I'm reposting and old post to reiterate a point.

I know I don't blog as much as a could and I do have loads of new stuff I could talk about. However, I have been reading through my blog again and feel I need to bring up this point again. I can't spell.

"I've been reading through my posts and although on the whole I think they're quite good (yea, my ego only just fits through doorways) there is one thing that niggles. My spelling. I'm very sorry if you're the kind of person who can naturally spell amazingly well and to whom my poor spelling causes almost physical pain. I've always had a problem with it. Personally, I think I might be a bit dyslexic (what sadist made that word so hard to spell) sometimes I read words in the wrong order and when I speak the wrong word comes out. Having said this, I'm probably just being melodramatic and in reality I'm simply overtired and bad at spelling.

I've managed to get through 14 years of schooling and still not know instinctively which "which" is which. I miss letters out and throw extra ones into words depending on how generous I'm feeling at the time. I've produced work that is positively Elizabethan in terms of the variety of spellings for a single word it contains.

"Proof read!" I hear you cry. Unfortunately, for proof reading to work one must know how to spell the word in the first place. I think I have everything perfectly until someone points out a heinous error and I am forced to reconsider everything I've already written.

I think the best way to sum up my problem is to tell you a little anecdote about a time when my inability to spell has actually ruined my life. I got an interview at Kings College London. I arrived, full of excitement and potential, raring to prove that I would be an epic midwife. They gave me a numeracy assessment. "Easy" I said to myself  "I have an A in GCSE maths and I do A-level physics." I passed with flying colours. Result. They gave me a literacy assessment. "Easy" I thought to myself  "I'm clearly literate, I have and A in GCSE English language and I do A-level history, I write essays ALL the time. Wrong. I failed and got rejected from the university. I got 2/10 in my spelling test. Seriously.

What I'm really trying to say is that I'm very sorry for any misspellings in my posts. My bad. Have a song about poetry to make up for it.

YAY! FRANK TURNER!"

I'm a lazy reader (and feel no shame in admitting to this)

I am aware that this post could be controversial. I am expecting at least an irate text from the best friend berating me for this addition. Please, let me explain myself. I do read. Alot. I read a wide variety of things. Oscar Wilde is my favourite author but I'm not adverse to some Katie Fforde on occasion. I have a soft spot for Terry Pratchett and yes, I read Twilight and to my eternal shame, I loved it. Neil Gaiman provides escapism and Orwell and Huxley Show me what the world could be in a not-so-far-off dystopian future. I love books with a passion. 

So why the post title I hear you cry! I hate books that take an inordinate amount of effort to read. I don't want to have to plough through tedious meandering plots. I just don't see why I should have to work to traverse through the book. Surely it's the job of the author to make my journey through their world pleasurable and easy? I read a book to be entertained, to leave this world for a while. I want to be carried along without needing a high level of mental persistence. 

*disclaimer: This is different from reading books that make me think, I like that, I just resent having to think. A perfect book will carry me along whilst making me think.*

Books that fit this description are often "classic" literature. I'm talking about Tolstoy, Dickens and Hardy. In general books that are winners of or have been short-listed for high-brow and prestigious award such as the Man Booker prize eg. Cloud Atlas often fall into this category. Now I appreciate beautiful imagery and structure as much as the next person but, in my opinion, without sufficient plot a book is empty and dreary.

I now open the floor to anyone out of my extensive readership (jokes!)  to challenge this view. I promise I wont hold it against you. 

Massive love xxxxxxxxx

Vaguely Political Silliness.

I'm bored. I found this: CHECK IT OUT!

Saga of the lightbulb.

Hello strangers. I'm not dead. If fact, I can say with absolute certainty that I'm definitely not dead. The number of times I've had my pulse taken and my blood pressure checked the past couple of days...........sigh!  I am, however, in my seventh week of university! Hurrah! Earlier this year I thought that I would never in million years be able to say that!  (You can tell that I'm still pretty excited due to the profusion of exclamation marks contained within this post.)  Despite my extreme glee at being away from home, at university, independent living is not without it's challenges let me talk to you about the saga of the light bulb. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

After hours of packing and sorting my room I arrive at university and realise I'd left my bedside lamp at home.

This was a problem. The main light in my uni room is really bright, not very relaxing if one wants to read in bed. Not to mention the fact that when the time comes for sleep I had to drag my backside out of bed and across the room to the light switch. Something had to be done.

I went into Cambridge city centre at the first opportunity I had. After a pleasant amble around some shops found a wonderful bedside lamp for £6. Bargain. I took it home feeling very proud of myself. I had overcome the first hurdle of living away from my fantastic, doting parents.

You can but imagine my horror upon my return home when I realised my quarry was lacking. There was no light-bulb provided. by the time I discovered this it was too late for anything to be done. I had to spend yet another night without any relaxing lighting to read by. Fortunately I was going to town again on the Sunday and was passing a large Tesco (other supermarkets are available.) Morning came and I carefully checked the label on the lamp as I had  vague suspicion that there are more than one type of lightbulb. The picture looked like a screw in one so I set off with high hopes to the shops. 

Now, I don't know about you but I'd never bought a lightbulb at this point in my life. As far as I was concerned lightbulbs came from the little set of draws above the washing machine in the utility room. As I stood in Tesco it dawned on me that I hadn't the foggiest idea where I should even begin to look for one amongst the wasteland of commodities. I aimlessly wandered thought the isles for a quite a while before I eventually gave up and asked a very nice man where to find them. I think I will forever be emotionally scared by the pitying look he gave me as I explained the situation to him. He took me to the isle and left me in-front of a bewildering array of lightbulbs. I chose one that looked like it fitted my description and headed to the till feeling very proud of myself. 

