"What's going on?" I say, flopping down on the sofa with my cup of tea.
"Oh,"
Nic says, waving her hand at
Hollyoaks on TV. "She's still 8 months pregnant, although not showing."
"Yeah, she was three months pregnant when she did the test thingy. I can't believe she's not had it yet," I say.
"She's just asked that boy whether he's committed to her," Ali says, tucking her hair behind her ears.
"And his mum told her to stay away, because he doesn't need her problems,"
Nic says. I am enjoying my
Hollyoaks roundup.
"And now she's asked him about
commitment without telling him the reason - that she's pregnant?" I say.
"Yep,"
Nic says.
"Well then. He doesn't know all the information. So his answer's void isn't it."
They both stare at me, quite shocked.
Finally
Nic speaks. "Gilly you are
such a lawyer."
They proceed to take the piss out of me for the rest of the evening.
Labels: law
"I am buying a law hoody tomorrow," I say to Mike. "It's so cliquey, I love it."
"Nice," he says. "What colour?"
"Dunno. Do you remember when we went to buy my Uni hoody?"
"No. What?"
I sigh. "I made you come get it with me on the last day of summer term in first year. It was pouring with rain and we frolicked."
"I have no recollection of that," he says.
"I reckon if we ever get married you'll forget our wedding day."
"Er, I think getting married is a little bit more memorable than
buying a hoody."
"Right. Do you remember when we say I love you for the first time?"
"Er, no."
"Right."
Labels: Mike
Well, Fabulously Gay Tutor gave me a distinction on my public law essay.
So I decided I wouldn't do any tort law (yes, because that's a logical step) and I'd go to the Jam House instead.
Where I promtly met my old boss.
And fell on my face.
Potentially breaking my foot, if the size of it this morning is anything to go by.
Labels: blonde moments, law
I am walking down the street to go to my ballet class. I am late, as ever.
A woman standing outside a building stops me. She has only one tooth.
"Do you have a cigarette?" she says.
"No," I say, feeling guilty for some reason. "I don't smoke."
Her male friend, similarly with no teeth, steps up close to me.
"Do you have a phone number?" he says.
"What? I thought you wanted a cigarette? Who do you want to call-" I stop. "Oh, I see what you mean. Sorry. I'm so slow."
"You're not wrong," he says smiling. "She's slower than me!" he says to his friend.
They both laugh.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing
Power cut again last night. Lucky I got the blogs in first eh.
Fuse box was smoking so Mike turned the power off with a broom (amid screams from me, and general hallucinations of him being burnt like Mike-the-sim (yes), and the like).
So we sat with candles. AGAIN. Oh my God.
Just How many power cuts must we endure?
Npower man came at about 11pm. By which time I had stopped stressing about lack of caffeine (ahem) and baths, and we had started playing articulate.
All I can say is that never
ever confuse the black and white cat from cartoons, with Sylvester Stillone.
Labels: blonde moments, embarrassing, grumbles
"And Gill this is -"
"We've met, actually," he says quitely.
I stumble, my drink sloshing over my hand as people push past me and look up into his bright blue eyes.
"Yes, we have," I say.
There's an Awkward Pause. It's too much for me.
"How have you been?" I say. It's been years. He smiles awkwardly. It's so familiar to me, the way his lip curls up slightly, the way he shrugs his shoulders.
"Fine, almost a doctor now," he says. Jesus, time flies. "How's the law?"
I want to tell him it's wonderful, and that I'm so glad I finally found a career, especially because I was so directionless and he knew it. I want to tell him I'm really glad to see him, to know he's okay and that he's still smiling. I want to tell him I'm sorry.
Instead I tell him it's okay, the conversation tinged with the regret of a bad decision from three years ago that still haunts us both.
I make my excuses and leave.
Okay I'm sorry. Not only for not blogging yesterday (or Saturday, really), but also for subjecting you to my slightly confused ramblings. I later lay in bed profusely ignoring the knocking at the door because I reasoned nobody could be knocking at the door. No, I wasn't high on drugs, and yes, there was someone knocking at the door. It was next door's door and a police officer in fact, but that's for another time.
On Friday I went to my old friend Rachel's house party. I was there at this exact time last year. I remember last year, I ha to get up at 7 so I could do enough work and still go to her party. I was mental. In some senses I miss that, but only because I am proud of how I did it. Now, the work feels so much more under control; I don't feel I will be struck down if I don't do anything for an evening.
