I bought more daffodfils. This time the little trumpety bits in the middle are yellow. Metaphorically, my life seems to be improving. Apart from the internet crashing for two days and the boiler breaking. Of course, with the central heating out of action, the weather has decided it's winter again.
Being internet-less was a hideous experience, I had to write an essay doing research in books. BOOKS! I'm used to relying on Google for all my research needs, it was very odd. I hadn't realised until now how reliant I am on the internet. And, naturally, it hit during the week all my housemates have gone home and I'm lacking in human contact.
I have one more day left of university. In fifteen hours it'll all be over - apart from the small matter of writing 18,500 words between now and the 20th May. This terrifies me. I have, however, been unexpectedly asked to progress to the second round of applications for a summer internship, which is promising. Perhaps I'm not utterly unemployable after all.
I have also decided that at some point in the near-future I want to go to Berlin. Unfortunately, I can barely speak a word of German, despite having studied it for two years at school. I blame the fact we only had one lesson a week, last thing on a Friday afternoon. Nobody had their brains in gear by that point. I managed to get an A in GCSE French, and hold a (very) basic conversation, yet the one sentence I can remember in German is "es ist sonnig." And as Germany's in Europe, I'm guessing it's not generally an accurate statement. So, I have persuaded my annoyingly-good-at-languages housemate to go with me. I also have epic plans to head over into the Netherlands to see the lovely Eric, and maybe also Prague and Budapest. But this depends very much on finances, and whether or not I actually have a job by then.
I need to stop torturing myself and move the fuck on. She was just sitting there and I wasn't going to be able to use her. If I ever get better enough to row again fuck knows if she'd still be the right boat. If. When I'm walking with a stick because I can't keep my fucking balance how the fuck do I think I'm ever going to be able to row again?
Fuck this shit.
The money is going on Millie's vet bills. And a tattoo.
And maybe one day I'll fucking forget.
Swayed
I SAW SUEDE ON WEDNESDAY!
It was utterly unexpected; a friend ended up with a spare ticket and asked if I'd like to accompany her. Naturally, I said yes. So Wednesday night was a rather lovely evening spent at the Royal Albert Hall (somewhere I've always wanted to go). I'm now also rather in love with Brett Anderson. And just when I thought they weren't going to play my favourite song, it was their final encore. Cue one very happy Brackers. As they said - let's do it all again in another seven years...
Finished Rebecca - love it. I then watched the Hitchcock film. It was quite good, but I'm disappointed that they changed a rather vital piece of the plot. It's difficult to explain without ruining the novel for people who stumble across this blog, but I felt its removal completely sanitised the entire story.
Apart from that, though, I liked it. Even Lawrence Olivier didn't annoy me, which was a nice surprise. I know disliking him is akin to blasphemy, but I think his scenery-chewing roles in Hamlet and Richard III are utterly terrible, and he was woefully miscast as Heathcliff. Slightly repressed stuffy upper-class types such as Maxim de Winter seem to be his forté, even if he's not quite how I imagined the character.
In an ideal world, the BBC would put out a new version with Richard Armitage as Maxim and Sian Phillips as Mrs Danvers (or David Mitchell in a dress). You know it makes sense. Sian Phillips' turn as Mrs. Driver in The Borrowers was one of the great villainous roles of my childhood.
It was utterly unexpected; a friend ended up with a spare ticket and asked if I'd like to accompany her. Naturally, I said yes. So Wednesday night was a rather lovely evening spent at the Royal Albert Hall (somewhere I've always wanted to go). I'm now also rather in love with Brett Anderson. And just when I thought they weren't going to play my favourite song, it was their final encore. Cue one very happy Brackers. As they said - let's do it all again in another seven years...
Finished Rebecca - love it. I then watched the Hitchcock film. It was quite good, but I'm disappointed that they changed a rather vital piece of the plot. It's difficult to explain without ruining the novel for people who stumble across this blog, but I felt its removal completely sanitised the entire story.
Apart from that, though, I liked it. Even Lawrence Olivier didn't annoy me, which was a nice surprise. I know disliking him is akin to blasphemy, but I think his scenery-chewing roles in Hamlet and Richard III are utterly terrible, and he was woefully miscast as Heathcliff. Slightly repressed stuffy upper-class types such as Maxim de Winter seem to be his forté, even if he's not quite how I imagined the character.
