevant note, I got an email from someone at Pizza Express a few weeks ago, inviting me to go and sample their new lunch menu and write up a review on it. So, I made time in my crazy schedule, jam-packed as it is with dissertation-writing and napping, to stuff my face. I know, I know, my life's a chore.

I invited Hayleigh to come along with me. She was impressed with my promotion to official-one-day-pizza-sampler.

"They invited you to sample the menu? Wow! Your blog is practically a real job!" 

"I would totally do a full-time job that paid me in pizza" I told her. "...I just don't think my mother would accept rent in edible form."

So we headed over to the Swansea Pizza Express on Friday. Despite my sordid love-affair with pizza, I'd never been to Pizza Express so the review that follows is my honest opinion from the point of view of a brand new customer. 

Firstly, I want to admit that I went there with every intention of making healthy choices. What with my new diet, training for the 5k, and bikini season lurking on the horizon, I've actually been converted into a salad-eater of late. I'm never going to be particularly enthusiastic about carrot sticks, but I'm trying my best to make good choices. And really, there was no excuse for me not to be healthy because the lunch menu has all kinds of salads and soups. But I caved and had a pizza. And dough-balls. And a chocolate fudge cake. 

But first, let me start by saying that I really liked the place itself. It wasn't at all what I expected of a pizza restaurant. I'm not entirely sure what I did expect, but the picture I had in my head wasn't nearly as nice. Plus they had a bar stocked with Jack Daniels. I'm quick to notice the most important things first. Overall, great first impression.

Our waiter was friendly, (albeit probably a little confused by the obsessive way I was making notes) and the food came quickly. And now I will attempt to describe how delicious my pizza was. I had the Pollo ad Astra, which was just a little spicy and entirely yummy. It was the perfect size for lunchtime and the base was thin and crispy and...I just want another one right now. Like I said, I'm a pizza lover. It's my favourite food. So when I hold my hands up and say a pizza was particularly scrumptious, I have a lot of experience to back that up. I also had dough-balls on the side on Hayleigh's recommendation, which were nice. 

Hayleigh, on the other hand, actually was healthy and went for the Leggera Superfood Salad, which she said was lovely. Looking back, I should have tried some, partly for a more well-rounded review and partly because I had a little food envy. I actually looked like a meal rather than a plate of leaves, which, let's face it, is a big deal for a salad.  

"absolutely, bring on the cake"

When we had scraped our plates (literally) our waiter came over to clear everything away.

"Would you like to review the desert menu too?" He asked.

The answer to that question was and will always be, 'absolutely, bring on the cake'.

Cue me making my way through a generous slab of chocolate fudge cake with ice cream. It It was well worth however many million calories I had to go and burn off afterwards. Hayleigh had the cheese cake (again, why did I not steal it off her plate for the good of the review?) which looked delicious. She had nothing but good things to say about it. And, yet again, we both ate every mouthful. Walking back to the car I was so full I literally had cramp in my side.
was...perfect. I really think I can honestly say it was the best chocolate fudge cake I've ever had (and, trust me, there have been many servings of chocolate fudge cake in my life). It wasn't heavy or sickly like some of them can be.

So I give the new Pizza Express lunch time menu two very enthusiastic thumbs up. I was surprised at the prices considering how tasty the food is and how decent the portion sizes are. Hayleigh and I will definitely be making another trip. Maybe next time we'll dip into the Jack Daniels too.

Check out the menu for yourself!

I Removed my Face for a Good Cause. Next Time I'm Drinking Cocktails...

So far, it's been a pretty average week. On the weekend I went for a glass of wine with Jess and Kirsty and ended up stumbling home at 4am after a night of dancing, hiding our coats in condiments draws to avoid cloakroom charges, and getting into the most bizarre arguments with middle aged women in fancy dress who don't understand that Northern Ireland is a country. For the rest of the week I have been pretty much banging my head against useless textbooks and trying to form a 3,000 word chapter for my dissertation out of the 3 convoluted bullet points I have.