Alas, upon my return home I tried to fit my new purchase into my lamp, only to discover that it didn't fit! I can't begin to describe my disappointment. I felt so stupid and upset. My future loomed ahead of me, dark and cold. I couldn't even complete the simplest task, I didn't think I'd survive till Christmas! 

 Maybe independent living wasn't going to be as easy as I first thought. I took a deep breath, pulled myself together and returned to the supermarket.  Now I knew where the light bulbs were I want straight thereI and found the small (key detail there!) screw in ones. I returned home and I had done it! It fitted! I was ecstatic. I had finally succeeded in my task!

Now, you may be wondering what this long meandering and seeming pointless story is all about. My point is that moving home has been a series of little obstacles. I didn't realise how much stuff was done for me until there was no-one there to do it. I didn't know how to cook potatoes to put in curry and I had no real concept of how much food cost. I'm getting the hang of it now but the first few months were an  adventure of discovery. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that you should be grateful of all the little things that you don't normally have to do. 

Sorry this has been such a long one, I'm procrastinating (again!) 

All my love and kisses guys. I've missed you. 

Coming soon.

Hello. Missed me? Well, there will be a new post within the week. Promise. So.....

SO FRICKIN' BORED!

Recently I've noticed an odd phemoninum occurring. I've been bored, really, mind-numbingly, gouge-your-own eyes-out-just-for-something-to-do bored.

This is me removing my eye (and apparently using my spider hands to shove it up my nose)

I've read 1984 for fun. I've been for strolls in the park on my own. I've run up and down the stairs repeatedly, I've found obscure videos of parrots shagging someone's head (I guess you'll want to watch it now, click HERE) The thing is, everyone but me seems to be busy, be it visiting relatives or friends in far flung corners of the country (well, at least a few hours south) or recoding with their band or simply going to the beach. Unfortunatly work commitments mean that I'm always busy exactly halfway through the day meaning I can't just pop to the beach like a normal person.

All the things that seemed fun when they were procrastinations now have no appeal. It doesn't help that it's beautifully sunny so staying in and blobbing isn't top of my list. I also have my own excitement to deal with. I do have some fun stuff planned, like FRANK TURNER ON THURSDAY!!!! and my school leavers dinner on Friday and then, next week....I'm going to Italy for a couple of weeks. Knowing I have all of this planned makes the times I'm not doing anything seem all the more dull.

I should really take up a hobby but boredom makes me lethargic. I feel better now I've told you all how bored I am. You can go back to your lives now. I'll go and find something productive to do.

As promised.

Exams are over. I'm a free woman. This is currently what I look like. Well, minus the slight look of homicidal mania.

Pleased as punch!

So, I've been promising a proper post for ages now and I figured there's no time like the present (plus I have a small hole in my normally full social calender). I'm still getting over the fact I no longer have to study, It's such a wierd feeling. I keep experiencing waves of guilt about not pouring over the notes that I've already thrown out. I am assured it will pass in time.

I am faced with the pleasant prospect of a long summer holiday not doing very much with my life at all. There are a million things the I could be doing but I can guarantee that I won't do them so I'm not even going to attempt anything that could be construed as productive. I intend to fill my time with the watching of TV, reading of books and chilling with the occasional unlucky friend.

Right. I'm going to get down to the business of pretentious post writing rather than waffling about my life.

London. Capital of England. Home of black cabs, Westminster, and the Queen. Metropolis. May as well be a million miles away from rural North East England where I'm currently stuck. Now, you have to understand the London and I are not best buddies. We have a bit of a personality clash. I find London vulgar, dirty and rude. There are far too many people and I just can't warm to it. London finds me small, insignificant and out of my depth. You can see why we don't get on. I prefer medium sized pretty places, like Cambridge (win!). This relationship with London is something The Best Friend and I disagree on. She loves the damn place.

This being said, I have a few friends and acquaintances in London. I keep in touch with them via the wonderful,  worldwide meeting place that is Facebook.  I read their status updates with interest. They always seem to be doing something fantastic. Like seeing Mumford And Sons in Hyde park. Or going to Wimbledon and seeing Nadal the dreamboat. Or watching the Graham Norton Show live. They get all of these fantastic opportunities because they live in London, where things happen, rather than in Northumberland where they don't. It simply isn't fair.

The preferential treatment of London always irks me. Listening to the national radio stations, such as Radio One, the give traffic reports for London, tell you of events happening in London. It's all about London. London. London. London. In London they think that Yorkshire is north. Heck, they practically think that Birmingham is north. These places are hours south for me. Hours. In a car. With my family. They are NOT Northern. They also seem to think that things that occur in the north are not worth reporting. Northern cities are not worth visiting. Again, simply not fair.

Now I understand that London is the centre of politics in the country and home of the royals seemingly anyone else of note but does that mean that the North can be ignored? It takes me 6-7 hours to get to London in the car. I can't travel to the entertainment and I don't see why the entertainment can't travel to me. Seriously  Next year can we hold Wimbledon in Newcastle? (wait second....doh!)

Anyhoo. Rant over. you can all go back to your lives now.

 Love and kisses x

ps. New glasses are great, can see again. hurrah.