Somewhat terrifying, non?! I move down to Bristol in the afternoon for freshers week - I'm in a student house with 6/10 other girls, and I'm rather looking forward to it actually. In a lovely part of the city, close to the University, in a leafy street - what more could I ask for? I don't think I've got half of what I need and things have been SO unbelievably hectic lately. One of my best friends has already gone to Uni (saying goodbye to her was pretty horrific as it was probably good bye for...

Crazy, crazy two days.

But the University of Bristol rang me at Oxfam earlier to offer me a place on their Theology & Religious Studies BA degree course, so it's okay



So I'd been ringing universities up for about 24 hours straight to no avail, feeling ridiculously disheartened and having a last minute 'oh hell, what am I going to do with my life' sort of thing. I was resigning myself to a gap year (aka 'a fate worse than death') and...

Today was results day, talk about scariest day OF MY LIFE! I got an email at the crack of dawn telling me I'd been accepted by The University of Manchester, then I went in at 10.30 to get my results, which were..


A (Politics)
A (English)
B (Classics)


Now it's onto to frantically ringing up other universities, but it's not looking good, no where in London has 2009 places. We'll just have to wait and see...

You would?




It only properly came out today (I went for a meal last night and with some craftily applied makeup looked like I had two black eyes!) and it doesn't look that bad considering there's a hairline skull fracture under that. Although from straight on I have got a bit of a golf ball thing going on and look as though I've got a cartoon character injury.
I had...

Culminating in my hospitalisation infact!

The best friend had a house party, and me and said best friend were both in bad moods and the alcohol assumption (for the first time in my life) made me a 'depressive drunk.' The situation of Tom (mon past amour) being invited to said party didn't help matters, neither did the invite of another boy who's a bit of a fan of me at the moment (not reciprocated.) There was many a 'sat on the bed with boy that likes me and tom sat on the other side...

with a retired actress 50 years older than me who works at the bookshop. She loves Murdoch and hates Roger Federer. She thinks people who read the Guardian (me) are whimsical lefties and she thinks all children should be taught Latin from pre-school upwards. When I sent her a postcard from Paris she circled all my spelling mistakes in red pen and made everyone laugh at my absolute idiocy, and told me she'd treasure it forever.

I'm enraptured!

My life is made up of...

Why did I come home? Why?




(My two best friends came all the way to Paris with me and didn't even go to the U2 concert... I love them with all my heart!)


My DSLR got confiscated. My phone camera did NOT cut it.
...

... je suis off to Paris! Yes, for the (2nd) U2 concert and yes, so I can go and cry over dear Susan's tomb. And also dear Voltaire's.

I'm hoping that I'll bump into Catherine Denuve on the flight over, and it'll be the beginnings of some illustrious and sordid Parisian romance.
Wish me luck.
The chances of that happening are high, non?

...

Am I the only person to find the Michael Jackson memorial concert (both the idea of and execution) absolutely hideous? When did it become about michael 'the franchise' and less michael 'the person' ? Perhaps it was too soon, too many ego's were flying about and too many empty words... which is all well and good, but not when you've got his 11 year old daughter crying on stage amongst it all. Amongst all the tawdry trappings of his 'celebrity.' That the family have exposed her...

like the last twenty minutes of her life have been somewhat akin to a scene in a film. A mundane conversation, stiff pleasantries, the phone slammed down. Ringing back, sounding like some flaming, raging, demented Clytemnestra, threatening to leave, lambasting the lies. A bemused response, but for the first time in months, a serious one. Many heated exchanges.
Meeting on Friday outside the Cathedral.
C'est la vie; c'est ma vie.

(p.s. Zooey and Justin, in an ideal world...

Oh dear. Bad week, bad few days. Saw Patti Smith in London yesterday which was, of course, amazing (and that, of course, is a hideous understatement.) Everyone's exams ended today, mine didn't. Found out I've done pretty shit on my English coursework (the only piece of work I've done for the duration of my time in college that I've actually bothered with, and had some sense of integrity about it, and was both a linguistic and thematic...

I just voted. For the first of many times. Man, does that feel good.

The fact that in this election, the first in which I'll ever vote, the right wing fascist fucking BNP party are going to sweep to country and have wins in practically every council. It's scary, frustrating, and endlessly, endlessly depressing. How have they gotten this far? How can anyone possibly vote for this party, the party that advocates, believes and circulates this -






Rock on 4th June. I...

The welcome beginning of an end.

Tomorrow afternoon I have my first a-level, my french speaking exam. After that, between now and June 22th, I've got nine exams. Next Friday is the last day of college (not that I'm hardly ever there or have been for the past two years), we then go on study leave and that's it. Finito! The summer will have started. Everyone else ends their exams June 19th (I have an English resit... not turning up for the original at Christmas was a bad, bad idea)...

Any tips?
Basically, my french speaking exam is next week. I had to write a presentation the other week on Food for my teacher to mark and had no intention of learning it until nearer the time. Now she's sprung it on me that I've got to do a practise run through on Thursday. And I don't know it. And I'm screwed! I could never learn scripts in drama, and I don't know how I'm going to learn three a4 pages of French now.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

... mon dieu! (...