But this week has been somewhat out of the ordinary. For a reason I at first could not understand, dozens of makeupless selfies started to clog up my Facebook newsfeed. Initially I was confused, partly because I didn't recognise any of the faces staring out of the pictures at me (apparently, I'm not the only one who looks like a completely different person without my customary 5 layers of makeup on). But it quickly became clear what was happening. Snap a picture of yourself sans makeup, upload it to Facebook, nominate your friends (or enemies), and donate £3 to Cancer Research UK.

Once that was cleared up, my confusion quickly turned to terror. This thing was spreading faster than the plague. Eventually it would find me and, as the day progressed and the number of selfies doubled, then tripled on my newsfeed, I knew it wouldn't be long before a nomination came my way.

It was waiting for me when I woke up the next day. And so was a spot on the end of my nose. Because having to expose your naked face to the world isn't bad enough. But I did it. I won't lie, it was a challenge. I don't have great self esteem. Yes, I'll walk into a room and talk to anyone. Yes, I'll be the last one dancing when they turn the lights on in Arena at the end of the night. And yes, I do insist on wearing ridiculous fancy dress costumes whenever possible. But ask me to take my makeup off or tie my hair into a pony tail and expose my Dumbo ears and I freak out. Welcome to my inner crazy.

But what really surprised me were all the negative comments. Not about my naked face, although there are probably a few of those floating around the place. About the campaign itself. I've read articles about how this trend won't achieve anything, Facebook statuses about how stupid
the idea is, and, of course, numerous male comments stating, "seeing as it's for Breast Cancer, why don't you just get your boobs out?" Original.

But the last I read, the Cancer Research text line was overrun with people making donations and the campaign raised over £1 million pound in 24 hours. I may not enjoy posting a picture of my real face online and I doubt anyone out there enjoys looking at it, but this crazy random idea has done a lot of good. But I would appreciate it if the next campagin was something less scarring. Like, "Nominate 3 friends to go grab a coktail and donate money to Cancer Research." In fact, let's just make that a thing right now.

F-Words All Round: Freebies, Fun, and Foul Cocktails.

Last Tuesday I somehow managed to meet all my deadlines, slept for 14 hours, and drank Jack Daniels to celebrate. I ignored the fact that I have another 10,000 words due in by the end of April and decided to give myself the rest of the week off, to soak up as much fun as I possibly could before I went back to a life of instant noodles and looking like death warmed up. Also, I have a little freebie at the bottom of the post. You know, because I love you.

"...a curdled goo..."

On Thursday I headed to Bristol to celebrate Bethan's birthday. Yes, the Bethan I went to Europe with, who got stuck in a turnstile in Paris and made topless Irish men bench-press beer kegs when she got lost in a night club in Prague. Needless to say, the girl is a hoot. 

I was definitely unreasonably excited on the bus. I don't know whether it was the relief of not having to read about degeneration anxiety in the nineteenth century, glee at finally having time to apply eyeliner, anticipation at the thought of a night out in a city that has more than three clubs, or a combination of all of these things. Either way, I shamelessly danced to myself while I listened to Britney Spears on my Ipod. 

Bethan had stocked up on alcohol...in a big way. She wanted to make cocktails. The Sex on the Beach was great, the Woo Woos contained a whole new host of ingredients, but sadly, her attempt at Pina Coladas just resulted in a curdled goo. All the same, it took a lot for me to persuade her not to drink it. 

Bethan and her brother have birthdays pretty much back to back and, seeing as all of our friends were busy being boring with jobs and uni, we tagged along with her brother's birthday celebrations. We ended up in a place called Thekla. It was...well, they certainly weren't playing any Britney Spears. It was what we called 'emo' music way back when I was thirteen, a lot of screaming and people throwing their hair around, the girls in high tops and mini skirts, the guys with more eye makeup than me. 

I got caught smuggling in my glittery pink hipflask full of vodka when we were at the entrance. 

"You caught me!" (Look cute. Just look cute and confused.) "I'm sorry!"

And in we went, vodka and all. I honestly believe it had more to do with the fact that Bethan and I were the only girls there in high heels and dresses than any charitable feeling from the bouncer. He made an appearance later in the night and things got somewhat weird.

