beginnings

I love this place. I must say it out loud as he looks down at me and replies "I can tell."

Dim, rainy sunshine dripping onto the latticed roof. We walk halfway around the Reading Room, heading for the Parthenon galleries. Centaurs, ephebes, an explanation of why a small penis means you are a good Greek boy. The Rosetta stone, a favourite Exekias pot, the early Christian paintings I spent three months studying. The crowds are thinning as we leave to eat Thai. I get too drunk and rant about socialism all the way home.

The next day, cold cold wind on the Thames, hats and gloves and a pretend German Christmas market, wooden sheds and The Pogues on a loudspeaker. Coffee and cake by the steps of St Pauls. Sometimes, he says, I love London.

Sometimes, I do, too.

pick'n'mix

Few things I'm loving at the moment:

Things on repeat on my ipod;
Homecoming - The Teenagers; sample lyric: 'I fucked my American cunt/I loved my English romance'. Class.
Paris - Friendly Fires. Hot Chip-esque pre-party music.
Quicksand - La Roux. Electro-pop. I think she's singing about a girl. Do you?
Girls' Night Out - The Knife. Listening to this, I had a sudden realisation that the singer also appears on a Royksopp song that I adore.

A really, really well written piece on a favourite site:
I wrote this in the past

Shoes I want, violently. The Miu Miu store in the new shopping centre marks the end of my retail pilgrimage every time.

Real post at some point. Good weekend coming up. Must start making notes again.

london love

"Hey, baby."
I roll my eyes and walk past him.
"You think you're too good for me, ah? You think you're too hot for me!"
The man; short, shorter than me in my heels, Hispanic, slick hair.

He turns to his friend. "She thinks she's too hot for me!"
I walk through the barrier.
"You're nada! Nada!" He yells, at my back.

I think briefly on what I will do if they appear on the platform. My train arrives, I abandon my grimace of distaste and start to snigger into the high collar of my coat.

pillow talk

On the phone, late Sunday evening, dozing as we compare weekends and make plans, conversation inevitably draws back to how cold it is. Because we are British. And incredibly interesting.
I am always cold. I list what I am wearing; Pyjama bottoms, two tshirts, my enormous (and unwashed) university hoodie, and socks. I even have the hood up.

It dawns on me, when we hang up, that should Law fail as a career, I'd be a great phone sex worker. You know, for that niche sector that likes girls in oversized grubby layers. Filth!

as predicted

I feel better today. Not more enthusiastic, but certainly more accepting.

And! Worse news! The greatest tragedy of our times! John Sargeant has bowed out of Strictly.
Proof the grass is never greener...?

where I am

I feel soulless. Not in the indulgent way I occasionally ignore any moral compass I may possess, but spineless, weightless. A grey uneasy rest.

I do not love the law. I will never love the law. I cannot do this for the rest of my life.
I do not think I can do this at all.

A phone call; I say what has been building in my throat for days I despise that I let myself do this.

I cannot bear the drudgery. Discussion of statute is not debate, application of rules and attempting to sidestep difficult tax issues is not intellectual or exciting or anything but work any person willing to push solidly through these pages of bullet points could do.

Fuck, let's hope I'm as fickle as usual and change my mind by morning.

material

I've had a some very complimentary comments on the way I dress recently. Basically, I want to be this girl.

You really should click that link.

I did some shopping at the weekend. I even bought a top that wasn't black, or grey. It is blue, though, so hardly a departure from my usual palette.

On a related note, anyone finding that London is making them accidentally skinny? I have dropped a jeans size without even trying. Not complaining, but boooo to having to try on clothes amid sweaty Saturday shoppers.

Seriously, click that link. Even if you're a bloke. She's very pretty.