hark! the herald angels sing

So I've been a bad poster again. I'm sorry

I went to the ballet today. I may be in love with a. Ben and b. Pyotr Ilyich and c. Every single member of the Royal Ballet. Ballet is fantastic. There's something about getting men, putting them in tights and a top that's at least one of the following things:

• Pink
• Skin-tight
• Shimmery
• Sequined
• Glittery
• Gold

that somehow makes them all the more wonderful. Every time I close my eyes now I can see a line of fairies pointing and lifting and changing their feet under a tutu. Very pretty. Have now been to the ballet enough times to recognise names on the cast sheet. Hurrah!

This is a rubbish post. But I think it'll have to do.

we're fast, we're fast, we're having a blast

I've just returned to uni after the wonderful jolly that was reading week. I had a lovely excursion to Lucy's house (flat). It's so far North that it's in a whole other country. I went to Edinburgh Bargain Stores. I bought a knife.

I then went home for one night for the sole purpose of being able to watch Spooks on One, and then watching the next episode on BBC3. But I couldn't. They don't do it anymore. All this time at uni I've been cursing the lack of freeview, and yet the minute I go home to one, it all ends. This did not make me a happy bunny.

I then went to Ben's and bummed around, learnt approx 4 Russian words, and cooked. Twice. Relatively successfully actually, although I did almost kill Ben and Caleb with raw chicken. But it was ok, that's what microwaves are for. The whole cooking experience inspired me to buy actual real food in Tesco today and attempt another masterchef effort. I burnt my wooden spoon. Ooops.

Friday was spent at home writting an academic book review and borrowing genuine 90s leggings from my mum. They're for ballet, but I thought I'd try them on. And now, after a journey on a train delayed by 58 minutes, I'm back in the city. Wearing the aforementioned leggings. Love them.

I went to Oxford Street this evening with Jess and Maria. We went to Topshop. It's so big. So big that we couldn't find the Topshop shoes. We found plenty of other shoes. They have an Office in the basement. It's bigger than the actual Office shop. But I didn't buy shoes. I bought a dress. It's gold. It's made out of sequins. It's amazing.

The floor five guys have gone out because Joey has been sat in her room lonely for a week, she is reading week-free. I'm saving myself for Maria's birthday extravaganza tomorrow night. And writing to you.

someone that you love too much

I've been in London for 6 ish weeks. And it's good, it's so un-provincial, so full of everything anyone could ever want or need, it's a capital city obviously, and therefore has everything cultural and historical (well that's not really true) and despite my previous rantings "London is not the centre of the universe, the country does not not revolve around London etc" I have to say that now I'm in the centre of the universe; the country is revolving around me. But actually, if I hadn't been outside London, I wouldn't know the rest of Britain exists. London is a metropolitan bubble. It's amazing. I talk in tube stops, I no longer refer to the blue line, I get asked for directions, I see "TV special" silver police cars every day.

I'm meeting people. I'm studying. I'm having fun. I'm lying in.

But I really, really just want to talk to someone I already know.

without a second look you took me miles away

Apparently I only remember to blog when I've either got washing to do or washing in the machine.

First of all I'd like to point out that Ben who leaves comments about me being hot in skinny jeans and having stains on my duvet is in fact, not my lovely boyfriend, but someone I don't know. So don't judge him. My Ben that is. You can judge the other one.

I'm just signing up to the Psychology department research list. This means I'll be able to browse, sign up for and participate in studies like "Want some free money? If yes, come to room X and answer some simple maths and english questions while looking at different colours. This is an important part of a what will be a tremendously insightful study into the effects of colours on different parts of the human brain." This is good because a. I like free money and b. I actually quite like the stupid tests psychologists make you do.

I had my only lecture lecture of the week this morning and the lecturer had projecter issues. That's a computer projecter, not an old-school overhead acetate jobby; those things never break. The other day in a seminar Dr Seth had problems with his projector too, and this made me think, can anyone actually use these things? Does it ever go smoothly? Has anyone ever plugged it in, pressed on and been ready to go? I think not. I also think that it shouldn't have to be this way.

So here is my plea to anyone technology minded and that way inclined : re-design the projector. Make it simple. Make it work. Please.

the sun is in the sky, oh why, oh why would I wanna be anywhere else?