"Do you remember me?"

No. Oh dear. 

Bethan whispered that he was the bouncer from the door.

"Oh, yes! Of course. Thanks so much for earlier."

"You know, most people wouldn't have done that for you."

"...Yeah...thanks." 

"Most people would have just thrown you out, but I didn't. I wouldn't do that to you."

"It was nice of you."

"I'm glad you remember me."

And, as the conversation started to go off in some strange new direction, we headed to the toilets and spent the rest of the night avoiding all large men in puffa jackets. 

The night ended rather early. Bethan somehow got elbowed in the eye and pushed over and demanded I find somewhere that would play Carly Rae Jepson. But quickly that demanded turned into "Just take me home. The best birthday gift ever would be a plate of pasty and a cheesy movie." So home we went and watched that epic favourite...Clueless. But I really can't remember the time I laughed that much. 

Amazed that I was even able to stand on Friday, I headed off to the station, missed my train, and collapsed into bed when I finally got home. I would need all my strength for Saturday's events. My lovely housemate Jess from Mismatched Knitwear was having a birthday party and was bringing in reinforcements from Essex.

What a night! First there was the age old issue about outfit choice. The party was in our kitchen and I had been told on numerous occasions it was going to be a relatively casual affair. But I couldn't resist an opportunity for a little black dress, glitter eyeshadow and enormous hair. (Seriously, the new-found love I have for my teasing comb is starting to take over my life.) I was not exactly looking casual. So as a compromise I wore my slippers. 

I was totally fine until Sophie slipped me one of Jess' home-made vodka jelly shots, which were so strong they wouldn't even set properly. And from there all I can say is that I spoke to everyone I saw, insisted on having pictures with quite a lot of people I didn't know, and told Jess' sister I loved her...several times. 

The people of Essex did not let me down. When the usual time for Exeter parties to end came and people started to head home, Jess' brother took on the role of DJ and suddenly our kitchen became a dance floor. It was amazing! I am slightly concerned about my feet though. It appears that after all these years of tottering around in platforms, my feet just can't deal with dancing in flats and I had to quickly change into stilettos to find comfort. Surely that isn't normal?

I rolled into bed after 4am, forcing Jess' brother to talk to me in the kitchen for over and hour about...who even knows? And the next day I moved briefly from my bed to watch the rugby before climbing back into my cave to sleep off the rest of my hangover. 

So, my week off was fun-filled to say the least. Unfortunately I must now go back to "the dark place". Today was my first day back in the library. I dozed off with my head in a book. I need to work on that.

Freebie Anyone?

Before I forget, I have a freebie for my readers in the UK (sorry to everyone else). In my last post I mentioned that The Week had sent me a copy of their magazine to review and I really liked it. Now they'd like to send a free copy to each of you to make up your own minds about it. They aren't paying me and this isn't just a weird scam where, instead of the magazine, I turn up at your door in a big box (but who wouldn't want that?) 

I just love freebies so when they offered freebies for all of you guys I was instantly on board. Here are the details, links, and random picture they sent me.

Claim a free copy of The Week magazine

·         The best of the British and international media

·         Clear unbiased journalism presenting you with the facts you need

·         Intelligent writing delivers you a concise and complete briefing in just one hour of your time

·         Keeping on top of the news has never been so easy or enjoyable – in print or through our dynamic digital formats

·         Our Review of reviews brings you the most interesting and entertaining insights on the latest books, plays, films, opera and exhibitions

·         What are top food critics saying about British restaurants?

·         Plus the most bizarre stories from the tabloids, a smattering of gossip and Talking Points

Follow this link to claim your free copy: http://subscription.theweek.co.uk/landing/bigshot/01/

A Day in the Life: Dissertation Dejection Mode

As the dissertation deadline looms ever-closer and people insist on saying things like "this is what you've spent your whole life working towards" (no pressure), I thought I'd try out something a little different to give you an insight into what an average day is like for me right now. It will mean carrying my laptop around with me (if I bother to leave the confines of my room/ bed), but it's worth it to accurately record all of the mundane details of a student's life when they're in dissertation dejection mode.

