So I was thinking of names for my future children...

That one goes out to the people from my new CU that I stole it from.. shhh!

Make your sirens call, sing all you want. I will not hear what you have to say.

Okay the time has come. I have packed my books, my alarm clock, my pants and all the other stuff I have. I'm moving out tomorrow.

I'm going to university! (don't laugh, I am clever sometimes*)

I'm looking forward to meeting people, I genuinely am, it's just that.. well, I get a little annoyed with the people that I have already added on facebook. Not because of what they're saying or doing, that's fine. There's two reasons:

1) My immediate thought is "Who the flippertygibbet-on-a-stick are you??" Because of course if I don't know you at all, I have no interest whatsoever in whether you like this or that song, or feeling really rough because you got completely trousered last night. It always takes me a moment to remember how I am in anyway connected to you before I can continue in my News Feed reading joys.

2) If you write something funny, or something in anyway amusing to me, where is the line? Okay, maybe I can click 'like', but often it's a bit weird. Mainly because I get the feeling that they must think exactly what I think when I see their names (See: Reason 1). Also, because I don't know this person, how do I know if that's funny or not? If Susie is famous for losing her watch all the time, and so has to buy cheap ones constantly, then it might be quite funny if she posts a status like "Lost my watch while I was actually looking at it. HOW?" On the other hand, if this watch was an expensive present from her recently deceased father, clicking the 'like' button seems less like a good idea.

Okay that's totally extreme, and that example in particular has never happened to me, but I have looked at something that a 'future friend' has written and had no idea how to react to it. Of course, the rule is that you don't respond in this case, but this situation just winds me up until I get very irritated by it and write a frustrated blog post.

Right I'm going before I write anything else.

Maybe I'll update you when I get there, but if we have a lesson to learn from Moldova it's that I probably won't for a while :P

Kisses.

*Sometimes. Okay, occasionally. I was on one occasion. I'm not revealing which.

One, two, three, four, tryna think of titles is a bore

The trouble with spending all day reading and packing is that you don't get to do as much procrastinating and watching bad television on BBC iPlayer.

Somehow, late at night I transform (think werewolves) into this terrible beast who eats everything in the cupboards, glides around the house with gun-fingers (in case of spider attacks) and starts watching programmes about weddings (a subject I've had no interest in for the majority of my life). Thankfully everyone's in bed, so there are no witnesses. Except the people who read this blog who for some inexplicable reason I have decided to trust entirely.

Oh and I wrote a Taylor Swift parody. SOMEONE SEND ME TO BED.

(I resisted the wedding programme. This time.)

Something to get me through Wuthering Heights

CONQUERED

I just finished Little Dorrit.

BOOO YAHHH BAYBEHH!!

......now, onto Wuthering Heights :/

Dana noww, dana noww, dada!

I often wonder, being the crazy person that I am, how I would be described or portrayed in a book or film if the very moment I was living was one of the scenes. I usually imagine it to be an opening scene, because my life is so boring that the only time it would be considered interesting enough to be remembered would be if something mental was just about to happen & I was just completely unaware.

When I'm thinking in books terms, I look around the room and decide which things would be described. The open local newspaper with a hammer lying on it, or the tea stained shopping list, or the empty jar of cooking sauce waiting to be washed up and recycled. How would they describe me? A spotty teenage girl? A young brown haired creature with a strange frowny twitch? Or perhaps it would be one of those weird abstract writers who goes on for pages about my knees or something without revealing my age, location or gender.

Or there's films. What sort of music would be playing? Something like this? Or more like this? Or maybe we're talking something more along the lines of this (more likely, perhaps). And what would the genre be? Ahhh I love thinking about it, which I suppose is why it so often features in my thoughts.

Then of course there's the times when I slide around the walls of our normal terraced house, humming tense music and pretending that I'm some kind of spy in a big country house, trying not to get caught by the old but evil professor who lives there.

I probably shouldn't tell you these things.

PS. I just discovered that I've had quite a lot more pageviews than I thought I did. I recently installed a stat-tracker thing to see who was reading this, and I was quite surprised! Hello everyone x

Daance!

All day long I can hear people talking out loud... ooohh...

I was just really reeeaally tempted to join the "Coventry 2010 Freshers" page and be like "HAHAA I get to leave and you're here for THREE YEARS!"

I resisted.

It was tough though :P

Hey big spender, why don't you spend a little time with me?

YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE.

WATCH IT.

WATCH IIIIIITTTT.

(see if you can spot Dickon from The Secret Garden [1994] - Clue: he's one of the schoolboys)

Oh oh and I had a haircut. It is teh sex.

GET THIS OUT OF MY HEAD

This is a really, really bad song to have stuck in your head. Pretty funny though..

NSFW.

Okay everyone can cheer up now.

Heard this on the radio about a month ago & really like it now. Just something to extend summer a little bit for you!

Help!!

There's something dark in my room. Every time I walk in I am filled with an unending sense of trepidation. My feet suffer earthquakes, my eyes sting with poison. Every thread of my clothes pulls me back, back into the security to which I can never return. My fingers twist into knots like a Chinese acrobat and nerves roll down my skin in drops.

And yet I'm drawn to it like roadkill to tarmac. I cannot pull my eyes back, I have seen, I must continue. I know what lies within, the extraordinarily long descriptions, the excess number of characters and detail, the refusal to tell the story in a direct manner.

Charles Dickens, the things you do to me are cruel.

But I'm well going to finish it else I'll be proper annoyed with myself.

Someone put the kettle on, I'm getting to the end of this book if it kills me.

(it might)