Sorry for the delay, everyone, but Al's been so very kind and he's taken me to the city for a few days, do some cocktails and all that, to make up for his grave error.
I love doing the whole cocktail thing, dress up in sequins (I have the most fabulous dresses, of course), heels, hair pinned up with a feather, Al dressed properly, sitting in glamorous cocktail establishments and getting sort of classy drunk.
I was drinking this fabulous strawberry daiquiri, which drinks so easily it might well be lemonade, and Al was of course drinking old fashioneds (it's a bit cold out now for gin and ts).
But Al is different in the city.
Smoother.
He seems to know all the doormen and bar tenders, and they all seem happy to see him, but they never so much as look at me twice.
And the girls. He seems to know every one of them.
I'm not jealous, I'm happy he's well-liked, but ...
It's a bit much.
It doesn't help that they all think his name is Ernest.
But, Al being Al, he's only had eyes for me, and it's been wonderful.
Back in Hertfordshire now, and I'm quite keen to see how things have played out with Gwen and Jack.
Not to mention check up on my project of Prism and Chasuble, obviously.
Friday 19 December 2014
Tuesday 9 December 2014
SWOON
ALGERNON ALL IS FORGIVEN.
So we made up. He apologised for lying to me. I have no faith in his answer but if it's so beautiful, so romantic, as his was, telling me he lied to me because he wanted to get to know me better, then who am I to hold that against him?
You'll remember that a few months ago we were gone, as Al had taken me on a trip to Grasmere in the Lake District. A number of people, including Gwen, assumed that all sorts of things took place there and then, but they didn't - I'm an old-fashioned type of romantic, and Al is for all intents and purposes a gentleman.
So when we made up, I kissed him, properly, for the first time, both as forgiveness and because our relation has now gone through enough drama to qualify as legitimate. This is after all not Made in Chelsea, but Made in Hertfordshire if anything.
And oh Al, how could I have been so angry with you for so long over something so trivial? You love me, you said so, and isn't that sweet! There is no greater feeling for a woman than to be loved by a man, or hated by another woman.
Beautiful, beautiful Algernon, can we spend the rest of our winter together, and our spring, and our summer, and every season after? At least for as long as your adoration still excites me?
On another note, Gwen seems to have forgiven Jack, and even Al even though they knew each other for so long and he betrayed her, too. All is well.
Now, where did I leave off with Prism and Chasuble? That definitely needs to start going somewhere...
So we made up. He apologised for lying to me. I have no faith in his answer but if it's so beautiful, so romantic, as his was, telling me he lied to me because he wanted to get to know me better, then who am I to hold that against him?
You'll remember that a few months ago we were gone, as Al had taken me on a trip to Grasmere in the Lake District. A number of people, including Gwen, assumed that all sorts of things took place there and then, but they didn't - I'm an old-fashioned type of romantic, and Al is for all intents and purposes a gentleman.
So when we made up, I kissed him, properly, for the first time, both as forgiveness and because our relation has now gone through enough drama to qualify as legitimate. This is after all not Made in Chelsea, but Made in Hertfordshire if anything.
And oh Al, how could I have been so angry with you for so long over something so trivial? You love me, you said so, and isn't that sweet! There is no greater feeling for a woman than to be loved by a man, or hated by another woman.
Beautiful, beautiful Algernon, can we spend the rest of our winter together, and our spring, and our summer, and every season after? At least for as long as your adoration still excites me?
On another note, Gwen seems to have forgiven Jack, and even Al even though they knew each other for so long and he betrayed her, too. All is well.
Now, where did I leave off with Prism and Chasuble? That definitely needs to start going somewhere...
Wednesday 3 December 2014
Aww
Okay, so Al and Jack posted an apologetic video.
Apologies accepted.
Because it is adorable. Even if the singing isn't entirely... well...
They mean well, after all, and that's what's important.
Besides, honestly. We've now spent several weeks being angry with them. We can't reasonably let it go on much longer, can we, without diluting the impact of our anger.
Well then.
All is forgiven.
Although, seriously, the question remains - what kind of name is Algernon?
Apologies accepted.