10:41am

Not only am I awake, but I've been out of the house already. I had an appointment with the chiropractor at 9:40am, convincing that if I had an early appointment I would have all day long to spend at the library. Unfortunately, all I have done is get back into bed. 

  My back hurts (hopefully in a 'don't worry, it's just healing' kind of way), but my neck feels great. At the end of the session I asked if he wouldn't mind, "doing that thing where you make my neck go all clicky," to which he looked at me and laughed. Apparently I'm one of the only patients he's ever has who has requested to have their neck manually contorted until it cracks. I can't see why. Personally, I love the feeling and the sound. 

On the way home I found out my 3pm lecture has been cancelled, which is going to make forcing myself up onto campus even harder than it was already going to be. I wouldn't have a problem with heading up there right now, but every day last week I spent at least 20 minutes of my time wandering from floor to floor of the library, searching for a seat. Side note - University of Exeter, I appreciate you spending £50 million on the new forum, but I would appreciate it more if you'd trade in the electronic touch screen maps no one has ever used and the overpriced coffee shop (how many does one campus need?) and just put in more places where people can, you know, do work.

When deadlines start inching closer, everything else seems to go out the window. So right now my room is full of empty bowls that once contained My Little Pony pasta shapes, I only have one pair of clean knickers left in the draw, and I didn't even have it in me to apply bronzer this morning. 

All the essentials for work. Pencil case, notebook, jar of honey, magnifying mirror...

12.35pm

Another short story and five more articles done and dusted. Now it's officially nap time.

5:42pm

Time flies when you're forcing your way through a novel about a talking monkey who is driven to crime by his despair at mankind. I can't believe how late it is already. I swear I only napped for an hour so I can't understand where the day has gone.
I made it onto campus, mostly because I knew the campus shop had Milkybar mini eggs in the Easter display and they have now become my go-to dissertation snack. I do not need the extra calories, but they are my new weakness in life and they make the endless hours of research more bearable.
  I can't say that anything particularly interesting has happened this afternoon. On my way here I passed a man talking to his dog. Not the normal "sit," "stay," "for goodness sake get out of that puddle and spit out that mouse" kind of talking. He was having an in-depth, one sided conversation. The dog didn't strike me as a particularly good listener. If anything, he was a little too self-obsessed.
  And now I have to force myself out into the cold to go and sign up for a meeting with my lecturer tomorrow. Ok. Movement. I can do this...

7:30pm

Still sat at the desk in the library. Still reading about talking monkeys. Slowly losing the will to live.
I went to the shop to get something else to eat and it seemed that everywhere I turned first years were talking about their plans for this evening. It's been so long since I've been out on a week night that I can't even remember which of Exeter's four useless clubs is the place to be on a Monday. Stop talking about your amazing, pre-dissertation lives!
  I temporarily made myself feel better by thinking that in eight weeks I'll be done with university work and they'll have another two years to go. But then I realised that graduation is just the start of a whole new series of problems. I'll be living at home with no student loan, trying to find a job, waking up early and being all responsible and those annoyingly chirpy first years will still have another year and a half of carefree student life ahead (and then that six months of dissertation dejection mode, of course).

8:01pm

Library time is over and I'm ready to head home. I just hope it isn't raining. Things are bad enough walking home in the dark through that woodland path. By day it's beautiful and tranquil, a relaxing way to stroll to campus and spot the last of the robins, fluttering from branch to branch amongst the early morning dew. By night it is a terrifying death path where there must be ghosts lurking in the bushes and demons hiding at every curve in the path.
So yeah. Wish me luck!

8:36pm

It was raining. Of course it was.

