There's only one thing I could be blogging about today.
Chantelle Houghton claims to have 'lost her appetite' after split with Rav Wilding and I find this rather distressing.
Just kidding. It was the Royal Wedding day today. The union of two people, very much in love, and very much adored.
I was so excited. More excited than even I had anticipated. I got up at 7am to freshly bake scones before the BBC coverage started at 8. With the scones cooling in the kitchen and myself washed and dressed I was ready to fetch my BlackBerry, settle on the sofa and begin tweeting and crying the day away. The excitement mounted as visions of the crowds played out across the screen. When William and Harry were first sighted leaving Clarence House the emotion all got too much for mother and I and tears were shed. But as the rest of the Royals and the Middletons continued to arrive at Westminster Abbey, there was and could only be one name on all of our lips. Kate.
It was her wedding day. She was about to marry the man she loved in the most beautiful gown and on top of that, she was to be watched by billions all over the world as she did so. As she became a princess. Now, if you can think of anything more fabulous or more terrifying please do get in touch.
Upon that first glimpse of Kate as she slid into her car with her father I let out a little yelp. White! The dress was white! As the car slowly moved off and begun it's journey to the abbey we got a better look at this Alexander McQueen creation. Her face completely covered in a delicately billowing veil, her arms and chest doused in a beautiful lace, the neck line just low enough for femininity and just high enough for appropriateness. A vision.
The ceremony was lovely. It was traditional, formal and emotional.
I couldn't help but notice the fact that both William and Harry had the constant expression that said: "I just farted but we can't laugh". I'd give my right arm to listen in on Harry's best man speech later.
As William and Kate (should I be calling her Catherine now?) left Westminster Abbey as newly weds to the roars of the crowds outside there was a real sense of joy and occasion. Everyone was happy. The Queen had a massive grin on her face. And Prince Harry looked as cheeky as ever as he left the abbey with Kate's sister Pippa on his arm.
[an hour later] The balcony scene! My favourite moment was Kate's exclaim of "oh wow!" as she stepped out and saw the volume of people that had come to greet them. I thought it was true example of her humility and will endear me to her forever. Not only that, but we got TWO WHOLE KISSES from the happy couple. More than we ever could have bargained for. They sure do spoil us. The kisses seemed genuine and loving, a huge contrast to that of Charles and Diana's.
My second favourite bit was them appearing later on in a decorated Aston Martin, fit with L plates and everything, and William himself driving. I thought that was ace. Fun. I think that's what they're going to bring to our Royal family.
Overall it really was a wonderful day. And I hope all the hundreds of receptions they have to attend and canapes they have to eat are equally as wonderful.
We laid on a spread here as well. Tea, and scones and cakes and sandwiches. Thank you William and Catherine, for a lovely bank holiday.
I wish them all the happiness in the world. It really couldn't go to a lovelier pair.
ps. did you know that Ellie Goulding was asked by the couple themselves to perform at the reception? If I'm honest, I can't quite decide who has the biggest honour.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
I said I was going to give you some news later on this week. Here we are, later on in the week, and I've got some news. You can't tell me I don't deliver.
(This blog is mostly for the benefit of my Grandpa)
I had a meeting with the bookshop again this morning. And they offered me a job! I'll be in training from next week and then from June I'll be working 3 or 4 days a week. Learning all the tricks of the trade, attending events, meeting people in the literary world, and reading reading reading. I'm excited, nervous and feeling positive. It's going to be so good for me to actually do some proper work and a bookshop is the perfect environment. It will be hard though. I am not accustomed to surfacing before 10am so you can expect a zombie like, no makeup-ed Claire for a good month or so.
Not only that, but I looked into booking a driving test today and was greeted with the radiant sight of a cancellation. For this Monday. Obviously this doesn't give me much time to practise, but the next possible booking was the end of August. Cancellations are like gold dust and you've got to snap them up while you can. Of course, I may have just invested 75 of my well earned pounds into a deep sense of loss and regret. But then again, I might pass and be free to run over small animals at my own pleasure.
I feel like things are moving on. This is good.
Next stop. Moving out. (Joking mother). (I'm not joking).
