Can you tell I'm too tired to think up half-way decent post titles?
The parents have been safely packed off to Rome (they'll be gone until Sunday), and my brother and I are at home. How do I plan to celebrate this riotous occasion? Simple - I don't. I have been feeling increasingly anti-social over the past few days, dunno why. Maybe it is because I have a lot to do, and I want to do it, but I'm still not determined enough to devote myself to it? I have read a bit of Paradise Lost, book I though, which is all good, and I plan - yes, PLAN - on finishing the rest tonight. Tomorrow's homework on Yves Saint Laurent is so not happening.
Went to have lunch with S--- up in Angel today, where he is working for his placement. He had his hair down, as I have been pushing him to have the courage to do, and he looked SOOOOOOO CUTE. I almost wasn't sure what I wanted to do to him, but for some reason yanking his hood over his head and / or hugging and squeezing him very tightly came into my mind. What is wrong with me?!! The beauty of this first glimpse was, however, ruined by the sight of the flakage up-top. His hair is lighter than mine - well, it looks closer to brown than mine does - and is gorgeous. It is all obedient and soft, and not as shiny as mine (not necessarily to be taken as a good thing!) but this means that dandruff REALLY shows up.
Good grief, all I need to do now is lapse into my 'cool, young, female, probably a (fashion) magazine editor's PA' voice and start advertising Head & Shoulders. Instead, for my own private mirth (not that of my non-existent reader(s)), I'm sticking this in.
Anyway, we had a buffet lunch at Indian Veg Bhel Poori House (their spelling!) for £3.50. Cheap and cheerful is most definitely the right description. We couldn't help feeling smug about all the non-Asian (Indian) morons who thought they were getting something amazing, just because it wasn't the bog-standard South Indian dosa-bhel-sev-chaat jobbie. I have no problem with that particular cuisine, but I have to say, kudos to the owner(s) of Indian Veg for spotting that gap in the market. And for £3.50 - really a very good deal since you get a lot of veggies and it's all fairly non-greasy, blah blah blah. It's definitely better for you than going to many Chinese buffets, where death by grease is inevitable. However, no, it wasn't amazing, S--- preferred Sagar (though we got more potato than veg having the set lunch there, AND it cost more), and we were mildly amused / terrified by the vegetarian propaganda that was, quite literally, EVERYWHERE.
But ja, I went to see him, we had lunch, I produced my magic surprise of 'live' drinking yoghurt with peach pieces, we walked a bit, we kissed, I headed off to uni (amazingly only about 7 stops from there. If only it was 7 as opposed to 26 between uni and my home ...) and picked up my essay (worth 60%!) for What Happened To The Epic From Milton To Pope. I got 75. SEVENTY-FOOKIN'-FIVE! I was in shock - really - for about five minutes at least, and then I felt very, very tired. I don't know if I can tell Katy, my friend whom I took the course with (I pretty much took it to be with her, which sounds potentially lesbo, but I was just trying to ensure we would stay in contact somehow, living in Bow and ......... respectively (!), and I figured not many people would want to touch it with a bargepole. I was semi-right). She was well mad because Isabel 'yoh yoh' Rivers ('yoh, yoh' is how she shows assent) accused her of lying about her word count, refused to take into account that she got evicted shortly before having to write this essay and therefore could only come in once to get whatever books were left (Kent to east London is THREE HOURS!), and gave her 54.
I have no idea what to say to Katy, because I.R seems to love me, even though I was mostly just b.s-ing all the way and paraphrasing her thoughts back at her... or so I thought. Either way I have a solid First for this module, since I got 70 in the other essay. Whoa, baby. Poor Katy, I don't get why I.R disliked her so much. She couldn't even get her name right for about 5 weeks or something.
Anyway, now I shall come full circle by explaining why I am tired, and then leave because of it. I stayed up till midnight for some absurd reason last night, couldn't sleep, woke up about 5 times and got woken up to say goodbye to my parents who I think left at 7 (cue me mumble-yelling to my mum in a sleep-fogged voice: "Muh... muh. Muh! Bread and Pro-activ!" Don't even ask). I stumbled downstairs in my teddy-bear pyjamas, hugged goodbye to them (or rather let them hug me, I was still undergoing pre-wake-up rigor mortis) and mistily registered that I had to turn on the dishwasher and put a washing load in and that dinner was taken care of. Beautiful. I woke up at 9, and I have been out since. Time, I think, to take a nap and speed on (I hope) with PL book I!