I seem to be spending the majority of my time researching the southern belle for my dissertation and all I have to show for it so far is this:

9:33pm

I just finished the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred and I am a very attractive shade of beetroot right now. I'm proud that after a day of work I still managed to drag myself upstairs to do squats and jumping jacks. Who have I become?
  Before that I had a quick read through The Week Magazine, which I got sent this week to review. I do honestly try to be cultured and knowledgeable, but when I have a spare 10 minutes before class in the morning and I have a choice to either scroll through my BBC news app or my Facebook app, Facebook just always wins out. And we don't have a tv so I feel well and truly cut off from the rest of the planet. Martians could invade and I'm not sure how long it would take for me to find out now that I don't watch the news while I'm eating my cereal in the morning.
  So I was excited to take a look through The Week and find out what was happening in the world. My first thought when I opened it was, "There aren't very many pictures." Yes, I'm aware that I'm a twenty two year old English Literature student who reads Dickens and Austen in my free time so I have no idea where that came from, but it was instantly followed by a sense of deep shame. Clearly I've been reading too much Cosmo.
  Anyway, I like it. I like the way it's broken down into little bite sized pieces. They give you just the right amount of information on a wide range of topics from all over the world. I've never been able to read a traditional newspaper (despite the abundance of pictures), but this was short and snappy so I didn't feel like I was trudging through it. I feel less ignorant having read it and I'm very tempted to start up a subscription. Just in case Martians invade or something. And they didn't even pay me to say that!

10:11pm

Ok brain, bring on the insomnia! I haven't been able to sleep properly for about two weeks (the joys of a heavy workload). I've tried Nytol (which taste like a gone off plant), long relaxing baths, hypnosis apps on my phone, but my brain seems to perk up considerably around the 9pm mark and, no matter how early I wake up and how many naps I deny myself, it'll still be buzzing at 2am.

11:27

Oh no, I just found out that Jillian Michaels has a cheesy American weight loss show. Now I have to watch every episode I can find.

So there you have it. This is what my typical day looks like at the moment. Mundane, messy, and full of diverse forms of procrastination, such as writing this right now. And when my dissertation finally gets handed in, I'm going to party hard! That's a total lie. I'm going to sleep for a week. 

"What goes with pyjama bottoms?" "Shame!"

Five minutes ago there was a knock on my bedroom door. I crawled to the door on my hands and knees (naturally). It was my housemate, Iona.
"I just read your blog from start to finish and I really like it. I think you should write another post soon."
I was both touched by her compliment and impressed by her procrastination skills.
"Thanks," (still on my knees) "I want to write one, but I've just been so boring lately doing my dissertation. I don't know what I'd write about."
When she left and I crawled back to my pilates (which was my own form of procrastination and the reason I was crawling around the room), I realised that, in fact, my weekend had been far from boring and now is the perfect opportunity to write my next blog post...and procrastinate by doing so.

What started out as dinner with Kirsty and her parents on Friday night ended with me walking home through puddles with no shoes on at 2am with Sophie and Jess. I have a knack for spreading the evening out.

It was Emma, from Wasting Tuition Fees', birthday. I only realised when I was on my way out the door to go to dinner, but I'm not one to pass up an opportunity for a cocktail or seven so, after stuffing my face with the world's best chicken in mushroom sauce, I headed over to Monkey Suit, which is one of my favourite places in Exeter because they know exactly how to make a strawberry daiquiri, a skill which is often overlooked in life.

I told Sophie and Jess I'd meet them there so I was alone when I got to the entrance.
"Are you just coming in for a drink?" Asked the bouncer.
"No...I'm going to a party."
"Whose party?"
"Emma's"
"And how old is Emma?"
I stopped and stared blankly, partly because this interrogation seemed somewhat unnecessary and partly because at that moment, I couldn't even remember how old I was.
"22. No. 21. 22. Wait. No. I'm 22. So she must be...I'm just so confused."
But my confusion was obviously believable because in I went.

By the time Sophie and Jess got there I was three cocktails better off and already had a wristband for queue jump at Timepiece, despite the fact that it was originally going to be a 'just one drink and then home so I can get up for the library tomorrow' affair. Fast-forward to us heading home in the early hours with me carrying my shoes, something that simply does not occur in my life. I once kept my shoes on all night despite the fact that my feet were bleeding and yet here I was splashing through the puddles, high heels in hand, like some kind of shoe-novice.