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Hello. Happy Easter. I hope you had a good one.
I won't bore you with too many details. Sometimes I get carried away and kid myself people are interested in what I had for breakfast this morning. Fruit and Fibre.
This weekend was nice. Gareth came to stay. We had a picnic and a barbeque on Saturday and listened to football commentary (?). On Sunday we had family over, sat and walked in the sun and were thoroughly entertained by the little ones. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Archie is super, and so is Mia. They are the sweetest little people I've ever seen and before I met them I didn't like children (in fact I still don't like children bar Archie and Mia), this is proof enough that they are pretty fantastic.
Gareth left yesterday morning to go and watch Bournemouth play. As a result I have felt a little blue. Not to worry though, it's nothing that can't be fixed by mountains of egg-shaped chocolate. What a fortunate coincidence.
I may have some news later on this week. Nothing very exciting. Particularly not for anyone apart from me. But if I haven't talked this up enough already, tune in later.
Have you had a nice Easter weekend? I do hope so.
Friday, 22 April 2011
I've decided to take this Easter weekend off blogging. As much as I adore imparting my words upon you all, I fancy a bit of time playing in the sun, eating chocolate eggs and doing not much else. I hope that's okay.
I've already begun my Easter weekend celebrations with brunch with my dear Eve this morning and a ladies 'pub crawl' this afternoon with my drunk friends. I'm relaxed and content and looking forward to seeing my boyfriend and my wee cousins.
Thank you Jesus, for dying on the cross. Because of this we get 2 whole bank holidays, and also get to go to heaven. Not much could be better than that.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
I had a meeting this morning with the owners of the Chorleywood Bookshop to discuss the possibility of me writing and blogging for them. It went really rather well and I am proud to announce I will now be writing book reviews for the bookshop's website, as well as hosting their very own blog. Between myself and the owners, Morag and Sheryl, we will be regularly updating readers and customers on author events, bookshop news, and what is hot in the literary world. Wit woo. As well as that, all my book reviews, the ones I post in this lovely place, will be live on their main website too. Hopefully to benefit both the bookshop and my readership. I'll keep you posted.
The rest of today I spent at the zoo with my granny, my brother, my uncle and my cousin. We saw animals. Of all shapes and sizes. There was a tiger that was showing off. I think he fancied me. There was a giraffe that was really struggling to get a melon out of a basket. It was using it's tongue and everything. There were meerkats that I fell for. Hard. They were just like the ones of the advert except TEENY TINY. And they didn't talk. They were super cute and one of them was using it's tail as a pillow. There was also a fish that had a really big chin. I think Harry and I may have given it self esteem issues with our words.
It was wonderful weather, it was lovely to see my granny, but my legs and my feet are not in a good way. My body parts cannot, and will never be able to, cope with exercise of even the lowest degree. Now please excuse me while I die a little bit.
ps. I realise my pictures are utter trollop. If you would like them to improve, please do not hesitate to buy me a camera.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Today was a funny old day.
I travelled home to London from Brighton. Actually, make that 'from Brighton to London' - that sounds better on the ear. However it did not go quite as I'd planned. But I guess not much does, when you're as innately disorganised and useless as I am.
My train was set to depart at 11.49. Plenty of time to wake, have a leisurely breakfast and pack all my things up before getting to the station with hours to spare. I could have even slipped in last night's episode of Campus, or written a poem. The world was my oyster.
But no, this is not how the morning played out. From now on, remind me often, that when there is some kind of deadline in my immediate or otherwise future, it is NOT safe to close my eyes EVEN FOR 3 SECONDS. I will fall into a deep sleep and not reawaken for 3 hours at least.
That is more how the morning played out.
So to cut a long story short I missed my train and had to call father to get him to transfer money into my account (I obviously have none of my own) so I could buy a new train ticket. And Gareth had to come to the station to calm me down by ruffling my hair a lot and telling me "this is why I nag you". I got a First Capital Connect train rather than my usual Southern choice because that was the cheapest. A warning: do not catch a FCC train do you wish to keep your hearing/sanity in tact, use a toilet, or smell anything other than train exhaust. It was not a pleasant experience. Not only that but I was so hungry my stomach started to eat itself.