In an ideal world, the BBC would put out a new version with Richard Armitage as Maxim and Sian Phillips as Mrs Danvers (or David Mitchell in a dress). You know it makes sense. Sian Phillips' turn as Mrs. Driver in The Borrowers was one of the great villainous roles of my childhood.
My somewhat uneventful week ahead
1) Watch Bright Star for uni. All I know about the film is it's about Keats, and all I know about Keats is that he died young of TB. I strongly suspect there will be yet another case of Costume Drama Cough™, and at some point Ben Whishaw will delicately splutter into a blood-stained handkerchief OF PORTENTOUS DOOM™. I suppose, however, it does make a change for a bloke to be the tragically doomed one.
2) Finish reading Rebecca. I'm really enjoying it, the only problem being that I can't picture Mrs. Danvers as anything other than David Mitchell in a dress.
3) Start my Sensation Fiction essay on the rather-more-fabulous-than-it-ought-to-be Aurora Floyd (essentially comparing the eponymous Ms. Floyd with The Woman in White's Marian, as they are both women with 'manly tendencies').
4) If the weather stays nice, go and do some work in the park and get some much-needed sunshine. Recently-taken photos have revealed that I look like a cadaver and/or a Twilight fan. I'm not sure which is worse.
5) Avoid booze after the excesses of last night.
2) Finish reading Rebecca. I'm really enjoying it, the only problem being that I can't picture Mrs. Danvers as anything other than David Mitchell in a dress.
3) Start my Sensation Fiction essay on the rather-more-fabulous-than-it-ought-to-be Aurora Floyd (essentially comparing the eponymous Ms. Floyd with The Woman in White's Marian, as they are both women with 'manly tendencies').
4) If the weather stays nice, go and do some work in the park and get some much-needed sunshine. Recently-taken photos have revealed that I look like a cadaver and/or a Twilight fan. I'm not sure which is worse.
5) Avoid booze after the excesses of last night.
This makes no sense
Which is probably why I love it. It's like something from a Roald Dahl novel.
I'm spending my Sunday doing very little, as I have a hangover. Turns out drinking an entire bottle of £2.99 wine isn't the greatest idea. Who knew?
I'm spending my Sunday doing very little, as I have a hangover. Turns out drinking an entire bottle of £2.99 wine isn't the greatest idea. Who knew?
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Haven't updated for a while and am too sleepy to compose an epic blog post. So, as I finally got my marks back for my Contemporary Literature module today, here is my almost-a-first (it got 69, I needed 70) Pride and Prejudice and Zombies review. Shame it's only worth 20%!
---
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Pride and Prejudice has a major significance within Western culture. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies does exactly what it says on the tin, a literary ‘mashup’ of Austen’s classic and a horror plot.
It’s one of those ideas that’s so simple, it’s amazing nobody’s ever thought of it before. Seth Grahame-Smith brings Austen’s heroines literally kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. The simplicity is what makes it effective. The title alone raises a smile, and the humour of Austen’s staid and somewhat repressed characters suddenly having to fight off zombie hordes works brilliantly in its bizarre juxtaposition.
Grahame-Smith turns the class tension between Lady de Bourgh and the Bennets into a believable snobbery on the former’s behalf over the suitability of the Bennets’ Chinese rather than Japanese martial training. Developing the sisters into highly skilled warriors also gives the women some agency, which most of Austen’s heroines traditionally seem to lack. Elizabeth et al. actually have something to do other than worry about how soon they’ll be married off.
However, the joke soon wears thin. While the conceit would work well as a short story or perhaps on a sketch show, the novel drags considerably. By directly interacting with Austen’s original text, Grahame-Smith shows himself to be an inferior writer – I often found myself longing to reread the original novel free from Grahame-Smith’s scatological obsessions. At times the humour veers towards to the puerile, though as the target audience for zombie novels is teenage boys, this is perhaps not surprising.