"I feel no shame."

But, as much fun as we had that night, it was the next day that inspired me to write this post. Having point blank refused to leave my bed all morning, I assumed the others had made it to the library. Imagine my surprise when Sophie popped up on Facebook chat.
"Have you got any self raising flour? I need cookies."
What a genius idea! Cookies were exactly what we needed. And so I made the most productive move of the day thus far and moved from my bed to Sophie's bed.

So Sophie, Jess and I sat on Sophie's bed, each at various levels of exhaustion and all still wearing our pjs and last night's eyeliner. It was a serious issue, trying to decide what treats we needed. We could make cookies, but we had no chocolate chips. We could make cake, but deep down we all wanted cookies. There was ice cream, but no brownies. The odds were seriously stacked up against us.

At last there was no alternative, but to head to Londis in our pjs, hair unkempt, eyes bloodshot, faces unmade. There was a bizarre moment before we left when Sophie couldn't decide which shoes to wear.
"We're in pyjamas. I don't even have a bra on. I don't think it matter which shoes you wear."
"It's just...what goes with pyjama bottoms?"
"...Shame."
We simply needed chocolate chips. And it was worth wandering the streets in my Mickey Mouse pyjama bottoms to stuff my face with cookies...and cookie dough....and ice cream...and Dorritos. Because sometimes, when you simply can't face another day of reading about the antebellum South, the only thing to do is to lie in bed and eat and week's worth of calories.

I feel no shame. It was amazing.

The Not So Fabulous Student Life

I've been back in Exter for less than a week and already student life has become the norm again. It's amazing how quickly you forget about the existence of ironed clothes, general warmth, and a kitchen floor that isn't so sticky it pulls the socks off your feet. And now that the winds outside are up to 100mph and something as simple as the walk to campus has become a nightmare in its own right, I've begun to realise just how un-glamorous student life can be.

1. Student Housing.
When I was in first year I lived in brand new student accommodation that, while luxurious compared with some of the rooms I've seen at the likes of Swansea and Cardiff, was in no way worth the £123 a week I paid to live there. But it was warm and comfortable. Yes, our cleaner used to spend her shift sat at our dining room table, eating our biscuits and insulting us if we walked in instead of actually doing any kind of cleaning, but that was as bad as it got.
When I left campus I entered the world of deposit-snatching landlords, 'house' snails, broadband scams, arguments about when it's acceptable to turn the heat up (apparently, in some cases, only when you can literally see your own breath) and various other student housing delights.
Last year my room had no window. It led onto a badly constructed extension that clearly wasn't up to any kind of building code. It let in the rain and there were weeds growing in it. There was no natural daylight in the room itself...or air.

This year our house is a great improvement. It's bigger, the housemate to bathroom ratio is fantastic, my room has two whole windows and space for my clothes in the cupboard. But we have damp. And, as this seemingly never-ending downpour continues, it's not getting any better. When I got back last week and opened my wardrobe, my shoes had grown a layer of mould. I had to scrape a living entity off my favourite red Mary Janes. The estate agent did not understand my despair.


2. A Ridiculous Life.
It would be a lie to say that ridiculous things only happen to me in Exeter. If you read about my trip to Europe last summer then you will be well aware that it makes no difference where in the world I am. I just attract stupid scenarios. But living at university offers up a whole new realm of possibilities for me to get myself into trouble.

The first time I ever went to the uni
library I was drunk...and wearing
hotpants.

On the weekend I popped across the road to the corner shop. It's conveniently placed right opposite our house, next to the Thai 'Massage Parlour' (which isn't fooling anyone, by the way). I left the door on the latch, only to find when I got back that I'd been locked out. Our doorbell was broken. I banged the door until I thought I might inadvertently punch right through it but, as is one of the fun novelties of student living, someone had music on and no one heard.
It was cold and wet. I had nothing to hand but my purse and a tin of chopped tomatoes. My very will to live was fast slipping from me at the point. I pushed past the shrubs to get around to the side of the house. The gate was locked.
So I scaled the pointed fence. It's a good two feet taller than me and my cowboy boots were of no use in trying to get a decent foothold. Halfway over, shivering, hair frizzy, butt in the air, a man walked up the lane next to the house.
"Just...trying to get back into my house."
He looked in no way surprised to see me crawling my way across a seven foot wall. Has living in such close proximity to students made Exeter residents immune to this kind of thing or do I just give off the vibe that this kind of thing is part of my day to day life?