Because it is adorable. Even if the singing isn't entirely... well...
They mean well, after all, and that's what's important.
Besides, honestly. We've now spent several weeks being angry with them. We can't reasonably let it go on much longer, can we, without diluting the impact of our anger.
Well then.
All is forgiven.
Although, seriously, the question remains - what kind of name is Algernon?
Tuesday 25 November 2014
Autumn
Ugh, Prism and Chasuble are like the cutest together. I can't even.
I think Gwen's cottoned on to them now though, so will have to keep an eye out to see how she reacts. I mean, Chasuble is her therapist, certainly she'd have some say in the matter.
Oh, and Al.
Oh Al.
Do you know how you're supposed to be really angry with someone for lying to your face and pretending to be someone else?
I want to be angry, I really do, but I can't.
I mean, isn't pretending to be someone else so he can romance a girl something Ernest (as I imagined him before) would totally do? It's like something straight out of a soap opera, or a romantic film, and isn't that just the absolute most adorable?
I'm sure Gwen would disagree, but Gwen, dear sister, aren't we completely different people? After all, I can't for the life of me see how anyone fancies Jack, he's like an older brother (who's also been extremely rude in purporting to be someone else).
No, I'll stand firm - Al, as much as I love you, I will be angry with you, after all you can only be angry with people you care about.
And Gwen, on your behalf I will be angry with Jack.
I should really take up drawing again. Haven't done that in forever, and the dripping autumn leaves are looking rather pretty. I do love the autumn, all the leaves, the colours...
I think Gwen's cottoned on to them now though, so will have to keep an eye out to see how she reacts. I mean, Chasuble is her therapist, certainly she'd have some say in the matter.
Oh, and Al.
Oh Al.
Do you know how you're supposed to be really angry with someone for lying to your face and pretending to be someone else?
I want to be angry, I really do, but I can't.
I mean, isn't pretending to be someone else so he can romance a girl something Ernest (as I imagined him before) would totally do? It's like something straight out of a soap opera, or a romantic film, and isn't that just the absolute most adorable?
I'm sure Gwen would disagree, but Gwen, dear sister, aren't we completely different people? After all, I can't for the life of me see how anyone fancies Jack, he's like an older brother (who's also been extremely rude in purporting to be someone else).
No, I'll stand firm - Al, as much as I love you, I will be angry with you, after all you can only be angry with people you care about.
And Gwen, on your behalf I will be angry with Jack.
I should really take up drawing again. Haven't done that in forever, and the dripping autumn leaves are looking rather pretty. I do love the autumn, all the leaves, the colours...
Wednesday 19 November 2014
The Imitation Game
I was going to quip about how this title could also be applied to our ridiculous situation, but then that would be insensitive given the topic of the film.
Gwen and I went to see The Imitation Game yesterday and it was so. good.
I cried ugly tears at the end of it because it made me so angry that for so long this country didn't allow people to love whomever they loved. Harming geniuses and normal people alike for simply being in love.
How stupid is that?
Gwen and I went to see it because Al and Jack are still being nonsensical and obnoxious.
Perhaps it is a bit silly to want a man called Ernest.
But it isn't silly to be angry with a man who pretends to be called Ernest in order to deceive you.
And, of course, Benedict Cumberbatch is always lovely to look at. And so good an actor!
Now, let's see if we can get Al and Jack to apologise for lying to us...
Gwen and I went to see The Imitation Game yesterday and it was so. good.
I cried ugly tears at the end of it because it made me so angry that for so long this country didn't allow people to love whomever they loved. Harming geniuses and normal people alike for simply being in love.
How stupid is that?
Gwen and I went to see it because Al and Jack are still being nonsensical and obnoxious.
Perhaps it is a bit silly to want a man called Ernest.
But it isn't silly to be angry with a man who pretends to be called Ernest in order to deceive you.
And, of course, Benedict Cumberbatch is always lovely to look at. And so good an actor!
Now, let's see if we can get Al and Jack to apologise for lying to us...
Tuesday 11 November 2014
Dr Chasuble
A while Gwen asked her therapist, Chasuble, to come stay with us in Hertfordshire.