The novel felt very rushed. Admittedly zombies in Pride and Prejudice is in itself an Americanisation, but the humour here is supposed to come directly from this unusual splicing of genres. Scenes such as the Bennet sisters wandering through the English countryside, encountering skunks and racoons are jarring. It seemed as if Grahame-Smith had done very little research into Regency England. This is regrettable, as the novel’s central conceit is effective. Had Grahame-Smith’s input been written in a way that better emulated the style of Austen, it could have been funnier. Lizzie and Mr. Darcy making crude innuendo to one another is one of many incidents that seem decidedly out of character. What’s so frustrating is that the idea had the potential to become a brilliant novel, and falls short due to sloppy writing.
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was an instant bestseller, and its influence is already being seen. In the eight months since its publication, we have been greeted with Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters and Mr Darcy, Vampyre. As a joke that only (barely) works once – due to its originality, it’s hard to see what these homages will bring to the literary world. As its eponymous monsters, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies seems to have unleashed an unstoppable terror upon us.
Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Quirk: Philadelphia, April 2009, 320 pages, £8.99.
---
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Pride and Prejudice has a major significance within Western culture. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies does exactly what it says on the tin, a literary ‘mashup’ of Austen’s classic and a horror plot.
It’s one of those ideas that’s so simple, it’s amazing nobody’s ever thought of it before. Seth Grahame-Smith brings Austen’s heroines literally kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. The simplicity is what makes it effective. The title alone raises a smile, and the humour of Austen’s staid and somewhat repressed characters suddenly having to fight off zombie hordes works brilliantly in its bizarre juxtaposition.
Grahame-Smith turns the class tension between Lady de Bourgh and the Bennets into a believable snobbery on the former’s behalf over the suitability of the Bennets’ Chinese rather than Japanese martial training. Developing the sisters into highly skilled warriors also gives the women some agency, which most of Austen’s heroines traditionally seem to lack. Elizabeth et al. actually have something to do other than worry about how soon they’ll be married off.
However, the joke soon wears thin. While the conceit would work well as a short story or perhaps on a sketch show, the novel drags considerably. By directly interacting with Austen’s original text, Grahame-Smith shows himself to be an inferior writer – I often found myself longing to reread the original novel free from Grahame-Smith’s scatological obsessions. At times the humour veers towards to the puerile, though as the target audience for zombie novels is teenage boys, this is perhaps not surprising.
The novel felt very rushed. Admittedly zombies in Pride and Prejudice is in itself an Americanisation, but the humour here is supposed to come directly from this unusual splicing of genres. Scenes such as the Bennet sisters wandering through the English countryside, encountering skunks and racoons are jarring. It seemed as if Grahame-Smith had done very little research into Regency England. This is regrettable, as the novel’s central conceit is effective. Had Grahame-Smith’s input been written in a way that better emulated the style of Austen, it could have been funnier. Lizzie and Mr. Darcy making crude innuendo to one another is one of many incidents that seem decidedly out of character. What’s so frustrating is that the idea had the potential to become a brilliant novel, and falls short due to sloppy writing.
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was an instant bestseller, and its influence is already being seen. In the eight months since its publication, we have been greeted with Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters and Mr Darcy, Vampyre. As a joke that only (barely) works once – due to its originality, it’s hard to see what these homages will bring to the literary world. As its eponymous monsters, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies seems to have unleashed an unstoppable terror upon us.
Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Quirk: Philadelphia, April 2009, 320 pages, £8.99.
MILLEH
G took Millie to the vet today; she's had massively swollen neck glands for the last few weeks, though they don't seem to bother her - she's been on antibiotics for basically the last six weeks trying to get rid of her UTI (which seems to have fucked off, thank cod). So, she gets hauled into the vet, they take blood and lymph samples, and pee, and have sent them off to be analysed. And I have had to ask my grandparents for money. Woo.
I really, really hope it's not lymphoma. Which was mentioned. And I'm trying not to think about.
ooooh. midnight. Today is Millie's fifth birthday. MILLEH BIRFDAY FUD NAO MILLEH?
Sketches
Como ainda não posso mostrar nada de novo, embora atravesse uma fase bastante produtiva, aqui vos deixo alguns desenhos de jantares, feitos no meu caderninho de bolso...
Since I can't post anything new yet, tough I've been very productive, here's some dinner sketches quickly made on my pocket notebook...