3. Grunge, Grime, and Tiny Nervous Breakdowns.

In first year we brought a random
cat into our kitchen.

Student houses are disgusting because, generally speaking, students are disgusting. That's why landlords turn the other way when there are indoor snails, indoor weeds, and indoor mould (even when it's on my shoes). Forget dissertations and presentations, the biggest stress in a student's life is usually the kitchen and the fear of what kind of diseases may be lurking there.
Since I first lived in my comfy little flat, kitchens have been a nightmare. Back then it was the guy who would leave his saucepans unwashed for so long he had to throw them out. Now it's the nightmare of having six people share a teeny tiny kitchen...and leaving their stuff unwashed for so long that they maybe should consider throwing it out.
I've gotten into a great habit of washing, drying and putting away my dishes as soon as I'm done with them, mostly because I don't like the idea of them touching the surfaces. In fact, my parents were pleasantly surprised when I went home last week and did the dishes in an almost paranoid way. Yes, dirty kitchens are annoying, but I had no idea how much it irritated me until the other night when my subconscious decided to join the party...in a big way.
It was a normal, quiet evening. I was a normal, quiet human being. Kirsty and I were in the kitchen and I was just washing up a mug.
"The kitchen looks so much better, doesn't it?" Said Kirsty. "I've noticed it doesn't stress you out so much anymore."
"No," I said (still a normal, quiet human being). "I just let it all go over my head now. I try not to think about it too much. But," (still normal and quiet) "one thing that does annoy me is this whole draining board thing. We never have any dry tea towels and then, when we do, people use them to create a second draining board." (This is where normal and quiet started to ebb away). "I mean, we don't need two draining boards. We don't even technically need the one if people would just dry their dishes, but they seem to insist on using it as some kind of communal storage unit! And then, when this storage unit, which isn't even meant to be a storage unit, is full, they make another one instead of emptying the first?! And how do they do that? They use the only dry tea towel in the house so that even if anyone actually did want to dry their dishes, they couldn't! But clearly no one does anyway because otherwise we wouldn't need two draining boards for them to store all their crap on!! But maybe I DO want to dry my dishes and now I can't because of this stupid second draining board thing!"
Normal and quiet had well and truly left the building. Kirsty just stared at me.
"But, yeah...apart from that I think I've really chilled out about the whole kitchen thing..."
Kirsty quickly removed all of her kitchenware from the draining board.


So those are just a couple of examples from the last week I thought would highlight some of the more...challenging aspects of student living. As well as these there's the mountain of Dominoes boxes, the battle of who will take out the bins, library fines, attempting to navigate the amory building (you will not understand the horror until you've tried), student loans not covering the high price of alcohol in Exeter, Student Finance Wales in general, MLA citations, the way Arena smells like feet...oh good grief, I'm having another 'draining board moment'.

But, despite the grim realities of student life, we are some of the few people who can drink midweek without being judged, lay in bed until 2pm, leave the house in whatever happens to be clean and pretend we're being 'hipster' and generally enjoy all the perks of independent living without the drag of having a job. And, most importantly, at the end of term you always get to return to your parents house, where it's dry and clean and the wall is only 2 foot tall if you ever need to scale it.

The Ramblings of a Loon

So I've been back in Exeter for 2 weeks and I haven't had anything really interesting to blog about. Yes there was the kidney infection, the exam drama, the sitting on the kitchen floor drinking with my house-mates, and a few other oddities, but nothing worth sharing with the world. 2014 has not gone off with a bang. So, you lucky people, because I can't stand the thought of remaining silent, even when I have nothing to talk about, I'm going to give you a review of the week. No major catastrophes or humiliations, but just the casual awkwardness of my day to day life and all the weird things that go through my head.