He seems rather a nice man, rather dull in that domesticated city-type persona, but none too harmful. Gwen seems more at ease, now.
I must admit though that I find his way of conducting therapy sessions, over Skype, rather unsettling, but as armchair detectives are a staple of detective fiction, I expect the equivalent must also be true for therapists in real life, seeing as there isn't such a thing as therapist fiction. Not really and not without being of a less widely accepted nature, in any case.
I've taken to calling myself Emma in private, but I assure you my intentions with regard to cultivating a friendship between Chasuble and Prism are nowhere so manipulative. But Mr Prism has been dead for years now, and yet she still is not over him - who better to help her than a therapist. I suggested so to her, that she talk to Chasuble about it. Seeing as he is present and all anyway. And Dr Chasuble's wife, as far as I have discerned, is non-existent. I have suggested to Dr Chasuble he take tea with Prism rather than with us, seeing as neither Gwen's nor my tea-making skills are particularly legendary. He tried to suggest something about servants, but I wouldn't hear of it - besides, she is much better at conversing than either of us.
And what good is a domesticated person without a partner to keep them properly domesticated?
Now, on other business - ALGERNON.
What sort of name is Algernon? Or Algy, for short, perhaps - I might as well call him algae, although perhaps that isn't particularly creative, no matter how much he deserves it.
But just you wait, Algy Moncrieff - you'll be sorry, but your tears will be too late. You'll be left, and I'll have Ernest, and I will say you weren't earnest; just you wait, Algy Moncrieff, just you wait.
Whatever gave you the idea that assuming a false name helps you in affairs of the heart? I only use false names when I buy my lattes...
He seems rather a nice man, rather dull in that domesticated city-type persona, but none too harmful. Gwen seems more at ease, now.
I must admit though that I find his way of conducting therapy sessions, over Skype, rather unsettling, but as armchair detectives are a staple of detective fiction, I expect the equivalent must also be true for therapists in real life, seeing as there isn't such a thing as therapist fiction. Not really and not without being of a less widely accepted nature, in any case.
I've taken to calling myself Emma in private, but I assure you my intentions with regard to cultivating a friendship between Chasuble and Prism are nowhere so manipulative. But Mr Prism has been dead for years now, and yet she still is not over him - who better to help her than a therapist. I suggested so to her, that she talk to Chasuble about it. Seeing as he is present and all anyway. And Dr Chasuble's wife, as far as I have discerned, is non-existent. I have suggested to Dr Chasuble he take tea with Prism rather than with us, seeing as neither Gwen's nor my tea-making skills are particularly legendary. He tried to suggest something about servants, but I wouldn't hear of it - besides, she is much better at conversing than either of us.
And what good is a domesticated person without a partner to keep them properly domesticated?
Now, on other business - ALGERNON.
What sort of name is Algernon? Or Algy, for short, perhaps - I might as well call him algae, although perhaps that isn't particularly creative, no matter how much he deserves it.
But just you wait, Algy Moncrieff - you'll be sorry, but your tears will be too late. You'll be left, and I'll have Ernest, and I will say you weren't earnest; just you wait, Algy Moncrieff, just you wait.
Whatever gave you the idea that assuming a false name helps you in affairs of the heart? I only use false names when I buy my lattes...
Wednesday 5 November 2014
Bonfire Night
No time for blogging this week, my apologies.
I've taken Gwen out to Bonfire Night and we've been out most nights anyway.
Because Jack and Al are...
Well.
We deserve our nights out.
No time, the bonfire's raging and the fireworks are still going!
I've taken Gwen out to Bonfire Night and we've been out most nights anyway.
Because Jack and Al are...
Well.
We deserve our nights out.
No time, the bonfire's raging and the fireworks are still going!
Tuesday 28 October 2014
Pity us, for we have been deceived
What even is going on?
I feel betrayed.
Ernest, my darling Ernest, is not Ernest - he is Algernon.
I don't even...
And Jack has been telling Gwen that he is called Ernest, too.
Poor Gwen.
To deceive her thus!