This is also called laziness.
Anyway, photos from Friday:
Mike's new beard is very hot.
Unfortunately, we were lame at the party. I had half a glass of wine and almost fell asleep on that fetching orange beanbag. So we left at one, due to new all-nine-o'clocks schedule.
On Saturday I went to the guild with law people. Highlights included my friend proclaiming he used to work on the dock, and therefore was Jonny (think Bon Jovi lyrics), getting home at 4am, and eating a pizza in bed.
Labels: law
Just got back from guild. Quite drunk. Quite cold also.
Can't work out why so many people are on MSN. Someone's talking to me but they can't really be there can they?
Am supposed to read an entire textbook tomorrow. Hm. Perhaps should go to bed.
The night is dark and scary.
"And how's Dating Direct?" I say, resting my feet on the taps above the bubbles.
"Oh, I've resigned from that," my Dad says. He's such a diva.
"Why?"
"I've sent more winks than I've received."
I shake my head. Winks? It's bad when your father's more hip than you. And when that makes you use the word hip. "How many?"
"Sent six, received three."
"Right, what did they say?"
"One say, thanks for your message but I've met someone now, which is like a total blow-off."
"No it's not," I say. "Maybe she has er,
met someone. That is the idea of the site."
"I don't think so," my Dad says. "Anyway, the second said, look at my profile and see what you think."
"Without prompting? This is well good. You're in there. What's her name?"
"
Bev."
"
Bev. Not a great start."
"No. And she's not got a photo."
"Well," I say. "She might not have a digital camera. plenty of people
your age don't."
"
Tuh," he says. "Thanks. Anyway, she's put that she's slightly overweight. So that's a no-go."
"Dad! She is fifty! What do you want,
Claudia
Schiffer?"
"Actually Claudia's a bit on the dumpy side."
Labels: Dad
"Criminal law?" the
optician says.
"Yup," I say, as he moves his headlight thing back and forth. It's quite hard to have a serious conversation with someone you keep bumping heads with.
"Defence?"
"Yeah, it's interesting," I say, waiting for the onslaught.
"My cousin just got done for murder," he says, rattling around in his filing cabinet. His room's tiny. There's a sliding door to get in (rather like we're in a wardrobe).
I keep quiet, hoping I hadn't served the cousin coffee over the summer.
"Got life," he says. "With that thing on the end, where it means they might not get out".
I refrain from sounding sympathetic for the poor bloke. It tends to offend people.
"Mmm," I say instead, hoping, having just had my first ever criminal lecture, that he doesn't ask me anything.
"Anyway," he says, putting those funny glasses on me and blurring my right eye. "From the top of the letters please."
I squint. "Um, well I know the top one's A."
"Forget it," he says. "I didn't think you'd get any."
God I am blind.
"Now tell me, is the writing clearer on the red or the green boxes?"
"Where am I looking?" I say.
"Right," he says, shuffling around in his drawer and putting more lenses in. Suddenly I can see the board and everything.
"The red."
"And now," he says, swapping the lenses about.
The room is oddly blurred. I shut my right eye and it goes clear again. "The green," I say.
"Why're you closing your eye?"
"Because it tries to take over."
"What? How?"
"The room's blurred because you've blurred the right eye, unless I shut it."
He sighs. I suppose I am the first cyclops he's dealt with. He puts his hand over my right eye and we do the rest of the test.
"Right, this taking over business," he says. And, by way of explanation, he puts some blue slides in my eye. He faffs about for a bit, and makes me look at an X. And then he totally puts his head in the way REPEATEDLY so I can't see the X. In fact all I can see is a massive brown eye. And I suddenly get the urge to giggle. Smirking, i try to keep staring straight ahead. When he puts the slides in my left eye, I get double vision.
"You're very odd," he says, smiling.
"I know."
"No I mean, you have a smaller field of vision in your left eye."
Oh, that'll be my brain tumour, I think, but of course, I do not tell trained medical people who could help. Like, say, psychiatrists.
"I reckon you've got a micro-squint," he says, chuckling.
"What!"
"Were you the kid with the eye patch?" he says.
"No," I say, smiling. Mike was the kid with the eye-patch.
"Anyway, contacts," he says, as if he hasn't just told me I've got an eye defect.
He quite nice about it really. He sits me down and makes me put my chin on a table.
"What're you doing?" I say, as he gets a packet of what looks like lemsip.
"Putting orange dye in your eyes, so I can see the shape."