Since I can't post anything new yet, tough I've been very productive, here's some dinner sketches quickly made on my pocket notebook...
Dear Helena Michie
I know you're a feminist critic and like to show off how clever you are. However, if you are going to use concepts such as "synecdoche" and "metatrope" in your essays, please be so kind as to remember a lot of us are thick and have absolutely no idea what the hell they actually are. It would particularly help those of us who are expected to give a presentation on your work at stupid o' clock on a Wednesday morning.
Love Brackers.
PS: Not even Google seems to know what "metatrope" is. And Google knows everything.
PPS: I've always been taught at uni to EXPLAIN EVERYTHING that the reader may not know. Epic fail, Ms. Michie.
Love Brackers.
PS: Not even Google seems to know what "metatrope" is. And Google knows everything.
PPS: I've always been taught at uni to EXPLAIN EVERYTHING that the reader may not know. Epic fail, Ms. Michie.
NCTJ
Friday went better than I thought. I have been offered a place on the News Associates NCTJ course, starting part-time in September! Woo, Hoo, and everything in between.
I am now going to draw the curtains and do a victory dance around my bedroom.
I am now going to draw the curtains and do a victory dance around my bedroom.
Dinosaurs and Monuments and Shakespeares, oh my!
3 things every student should do in London - though everyone else should do them too, regardless of student status.
I can has moar Shakespeare!
I don't care if it's rubbish, I don't care if he only contributed a single line.
I WANT TO SEE DOUBLE FALSEHOOD!
I find it quite impressive that Ol' Shakey's been dead for four hundred years and is still managing to complicate my "see every Shakespeare play performed" plans. Good for him. With any luck, I'll get to number 38 and someone'll dig up a box with Love's Labour's Won and Cardenio nestling inside.
I WANT TO SEE DOUBLE FALSEHOOD!
I find it quite impressive that Ol' Shakey's been dead for four hundred years and is still managing to complicate my "see every Shakespeare play performed" plans. Good for him. With any luck, I'll get to number 38 and someone'll dig up a box with Love's Labour's Won and Cardenio nestling inside.
A childhood mingmong in Loughborough
Still trying to hunt down that somewhat important file. I did, however, find proof that I've been a sad, lonely and pathetic Doctor Who fan practically since the womb.
We had to make our own entertainment back in the mists of time (well, the 1990s). None of these shiny Doctor Who toys in bright orange packaging, or the internet, or mobile phones or non-terrestrial TV back in my day, y'know. (Well, the latter three did exist, they were just Very Expensive and we couldn't afford them). And TV used to closedown every night and start up again every morning, and if you got out of bed too early you had to sit through the testcard or Teletext teamed with lift music until the cartoons started. The SNES was the height of technology and Gameboys were the size of bricks with a two colour screen: black, and the bits that weren't black. None of these touch screen full-colour with a rechargeable battery wotsits. Basically, things were a bit crap. The Tories were in power back then, as well. Coincidence? I think not.
(c) Me, circa 1992-4 (Click to enlarge).
I also discovered this - also from Doctor Who Magazine - which I'd completely forgotten about and means I can now technically include 'interviewing David Tennant' as one of my journalistic achievements. Excellent stuff.
What a spectacularly unexciting answer. For the record, an 'Erykah' cocktail would essentially be a Kalimotxo - not only does it contain two of my favourite things, but it's red, it's fruity, and has a bit of a kick to it. Though the Erykah-themed version would probably add a shot of absinthe in order to get everyone appropriately trashed.
We had to make our own entertainment back in the mists of time (well, the 1990s). None of these shiny Doctor Who toys in bright orange packaging, or the internet, or mobile phones or non-terrestrial TV back in my day, y'know. (Well, the latter three did exist, they were just Very Expensive and we couldn't afford them). And TV used to closedown every night and start up again every morning, and if you got out of bed too early you had to sit through the testcard or Teletext teamed with lift music until the cartoons started. The SNES was the height of technology and Gameboys were the size of bricks with a two colour screen: black, and the bits that weren't black. None of these touch screen full-colour with a rechargeable battery wotsits. Basically, things were a bit crap. The Tories were in power back then, as well. Coincidence? I think not.