I'm home now though and I've got an excellent few days and weekend ahead of me. I even get to see Archie and Mia on Sunday, my favourite smaller-than-average people in the entire world.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
A few weeks ago Gareth and I watched The Notebook together. We cried, it was beautiful, etcetera, etcetera. Gareth then bought me the book and instructed me to read it (he wanted to know if the ending was different). So I set about doing just that.
This is not going to be a book review as such, more of a film/book comparison. But I've discovered something I have never known before. The exception to the rule. The anomaly.
There were a few things I noticed. Let me share them with you.
The time frame of the book was different to that of the film. It does start with the couple as elderly and in an old peoples home, but then the next time we hear of them, Noah has built his dream house and Allie is engaged to another man*. I don't have a problem with this format as such, but having seen the film already, I found it confusing. Of course, I am not blaming Nicholas Sparks for this. We learn of the summer they spent together only through Noah's thoughts and their reminiscing dialogue. Again, this doesn't prove too much of a problem but I would have liked to have witnessed it first hand. I think it would have made their relationship and loss of it seem far more poignant in the early stages of the book.
Now, there are only two books previously that I have read after watching the film adaptation. These were Bridget Jones' Diary and Eat, Pray, Love. As would be expected, the books would always hold a significant amount more detail, with the films missing minor plot lines and characters out. Film makers do only have 2 hours to portray a 300 odd page book. Therefore having already seen the film adaptation of The Notebook there were certain scenes I was expecting. The majority of which actually turned out not to appear in the book, and were apparently creations of the film director Nick Cassavetes and writer Jan Sardi. In the film, Allie puts up a fight when Noah first asks her out, but Noah persists by hanging off a ferris wheel, creating two characters that are clearly a match for one another and know their own minds. In the book, Noah and Allie's eyes meet and they fall in love in that moment. Call me a cynic, but love at first sight is a myth and the very idea makes me nauseous. There are countless examples of how the film makers have taken Nicholas Sparks' characters, and made them believable. Nicholas Sparks has created a love story that is just that... a story. There is no way that the reader will be able to relate, because it is fantasy, and the relationship between (book) Allie and Noah is downright irritating. Sparks treats us to endless paragraphs of devotional spiel about how much Noah adores Allie and how their love will conquer all. By page 50, we have heard everything Sparks has to say about the couple. They don't argue. Allie doesn't get angry when she finds out her mother kept Noah's letters from her for all those years. And rather than having the big climax scene where Allie screams through the rain "why didn't you write me?" and they share that kiss, she politely and quietly inquires the question over the dinner table, to which he responds in the same manner. Boring. So, unbelievably boring.
I have never, in all my 18 years and 10 months of life, read a book that is worse than it's film adaptation. But The Notebook just did it. Nicholas Sparks is so intent on writing epic love story after epic love story, he seems to have lost a grip on reality. And besides all else, he seems to have forgotten (or perhaps he never knew) what makes a good novel. I don't want to hear about a couple who are so ridiculously perfect for each other that their love can cure an irreversible illness. (Book) Allie and Noah don't exist. But I would like to believe that somewhere (film) Allie and Noah do. Because THEIR LOVE, that is real and honest and raw, is a truly beautiful thing.
ps. the ending was different. But although I've already spoiled the book for you, I think giving away the final sentence should be punishable by death.
*I'm sorry, there will be spoilers. Usually I would not endorse such a thing but in this case, if you haven't yet seen the film or read the book, you don't deserve the luxury of ignorance. Bit harsh, but whatever.
Monday, 18 April 2011
This weekend was spent in Brighton. Not that this is an irregular occurrence by any means, but we did manage to venture out into the big bad world more than we normally do.
On Saturday Gareth's dad and step mum came to visit and took us out for the day. We went east with the intention of visiting somewhere called Beachy Head (?). I had never heard of such a place but it sounded nice on the ears so I figured it was likely to be nice on the eyes too. If I'm honest, I don't think we made it to Beachy Head although I wasn't paying much attention so we could have done. All I know is, we had lunch at a little cafe and then walked a couple of miles to a lighthouse and back. The views were really wonderful and being right by Dover the cliff line was spectacular. I appreciated my surroundings and this is how I know I'm finally growing up.