The sun is not in the sky. Well, maybe it is, but it's also hidden behind a very angry looking rain cloud that is currently dispelling an unecessarily large amount of water onto London. I am very wet indeed. It has capillary actioned up my jeans to knee height in a 10 min dash back from uni. It's monsoon rain. It's rainy season rain. It's "Oh my gosh, let us all stop and gaze out of the window in absolute amazement" rain. It's so loud that I can no longer hear the low and constant rumble of traffic. It's rain that says to the world "Don't even try. Stay at home. I am the winner."

Despite this onslaught, I came home via the fantastic Tesco in order to a. purchase vegetables and b. acquire change for the washing machines. I have again found myself on my last pair of socks. I spent £4.07 on 3 carrots, 1kg of peas, 342g of ketchup (Heinz) and 229g of Scottish smoked haddock. I therefore gained 4 clubcard points, 1 50p and 2 20ps, both of which are in my "washing change" pile. Neither are inside the minstrels machine.

Last night I didn't go to the Holy Trinity Brompton student group but instead went to UCL Chorus - part of the Music Society. The rehearsal was 3 hours long. It was Mozart. I'd never sung it before. I was battling against a particularly horrific combination of period pain and "digestive discomfort". It was, however, a joyous occasion. :) I didn't get a part in Jekyll and Hyde, not even the chorus (I blame not going to the dance audition for that) so that's not going to take over my life. Should I let chorus do it instead? Probably.

I'll end with a few sentances I've written in Russian today.

1. Yesterday I bought bread in the central square.
2. When he worked at the literary institute he lived in the hall of residence.
3. Anton read the paper on the bus.
4. Where is the giraffe? It is in Moscow zoo.

not 5, not 4, not 2, but 3!

Quick thought, when your duvet's a double, how do you know which is the end and which is the side?

haven't you noticed I've been hanging around?

I'm at uni. Hurrah!

I love PostSecret. You should too.

I went to do my washing today in the basement because I'm wearing my last pair of clean socks. For this I blame Ben, for he hath taken away my second-to-last pair. So far this has been a success because although the display says £1.60, I put in a pound and it just started. Fantastic. It only takes 38 mins; at home it's 47. And the drum is very huge. And there's tumble dryers! I'm going to transfer it all from washing to drying now. So, bye bye. Hopefully all is well.

she is definitely pretty

Firstly, is it just me, or does Russel Brand (that looks like I've spelt something wrong) bear at least a little of resemblance to Johnny Depp character in Pirates of the Carribean?

Secondly, I'm eating "Squeeze Me" marmite on toast. It tastes different. I swear. And squeezy marmite? No, it's just not right, you have to scrape from the jar. It's rubbish. And it costs an extra pound for the novelty. I normally love gimmicks and willingly pay throught the nose for them. Something is very wrong about this.

Thirdly, I'm going to uni at the weekend and I'm so not ready, not at all. But, it'll be fine, it will have to be fine, so it will. I'm only slightly less organised than I was for Tanzania (which was not very) and considering the fact that I'm only going 200 miles south rather than properly ages away to place where I speak the language, have been before, isn't a 45 minute walk uphill on a mud track that becomes steadily more impassable by car in the rainy season, and has more services avaliable than I have at home, I should be fine. Even though I haven't started packing or decided what to take or even in which bag. Or worked out when I'm going to do it. I think it'll have to be tonight, because it's either tonight or Friday night, and I think that's pushing it a little, even for me given that I'm leaving at foolish o'clock (6am) on Saturday.

The other main issue is that of my impending degree course. I dug out my history reading list yesterday. I haven't read any of it. None. I got a copy of the lovely slimline Russian Revolution by Robert Service, and am making decent progress, but it is a very small book. I'm also struggling with the cyrillic alphabet; it makes my head hurt :( I haven't done any academic work in over a year! I'm not sure I can still write.

And this is why I'm not organised. Because in order to start the organisational process, I have to think about all the things I should have already done.

react like it's 1805

Apparently I've been suffering from Rubbishious Lackofpostingitis over the past 2 weeks, but hopefully, I'm now over the worst of it.

On Saturday morning I was in Somerfield in Pocklington (the one that used to be Safeway) buying charcoal to fuel my party that evening when I saw two things that wouldn't be interesting if I told you them in "real life", so you get to hear about them here.

