warning: contains words

Just seen an advert for the new Will Smith movie. The trailer makes it clear that it contains Scenes of Strong Emotion. Or something. I had no idea what the film was about, but Wikipedia helped with that and my, does it sound like a depressing little jaunt.

So. When you know the movie is about the deaths of seven people and the title character's subsequent self-flagellation, do you really need the warning?

On another note of bemused complaint, what is Channel Four trying to do with this Christianity series? This week's episode, presented by Michael Portillo, doesn't really make any sense. He's meant to be talking about Rome but they can't really decide whether they want to do the ancient or the modern.

Other news: I've been carrying my notebook and writing, a lot. Just need to translate that into real posts. The space between my tits hurts because I wore an ill-fitting bra for too long yesterday. Really quite tired. Can you tell?

working on it

Had a brief, I love London moment today. Unexpectedly, it was on the bus. Transport in the city usually makes me snarl.

Asked for trouble by sitting next to an Italian in tight white jeans. Instead, I became surrounded by more Italians, a couple of Russians; a Thai girl, someone speaking French. Telephone calls. I was almost somewhere else.

Itchy feet.

ta

Dear Auntie Jean/Granny/Weird Uncle,

Thank you very much for my [usually money]. I have already hit the sales [because I had to escape the crushing weight of all the food and old people in the house] and have treated myself to a new sweater [actually from the Maternity section of Topshop, which caused slight consternation at home]. I will have to visit the shops again when the crowds have disappeared to see what else I can find! [as I am actually going to blow all the cash on a corset].

We had a quiet Christmas with family [if "quiet" entails Boxing Day Massacre of squirrels by Grandad, with shotgun] and I spent New Year at home with friends from University, which was great fun. [And it was so]. Mum and Dad were a big help on the night with all the food and preparation, and we were all pretty tired the next day! [For me, principally because I was up until the sun rose fucking my boyfriend].

I am looking forward to getting back to London now [LIES] though not so much to my exams. [couldn't give a fuck. I mean, I'm blogging about thank you letters instead of revising]. Hopefully they will be better than I expect! [they won't be].

Thank you again [for your contribution to my journey through the shops of Soho].

With love [especially from my boyfriend, who is delighted I'm spending a ridiculous amount of money on something that is essentially for his enjoyment],

xx

to do

Resolutions:

1. Start carrying notebook again/write more/just start the bloody book, etc.
2. Get job.
3. Attempt to boost 'love' part of love/hate relationship with stupid London.
4. Stop being useless about seeing friends who live/work within few miles of self.
5. Stop relying on Bridget Jones-esque entries to disable feeling of guilt about not writing.

Merry 2009.

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.