I squirm a bit. I never thought I had an 'eye' thing, but I reckon I do. "How're you going to do that?"
"I'll show you," he says, laughing, and pulls my eyelid down and squirts it in.
"Ooh you're all orange," I say, giggling.
"Yes that'll be the dye. Ah well," he says. "At least you're interesting."
I don't know what this means.
He tells me I have small eyeballs and then we do the contacts thing. I do shut my eyes twice despite his explicit instructions but suddenly they're in. The room is not clear, because they're not my prescription, but it's quite exciting anyway.
As he leads me out he stops to order my contacts.
"Ooh what're my numbers?" I say.
"Your what?"
"My dioptres," I say, thankful A-level physics helps me to communicate with people.
"Oh, -2.25," he says.
God I am blind.
"Oh, and we need that patch, as well," he says, just as I'm at the door.
"What patch?"
"The patch to correct your squint."
"Pardon. I can't have a patch!"
He laughs suddenly. "No it wouldn't be very lawyerly would it. Bye now."
Bastard.
"There," I say, sliding my essay across the counter. The law receptionist finishes checking her email and stares at the essay blankly.
"What?" I say, already quite edgy. I don't like this essay. And I don't like to look at hard copies for fear of having pasted
MSN conversations into my essay, or something.
"Where's the other one?" she says, tapping her nails on the desk.
"What other one?" I say, my heart racing. Oh God. There was probably another essay. And I'll fail it. And they'll tell law firm that I'm too remedial to even know there was an essay, let alone to do it.
"The other copy," she says, pointing to the declaration I just signed.
"I hereby declare I am submitting two copies of my essay," I read off the sheet, and sigh. I should probably read what I sign in future. "I have a copy in my bag, but it doesn't have a title page. Can I just give you that?"
"No."
"Right then."
"Oh, you can photocopy it," she says, as if this is somehow helpful.
"I know that," I say. It's not her fault, it's not her fault, I repeat in my head. I slouch off to the photocopying room.
I have no credit on my photocopying card.
Or change.
So I head off to the cashpoint. Good job I wasn't handing it in bang on the deadline.
The cashpoint only has twenties, so I go and buy a chocolate bar.
Back to the photocopying room, which has no toner.
I go to the library and print off another copy of my essay.
I walk back into the Reception worryingly close to the deadline. "Here," I say, pushing it across the desk.
She pretends to flick through the essays and staples the declaration to one of them.
Then she hands the copy back to me.
"This is for you," she says.
I open my mouth. "What, the one I just copied?"
"Yeah, you get to have it back."
And who said lawyers have stupid rules?
Labels: law
So the criminal law lecturer didn't turn up. So much for that.
I had no work to do when I got in today so spent the afternoon reliving my youth on The Sims. Rather worryingly created Mike and I. I attempted to follow the "law" career and accidentally became a detective. Mike became an inventor and earned £1k a day. So I had a baby.
Popping my head round Mike's door and asking what he wanted the baby to be called was quite priceless.
Is this game for kids?
Mike after I made him work out
Me after I taught me to meditate
What, she kept refusing to get dressed, so I made her fix the TV in her underwear.
Just another day for Mike
Labour!
We called the baby Hermione. I know. But I liked the name before the books, so it's okay.
Labels: Mike
Life's pretty good at the moment. I'm bouncing at the thought of seeing all my
lawyerly friends tomorrow. And a new term, with new highlighters especially. And I get to start criminal law, which is obviously the best one.
So here are some pictures of the walk I made Mike take this afternoon, because I wanted to capture the perfection for these few months before he goes.
New phone does not have an alarm clock. Since I don't, this is quite disastrous.
It does, however, have a timer.
What's the worst thing for an already-insomniac? Setting your alarm to go off in 7 hours' time, and try to sleep whilst the count down begins on the screen right in front of you.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I - I just don't know what to say. I promised you to blog every day and by the 11th Jan I've failed already.
But you see, it went like this.
Old computer restarted 21 times (it had obsessive compulsive disorder) when you restarted it.
New computer didn't.
Installed sound card on new computer.
New computer seemed a bit ditzy but coping (like me).
New computer has seizure. Will not restart.
When pulled plug, new computer refuses to talk to anyone and monitor and computer won't acknowledge each other.
Dad comes over, transfer data (including assessed essay for Monday) over to old computer, ready to take it back despite its social problems.
Dad leaves three hours later.