1. Signs joyfully proclaiming that that Somerfield is closing. Excellent. Fantastic. I hate Somerfield, and even more than I hate Somerfield and its ridiculous "Somerthing Different" advertising campaign I hate the fact in Pocklington we have two. And that they're both small and crap. Apparently, we're getting a Waitrose (just for James!). I'm actually excited by that prospect.
2. A man with his 8/9-year-old daughter in tow. He was wearing a t shirt that said "Heaven" at the top with a 3 toilet-sign style figures underneath, a lady, a gentleman, and another lady. It was a "Threesomes are ace!" t-shirt. He's a dad. He shouldn't own that t shirt. He definitely shouldn't wear while with his daughter out in public. What does he tell her when she asks what it means? Does he say "You'll know when you're older", thus forming a strong memory of unquenched curiosity, causing her to long for the day when she finally uncovers the mystery of the t shirt? She may not understand now, but in actually a shockingly few number of years she will. And she will be ashamed to call him Dad.

On an unrelated topic, today I read yesterday's Sunday Times Magazine which contained a special "Ah ha! It's the start of term, let's do a 3-part special on being a student" insert. Along with handy tips about what to take (a doorstop and duvet that isn't univeristy owned, old, and smelly), the odd cheap but clever recipe, and an article about how you have to become an "independent learner" at university, there was a list of 7 things you will have done during Fresher's week. Number 7 on this list was along the lines of "Spent hours with your new Southern/Northern friends debating the correct way to pronounce "bath" and, if you're a southerner "oop north" discovering that the shops now all close early......." I suppose I'm technically a northerner, and wow. I did not know that. To check I asked my mum - she's from Reading - if shops really do stay open longer south of the Midlands. And yes. Apparently there is a north/south divide, and below it the shops are open other times apart from when the entire world is busy at work and their money is not avaliable for spending in retail. Perhaps S is for South is for Sensible while N is for North and for Not.

how do you feel when there's no sound?

I haven't posted in a while. And this time I have a mild excuse in that I went to Preston"on holiday" with Ben for a few days at the beginning of last week, and then went off to live in a field at Leeds Festival.

Leeds was festival was rather bon, I have to say. It has, however, left me with the follwing urges.

1. Buy a lot of CDs. Lots and lots. (I've just ordered 4 on the internet)
2. Buy a band T Shirt. I want one of these.
3. Wear it with jeans tucked into wellies.

need a little time to wake up, wake up?

{Yes, most of this is old and second-hand. Sorry}

I work in Pret a Manger. Therefore, I serve many a person who is in search of coffee. We serve a variety of coffee types, latte, cappuccino, mocha, espresso, macchiato, filter (white and black) and americano (white and black). Any involving milk can be made using skimmed, whole or soya milk, and all except filter can be decaf and either half, double or regular strength. We don't have to put chocolate on anything. And yet, we sell a lot of cappuccinos.

Following the rise of the coffee shop, many people were left confused. They just wanted a coffee, and when confronted with a huge board covered with unpronouncable coffees, a complicated 3-tier sizing system where tall meant small and an impatient teenager "Barista" (a what?) waiting for their order, they panicked. What to do? Just pick one. Any of them. And if it's horrible, don't get it next time. In the heat of the moment, a cappuccino was chosen, and as this was not too traumatic, word was passed onto friends, and a cappuccino became a thing of vague certainty in an uncertain world. A route out of the thorny maze that is the modern coffee shop. Something they can cling to, providing stability in the midst of the changing world, flailing like a wild strom around them. Their refuge.

But why was it cappuccino, the half-froth non-drink, that emerged as the coffee-rock? Perhaps, while furiously scanning the coffee board for something at least vaguely familiar, something stood out. The letter C. It worked for Iraq Al Qaeda, and on this coincidence of spelling a tradition was formed. And now, when coffee is required, swathes of people ask for a cappuccino. "A coffee" has come to mean "a cappuccino".

So now, when people want a coffee, they get a cappuccino, even though they acually want filter (or, more probably, instant). Why? Why get something when you want something else, especially when that something else is cheaper and easier and quicker? Why get froth when you want coffee? Now you have found your feet and realised that coffee shops are, on the whole, not out to trick you, why do you fall into the trap and pay the same amount of money for a drink that has had 50 grammes of milk missing? Perhaps you like it frothy and strong, but to be honest you are going to get a spoon (from the trolley just behind you on the right) dig through the foam to the liquid part and complain to your coffee-buddy that it's only really 2 thirds full, and a bit too strong, aren't you? I know you are, because next week you're going to come back and ask for a "not-too-frothy cappuccino". It's called a latte. But then you wouldn't know that, cos you don't know what you're asking for, do you? If you like the idea of non-filter, why not branch out, try something else? Ask us, we will advise. If you like filter, why not just get filter? Perhaps because that would show you aren't trendy enough to understand the idea of proper coffee. But if you ask for cappuccino, I can tell. You don't understand, you haven't tried, your opinion isn't your own.