We drove back to Brighton and had a cup of tea at the flat. Then we made our way to the Marina, somewhere I have never made the effort to explore before, and had a little walk by the boats. The sun was just setting beyond the harbor and Brighton really was stunning. I fell in love with it all over again. Then we went for an Italian where I was blessed with one of the most delicious pizzas I have ever tasted. My whole mouth just filled with saliva. The base was thin and crispy, yet the crusts somehow managed to retain their doughiness. The topping was simply a wonderfully fragrant tomato sauce beneath a sea of melted cheesiness, lumps of fresh mozzarella, red and yellow garlicky cherry tomatoes and rocket. Perfection on a wooden platter.
Sunday was the London Marathon and so we spent the morning watching it on the telly. My brother Jamie, was running it, so it held extra interest for me. My family had all gone into London to cheer him on and as I was not to be joining them, I used Twitter to rally the support. Late morning, Gareth and I went into town for a wander and to buy him some sunglasses. We walked around the shops, I spent a long time in Urban Outfitters browsing their book selection and had to be dragged away against my will. Then we went for a walk around the lanes, my favourite, and got some frozen yogurt. Then to the beach, where Gareth enjoyed talking to and smiling at the sea gulls. Next, we went for a walk along the pier, something regretfully we had yet to do despite Gareth having now lived here for 7 months. Disgraceful. It was tourist central, and we both agreed that although we were pleased to have now done it, we would not feel the need to venture back unless one of us suddenly had a dodgems based urge. We went and found a little coffee shop that boasted the 'best coffee in Brighton' and sat outside in the sun. It was, indeed, excellent coffee. The food looked good too. I was zonked by then, and spent the rest of the day on the sofa under the duvet watching telly. I went to bed at half 8 feeling a little rough, and slept on and off until 1pm today. Mother thinks I need to go to the doctor to test for anemia. I think I agree.
Jamie finished the marathon, and although is in a fair amount of pain, did extremely well. Very proud. If you see him, give him a little pat on the back. But not too hard, he's struggling to walk anyway.
Friday, 15 April 2011
This book review is long over due. I read it about 4 books ago, so I'm not going to lie, it's slightly hazy.
Elizabeth Gilbert was going through an ugly divorce and this trip was an attempt to 'find herself' to find God and to understand the notion of 'balance'. It is autobiographical, which I love.
You might (you should) have read a previous Eat, Pray, Love inspired post by me. I wrote it following the 'Eat' section of the book, the section I later found to be my favourite of the sections. Have I said section enough times yet? It tells of Elizabeth's time in Italy, a time where she doused herself in all things pleasurable. She ate wonderful food, made wonderful friends and did not much else. For me, both intrinsically lazy and a lover of pizza, it sounded super. And I plan to go to Rome (and take a trip to Naples for that pizza) as soon as is humanly possible.
After Rome, Liz journeys to India, to an Ashram where she plans to learn the gift of meditation and peace. This section of the book left me feeling mixed. It was interesting, and I felt inspired by her pursuit for inner contentment, but the historical and spiritual elements (of which it was laden) lost me slightly. I found myself doing that kind of reading where you're reading, but you're not really reading, you're thinking about what's on telly that night and before you know it you've 'read' three pages and you have no idea what has just been said. Yeah, but that might just be me. India for Liz, was about discipline, and she seemed to find it rewarding. Maybe it's because I'm not disciplined, and do not yearn to be, but I have yet to plan a trip to an Ashram*.
Next up was Bali, Indonesia. Here, Liz found love. (Aahhh). She also learned how to balance pleasure and discipline. I enjoyed this final section of the book. It still didn't match up to Italy for me, but that could quite possibly be because I like what I know i.e. the western European world.