Data has not worked. Old computer has not dealt with new information well. Had created shortcuts to the New computer's drive (which is now in Tamworth, not Birmingham), instead of copying.
Huffy Dad comes back. Hands Mike drive, asking him to "deal with it." Possibly he meant me ("what's a hard drive?")
Mike "deals with it" from 9pm til now.
Essay is on memory stick. Will never let go of memory stick.
"I wonder what was wrong," I say, lounging on my bed post-trauma. "Ooh ooh will you come up with a cute analogy. The sound card and the computer didn't get on, and so on."
"No," Mike says.
"Please."
"Okay. The sound card was too big for Mrs Computer's slot and he tor-"
"Mike!"
"Now he," Mike says, "is a perfect example of a metrosexual."
I watched the man parade across La Senza, amongst the bras and the buy one get one free pants. I can see about a foot of his boxer shorts. Sloping hair. Bandana around his neck.
I wrinkle my nose. "I don't want to see his ass," I say. "Ooh, 5 pants for £10. Oh and animal pyjamas, ooh this is going to take a while."
"I'll go next door," Mike says, rubbing my back before leaving for Borders. Most likely to read cycling magazines.
Right, I think, approaching the till.
"I bought this in Preston," I say, brandishing the Stupid Bra with the bear on and no warning that it only fits square breasts. "And they said I could return it here." I refrain from citing s13 of the Sale of Goods Act.
"No problem," she says. "Just have a look round the store to see what you'd like."
I only need to spend £9. It shouldn't take a minute.
I approach the pyjamas, despite having bought three sets with my Christmas vouchers. There are some cute ones with "Night Owl" written on them. I pick them up. And some extra fluffy pink ones. And some with a Gorgeous Giraffe on them.
I carry my load over to the bras. I look again at the bear bra and lament how it didn't fit. I finger a padded bra and a blue bra with white swirls on. I pick up a white bra with daisies on and then put it down again after realising it only came in A cups. Why? Why?
And then I see it. It's ivory with a flower traced on it. It's slightly padded and advertised as wonder boost. I am still holding the Bear Bra, which I slip into my pocket (wouldn't it be easy to steal in La Senza?). I carry Beautiful New Bra into the changing room, past Metrosexual Boy who is still standing outside it, and try it on.
Oh, it's perfect. It lifts them right up. I have cleavage! They're nearly at my chin! I hastily gather up the debris of pyjamas and take them back to their places. I'm just going to buy the bra.
The bra is in the sale and is £7. I need a £2 item. I hunt furiously underneath the racks for a £2 matching thong but alas, no luck. I paw through every thong rack in the store looking for a remotely ivory one. I find seven, but they're all large or extra-large.
I'm pondering socks when I realise. I have dropped the receipt. It's not in my coat pocket with the bra. It's not in my hand, or my purse.
I do another lap of the shop and eventually find it underneath a pile of thongs at the back. I pick it up and go over to the socks again.
"Are you joking?" A voice says in my ear.
I turn around to see a very red Mike. I realise it's been 45 minutes.
"But, I, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I lost the receipt, and, and, er -" I pause. "I bought a padded bra!"
"Ooh really?" Mike says, instantly calmed. "Does it make them look big?"
"It was horrible the other day," Suzy says. "The roads were awful. The M42 was rammed."
"Where's the M42?" I say.
"Er, over there," Dad says, pointing out of our living room window, aghast.
Rob, Suzy's husband, stares at me.
"Oh my God, Rob, your eyelid just twitched," I say. "You must really hate me."
"No, I just can't understand how you have no idea where you are."
Maybe it's because you don't read my blog, I think.
"Anyway it's horrible to see pregnant women, on all sorts of drugs and all loads of kids already in care. Alcoholics, addicted to amphetamines, still breeding," Suzy says.
"She can't help it," I say lamely. "You don't know what it's like to have a problem like that."
Rob's eyelid twiches again. I stare at it.
"It's about to twitch a LOT MORE," Rob says.
My friend and fellow blogger is engaged! Hurrah!
Go
here and wish her well, for she needs more readers and will be overwhelmed if you actually all go (which you won't, but hey)
I was dozing this morning, unaware of the dying seconds left to check my email, and got up just as my light went off. Damn.
I fretted about lack of caffeine until I realised we had a gas cooker. And then, bizarrely, I put the teabag in the pan and heated the water. I really have no idea why I did this.
