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Haven't had much of a chance to blog of late, as two writing deadlines and three job application deadlines have ended up on four consecutive days. As is the way of the world. My head is currently full of jargon about what a wonderfully enthusiastic team player I am, and the like. It's not particularly easy trying to make an English Lit degree sound even remotely relevant to the real world.

Fortunately, I haven't managed to get the two confused, as I'm not entirely sure prospective employers would appreciate being emailed about bras. Still, the GC is currently visiting, and it gives me a valid excuse to take refuge in my laptop rather than having to feign interest in the football.

In other news, I have discovered that the Bible doesn't spontaneously combust when I swear an oath on it. That was a definite relief, I was expecting the solicitor to declare me damned by God.

Perhaps luckily, it was just the New Testament and Psalms rather than the entire Bible. Any of that Old Testament stuff about fraternising with gays, wearing mixed fibres or daring to be around other people during that time of the month, and I'd have been straight up in flames.

Things I have learned in the past week and a half

1) Bernard Cribbins thinks Great Uncle Bulgaria and Madame Cholet were at it.

2) It is possible for me to write 9,000 words in the space of a week. Not necessarily well, but at least written.

3) Sensation fiction is far too long.

4) There's an outbreak of norovirus at the moment. Despite this, the GC assures me the stomach bug he's had for the past week isn't at all contagious, and is turning up tonight. I'm legally allowed to murder him if I get ill, right?

5) It is impossible to write a cover letter without sounding like an idiot. And apparently "please hire me, I'm awesome" isn't acceptable.

That's pretty much it. The past week or so has been a fascinating combination of either essaying or sleeping - with the exception of seeing Bernard Cribbins at the BFI (who was fecking awesome, and I want him as my grandad) Also headed to the launch of Birds Eye View. They had free wine. I was happy.

Om nom nom

The GC sent me a man eating shark to try and keep me cheered during essay hell.

It's to play with in the bath (no, not like that, you filthmongers). The man (George) is attached to a pull-cord, and as a result gets chased round the bath by the shark (Sharky). I'm delighted that somebody has finally realised I quite often have the maturity levels of a six-year-old (and the language skills of a fourteen-year-old). After all, "there's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes." Or, in my case, often.

Basically, it's fucking awesome.

2150AD! 2150AD! 2150AD!

Incase you didn't catch that, it's 2150AD!

Why I can't hate Auden...

"The Victorian father who said he would rather see his daughter dead than on the stage was less foolish than the modern parent who cheerfully allows his children to go into advertising or journalism."

W. H. Auden, The Prolific and the Devourer.

How to get your five a day the easy way

1) Large glass of red wine. Think of all those grapes. Healthy. Or a pint of cider. Apples are good for you. Beer is made out of hops and though I'm not entirely sure what they are, the fact they grow on trees qualifies them as a fruit.

2) Jelly Tots are now made with 'real fruit juice!' If Innocent smoothies count, so do these.

3) Pizza. Tomato sauce on the base = one serving of fruit. Bonus points if you have something like pineapple or mushroom on top.

4) Chips are potato, which is a vegetable. Unless you buy yours from Iceland, in which case I claim no responsibility for what may be in them.

5) Fruit & nut chocolate - the clue's in the name.

My university is trying to kill me

This is my schedule for May:

17th May:
10,000 word dissertation due.
2,500 word essay due.

18th May:
3,000 word essay due.

20th May:
5,000 word project due.


I'm not actually going to live to see 22.

Eek

I have started applying for graduate jobs. This terrifies me. I don't want to go out into the big bad world, I want to stay a student forever. I like not getting up until midday and spending all my time reading and being able to go out drinking any night I want. Sigh.

Real life is knocking at the door. I'm trying to ignore it.

Being Human

Last night I headed into to for a preview of the new series of Being Human. Which was, as expected, awesome. BBC3, Sunday, 9:30 - watch it. It's good.