But now, people are learning about the wonder of the americano. It's like normal coffee. You can have with milk. And it has an italian name, so no face is lost in asking for it. This discovery is being embraced almost as warmly as that of cappuccino but still, novices display their inexperience just as try to hide it behind an italian coffee name. Filter and ameicano cost slightly more than an espresso; both are the same price so the board says "Filter / Americano - £1.35". Keen to show their knowledge and understanding, the coffee buyer does not ask for cappuccino, but instead realises what they really want and decide to take the plunge. But, inadvertantly, they plunge in completely the wrong way, leaving their naivety behind them, floating on the surface for all to see.

"Any hot drinks?"
"Yes. A filter americano." (Ah ha. See. Normal coffee, but with an air of sophistication and knowledge)
"Sorry?"
"A filter americano." (Have I got it wrong? I'm beginning to get a little flustered here.)
"Which one would you like?"
"Sorry?" (I knew I should've had a cappuccino.)
"They're different things. Which would you like?" (They should've asked for a cappuccino.)
"Ummmm....filter" (ARG I'm never doing this again)
"Would you like milk?"
"Yes" (Yes! I just want a normal coffee! Can't you see that!?)
"That's £1.35 please" (Yes I can. Ha)

In all, the moral of this story is.

1. Get want you want.

But you don't necessarily know what this is.

2. In order to find what you want, try something you might.

But you may become unstuck in the process. For example, in their attempted trying of the americano miracle, many a person has misguidedly assumed that this safehouse of a coffee, as it is the plainest of the plain, must be the cheapest on the board. You've forgotten it's name, you remember it's Italian, you ask for an espresso. Woops. I can normally tell when this error is made, and can grab a teeny espresso cup to demonstrate what exactly "espresso - the little one" means. But some some unwitting consumers slip through my net. Or, I have to admit, sometimes I don't bother. A husband and wife come into the queue, she asks him for an espresso before slipping off to save a recently vacated table. He comes to the counter and asks for a cappuccino (what else?) and an espresso. When I ask if he's staying in or taking away he'll reply in a loud, slow voice "A CAPPUCCINO AND AN EXPRESSO". Yeh, thanks, I heard you the first time, and it's eSpresso actually. I quite look forward to the look on his face as I place his drinks on his tray. He asks "Is that what she asked for?" Yes, yes, it is. He returns to his table and she berates him. She told him what to ask for, he must have messed up. Gosh, how hard can it be? Eventually, she relents and comes over to the counter. And this is my favourite part.
"I'm sorry, I asked him to get me an espresso"
"That is an espresso"
*puzzled look* "Oh!" *thinks* "Why's it so small?"

So indeed, in the end, just remember this.

3. Yes. We are judging you.

And if you don't what to pay £1.79 for a coffee that's half missing, go home.

i'm not laughing, you're not leaving

Last week I finally joined the revolution.

After months of believing skinny jeans to be solely for skinny people, I now have realised that I am either a. right and skinny, or the more realistic b. wrong and still a bit fat. In other words I have my own lovely pair :)




I know this is kinda the point but they really are TIGHT round the calf and ankle. They feel like tighty tight knee high socks. They bunch up round the ankle. I may have to put them on like tights rather than trousers but they are, in fact a vision of grey loveliness.

Even though I was wrong and am still still a bit fat, I feel skinny and right in my lovely H&M friends :) :)

i'm the king of the castle

The long awaited (hmm) answers

1. g
2. e
3. c
4. a
5. h
6. b
7. d
8. f

the creaking of the walls and the banging of the bed

I just watched Hollyoaks. Is it a little bit wrong to find Foz strangely attractive? I think it's the voice.

But then, he does sound like he could lead a cult, so maybe he's just brainwashed me into the "voice cult".

Maybe he is the leader of a cult, I'm pretty sure a cult is one of the very few storylines Hollyoaks hasn't tackled. It's definitely time for a cult storyline in a British soap, there's been cults in both Summer Bay and Rasmay Street, it's time we got in on the action. I can't see it happening in Albert Square or Coronation Street, but I reckon HCC is prime recruiting ground.

