Hairy Hoovering

I thought packing was bad but it is nothing compared to having to clean the flat afterwards. There was just so much random stuff that needed to be thrown out. Worse than that there was two years worth of dust and dirt hidden in certain corners. We even washed the walls in some parts of the flat. The scariest thing however was when I hoovered. I made sure the brush bit was down on the hoover so it brushed the carpet too and so much hair came up. Most of it was mine, a fair amount was the flatmates. I'm surprised we both still have full heads of thick hair as we malt so much.

On the way home from the flat a man offered me his seat on the train. It shows chivalry is not dead. I usually end up having to stand for the 40mins until the first stop where alot of people get off. I guess I looked pretty tired today as I have been feeling more and more ill recently, he asked if I was feeling OK and gave me his seat. Lovely man. I think I would have just curled up on the floor if he hadn't.

Fingers crossed the weather stays good tomorrow. Then I can go to the beach. Hurrah! I haven't been to the beach to sit in the sunshine yet this summer as I never seem to be around or free when the sun is shining. I need to synthesise some vitamin D.

Lily xXx

Rubbish Viva

Well the Viva was rubbish. They slagged off my project more than asking questions, and for once most of the bad points weren't my fault. All I could really say for a lot of the questions was "Prof Useless said we couldn't afford to do that." or "Prof Useless said we for a BSc project it wasn't worth teaching me how to do that." I also realized that in my discussion, rather than putting in the number of a reference I had just written (ref). How this got past my method of highlighting everything I needed to find a reference for in red, and then proof reading a million times I do not know, but I feel so stupid. I also noticed 4 grammatical mistakes. Not impressed. I feel like a great big idiot.

Needless to say I spent all weekend feeling sorry for myself, not helped by the fact I just haven't been feeling well. I'm clearly falling to pieces and need a total body transplant.

There's further gossip on the love-quadrangle. The girl who is dating/sleeping with my ex, told her ex that he better not come near me or try anything on. She hadn't however told him she was sleeping with my ex and had been for at least 2 months. I thought he knew this and opened my big mouth saying "Well it's none of her business what we do. Anyway she can talk, she's been sleeping with my ex for months!". She is clearly going to murder me in my sleep. Fingers crossed she'll believe me when I say that I've done nothing more than hold his hand (which is actually the truth!).

However I am now getting bored of this love-quadrangle, and really feel it's a lot more effort than it's worth. I am going back to plan A: Get job. Buy house. Buy cats. Be cat lady.

I had 5" of my hair cut off today. My head now feels so light. It also means I'll be able to put my hair up in a bun or ponytail without it exploding into a big hairy ball of hairiness. Hurrah.

I'm off to sit in the sunshine now. Best make the most of this sunshine, it could be the last sunny day knowing England.

Lily xXx

Anything But Boris

Today I have a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts in my head, so I apologise in advance for the randomness and lack of flow in this post.

First and foremost, Londoner's what were you thinking?! Boris?! It's no coincidence that Boris' nickname is the Buffoon. I'm so disappointed. I love Ken. Which reminds me of a story...

Freshers week this year, I'm rather hungover and stumbling to uni to help out at a stall on the freshers fair. In my haze I glance towards the river, it's swooshing and splashing makes me feel less sick. This crazy old man thinks I'm looking at him. Bugger. "Hello" he says cheerfully. "Hi" I groan thinking "Bloody hell not another crazy person. Am I fly paper for freaks?". Anyway crazy old man asks where I'm going and says it's great I'm a med student. He also tells me how he's born and bred in the area. As the conversation goes on I think "Crazy old man, you look rather familiar". Next thing I know he's waving bye bye and strolling into City Hall. It hits me. It was Ken Livingstone. What a nice chap.

Even though I woke up depressed after nightmares of a Boris-run London, the whole day was rather good. The sun shined so much that my face and arms are a bit brown. If it's like this tomorrow I'm taking out suntan lotion. Managed to get a decent amount of notes written in the library and had an amazing lunch. Dim Sum.

There is another reason the library was so fun today. The hottie next to me kept stretching and flaunting his six-pack. So yes, I drooled over him. I'd like to add to this that I'm not one of those crazy girls who's obsessed with only gorgeous men. I get obsessed with not so gorgeous men too because in the end what matters is how someone makes me feel not how they look. However, this doesn't stop me perving over hot men flaunting their six-packs in the library.

My last thought of the day is guilt. Why does the idea of going to the pub for a few drinks on a Saturday night over 2 weeks before my first exam make me feel so guilty? I'm not doing any work now, but I certainly can't go out and have fun. Probably because I realise I have to go to see both Backstreet Boys and to my friend's 21st birthday dinner before my first exam and then my 21st is between exam 1 and exam 2. Woe is me.

Lily xXx