(c) Me, circa 1992-4 (Click to enlarge).
L-R: The Fourth Doctor, Romana, K9.
L-R: The Melkur (I think), K9, Me, The Fourth Doctor, the TARDIS, a Dalek.
'Fun Greetings of Dr Who'.
'How Dr Who met Erykah'
I also discovered this - also from Doctor Who Magazine - which I'd completely forgotten about and means I can now technically include 'interviewing David Tennant' as one of my journalistic achievements. Excellent stuff.
What a spectacularly unexciting answer. For the record, an 'Erykah' cocktail would essentially be a Kalimotxo - not only does it contain two of my favourite things, but it's red, it's fruity, and has a bit of a kick to it. Though the Erykah-themed version would probably add a shot of absinthe in order to get everyone appropriately trashed.
Surviving
I just spent a very long time trying to hunt down a file on my hard drive. Naturally, I couldn't locate it. I did, however, find these cuttings from Doctor Who Magazine, dating back to sometime in 2007. Somewhat miraculously, two photos of myself that I don't utterly detest were chosen to delight/shock/repel/insertadjectivehere the nation's Doctor Who fans.
Survival is available from all good DVD retailers. The fan commentary for episode three is an unrivalled beacon of analytic skill and wit.
Oh, who am I kidding? They got four Doctor Who fans who could string a sentence together (one being the lovely Niall), locked them in a room with lots of wine, recorded the results then released the drunken ramblings internationally. I have only now, for the first time in three years, realised there's an empty wine glass on the table in front of me in that picture; it's such a common occurance. I don't even drink that much, I just seem to continually end up in photographs with empty alcohol vessels. I suspect that even at my graduation, I'll still somehow end up clutching a bottle of wine rather than a scroll in all my official photos.
I'm mildly concerned this is the type of thing that may well come back to haunt me in fifty years time. I could win the Nobel Prize for Literature and still be asked if I really did want to marry Matthew Waterhouse when I was five. (Answer: yes. But then I reached the lofty heights of six years old and switched my affections to Sam West instead. He was in Dimensions in Time AND The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, I still would be madly in love with him had he not also aged fifteen years and started to look a bit too much like his dad).
Survival is available from all good DVD retailers. The fan commentary for episode three is an unrivalled beacon of analytic skill and wit.
Oh, who am I kidding? They got four Doctor Who fans who could string a sentence together (one being the lovely Niall), locked them in a room with lots of wine, recorded the results then released the drunken ramblings internationally. I have only now, for the first time in three years, realised there's an empty wine glass on the table in front of me in that picture; it's such a common occurance. I don't even drink that much, I just seem to continually end up in photographs with empty alcohol vessels. I suspect that even at my graduation, I'll still somehow end up clutching a bottle of wine rather than a scroll in all my official photos.
I'm mildly concerned this is the type of thing that may well come back to haunt me in fifty years time. I could win the Nobel Prize for Literature and still be asked if I really did want to marry Matthew Waterhouse when I was five. (Answer: yes. But then I reached the lofty heights of six years old and switched my affections to Sam West instead. He was in Dimensions in Time AND The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, I still would be madly in love with him had he not also aged fifteen years and started to look a bit too much like his dad).
Interior design
I went to the pub last night and drank an awful lot of red wine.
This morning I discovered a massive purple handprint on my bedroom wall.
I think these two may be somehow connected.
Despite it being fantastically artistic, I suspect my landlord is going to kill me.
This morning I discovered a massive purple handprint on my bedroom wall.
I think these two may be somehow connected.
Despite it being fantastically artistic, I suspect my landlord is going to kill me.
I am up to my ears in essays and
If I have to listen to Vampire Weekend's Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa one more time I think I might stab myself in the ear just to make it go away.
In the meantime I will continue to find a way to wrangle this quote into my essay - not because I agree with the sentiment, but because the image makes me giggle:
"And if a Westerner so much as references Africa, the rotting tweed-tattered corpse of Edward Said will punch through his grave and eat them" (from an article in The Economist's More Intelligent Life magazine).
Back to the drawing board
(Would my job hunting be more successful had I an actual drawing board to return to? It may be a wise investment. Could I find a job as a drawing board? This could be a line of enquiry worth investigating).