It was certainly interesting to learn about other cultures. And I did, reading this, far more than I have ever made an effort to. I've never read a travel book before and I have very rarely read a novel set in a country other than the UK or the US. Call me unadventurous, you'd be right, but this book did open my eyes to what else is out there. It made me want to travel more than I've ever wanted to travel (I've never wanted to travel). And I am now far more open to reading books that I would otherwise have discarded because I 'couldn't relate'. I would whole heartedly recommend this book. It is a story of self discovery, inspiration and contentment. Things we could all do with a little bit more of.
* it could also be because I am very much a Christian
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
I have spent my day reading many articles, most of which respond to an article written by Harriet Thurley following an interview with Kelvin MacKenzie. To set the scene, let's begin by reading the original article, published in the Independent last Friday. Kelvin MacKenzie, former editor of the sun, states that "there's nothing you can learn in three years studying media at university that you can't learn in just one month on a local paper". He didn't get a degree, he left school with one O level and managed to walk into a newsroom and learn whilst 'on the job'. It is worth pointing out here that Kelvin MacKenzie got his first job at a paper (not to be rude, but) quite a long time ago, we must acknowledge that it would be not nearly as easy in this current job climate.
Roy Greenslade of The Guardian doesn't agree with MacKenzie, he says: "a university education is far better for journalists - and for journalism. It sharpens their critical faculties. It provides a great grounding in the basic skills. It is so good that many graduates are able to step straight into national papers." Blogger and sub-editor @substuff seems to lean slightly more towards MacKenzie's point: "educate yourself by finding out about the world. Work in it. If you’re going to write about people, you need to give yourself the chance to be one first. Earn a wage, and blog about it. Write about it. Send stories to your local paper. Heck, send stories to the nationals." Although she herself, has a degree in English and an NTCJ qualification, knowing full well the painstaking hardship that comes with trying to land your 'dream job'.
And here I am, reading opinion after opinion, my head spinning with the sheer quantity of to-ing and fro-ing. It doesn't seem like there is any definitive answer. I have had a somewhat unorthodox eduction, having to leave school at 16 due to illness and attempting two A Levels via distance learning (which, may I just say, is bloody difficult). I've always enjoyed (nay loved!) writing and a career in journalism is my goal. How I get there though, is the million dollar question. University would be my last choice of routes, it is expensive and as much as I may be hounded for saying so, I agree with Kelvin MacKenzie. Hands on experience surely trumps three more years of theoretical classroom education. As much as there is, I'm sure, a handful of invaluable lessons learned at university, I am hesitant to think that they could not be learned elsewhere. For less of a price, and less of a chunk of your life. (I'd just like to make perfectly clear at this point that when I'm talking about University eduction, I'm talking about journalism degrees. If you want to be a doctor, I fully support your decision to get your degree).
If the world was like it was when Kelvin MacKenzie entered the media industry I would be a happy girl. Learning whilst doing is my kind of learning and that hefty pile of debt doesn't look too appetising either. I'm tempted by the NTCJ course. In fact I'm seriously considering it. I am well aware that there are many things that I need to learn before I have a hope of becoming a journalist and the NTCJ course seems to cover it. In ten weeks might I add. It's expensive though, and I have to wonder, will my prospective employer care that I have this neatly slotted under my belt? Or will he dismiss me upon seeing my lack of degree? I don't know. I suppose it probably depends on the employer. But it's a worry.
I have another grievance (sorry). So much journalism published these days is terrible. Either the punctuation is abysmal, grammatical errors and typos are splattered all over the page, or it's just plain boring. I can't help but wonder if this has something to do with people getting degrees, getting a theoretical knowledge of how to 'do' journalism, but still lacking that flair or that 'knack' as MacKenzie puts it, to really develop into a brilliant writer. I don't think you can learn to write in a classroom, I think that comes from practice and the honing of a natural talent. I also think that gaining a clear and full knowledge of the world around us is priceless. Otherwise, what are you going to write about?
I'd love to hear other peoples opinions on the matter. As you can probably tell from my ramblings above I have no conclusion. It seems that no matter what route we take it's going to be a struggle. It's a struggle I'm willing to go through though, and I encourage anyone with a passion for writing to do the same.
I know I said I'd write about a book or a tv show. But I made a cake yesterday, and well, I'm not sure there is a more worthy blogging topic.