I got dressed and filled a hot water bottle with the water I heated on the stove (!), read a book over breakfast, pretended I was in the eighteenth century, and sat down at my desk to work.
I couldn't concentrate because my hair was messy as no straighteners.
Also was unnerved by the silence.
And that's it's quite hard to procrastinate without power. Is quite hard to implicitly put down EU law book and pick up a fiction novel. Is much easier to get distracted by blogs.
Within twenty minutes I was at the bus stop.
Ten minutes later I was in Boots. I was supposed to buy Mum's birthday present, which I did, but then also a massive bath set for myself because it was half price. Accidentally spent £24. But this was okay, I thought, because I got £2 on my Advantage card, which I will no doubt use tomorrow to buy more crap I don't need.
Met an old friend for coffee and put the world to rights. Went to Wetherspoons and ate burgers. Made a point of using toilet before going home until I realised home-toilet was working perfectly fine.
When I got home I sat for an hour doing EU law work. This was good. At about four I lit some candles, but it wasn't enough, so I decided I had to clean my room in order to light some more. Tidied entire house. Filed all work. After this, it was fully dark, so I sat down again.
Put coat on.
Went and stood by window and stared at Powerman's van. Whined "when will you turn it back on..."
Cried a bit.
Sat down pathetically.
Did more EU law.
Sighed a lot.
Power came back on. I was stunned for a moment as millions of burglar alarms (including mine) went off.
Checked email obsessively. Blogged. Put all TVs on.
Must do that EU law stuff now.
Labels: blonde moments
A few days ago my Dad and I went on a walk, and on our way we walked past a large tin. At least, that's what I thought it was. It turns out it was an emergency generator.
Today we got a leaflet in the post. There's going to be 12 hours without power tomorrow where I live. my Dad has managed to be out for all 12 of them. What can I do to entertain myself?
Also, how to keep warm!
Labels: asking the internet
It's 2003. I'm at Mike's house for some days in the long Christmas holiday.
"How do you like your steak?" Mike's mum says.
"Oh, well done," I say, smiling at Mike, for I cried at his rare steak when I had the realisation it used to be a cow. Honestly is it just me who has an aversion to eating raw meat?
Mike's mum brings the food out after a significant wait for mine. Mike cuts his open. It's bright red and oozes blood all over his chips. He assures me it is warm. Probably because it's still alive, I think.
I chew mine. And chew and chew.
Nothing's happening. I try to hide the vast quantities of meat in cheek pouches. Am now aware I looked like a
hamster. Mike's staring at me, an odd expression on his face.
Now his mum's bringing out the dessert. I excuse myself and go to the loo.
I spit it into the toilet. Shameful, I know, but what was I supposed to do? The pieces of half-chewed steak float there for a few seconds and then line the bottom of the pristine white toilet.
I flush. Nothing
happens. I pace whilst it fills up and frantically flush again. Nothing. On my first visit ever to long-term boyfriend's house, I have lined the bottom of their loo with chewed up beef.
I walk back downstairs, red-faced. I frantically motion with my eyes at Mike. I look at the toilet, and then him and back again. He doesn't understand. We'd only been together for 3 months. I'm not surprised he was horrified. Eventually he gets it and goes to the toilet.
Five minutes later he comes back, his sleeves rolled up and a horrified expression on his face.
It's a wonder we're still together really.
Labels: embarrassing, Mike, Nablopo year?, reminiscing
January:January was Brighton. We saw the sea for the first time and I felt oddly liberated. The sea was colder than I thought sea could be, but the spray arcing over the promenade and sprinkling Mike's nose was oddly beautiful.
Memorable for: Spending 12 hours in the Shakespeare Institute
If you just read one blog it should be: Supermarket Sweep - nearly at the bottom. I can only link to them as of July, when I moved to blogger.
February:February was birthday-month and Mike threw me a party. I pulled my hair out several hours before, partly because I was nervous, but mostly because I was too much of a workaholic to realise that if I left Jstor alone the world wouldn't end.
Memorable for: Mike got me a Valentine's day card that said "Happiness is love. Nothing else." I feel this is truth.
If you just read one blog it should be: I have lost the archive. Ahem.
March:March marked a turning point. The leaves began to appear on the trees and I no longer my thick coat that ensured I was sweating by the time I reached the arts department. It meant slightly longer nights and less painful feet. It included a fantastic Shakespeare mark and a glimmer of hope that maybe I was in the right place, and it was okay to feel literature and I were made for each other. And we were, really.