Graduate schemes have been an epic fail. I know I'm amazingly awesome and fantastic (modest, too), but it's hard to prove this in a sea of 1,000 other applicants.
So, I'm currently now applying for admin jobs in a variety of exciting locations (NB: this is a rare instance where I am not actually being sarcastic. I'm going for the cool admin jobs rather than working for a double-glazing company). I know it's not often the words 'admin' and 'exciting' are used in the same sentence, but I'm a slightly strange person who actually enjoys tasks such as photocopying and putting things into alphabetical order. I think it's my inner pedant asserting itself.
Graduate schemes have been an epic fail. I know I'm amazingly awesome and fantastic (modest, too), but it's hard to prove this in a sea of 1,000 other applicants.
So, I'm currently now applying for admin jobs in a variety of exciting locations (NB: this is a rare instance where I am not actually being sarcastic. I'm going for the cool admin jobs rather than working for a double-glazing company). I know it's not often the words 'admin' and 'exciting' are used in the same sentence, but I'm a slightly strange person who actually enjoys tasks such as photocopying and putting things into alphabetical order. I think it's my inner pedant asserting itself.
Why do you want to be a journalist?
"Because, if television has taught me anything, being a journalist means I can spend my days drinking wine, reading the Guardian, and perching on dry stone walls. Admittedly, the latter needs work, but I've got the first two down to a fine art."
I went for my NCTJ interview/exam today. I'm not entirely sure how well it went, I managed to completely forget I'd done work experience at the BBC and instead waffled on about relatively unimpressive stuff. Arsebiscuits.
Though I would recommend the free workshop at News Associates to anybody interested in writerly things - and you don't even have to sandwich it between an interview and a test, as I did. On the subject of sandwiches, News Associates even provided us with food. I think they're wonderful.
I went for my NCTJ interview/exam today. I'm not entirely sure how well it went, I managed to completely forget I'd done work experience at the BBC and instead waffled on about relatively unimpressive stuff. Arsebiscuits.
Though I would recommend the free workshop at News Associates to anybody interested in writerly things - and you don't even have to sandwich it between an interview and a test, as I did. On the subject of sandwiches, News Associates even provided us with food. I think they're wonderful.
Daffodils
When in Tesco the other day, I noticed the flower section. "Oh," said I (internally, I'm not a complete nutter). "I shall buy some daffodils. For it's still cold and grey outside. Whereas daffodils are yellow and happy, and when I go into the kitchen they will brighten up my miserable mornings by being a lovely ball of otherwise-absent sunshine."
The bastards have turned out to be albino.
When did my life start to be written by Katherine Mansfield? I'm now worried that falling down the stairs the other day (yes, again; no, I hadn't been drinking) is a deep and meanigful allegory that I'm yet to grasp the significance of.
The bastards have turned out to be albino.
When did my life start to be written by Katherine Mansfield? I'm now worried that falling down the stairs the other day (yes, again; no, I hadn't been drinking) is a deep and meanigful allegory that I'm yet to grasp the significance of.
All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl.
All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl. All work and no wine makes Brackers a dull girl.
The 3 Greatest Student Cities
are London, Brighton and Edinburgh. In my humble opinion, anyway.
Will hopefully add something with slightly more depth to this place in the next couple of days. Distracted due to having a dissertation progress meeting on Tuesday, which means I need to get all the thoughts in my head onto a bit of paper. Also need to transfer my notes into a form that is actually understandable by a normal human, and not just me, in order to prove I have actually done something. Fun times!
Will hopefully add something with slightly more depth to this place in the next couple of days. Distracted due to having a dissertation progress meeting on Tuesday, which means I need to get all the thoughts in my head onto a bit of paper. Also need to transfer my notes into a form that is actually understandable by a normal human, and not just me, in order to prove I have actually done something. Fun times!
My life in song...
If anyone can answer that burning question, I'm all ears.
Unless you suggest teaching, in which case you can fuck off.
Unless you suggest teaching, in which case you can fuck off.
A moment of showing off
This is where my dad lives:
And it has puffins. Everybody likes puffins.
And it has puffins. Everybody likes puffins.
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