The Being Human blog explains all. And they have the advantage of having their very own Aidan Turner, who is very pretty and therefore deserves to be appreciated aesthetically. Preferably on a cinema screen, but a brief video will have to do for now.

The only major drawback was queuing in subzero temperatures outside the cinema for an hour. I think I've just about managed to defrost.

The thing that surprised me slightly was the mix of fans. I'm used to wandering along to Doctor Who stuff, which is 95% male - the majority technically old enough to be my dad. This was full of very loud teenage girls (and their mums), which made me feel slightly old and haggard.

The advantage is that we got to go to the pub afterwards. Where the lovely Simon and his lovely friends plied me with red wine. All I really remember about getting home is falling over more often than usual. Icy pavements and drunken staggering are not the greatest of combinations.

It took me slightly by surprise - while Westminster have actually bothered removing ice from their pavements, Hackney (surprise surprise) haven't. So I walked out of Old Street station to find myself arse over tit. It would probably have been easier to just roll home.

Hiatus-ish

I will, at some point, be blogging tales of Christmas and volunteering. But sadly, I'm being attacked by essay deadlines and boring as they are, I need to write about Auden and villainous parents and whatever-the-other-one-is-it's-due-in-last-and-I-haven't-even-thought-about-it-yet.

Basically, volunteering was a brilliant experience that I want to write about properly, not just use as a tool of procrastination.

Normal service will resume (well, start) towards the end of January. Providing I haven't bludgeoned myself to death with a copy of the Complete Auden.

(Oh, and yes - we have lots of snow. Everyone's talking about it, I thought I may as well join in).

And I've got myself some FREE TICKETS to see Measure for Measure in March. I love the Arts Council.

Injuries accrued over the Xmas period

1) I somehow managed to open the bathroom door on my head.

2) During a post-Doctor Who fight with the GC over the TV remote (I wanted to watch EastEnders, he didn't), I managed to fall off the sofa, land on the coffee table, and bugger my shoulder for the next few days. I still wasn't allowed to watch EastEnders.

3) I slipped over in the shower, old lady style.

I think the first was possibly my most spectacularly stupid injury of 2009. My life basically tends to be an endless montage of the first ten minutes of an episode of Casualty.

Crisis

I'm heading up back to the Shire for the next few days to catch up with various friends and family members before Christmas. Back to London on the 22nd, and spending a fortnight with the Gentleman Caller. (If, of course, we don't murder each other).

So, I may not be blogging again until the new year. Would like to take the opportunity to wish everyone a very happy Christmas, and to ask a favour.

I'm volunteering with Crisis this Christmas, who arrange centres throughout the week to provide homeless people with an enjoyable Christmas. This includes hot showers, three meals a day, and a bed to those who need it. They also provide medical and dental care, access to the Samaritans, and most importantly a safe place for people to have a rare chance to relax and have fun.

Crisis are working with the aim of helping all rough sleepers off the streets by 2012.

I'll be working from the 27th-29th December, and would really appreciate any sponsorship. Crisis do amazing things with the donations, and you could really change someone's Christmas for the better.

PLEASE SPONSOR ME

No, seriously...

I really wasn't joking about the campus graveyard.

It's where you end up if you miss an essay deadline.

The Ministry of Truth

Further to my previous post - I hate snow because I hate being cold. If I had my way, temperatures wouldn't be allowed to dip below 15 degrees C. Being cold makes me feel physically ill, my bones ache, my skin gets so utterly wrecked I look like I'm cultivating a layer of scales. I can't even think properly when it's cold.

(Some of you would probably claim that there'd be no noticable difference from usual. This may be true).

I braved Senate House yesterday. Unfortunately I only remembered halfway through the bus journey home, which meant having to get off at King's Cross and walk, rather than just crossing Russell Square. Still, "how hard can it be?" I asked myself. "It can't be that far, it's only one tube stop."

Big mistake.