I could even see a commune being set up on the wild hillsides of Emmerdale. The differing reactions of the villagers would cause great tensions, the nation would be gripped as a bride-to-be battles with her conscience over whether she should marry her fiance or join The Believers as their queen, culminating in a Christmas special (when else?) in which she, after much deliberation, turns up to her wedding to that the vicar has deserted the Church of England for a chance to serve as an altar boy for the High Priest of the commune. In the ensuing drama involving getting a registrar up from Leeds the perform the ceremony at short notice no one notices that her fiance's headless and heartless body is lying among sheep on the hillside, and it is, in fact, his evil twin in the morning suit at the front of the church. It's only when a sheep dog drags an arm into the pub at midnight on new year's eve that anyone notices that the real groom is missing.

Apparently, I like tangents.

and i hope you took your camera

I'm not even going to pretend to be any deeper than a saucer of water in this post. Below is a series of pictures of people who share their name with people we (I) know. Match the names to the pictures and leave your guess as a comment. I'll do an answers post in a weeks or so.

Have Fun!

Who's who?

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

a. Laura Lindsay

b. Peter Twyman

c. James Freeman

d. Luke Norman

e. Elizabeth Banks

f. Sophie Knowles

g. Betsy Powell

h. Lucy Moran

love you love you love you long time

I had a very strange dream last night. I was in the car with Ben and he was being proper flirty, and then we got out of the car and he was trying to kiss me, and I was like "Oooo I'm sorry but like, a few months ago I would've been fine, but I've got a boyfreind so yeah, sorry." And then I woke up and realised "Ben IS my boyfriend!"

This was just before Pete posed this very important question : "Do you want a. eggs for breakfast, or b. more sleep?" I chose a.

I was at Pete's cos I'd stayed there after last night's "Billie and Ruth - Welcome home from your 11 month adventure" night out. I'm not going to give a blow by blow account of what happened, but just mention these notable incidents.

On our arrival at Evil Eye we decided to move all the furniture (is that how you spell that) to create a large enough seating area for everyone. In doing this we moved a large sofa away from a computer, which proceded to fall over sideways and land with an almighty crash. Wooops. Appropriate response : hide it behind the offending sofa and move accross to the other side of the room.

While in Varsity it started to rain. Just as we were thinking about moving on Betsy decided that what she really needed was an umbrella, so she set about getting one. Going over to the bar, she didn't lie, she merely asked "Has anyone left an umbrella here?"

This was, obviously a genuinely innocent enquiry.

"What colour?" "Black"

She's just a very inquisitive person!

"Is this it?" "Yes"

And he just handed it to her! No deception involved at all. None. And this went meant that on our way to the Lowther, Betsy remained dry, as did Pete's right side and my left side. (Mostly)

While in the lowther we spotted a jukebox. (30p a song = bargain. I'd buy anything for 30p. Up to a point.) So myself and James selected S Club 7 - Reach. James, Pete, Billie, Luke, Soph, Betsy and I had reminising fun by singing the song and dancing the dance. And when we'd finished some guy said "I hope you feel ashamed of yourselves in the morning!" I don't feel ashamed at all. Not even a little bit. I'm quite pleased with myself actually, and with Luke's reply "I hope you feel ashamed of yourself right now!"

And I'm pleased he didn't take offence and introduce Luke to his fist.

Although, that might have been funny for a little while.

chasing the ghost of a good thing

I just watched, on and off, VH1's Most Wanted Bodies on TMF. Here's Miss Number One.

Oh my gosh. I never want to eat again.

Or alternatively I want to only eat 35 egg whites a week and drink 4 litres of silicone-rich Fuji water a day. I want to become an expert in a little-known martial arts discipline that provides a full cardiac work out while toning every muscle in my body, giving my bum and arms great shape AND definition.

My self-body-image-whatever changes a lot. I sometimes think I've got backwards body dismorphia. (Is that what it's called?) In that I look at myself in the mirror and think "Actually, that looks ok." I'm pretty sure that can't be what other people are thinking. When my sister's teasing me for being a fattie, and I get all envious cos she's uber-tanned and wearing the teaniest shorts known to man (she's such a fittie at the moment), I normally think that I'd rather keep my body than swap with her. I'm quite happy with it. Not that I could actually swap with her, but you know.

