tonight (another nonsensical entry)
Now it is the holidays, and apart from Fi's 18th, Wicked, Rocky Horror, and Shelley on Wednesday I am not allowed to do anything. Nothing at all. Nothing. Except paint, and study. And order big panes of glass for art.
Just spent an afternoon with Jess and Meg. After crazily completing my CAS folder (insert various omg-ish, trumpeting sounds) (yes, it WAS crazy), we considered jazz and drag kings, but then concluded that it was perfect fish and chips and park weather. Cue the running around in a park in the dark (I haven't done that since year eight parties - no, wait, year nine and the spinning on the Flat which turned into a poem into a song.) and the discovering dusty eighties stockings being sold in a supermarket and skipping and jollity. Grilled blue grenadier and grass on my elbows and animal noises. Skipped home, watched terrible t.v.. Brilliant dance movie called Step Up - perfect, predictable, lovely. I called Shelley; we talked about lesbian murderers, hypothetical sex pants, pink cows with black spots, men dressed up as men, and honey. Meg and I talked about the history of Syphilis while Jess was all sleepy, and had milo. On the train, drunk men asked me if I was going to Pakky. The highway was surprisingly empty as I sprinted across.
My house is creaking. Goodnight. (P.S. Kate, ahhhhh, so looking forward to this!)
Just spent an afternoon with Jess and Meg. After crazily completing my CAS folder (insert various omg-ish, trumpeting sounds) (yes, it WAS crazy), we considered jazz and drag kings, but then concluded that it was perfect fish and chips and park weather. Cue the running around in a park in the dark (I haven't done that since year eight parties - no, wait, year nine and the spinning on the Flat which turned into a poem into a song.) and the discovering dusty eighties stockings being sold in a supermarket and skipping and jollity. Grilled blue grenadier and grass on my elbows and animal noises. Skipped home, watched terrible t.v.. Brilliant dance movie called Step Up - perfect, predictable, lovely. I called Shelley; we talked about lesbian murderers, hypothetical sex pants, pink cows with black spots, men dressed up as men, and honey. Meg and I talked about the history of Syphilis while Jess was all sleepy, and had milo. On the train, drunk men asked me if I was going to Pakky. The highway was surprisingly empty as I sprinted across.
My house is creaking. Goodnight. (P.S. Kate, ahhhhh, so looking forward to this!)