Not only did I manage to set off in the complete wrong direction, I also found myself stuck in a hail storm. Rather naively, I had assumed that as it's a massive white building that looks like a wedding cake, it would be pretty easy to spot from Kings Cross. I was, of course wrong.

I then had to go through the struggle of trying to find the books I actually wanted. It's like a Crystal Maze mental challenge in there. Instead of using the Dewey Decimal system like every other library I have ever visited, they have their own weird combination of letters and numbers that is yet to make any sense to me.

I needed books from the English Lit section, then one from the Sociology section. Of course, this wasn't made easy. I had to trek down from the 6th floor of the South Block to the ground, cross the ground floor (dodging a BBC film crew on the way), then back upstairs in the North Block to reach the Sociology books. I think it's a way of assessing academic prowess - if you can pass the test of actually tracking the correct books down, you are deemed worthy and permitted to borrow them.

Though it's probably for the best I chose not to follow Google maps' directions from King's Cross to Russell Square:

View Larger Map

I hear Belguim's very nice this time of year.

For all that, I am immensley fond of Senate House. It's very pretty. University of London legend also has it that Hitler planned to use it as his base should he ever invade Britain. May not be true, but it's quite a good story. Almost as good as having a campus graveyard.

Snow

I fucking hate it.

That is all.

In the words of that esteemed poet, Noddy Holder...

It's CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISTMAS.

(Nearly).

My tree:

The Christmas Dalek:

A Brief History of Brackers

One of my earliest memories is telling my mum that when I grew up, I wanted to be a writer. At twenty-one, the same holds true. (I am not 'grown up', nor do I think I ever will be). That's mostly why I'm starting this blog – I’m hoping that it’ll inspire me to actually get some writing done rather than merely having the best intentions.

So, me. Feels a bit odd introducing myself as I suspect the only people to read this will be those I already know, but I can live in hope that complete strangers may stumble across my ramblings and find them oddly amusing.

I live in Hoxton, which isn’t as trendy as most presume. While there are multiple trendy media types wandering round the place, they don’t tend to reside in Hackney’s infamous council estates. Though our house does the job. We all fit in, and it keeps the rain out (well, mostly).

I’m in my final year of an undergraduate degree in English Literature. Books are quite possibly my favourite thing in all the world. So while I may be digging myself into an ever-deeper pit of debt, I’m enjoying myself while doing it. It is, however, getting to the point where my books are taking over my room. One of us is going to have to be banished to the cupboard, and as they outnumber me something like five hundred to one, I suspect I may lose the battle. One day, when I’m rich and successful (a girl can dream), I want to have a house full of books. I can’t bear to part with any of mine. I can’t stand libraries because having to give back a new friend after just three weeks breaks my heart a little.

I’m originally from Loughborough, one of the dullest towns on earth. Seriously - its proudest claim to fame is having the "world's largest bell foundry", and is the only place in the Western world I know of that doesn't have a Starbucks. (This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but proves it's about twenty years behind the rest of modern civilisation). We also have a statue in the town centre of a man naked, except for a sock and a fig leaf. The most famous Loughborian is Roy from Coronation Street. I thankfully managed to escape out into the big wide world. Many never manage it. Though while I ran away to the big city, my dad did the opposite and now lives in a lighthouse on the most remote inhabited island in Britain. We’d have called it a mid-life crisis were he not a bit too old for that.

I have a tendency to anthropomorphise things. I’m a vegetarian. I like things that glow in the dark, dinosaurs and red wine. I hate tomatoes and people touching near my eyes. I’ve been dying my hair since I was thirteen. I prefer Pepsi to Coke. I’m just over halfway through a mission to see every Shakespeare play performed on stage. I watch Doctor Who and have put a Dalek on our Christmas tree. I want a pet cow.

The title of this blog is a lyric from a Dresden Dolls song. I’ve never been particularly graceful and seem to have a more tumultuous relationship with gravity than most people. I walk into things and fall over things – more often when sober than not. I’m the only person I know who has actually injured themselves by "walking into a door." More than once.