NYE was a chips-and-Depeche-Mode nightmare. Well, nightmare is too strong. It was a slog though. And cranberry juice does not become any less disgusting when you dump a load of wine in it. Or champagne, or both. (Note to me, stop mentioning berries in this blog.)
Spent all of yesterday at the park going, "Misha, are you cold?" "Misha, are you cold?" "DO YOU FEEL ILL MISHA??" until he told me to shut up in that crushing way six-year-olds do, and suddenly I realised I'd turned into my great-aunt Zina.
I finally GET IT about Ted Hughes. Have been reading him constantly and oh my god, why did I not see it before? The guy can blow your head off with words.
Oh, and, provided I get 3 As this year, I may end up...
here.
About Me
- Annie
- In 1909 Muriel Matters flew over the Houses of Parliament throwing down carrots and Votes For Women propaganda leaflets. My life isn't nearly as exciting. I read and write poems, drink tea, form silly crushes on dead writers (Ovid, Pasternak), wander the streets of London and am currently ploughing through my last year of school. Next year I'll hopefully be at uni - somewhere, somehow - studying Classics.
3 comments:
WELL DONE about Cambridge! That's brilliant news!
Well done again! Pembroke is pretty :)
Aww, I like cranberry juice! But maybe just the sanitised breakfast kind, not the bitter pure Russian speciality kind you're probably drinking.
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