Let's hear it for North Wales.

Okay, now I really want to go to Bestival. I spent the weekend in a Bangor field, smothered in sun-cream and music, moulding with clay and dancing to Dizzee Rascal on the grass outside the main tent. Highlights included: sunshine, singing along to Journey (damn it Glee, that was my song), exchanging awkward dialogue with Ian Watkins of Lostprophets fame as I shuffled through the signing tent, dancing around like a fifteen year old and asserting that 'Last Summer' was 'our song' to anybody who would listen, MGMT and disco! disco! and Florence and the Machine; sneaking back to Bangor on the Sunday with my mum (ahem), Marina and the Diamonds, stumbling across a secret Biffy Clyro acoustic set in the Surgery, moulding dinosaurs out of the aforementioned clay (Biffy Dino ♥) and the Chris Moyles vs. Tim Westwood sound-off, particularly the lines:

Westwood: "Put your hands up if you were born in the '80s"
*crowds cheer*
Westwood: "Put your hands up if you were born in the '90s"
*crowds cheer*
My mum: "Put your hands up if you were born in the '50s"
*cheers*

The only lowlight of the weekend occurred during Cheryl Cole's performance on Saturday afternoon, when an ungainly chav decided to unzip his fly and urinate on the floor directly behind my feet. There was a lot of spray as he wheeled about in drunken circles, parents were shielding their children's eyes and soon there was a large perimeter as the crowd anxiously surged away from him. It was a very grim moment for me, particularly as I didn't want to watch Cheryl Cole in the first place. GAH.

Supertramp.

Exams are over, thank god.
I spent Tuesday afternoon in a state of exhaustion, eating Frosties from the box and napping in between Stephen Fry and films about escaping:


"Happiness only real when shared." Beautiful/tragic.
Today I am forcing myself out of the house and onto a bus. I will spend some time in Forbidden Planet, looking for a birthday present for Josh (and by no means looking for myself, oh-no). Later I will meet up with Gabby and Alice in Canary Wharf and we will celebrate the end of my second year with pizza and vouchers and perhaps a dash of Robert Downey Junior. And tomorrow I will go home and sleep until August.

♥

Wasting time.
Watching Jonathan Creek.
Looking forward to Summer 010.

I was hiding under the porch because I love you.

Did you know that there is an award at the Cannes Film Festival called the Palm Dog Award, which is "awarded to the best performance by a canine (live or animated) or group of canines during the festival"? Past winners include Bruno from Belleville Rendezvous, Mops from Marie Antoinette and Dug from Up. What a lovely concept :) I miss my doggy.

Distractions.

Revision time is a bore, particularly when you're pent up in the house, alone with the boys (read: the goldfish) because your housemates are away having post-portfolio fun. I toyed with the idea of going home for the weekend as well, but I knew that my good intentions would dissolve the instant I stepped onto the Euston concourse. So, I buckled down and bought myself some flip cards from W H Smiths. Productivity 1 Procrastination 0. In the deep dark days of revision that followed I holed myself up in my duvet den and took solace in innocent smoothies, long conversations on the telephone and the inevitable cocktail, one part work, one part iplayer = end result, TIME-WASTER. I spent a lot of time in Tesco, bought a Berlin guidebook with an old gift voucher (now, to book a Berlin holiday) and developed my Paris (& beyond) film at last. On the plus side it's grey and cold outside, so I am not facing the usual dilemma: revision vs. sunshine. On the down side, Gideon.

Vote for Pedro.

We're all set for Election Night here at Scawen Road. Votes have been cast, homemade pizza bases decorated, election cakes baked (one for blue, one for red, three for yellow, etc.) and the television is tuned to channel four's alternative coverage. I've had ten hours sleep over the past three days, so let the endurance test begin!

Today I've been jousting/trading political anagrams and cake metaphors with Gaz on facebook. Election wit = fun.











"Can you make Nick Griffin's out of white chocolate and make it taste really bitter? Also it can't be near any milk chocolate cakes or heaven forbid a dark chocolate cake. Also make David Cameron's cake out of grease and Nick Clegg's out of hot air. For Gordon Brown's just deflate a soufflé and put it in front of a camera to look awkward."

Dig up Virginia, boys.

Things to do in lieu of writing an essay, a list in five parts:

1. Shop for blue typewriters and Gemma Correll prints on etsy
2. Join the unofficial liberal democrat page on facebook and refresh it over and over again
3. Download and listen to three months of Friday night comedy podcasts/political satire shows
4. Drink chocolate milk and watch Pocahontas on youtube
5. Go to Brick Lane and search for treasures at the Superette Rummage Sale

I gave myself a few undeserved hours off this morning in order to go to the aforementioned Superette jumble sale. For some reason I decided to wear a summer dress and a flimsy pair of tights, cue a miserable fifteen minutes waiting for the 47 bus in the wind and the rain. Misjudging myself as ever I arrived in Shoreditch with far too much time to spare, so I walked the length of Brick Lane, popping into vintage shops and furniture markets to avoid the weather. I bought a crepe and ambled back to the previously quiet Superette, only to find it full with laden tables and rummaging shoppers and devoid of 'first-come' goody bags. So much for my early start, but my shiny purchases soon made up for it. I found and bought a £5 Lomography camera, a cardie, a skirt with a pretty birdcage pattern, a bracelet, a set of postcards from Lazy Soosan (look, there I am buying their wares) and a brooch and necklace combo from the last of the Lady Luck Rules OK stock.

On the way back to Liverpool Street I bought some post-it notes and made some self-inflicted transport errors in order to decorate the tube map with #libdemflashmob stickers. I felt like such a vandal, walking along the platform at Aldgate and leaving them in stupid places, like under chairs and on the sides of pillars, because I was worried that somebody would see me. No wonder I've never made good use of the Guerilla Art Kit by Keri Smith. I'm far too establishment for art bombing.