'Not a thing to do..

but talk to you...'

I have been watching a lot of 'That 70s Show' recently. I only seem to watch it when I'm back home,it reminds me of being at school. It makes me think of my first boyfriend, who looked like Eric Forman.. ( even though I always did think 'Hyde' was so much cooler.) I don't relate to it as much as I did then... but it still makes me laugh, and I still fancy 'Hyde,' (the curly haired chap.)

TOOTHPASTE KISSES.

Since posting a small picture of a slug in my bathroom a week or two ago, I have been inundated with requests to see more of my bathroom. At first I refused, but who am I to deny my public. So here we are.... some pictures of my bathroom. The first in a series; how to make your tiny, mouldy, drafty student house a beautiful, cosy home for four.








There is a permanent chill in here. So, to make showering a warming and comforting affair, blasting the shower with close to scalding water and filling the tiny room with steam has become compulsory... So has drying off quickly with a warm towel and piling on layers of comfy cotton clothes and wrapping up in a toasty dressing gown.
All winter I have been been coveting cosy, woody smelling soaps instead of those fresh critrus scents of summer....
The generally cool bathroom is better suited for summer. I'm looking forward to peeking out of the window while showering and watching the steam escape, and mid afternoon showering in luke warm water to cool off after sunbathing. Having said that.. I still plan on making the most of my chilly February showers. There's something ever so pleasant about my sweet little refreshing bathroom.

Kate Moss Jacket

...Said have you heard this sound.?


I bought this jacket the other week. If it even looks half as good on me as it does on her.... then I will be happy. I like to wear it with leggings and my giant flannel shirt.


A more indepth post to follow, once I have completed my busy university week. Sound good?

Sold my red horse for a venture home

To vanish on the bow --

Settling slow


Back in Norwich. And not a moment too soon. I arrived back here last Thursday amidst a national crisis due to the higher than average snow fall Britain experienced. This compromised my travel plans, made me 45minutes late for work and made it unavoidable for me to haul my suitcase halfway across Norwich in the snow. But, I'm here now. And the snow really wasn't as bad as the news broadcasters scared me into believing.

Over the past week, I returned to university for my weekly three hour seminar. A seemingly simple task which resulted in a series of manic phone calls, and various other calamities...
Having spent the best part of the day indulging in studious behaviour me and Grace embarked on a journey home, stopping on the way at the 'co-op,' to stock up on supplies of juice and toilet roll. Whilst on the jaunt home, we realised one very large error, neither of us had our keys. We were locked out and, at that very moment one housemate was on a train to London and the other was tucked in the library for the foreseeable future. Several frantic phone calls later, and I had explained the scenario to my boss, who gave me the afternoon off work, yet still no contact with Anna. There was nothing else to do besides head towards the nearest pub, 'the fat cat.'

We must have looked like quite a sight to the old 'fisherman' types who reside there of a late Thursday afternoon. We took two seats at the bar and marvelled at the extremely hearty selection of beer. After two samples of cider we both settled on fruit beer, which went down very smoothly in a dimly lit corner. It was over an hour later, and still no word from Anna, when we anxiously decided to head back. Labouring down Dereham Road whilst I clutched at my 12 rolls of toilet roll and Grace at her three cartons of juice, our sanity began to diminish; we began discussing whether the heavy footed, chunky legged woman marching ahead of us was Anna, a daft thought, yet one which seemed feasible. Upon returning to our little house we made some more phone calls and banged on the door, still no reply. Thankfully, our neighbours accepted our refuge.

Once next door, the friendly neighbours did all they could to make us feel comfortable. Had the pair of them been over 5ft tall this event would have been far less ridiculous. They weren't. It is very rare for me to stand taller than a person, let alone tower over them. The friendly neighbour, Bob, explained how he had spent half the mid afternoon talking to Anna, an exaggeration, I am sure. Yet, in a blind fit of rage me and Grace tore through their house and lept over the back gate, where we found our own backdoor unlocked and a confused Anna, who had not looked at her phone for a good two hours.
All's well that ends well. I had the eve off work and went to the pub. Anna made risotto for tea, but I still haven't forgiven her.

Christmas, Cheescake and Cynism...

In that order.





Following that, I was whisked to my aunties house in the Norfolk countryside where my Dad's side of family laid in wait to prime me with jugs of 'pimms' and red wine; fill me up with the cold meat from the day before and dunk my face in flour. Yes, it was the only thing for me in house full of male cousins under the age of 13. 

Upon returning to the ice laden roads of Luton, I sharpishly painted my nails and put on my sequin skirt ready for 'Boxing Day Dark Party,' a concept which my Grandmother refused to understand. Phil 'Nightwolf' Gordon had left my name at the door, allowing me to walk smuggly into the club without paying and feeling like the belle of the Luton indie scene. 

I'm really not supposed to...

But yes. You can call me anything you want..




Over the past couple of weeks I have been working hard to complete essays to deadlines, which left me a shivering, sobbing wreck at my desk, but my housemates and I celebrated Christmas on Friday night in a big way..


The day began with an early morning wake up call, cups of tea and a nice breakfast. Grace and I went into the city where we spent a good hour marvelling at all sorts in 'T-KMax,' a shop whose charms I was not familiar with, until now. Upon returning home we wrapped our 'Secret Santa presents,' which culminated in an unfortunate series of events which rendered me not only obsessive about toilet roll, but also possessive over wrapping paper in Grace's eyes. Luckily, it later transpired that the 'Rupert the bear' wrapping paper I had been carrying around all day was part of her present. For the record, under normal circumstances, I like sharing wrapping paper.



After mulled wine, mince pies, sweets and a lot of cider with art historian friends round at our festive palace, we departed for a late night burger at 'Captain Americas.' A border-line seedy diner tucked away in the heart of Norwich. This is where things get hazy. I remember ordering a deluxe burger and half a larger, followed by a strange mix up which resulted in after dinner mints being used as payment. Not bad. Following that, a jaunt around Norwich from 'Pow' to the 'Playhouse' and back to 'Pow' again, whilst constantly having my glasses topped up with wine from a plastic 500ml bottle tucked in Grace's bag.

The Day After you Stole my Heart...

Everything I touched told me it would be better shared with you...


I can tell that it's getting wintry in Norwich. My hands are getting dry and chapped from being out in the cold. I have been sleeping next to a hot water bottle.
(Grace took this photo... Norwich by lamplight, winter here isn't bad.)




Me and my housemates went to a 'Communist' themed party a few weekends ago. We danced to the sounds of a Russian band and records from a bygone era. We dressed as Russians, the men at the party were looking particulary dashing in military atire. Through the wine-tinted glasses I began to understand the merits of Communism. Everyone was happy to drink a lot of vodka, wear fur, dance ridiculously to romantic songs and look irrationally hot. The atmosphere bloomed with moral, as everyone drank up and danced as if it were their last night. Afterall, who knows what another day in Communist Russia will bring.

When me and Grace stumbbled home we found this chap sleeping on the sofa....
Grace's brother, Alex, had come to Norwich especially for the occasion. He had returned home before us and was resting under a duvet next to the fire (aka: gas heater,) when we arrived back at 3.30am. Grace whipped up a rather delightful pasta dish in the kitchin whilst I fumbled about with spare duvets in the cupboard under the stairs in order to improve Alex's sleeping situation.... as he mumbled questions such as.. 'What, are you going to make me lie on the ironing board?'
We went to bed, full and slightly fearful that we had been born in the wrong time period and within the wrong political structure.