We are wounded. To deceive oneself is one thing, and rather inherent to one's personal experience, but to be deceived by another, in bad faith as such this is, show in my opinion a callous disregard for the feelings of the poor wretch on whom love has been inflicted.
For I do think I loved Ernest. And I think I still may love Algernon, even though his name is not Ernest.
But how am I to trust him, if he is perfectly calm lying to me about even the basic element of his identity?
And poor Gwen.
Evil, evil Jack, allowing her to believe that his name was Ernest. I shall have to repeatedly be mad with him for this.
Gwen, I apologise for being snippy with you, and for calling you names behind your back (and in your face), and for implying your vlog is worthless. Be my sister in our times of sorrow?
I feel betrayed.
Ernest, my darling Ernest, is not Ernest - he is Algernon.
I don't even...
And Jack has been telling Gwen that he is called Ernest, too.
Poor Gwen.
To deceive her thus!
We are wounded. To deceive oneself is one thing, and rather inherent to one's personal experience, but to be deceived by another, in bad faith as such this is, show in my opinion a callous disregard for the feelings of the poor wretch on whom love has been inflicted.
For I do think I loved Ernest. And I think I still may love Algernon, even though his name is not Ernest.
But how am I to trust him, if he is perfectly calm lying to me about even the basic element of his identity?
And poor Gwen.
Evil, evil Jack, allowing her to believe that his name was Ernest. I shall have to repeatedly be mad with him for this.
Gwen, I apologise for being snippy with you, and for calling you names behind your back (and in your face), and for implying your vlog is worthless. Be my sister in our times of sorrow?
Tuesday 14 October 2014
Go. Away.
If only Gwen would cease tormenting me.
I'm sure she's of perfectly moral character, but even people of the noblest possible moral character are susceptible to the influence of the physical charms of others, and I dare not have her around when Ernest is around.
She talks far too much about him already.
I should call a spade a spade, as I have never been afraid to do, and say that Gwendolen is of the worst, commonest character in any person I have ever had the misfortune of having to spend an extended period with.
Like relations, she seems to not have even the smallest inkling of when to simply die - or at least just go away.
She is older than me and thus old enough to know better, but it seems she knows nothing at all - which would be a virtue, if it not also meant that she has no sense of public decency. I am outraged at the extent with which she attempts to keep Ernest from my side. I am thoroughly of the opinion that women should know everything, at the very least to compensate for the fact that men know nothing (but like to pretend that they know all).
And she talks so much! Such a terrible habit. I don't want to be talking about her. I want to be talking about me.
Oh well. It'll be all right. I hope.
I'm sure she's of perfectly moral character, but even people of the noblest possible moral character are susceptible to the influence of the physical charms of others, and I dare not have her around when Ernest is around.
She talks far too much about him already.
I should call a spade a spade, as I have never been afraid to do, and say that Gwendolen is of the worst, commonest character in any person I have ever had the misfortune of having to spend an extended period with.
Like relations, she seems to not have even the smallest inkling of when to simply die - or at least just go away.
She is older than me and thus old enough to know better, but it seems she knows nothing at all - which would be a virtue, if it not also meant that she has no sense of public decency. I am outraged at the extent with which she attempts to keep Ernest from my side. I am thoroughly of the opinion that women should know everything, at the very least to compensate for the fact that men know nothing (but like to pretend that they know all).
And she talks so much! Such a terrible habit. I don't want to be talking about her. I want to be talking about me.
Oh well. It'll be all right. I hope.
Tuesday 7 October 2014
No.
NO NO NO NO.
Gwen.
Ugh.
Gwen.
NO NO NO NO.
Why is she still here? Why hasn't she sunk into a deep dark pit somewhere, ready to be devoured by some horrendous creature of the Underworld?
Gwen is a proper Morlock.
There.
Hands off my Ernest, you city dweller!
I don't see why Jack allows her to stay on as a guest. I avoid her most days, but when I can't...
Ugh.
Just no.
Go away, Gwen. Back to your filthy grimy city with your filthy grimy people. No one wants you here.
Or at least I don't.
Some people just spend far too much time in polite society to maintain proper social form and know when they're unwanted.
Gwen.
Ugh.
Gwen.
NO NO NO NO.