Then sometimes I'm thinking that I'm looking OK, but then accidently see myself in a mirror somewhere (like I did with my well-loved Pocahontas shoes) and think "ARG! That's ME!" That's today. My hair's a mess, I tied it up and put it under a baseball cap while it was still pretty much damp, it's now flatter than flat and looking even more than usual like the hair dye has gone a little bit wrong. My skin's really bad, in both the spotty and pasty-looking departments. My feet are big and clumpy, the red nail varnish not really detracting from the million-plus mosquito bite scars speckled around my ankles. My arms seem geneticly programmed to adopt the "clenched-fist gorilla-arm-hang" pose that is so often modelled by my mum. My thighs are not, however much I want them to be, "Beyonce thighs". They are just large. I have love handles. I have back fat. I am not a vision of loveliness.

My boyfriend thinks I'm sexy. But then, he has only seen me with my clothes on. That's part of the beauty of keeping them on til we're married; by then it'll be too late and he'll be stuck with me regardless. And if I don't look like Elisha Cuthbert, sorry, but if you don't believe in sex before marriage, I'm guessing you don't like divorce either.

won't you come on over, the other side of the sofa?

I wrote this yesterday, but it wasn't having any of it.

I've been reading this : http://allprowaiter.blogspot.com/ and feeling very very grateful that I am not a waitress. I get very annoyed at the very annoying customers in the shop with a star but they are nothing compared to what this guy has to deal with. Although, he could be lying.

Yesterday an old lady came up to the counter and told Billy-Gene (his actual real name) that she'd gone to get a straw from one of the cultery holder things and had returned to her table to find it empty. One the team must have cleared a whole orange juice and an unopened pecan pie into the bin. This is a believable story of course, because we all look like idiots with our name badges on our hats and in fact, we work in a sandwich shop so we must be thicker than thick. So, Billy quickly asked the people behind the counter if we'd cleared any tables, and obviously we had, then just gave her an orange juice and a pecan pie for free. But then he asked us properly, and no, surprisingly no one had cleared away her mid-morning snack. She never had one in the first place, did she?

She was lying. And she's a theif.

And today I heard someone pronounce "manger" as in "Pret a..." like "manger" as "Away in a...". Fantastic.

title-free

Luke and Pete are linking to me. This makes me feel under pressure to post.

Apparently I don't perform well under pressure.

our house, in the middle of our street

Someone used to live here.

do you want to see the world, do you want to see the world?

Well, apparently I don't. M&D&K are going on holiday to Egypt tonight without me but with one of Kat's friends. After a small bout of "What! She's taking a friend!" jealously/annoyance, I realise quickly that this is what I want. And am therefore pleased.

Billie and Ruth return from their world-like adventures in 2 weeks - hooray! And as proved by their last couple of emails and photo updates, they are indeed having an Exciting Time exploring the wonders of India. All the Tanzania guys are starting to arrive home after various stints of "independent travel" at the ends of their placements. Lucy's going to India, Kate's in Brazil, Jack's going to the Ukraine, Ben's going to Germany, Luke's just returned from a spontaneous trip to Turkey and is interrailing-it in September. There's a whole world waiting to be explored!!!

And the British Navy is exacuating tourists from Lebanon because Israel's "turning the clock back 20 years".

Oh well. I'm going to Preston at the weekend :) That's adventurous, and bonus, there's no tanks there!

i am not an acrobat

Am I supposed to be all "Oooo look, this is my new blog!" or am I supposed to jump straight in and just write?

Maybe by writing that I've answered my question.

Or maybe I just think I have.

Anyway, today I

• Served approximately 1 million (maybe) Italian school-kids in matching red baseball caps who all descended on the Shop with the Star during the height of the lunch-hour-rush-hour as one great Luncheon Voucher brandishing mass.
• Didn't check the reverse of the above mentioned vouchers for watermarks. Apparently, you're supposed to. None of us did and when the manager was checking later, he couldn't find any. So maybe we took approx £400 of fake Luncheon Vouchers. Oh well. It's not my funeral.
• Saw my feet in a mirror in Topshop and started to realise what my mother means when she says I should have left my beloved Pocahontas shoes in Tanzania.
• Watched Team America : World Police. I understand what it's trying to do, and the jokes it's trying to make, however, I don't get it. Or I wasn't paying attention. But thanks to Daneil for lending me it :)

Thought of the Day

When boys (like those in Placebo, for example) wear eyeliner and eyeshadow, do they wear mascara as well?