I bake quite a lot, mostly because I love to eat the produce. I am much more inclined to create something of a sweet nature than a member of the savory family. I'm not sure 'savory family' is a phrase ever used before, but let's roll with it. Cake, cookies, brownies, PUDDINGS. Heaven. And if you can eat them with a cup of tea, or drown them in single cream, I might have a cardiac arrest.
Okay, so, yesterday's cake. It was a rhubarb and orange loaf cake, and it had a ginger and almond crumble on top. I almost proposed.
Any cake with a crumble topping is okay by me. And this one, with ginger and flaked almonds that had become, sort of, crystallised after an hour of baking beside golden demerara sugar, well it was a special crumble I'll tell you that much. The sponge was light, moist and yellow. In it were two eggs white as well as your standard two whole eggs, the result being the delicate lightness. There's ground almonds in there too. I for one, have always been frightened of ground almonds, assuming it would make my precious cake taste like marzipan. Not cool. It doesn't, and I will never dismiss ground almonds again. It makes the sponge deliciously moist and succulent. The rhubarb and the orange zest added a wonderful tang and a freshness. I added more rhubarb than the recipe said, partly because I love rhubarb, but mostly because I don't read quantities and hate measuring. I liked the extra rhubarb, there was still plenty of sponge to go around, but the added fruit gave it more diversity, I felt. (La-di-da).
That was a nice paragraph to write. I love talking about cake.
Here is the recipe:
Rhubarb and orange loaf cake - from the Country Living magazine
175g butter, melted
225g caster sugar
2 medium eggs, beaten
zest of 1 orange
2 egg whites
225g self-raising flour, sifted
50g ground almonds
1 teaspoon baking powder
200g rhubarb, cut into 1cm pieces
for the topping
30g plain flour, sifted
10g demerara sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
10g flaked almonds
1. Heat the oven to 180 C (160 fan oven) gas mark 4. Lightly grease and line a 900g loaf tin.
2. For the topping: rub together the flour and butter to form rough breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar, ground ginger and flaked almonds.
3. Whisk together the melted butter, sugar, whole eggs and orange zest until thickened. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites until stiff.
4. Fold the flour, almonds and baked powder in to the butter mixture, followed by the rhubarb.
5. Fold in the whisked eggs whites. Pour into prepared loaf tin . Sprinkle with the topping. Bake for 1 hour until risen and golden brown. Leave for two minutes. Then turn out to cool on a rack.
When I make it again, I will add more rhubarb again and also a few more flaked almonds on the top. They were wonderful.
ps. If you'd like me to start using pictures of the food I personally cook and nice artistic photos of my life. Why not buy me a camera?
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
I couldn't sleep for ages last night, but when I did, I had quite a dream.
It begun with church. Me and Gareth went to church together, but it wasn't my church, it was a big church, with more than 20 people. For some reason I wasn't sitting with Gareth. Halfway through I realised I couldn't see him anywhere and figured "he must have legged it". I texted him: "where are you? Do you hate me?" No reply.
I had a feeling that something had gone on before, something that dream-Claire knew about, but I (real Claire, looking in) didn't. Have I lost you? Basically Gareth was already a bit pissy with me.
Then I found myself at the bottom of a hill. With the Rolfes and the Howards (the same Rolfes and Howards that were in my last dream post, they tend to creep into my sleep). We were eating fajitas, really massive ones if I remember rightly. Then there were other people there. Some people from my primary school, some from my secondary school, a former best friend I never see anymore, an ex boyfriend, and so on and so forth. Oh and One Direction.
What was just a grassy hill, became part of a massive castle. It felt like Greece.
This is where it gets a little hazy.
The castle became some kind of relationship therapy camp/refuge for the poor and hungry. This castle was quite the multi-tasker. There was a girl who was victim to domestic abuse with a baby. I came across her in a little hut having counselling. Then there was a girl, supposedly my best friend but I have never seen her before in my life, who was going out with Harry Styles from One Direction. They were obviously in for the relationship therapy. I was Harry's shoulder to cry on, even though I was his bird's best friend. He's fit though isn't he. I even got some hugging action.