So, for the first half of the week I was a model student. I had an essay due in on Thursday so I spent Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday reading anything I could get my hands on to do with the representation of the family in Dickens. (Party on!) That gave me the whole of Wednesday to write the essay, which was all well and good until I couldn't get Microsoft Word to work on my new laptop and had to camp out on campus for 6 hours, buried under a pile of colour-coded notes. After 4 hours Kirsty came to check that I was still sane, took me for a coffee to ensure that I still had full function of my legs, and then returned me to the library to finish off my last 1000 words. By that point the English language had lost all meaning and I had to sit with my head on the desk for 10 minutes before I could conjure up the word 'overtly'.

You know the week hasn't been the
best when you see this in the mirror.

That night, to celebrate, I drank wine in my pjs with Kirsty and our friend Clare. We gossiped about boys, uni, and discussed Catholicism. As you do. There was a feast of raw cookie dough, which probably undid any of the good I'd done munching on organic, low fat rice cakes all week. 

On Friday I had my first seminar of 2014. (Let's all sit around and argue about whether or not Emily Dickinson was just an overrated maniac.) Last term I had to take a compulsory module, which was horrendous. They don't count it as compulsory because they give you the choice of 3: bad, worse, and one so awful I'd rather sit in a room with Sylvia Plath for 12 hours, discussing the joys of life.

But this term I'm studying Gothic Evolutions. It's all things dark and creepy and I have somehow regressed to my 10 year old nerdy self, hauled up with a pile of books in my room and eager to do my homework. I'm also doing my dissertation this term, which is about as terrifying as Gothic Evolutions is interesting. I somehow have to force 8,000 words out of my brain and onto paper in the form of an intellectual discussion on something that the university library shelves would suggest no one has ever written on. There's a whole separate library dedicated to law, but try and find a book about the Antebellum South and you'll quickly find you're out of luck.

On Friday night Kirsty, Clare and I went to Bella Italia, where I convinced myself that opting for a low-fat main course justified me getting garlic bread, 2 cocktails and an enormous slab of cake. I must admit though, even I thought I was pushing the calorie intake boundaries a bit when I went out for dinner again last night to celebrate our house-mate's birthday. For the first time in my life I was genuinely considering opting for a salad until we got to Urban Burger, where the only thing on the menu is...burgers. That said, I have spent the majority of the week unable to negotiate stairs because I've been trying to stick to my new workout DVD, which has left me with little use of my thighs and a constant aching in my bum. I intend to write a post about it when the 30 day challenge is over. That way, if I can finally fit into my Daisy Dukes by the end I can recommend it as a miracle DVD and if not at least people can look at the pictures I've been taking as I progress, and laugh at how big my butt looks.

In other news regarding this mundane old week, I've finally gotten around to listening to Britney Spears' new album, Britney Jean. It seemed only right that I should have it for Christmas seeing as I have all the others and regularly insist on listening to Hit Me Baby One More Time on full blast in my car. But even I, blindly dedicated fan that I am, can't get on board with this weird new accent she keeps putting on. If Dick Van Dyke ever taught us anything it's that the Americans should leave the British accent well alone. 

Then Kirsty introduced me to Secrets of the Living Dolls, which she found on 4od. It basically follows the lives of men who like to dress up...not as women exactly, but plastic dolls. It's apparently becoming the new big thing, which I find slightly concerning. It's not that I necessarily object to people dressing how they want, but instead of make up they wear rubber masks and, being personally terrified of masks, I don't feel I can entirely get on board with the idea of masked men in body suits casually roaming the aisles of Tesco. I had to sleep with a night light after I watched it. But for those of you like Kirsty and myself who love a ridiculous Channel 4 'documentary', this one is...an eye opener.

And now we've come full circle. It's Sunday afternoon and I'm back in the library, trying to find anything vaguely related to Gone with the Wind. I'm just hoping next week is a bit more lively or you'll just have to put up with another post about the mundane goings on of my boring week. Fingers crossed, eh?