It seems that this post caused some of you (ok, my mum) concern over my mental health. The exact words were ‘I thought “Oh no, she’s lost it!”‘.
I would just like to assure my vast readership (heh) that I am not crazy. Nor am I fictional.
I walked past a bus stop at the weekend with the following message chalked onto the ground:
‘Good morning Leeds! It’s going to be a beautiful day! Live it, love it xx’
And it was and it was and I did and I did.
I am, as I have mentioned, very excited about the new Sex and the City film coming out this Friday. I will, of course, be dressing up in some lovely heels and a snazzy dress to go and see it with my girlfriends along with drinks and maybe dinner. I’ll be the one desperately gritting my teeth with every step, as I wore some ill-advised heels for a walk about the park at the weekend and managed to make a large painful, blisterous hole over my achilles tendon.
SJP must basically have hooves.
Of course, I won’t entertain the thought of going to see SATC in flats (being 5″3, though, I’d probably be able to slip past the ticket people unnoticed in a crowd of stilleto’d girls)… I will just walk through the pain, and allow the joy of the film (Aidan in particular) to wash over me and heal me.
I was feeling very Carrie-inspired the other day, and so I enjoyed playing with a few outfits and experimenting with different looks for a while before settling on what is basically my favourite skirt. I’m also feeling quite inspired by ‘S’ over at Not Just Medical, so I thought I’d post a couple of photos of what I eventually went out wearing. (I apologise for the photo quality. Surprisingly, a messy student bathroom in a poky Victorian terrace is not the ideal studio…It’s the only room with a big mirror, and the camera timer’s playing silly buggers).
Shell …(I want to say Mother-of-pearl but I’m not sure it’s the right colour, although in real life it does have the lovely sheen)…loveheart bracelet, a gift from my dad. I also wear this all the time. It’s ably modelled here by Kevin.
I was quite pleaseed with it, as I often have trouble dressing my hourglass figure – big bottoms and bosoms are lovely but when sported by a shorty like me they can tend to make one look either dumpy or wench-like. Wench is not so bad, I guess…I am a big fan of the medieval world, as it goes. I just think there are some days I’d rather be an Eleanor of Aquitaine than buxom toothless Hawise serving mead at The Swan. However, I think I did a pretty good job with the above outfit.
But today, daaaahlings, I am wearing:
Greasy hair and look of despair model’s own.
I haven’t been posting much, and to explain why, here is a diagram of the contents of my head:
Red= Academic worries. It’s exam season right now. In fact, it’s nearly 10 pm the night before my first exam, at 9 am tomorrow, and I have nothing to say about ‘Evelina’ by Frances Burney. Do you? No, didn’t think so. Shame.
Blue= Family worries and woes. Don’t even GO there.
Green= Worries about the future, such as: OHMYGOD what does the future hold? Do I want to be a teacher? Should I get a flu jab this winter? What should I name my future dog? What breed should it be? Should I write to Doris Day soon and tell her how much I love her , because she’s an old lady now and could kick it at any time? WILL I KICK IT?! What is Christmas going to be like this year? Will I have space for a corner sofa in my house? Will I have a house? Is this all moot because the Apes are going to take over and as a slave I won’t even have a career and lifestyle to worry about? WILL I EVER SEE BON JOVI?
Yellow= General dizzy busy confusion from trying to deal with all the above. Also everyday concerns, such as getting dressed, brushing teeth, remembering to socialize etc.
Purple= A mixture of excitement about SATC2 coming out at the cinema (AIDAN!!!), and gleeful anticipation of whatever’s for dinner (CARBOHYDRATES!!!).
Little stick person= The logical part of my brain, who doesn’t get much of a say.