Then I get a text from Gareth. Something like: "you're insane".
Harry returned the favour.
I remember thinking, "I like his curly hair", and then I woke up.
Things that definitely happened in my dream but I don't know how they fit into the main body: an assembly, One Direction were up against Winnie the Pooh and JLS in a 'most popular' competition, I walked through a big room with lots of ill people in it - I was told to leave as I was 'healthy', some people from school were playing bulldog, a boy hugged me.
Monday, 11 April 2011
I am so over my face right now. And my hair. I cut my fringe a few days ago. Boy do I regret that. Word of advice to you: don't cut yourself a fringe. Trim it, fine. But don't start from scratch. And if you do, don't pick up the not-really-a-fringe-anymore between two fingers and just chop, without measuring or THINKING or anything. Please, just don't.
The picture above is deceiving as I'm raising my eyebrows. I've had to pin it back for the last few days. Not cool. Which brings me to my face. I don't pin my fringe back, because then people will witness my big face in all it's glory. Hair is kind of like a mask. Lose that, and I become a self pitying, insecure, annoyance. In all of your lives. So really, what I'm trying to say is, this fringe tragedy affects all of us and we should all pull together in this time of crisis. Something like that.
Time to pull myself together.
I need to get a grip.
There are many more things I could complain about right now. (lack of money/job/independence/boyfriend in the near vicinity/future prospects etc etc). You get the idea. I won't go into detail though as I've annoyed everyone enough already today, myself included. I'll be back tomorrow with either a book review or a telly programme review. How exciting.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
Posted by Claire Maxwell at 22:47
Here's a wee run down of my weekend for you lovely lot.
May I firstly just say, what lovely weather we are having! I do hope April snubs the bad press it's been given in the past by surpassing all our expectations. I think sunny weather on the Royal wedding would set Britain up for 10 solid years of happiness.
Friday I worked my little socks off in the morning. For no other reason that I had been putting off pressing essays for far too long already. The afternoon, I subsequently spent reading and catching up on Neighbours. Isn't Neighbours juicy at the moment? And then in the evening went to watch a film in a coffee shop. Snazzy.
Saturday I went into London town with Becca. I do like London. Especially when everyone is wearing flip flops and smells like suncream. Except not the latter. I also don't like the underground in the summer, especially on Saturdays, it's hot and there are other people on the trains. Unreasonable. Have I started listing things I don't like again? Well fancy that, I do it and I don't even see it coming. It was a very nice day. London was doused in yellowy light and every tree was laden with blossom. We wandered around Notting Hill, browsing the shops and market stalls and I had my first taste of frozen yogurt. My personal preference was frozen yogurt with strawberries and mini oreos, and it was good.
If you're on Twitter. And follow me. You may have heard of an embarrassing incident thrust upon me. Walking along a busy street in Notting Hill we came across one of those human statue street entertainers, the kind you mostly find on Carnaby Street and in Covent Garden. I had my phone lightly balanced in the palm of my hand and was admiring him intently as I wandered by. 'BOO!'. Or a noise to that affect. And I screamed, loudly, and my phone flew into the air and smashed on the pavement in front of me. I picked up the phone, battery and back, disgruntled and humiliated but doing my best to 'style it out'. There were a lot of people around. Becca was standing close by laughing and taking pictures. I like to think statue-man felt guilty, he came and gave me a photo to make amends. I did not feel my dignity was amended and grunted some angry words at him before storming off. Gracious, me.
Trying to put my intense embarrassment behind me we then went to the Saatchi Gallery in the Kensington area. There were a fair few humorous art exhibits and that kept me happy while my feet, from hours of walking, were practically falling off they were in so much pain. My favourite bit though was the gift shop. I love gift shops and this one was superior to most. There were lots of comedic books that if I had more than £2 to my name I most certainly would have purchased.
Then we walked through Kensington, decided that this was the ideal place to live, and came home. Good day.
Today, otherwise known as Sunday, I have been to church and managed to not fall asleep. Score. Eaten a massive roast dinner, and sunbathed with my book. Oh and caught up on last night's So you think you can dance.
See you tomorrow I'm sure.