breakfast

I wish I could wake up early enough to enjoy this almost forgotten meal.

i feel like a piece of 2x4

Right now I'm totally at university! On saturday I loaded up the car with everything I could think of, and yet still managed to arrived completely under/overprepared - eleven scarves, but not one belt in sight; comic books, but no coathangers; giant pink umbrella, but a complete lack of shower gel - so the past few days I've been in quite a topsy-turvy place. However, a trip to the budget emporiums of Southampton (Asda, I love you, though you are owned by Walmart and therefore evil) sorted me out with what I was missing, and I have been collected enough to make one meal so far! I quickly discovered that I can't function on crisps alone, as much as I might want to. My new home is flat 23 in Romero halls, with eight other lovely people. There are photos to put up, but I think this one reflects best what is to be expected in the next three years:

whole new way

It appears that the following equation of

+

=

I was really excited to hear that Damon Albarn would be working with the Horrors (and vice versa - I think they're appearing on the upcoming third album from Gorillaz?) because I love him most unashamedly. And I really love this track. It's a reworked version that will be released as a single in November, the fairly good original of which was a bonus track on the Japanese release of Primary Colours, but Damon's presence has only improved it.

mostly i just feel like poisoning everybody

Scarlett Johansson is TOO BEAUTIFUL. This is the conclusion I have come to, for her beauty is such that it actually hurts my eyes. Her face and figure make her look like she's from another era entirely; she is this decade's only plausible 'screen siren', looks-wise, and a good actor to boot despite all those dreadful Woody Allen films. In addition she is the only woman thus far to pull off an entire album of Tom Waits covers. In almost every conceivable way she goes against the grain as far as Hollywood is concerned. She is resolutely pale, enviably voluptuous, and speaks her mind. Compared with the almost interchangable army of boney, tangoed and above all completely vacuous actresses, she stands out a mile.

In constrast, today I watched two episodes of Hannah Montana (I have no life) and felt like I'd looked into the abyss. It was terrifying. How are the coming generation going to cope if all they have is the Disney Channel? I don't understand how the young girls of today can endure these half-hour ordeals that so effortlessly combine the twin evils of bad music and bad acting. Also, Miley Cyrus comes across as being real mean to her friends and family! But I guess to be rich enough to keep yourself in promise rings, powerful enough to insult people without fear of retribution, and leading a double life based entirely on strategic wig swaps is what appeals to the youth these days.
I switched to watching the classic 80s cartoon THE TRAP DOOR to soothe my nerves.

everyday is like sunday

Time holds no meaning for me right now. I'm looking forward to being able to tell the difference between weekdays and weekends again, the lines have blurred beyond all recognition. This has recently been exacerbated by the fact that I've not left the house for two days due to a foul cold. I have spent the so-called 'weekend' setting up awesome Pokemon decks/watching anime/drawing badly, all while snuffling and sneezing and generally being disgusting. Dad made Charlie and me watch the video Everyday Is Like Sunday for purposes of education - his devotion to Morrissey's solo work is touching.

Things I will miss at university No. 82: listening to Morrissey with dad.

i like this place and willingly could waste my time in it

I had what will probably be my last night out in London before uni on thursday, and boy am I gon' miss it. Ten of us had dinner at the new Vapiano on Great Portland Street, to stuff ourselves full of the best pasta in London for a mere £5.50. It brought back happy memories of Berlin, where Vapiano was our saving grace from the horrors of hostel catering. It's basically fast food - you queue, tell the chef what pasta you want, and they make it there right in front of you in a couple of minutes. Then you return to your bench, tear off a few leaves from the basil plant, and tuck in. Seriously good.

Kat, me, basil, and what looks like a saucepan lid.
Then seven of us carried on to Candybox in Soho, passing the launch party of Christopher Kane's new Topshop line (which looks mostly a bit shit, with one good crocodile dress) and a crowd of paparazzi outside Jazz After Dark, waiting for Amy Winehouse to emerge. We saw her towering hair, but nothing else. The guy standing on the wheel of the car is the best thing about this picture.

At Candybox it was cheap to get drunk/drunk to get cheap, and they played indie disco hits that warmed my heart. As we arrived, they were playing Blue Boy by Orange Juice, then played Belle & Sebastian and Echo & The Bunnymen in quick succession. There were some alarmingly well-dressed and angular people in attendance, but it wasn't too pretentious. Dancing moment of the night was Jump in the Pool by Friendly Fires. I don't know what happened, but Kat and I went slightly crazy.
I'm wearing: YourEyesLie menswear skull tee, Camden - leggings, TK Maxx (sale, yes) - blue suede shoes, Topshop - denim shirt, mum's from the 90s - rosary, from the Vatican.


This guy was literally unconscious. Imogen was using him as a dancing puppet. It was both disturbing and extremely funny.





As we left, wobbly-legged and numb-eared, we had a collective shouting match about how much we were going to miss each other, and weepy farewells upon separation. We were accosted by some French men, and some Australians whom we completely misdirected in a well meaning manner. I got back at about half 4, having got an ever faithful night bus from Piccadilly Circus, and thought to myself, WHY ARE WE MOVING AWAY?!?? In capitals, with unnecessary punctuation. I'm now broke, and am paying dearly for going out ill (powered only by Lemsip), but it was worth it to have my last night out in London for at least three months, with my super most bestest friends in the world.

i need a home

Where am I? Where do I live? My home is feeling less like home, everyday I'm looking at all my stuff and wondering how on earth I'm going to transport it to my new student-box. My mum went slightly overboard on the kitchen front and got me twee but pretty flowered Cath Kidston oven mitts. I like them lots. Thus, the transition has begun... The only way I can avoid becoming a Stepford Wife in the future is to decamp to a treehouse.