Memorable for: Being told by the dancing-surgeon that I could go back to ballet and doing so not 3 days later.
If you just read one blog it should be: Don't read beauty magazines they will only make you feel ugly, the last blog. Not my march summed up on a nutshell, but one of my viewpoints.
April:April was when I wrote two dissertations, deleted one, and handed it in bang on the word count. April was when I was constantly scared, and reading, reading, constantly. April was also the month where every Wednesday I would put on my worn tights and dance and shiver at the trani station unable to hide my smiles.
Memorable for: Finally revealing what happened when I thought the line numbers were part of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot
If you just read one blog it should be: In addition to the quoting, my Dad also looks like Woody Allen. It generated about 35 emails and an almost-blind date (Hi, Emma's Mum!)
May:May was when it all ended. The waves broke again, and I read trashy novels, and walked slower, admired scenery, chatted to mike, savoured coffee and breakfasts and falling asleep. May was a perfect, humid month that I was never forget.
Memorable for: Writing my timed essays out 4 times. They took three hours. 3 X 4 = 12.
If you just read one blog it should be: I have lost May. Argh.
June:June was where I had my first taste of criminal law. Probably moving from centre-right to entirely left-wing, although my father says I've always been a raving liberal. I learnt not to blame people for their situations, and their reactions to them. I had my most moving moments sitting outside court rooms with lost souls waiting to decide the rest of their lives. I can't say any more.
Memorable for: Sending out 22 training contract applications in 22 days.
If you just read one blog it should be: Lost lost lost
July:
In July my sister became a grown-up. She got herself a husband and planned her entire wedding and she's really gone on from there. She now does roasts, and cat-feeding and mothering, and I feel safe there in their guest bed. She throws one hell of a new year's, too.
Memorable for: Sitting in the wrong seat at the wedding.
If you just read one blog it should be: Don't Judge MeAugust:In August I got a training contract, which to you non-law types means I don't have to borrow £25,000.00 and I have a job as a real-live lawyer. It also marked the end of blogging, which I really can't put in any better words than I did then.
Memorable for: My dad getting his arm stuck in the ceiling, and
finding a white hair on my head
If you just read one blog it should be: You always say your nameSeptember:September was the start of law. It was what I had been applying for since Easter of my second year. It was what I'd pondered and read about and googled. And it all came true, and it was as wonderful as I thought. There was no disappointment; it was exactly how I'd hoped. It was practical and applicable, and interesting and quirky.
Memorable for: Rome. It was the first time I'd really traveled and it was beautiful.
If you just read one blog it should be: The one where Mike added up the shoppingOctober:
I always love October. I am not yet bored of my course. The weather is beautifully blue and crisp and Mike and I always have an amazing time in Preston. It marked our three year anniversary, and I suppose a non-committment phobe would say things got serious.
Memorable for: Smouldering tutor
If you just read one blog it should be: Wherein I frustrate Mike. AgainNovember:
November was where I wrote every day for a month. I learnt how to force blogs, and how to turn arguments into humour, and how to extrapolate one sentence Mike said into an entire blog. I got a hell of a lot more hits than usual, and I think a better quality of writing.
Memorable for: Conducting a poll for cat's names to have them all rejected.
If you just read one blog it should be: Either illness round up, fabuloudly gay tutor, or the train incident
December:The December I just did is hard to reminisce about. It was happy. There were lots of law socials, and real friendships and housing plans. I got a 68 on my land essay which stunned and delighted me. I didn't do half as much work as over Christmas, and I was twice as happy. Mike found out he was moving away, and after the initial shock I decided it would be beautifully romantic. I spent New Year at my sister's playing cards and drinking until 6 in the morning. I met a lawyer and discussed freehold covenants with him, both of us smiling as we meet a fellow One Of Us. I met up with a former Birmingham English student, where we spoke about how FitzGerald's green light in Gatsby is one of the best metaphors ever written, and I smile at my new acquaintances as all the good things in my life converged, and once again these moments were tinged with that love for writing and literature that will never quite heal.
Memorable for: Being a set text at a bloggingy thing.
If you just read one blog it should be: This one, because I thought it was rather good.
And finally, new year's resolutions. I did them all ast year, except one, which was to not bite my nails. But getting a training contract and getting a 2:1 but pretty good dammit. This year:
* Stop biting nails.
* Post every day for a year. That's right. Except you know, yesterday.
Labels: Nablopo year?
