There was no real reason for me to have only created one post in February, it's just the longer it went on the more spectacular the post had to be to make up for the gap and so on (insert vicious circle here). But it's March and apparently, from gazing outside, it's brought it's old mate spring along with it. A very, very welcome gatecrasher as far as I'm concerned.
Honestly! I'm currently wearing the blossom print smock dress that's been shivering in the wardrobe since October sitting in the little wicker chair in the conservatory and basking in the brilliant sunshine. With only my trusty pink laptop (which mercifully forgave me for upending a cup of tea all over it about a month ago), the remains of my lunch -which boils down to a used plate, and a half eaten packet of Cadbury's chocolate animal crackers- and the Sound and the Fury. I bought it on a whim from Foyles last time I was in St. Pancras Station because bookshops are my nerdy girl's bank account kryptonite, and the cover looked so pretty that I snapped it up and consequently fell in love. But no, not all of it makes that much sense. But that's ok, the guy that wrote the introduction said as much before I'd so much as looked at the first sentence.
Right, massive Faulkner related deviation over. I swear.
I was back in Sheffield again this weekend, and I'm really begining to 'get down' with the city's laidback but somehow also buzzing vibe. Plus, Greg has some amazing friends that made me, the so-much-younger-than-everyone-else-I'm-practically-prepubescent-outsider feel utterly welcome and not give me the 'Bruce Springsteen tshirt and Topshop ruffled skirt? Really?' look that I probably deserved. Oh and myspace.com/likeslions, mhmmmmmm.
BUT I FINALLY GOT OFF MY BACKSIDE AND BOOKED MY TICKETS OUT OF BLIGHTY TOWARDS SUNNIER, MORE CULTURED AND (PREDOMINANTLY) ASIAN CITIES and it gives me a slight thrill to inform the web that as of the 19th of April I'll be backpacking with two best friends and a glockenspiel. I live the strangest life when I look at it in print.
Ps. Sorry vocal chords, but me and Croque Monsieurs have a love thang going on. Please forgive my excessive binges of these Parisian buttery, cheesy delights and don't get angry and phlemy. That'd be super.