See you all soon :)
I’m a terrible hoarder, I always have been. My year 4 teacher used to call me a squirrel as any notes, doodles, sick notes, chapel service sheets or report cards would end up in my class drawer. As I got older, and carried on collecting everything I thought I’d like to keep for posterity, I started putting them into shoeboxes. I carried this on until about 2 years ago, when I started keeping everything in the bottom of my handbag or wedged in the frame of my mirror. I try to be more selective than I used to be …did I really think that my future self would, on rediscovering a service sheet for the 2002 Harvest Festival, think fondly back on that service, perhaps hum a few of the hymns as I brushed my long red hair? – I had a very specific image of how I would look as a young adult. I would be tall and willowy, have long red hair and great teeth. I conveniently forgot that I would still be me- I have, since I was about 7, been a short, freckly, brown haired hobbit type. Except for when I dyed my hair red -lush, by the way- when I was a slightly rebellious hobbit-type. How I would possibly metamorphose into an elf is something I obviously hadn’t considered.
Yesterday mum pulled about a dozen shoeboxes from the attic and I went through them ruthlessly. Most birthday cards did not survive, and many of my carefully folded and hidden little love letters from my first ‘boyfriends’ (which, when you’re 8 years old means a boy who doesn’t repulse you, whom you might deign to talk to from time to time) finally went in the bin. They mostly consisted of apologies for upsetting me – it seems that as a child, I was a high maintenance ‘girlfriend’. I like to think I was under the influence of some drama-queen, stirring, much-cooler-than-me friends. Actually I was. In prep school (7-13) I wasn’t necessarily one of the cool kids- I was a bit too bookish and malcoordinated for that- but I was best friends (BFF!) with some self-proclaimed queen bees. They grew up to be lovely young women though, and I don’t think I turned out too badly.
Anyway, one of my favourite finds was a notebook in which my 9 year-old self had written a list of ‘Things I Love’ and ‘Things I Hate, no doubt inspired by the Anastacia Krupnik series of books I enjoyed. The list of ‘Things I Love’ was much longer than the list of ‘Things I Hate’, which is encouraging, although a few items had been crossed out and then re-written again further down the list, such as ‘Tom S.‘ (a ‘boyfriend’ who I actually go to uni with now, but only glimpse now and then. He’s a bit cool now, having successfully infiltrated the somewhat nepotist drama societies…not that I’m bitter. Ok, I am, but that’s a can of worms for another post).
The list of ‘Things I Hate’ was both hilarious and perplexing, and has led me to the conclusion that I must have been a bit of a weird child. Slightly crazy, at least. But always very earnest. I think I was an incredibly earnest child. Here’s the List of Things I Hate:
Bees and wasps
Yeah…Dairy farms? I have no idea why.
* (Sewing teacher who wouldn’t accept that I. Cannot. Sew. And who thought I was being silly when I screamed, having found a mummified mouse in a bag of polystyrene balls)
I have one essay left for this year, and two exams. The essay’s 3000 words on Arthurian chivalry, and it’s due on Monday. So why did I spend about an hour today making this? :
Because it’s awesome. That’s why.
I suppose I should have said ‘absolutely fabulous’. But that would be too obvious. That’s my sister and I, in case you thought mistook us for famous comediennes.
I also went to the pub for some banoffee pie (mmm), watched a certain amount of Supernanny, and exercised my rights as a UK citizen to vote in a democratic election for the first time, which was fun. Thanks, Mrs Pankhurst, for the procrastination inspiration! I joke…
I really do think that what the suffragettes did was inspiring and brilliant. I think it’s silly, even thoughtless, when women say they’re going to vote just because of Emmeline Pankhurst (whom I once portrayed in a play- I had to wear a completely anachronistic costume because our wardrobe mistress was slightly nutty, in an endearing way. Although, not so endearing when you’re trying to look dignified wearing an enormous -it had it’s own gravitational field- hat and a shiny red 1980’s blazer).
Mrs Pankhurst, I think, would be dismayed- or at least, rather cross- to think women were voting just to honour her memory. Women should vote because it’s vital, because they support a party, because they want change (or not), because it’s our responsibility as citizens of a democratic and free nation to take full advantage of the opportunities we are given to guide our country and our future that many people across the world are denied. Until 1928, that oppressed number included British women. So, ladies, by all means bear Mrs Pankhurst and the suffragettes and their brave actions in mind as you vote (I know I did), but don’t let that be the only reason you vote (you only have an hour left now anyway!). Now, rant over, lets enjoy this catchy little number from Mary Poppins: