New to the site? Delve into the archive Information about me List of collected quotations My poetry sites Other links: The ineffable Michelle Infinite Fish The Echelon Project The 80s (my era) Move to Mars See Ann Widdecombe dance Think I complain a lot? The Yarn |
Wednesday 7.11.01 Just run in to say that I'm off to Yorkshire for a few days to chill and hassle old friends at the same time, so I probably won't be adding to this until earliest Saturday, probably more like Monday. So sorry if you miss me, I love you really (snort), and have lots of fun. Must dash now; my train leaves in four minutes' time or something like that... Friday 9.11.01 Mustn't be long as am sitting, trespassing, no doubt being tracked by some scholastic authority or other, and I wouldn't want to get the account holder whose details I have borrowed into trouble. Has been a lovely few days, despite getting on the wrong fucking train on the way up here - considered actually hiding in the loo for the duration of the journey, realised what a moron I'd look - and almost ending up in bloody Cardiff or somewhere. Also, as I sit and look out the window, it's bloody snowing. London has, without a doubt, softened me - I can never remember being as cold as I have been since Wednesday. No complaints, though. This frozen white world is stunningly and entrancingly beautiful. Monday 12.11.01 Sudden crash back to earth after the euphoria of reading week; panic about lack of work done, general annoyance at swiftness of a week's holiday, and sheer dread of the inevitable onslaught of Christmas, rushing towards me, as unavoidable as a fart in the wind. Before anyone asks, I'm not on drugs, just slightly melancholy and mildly worried about the amount of work I haven't done. However, as always happens in my life, I know that it'll all fall together somehow, in some way, about four seconds before it needs to. Tuesday 13.11.01 Why is it that I will never take either my own or anyone else's advice? I have been pondering whether or not to get my hair cut for about a week now, as I generally felt like it was getting a bit too long and unmanageable. So I took myself down to the Toni and Guy academy on New Oxford Street this afternoon, and was told that I would have to make an appointment for next week sometime. Now excuse me, but I'm not waiting a week so some poxy beauty-student can apply his or her shears to my head. So I trekked up to the £5 place on Tottenham Court Road (again - must be the third or fourth time now) and walked out again, swearing (again) I would never, ever go there again. I think I may have used this analogy before, so excuse me if I do repeat myself. But I look like Quasi-fucking-modo, with my rucksack serving as my hump. And I'm not very happy about it. |