Why is she still here? Why hasn't she sunk into a deep dark pit somewhere, ready to be devoured by some horrendous creature of the Underworld?
Gwen is a proper Morlock.
There.
Hands off my Ernest, you city dweller!
I don't see why Jack allows her to stay on as a guest. I avoid her most days, but when I can't...
Ugh.
Just no.
Go away, Gwen. Back to your filthy grimy city with your filthy grimy people. No one wants you here.
Or at least I don't.
Some people just spend far too much time in polite society to maintain proper social form and know when they're unwanted.
Tuesday 30 September 2014
HELP
So Ernest and I have been back from our trip for a few days now, and - well, what happens in the Lake District stays in the Lake District.
I took him out for a bit of a walk today as we got fed up being cooped up, as we've been doing a lot lately, but he's been acting so erratically.
I mean, we had a brilliantly fantastic time, but he still refuses to pick me up at home or walk me all the way back - we somehow always meet at the local.
Which is fine, but weird.
Also I talked to Jack about Ernest being here, and I don't think I've ever seen him so agitated.
And I'm just not feeling well lately.
I'm 21 (more or less), finished my degree, and have been hanging around all summer making plans for what to do next, but summer's over now and I have nothing to show for it. I haven't even made bookings for that Grand Tour yet.
I haven't the faintest what I'll be doing next, and it scares me to death.
Everyone's got jobs and things they're doing - Jack works in the City doing something similar to what my Dad does, or whatever, and Ernest amuses himself however, and even Gwendolen seems to be doing something with her time.
Whatever it is that she does.
And here I am, stuck, not doing anything useful.
I want to do something.
I have to do something.
I'm supposed to be grown-up but I'm so not, and that's all right because what's the point of being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes, but mark the 'some', not 'all the times'.
Ugh.
And on top of everything Gwen is still hanging around.
Grrr. If only she'd get the hint and pack up and go back to London, where she belongs with the rest of the filth. I always come back from London sneezing icky stuff into my handkerchiefs, which seems the perfect place for her. What is she still doing here?
I think I'm having a quarter life crisis and I've got no idea what's going on and it's so unsettling...HELP.
Please.
I took him out for a bit of a walk today as we got fed up being cooped up, as we've been doing a lot lately, but he's been acting so erratically.
I mean, we had a brilliantly fantastic time, but he still refuses to pick me up at home or walk me all the way back - we somehow always meet at the local.
Which is fine, but weird.
Also I talked to Jack about Ernest being here, and I don't think I've ever seen him so agitated.
And I'm just not feeling well lately.
I'm 21 (more or less), finished my degree, and have been hanging around all summer making plans for what to do next, but summer's over now and I have nothing to show for it. I haven't even made bookings for that Grand Tour yet.
I haven't the faintest what I'll be doing next, and it scares me to death.
Everyone's got jobs and things they're doing - Jack works in the City doing something similar to what my Dad does, or whatever, and Ernest amuses himself however, and even Gwendolen seems to be doing something with her time.
Whatever it is that she does.
And here I am, stuck, not doing anything useful.
I want to do something.
I have to do something.
I'm supposed to be grown-up but I'm so not, and that's all right because what's the point of being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes, but mark the 'some', not 'all the times'.
Ugh.
And on top of everything Gwen is still hanging around.
Grrr. If only she'd get the hint and pack up and go back to London, where she belongs with the rest of the filth. I always come back from London sneezing icky stuff into my handkerchiefs, which seems the perfect place for her. What is she still doing here?
I think I'm having a quarter life crisis and I've got no idea what's going on and it's so unsettling...HELP.
Please.
Tuesday 23 September 2014
More Daffodils
We wander, not lonely, yet still as clouds
That float on high over vales and hills
Though never did we spot that crowd
That host of golden daffodils
For all along that lake, and underneath those trees
Only leaves dance in the breeze
Still with the leaves we dance and we
Outdo those fallen leaves with glee
For how sweet are these sweet early days
Spent in this lonely, wandersome place
We spend but little time in thought as we
Spend our days in laugh and gaiety
Though oft when in his lap I lie
In dreaming and in blissful mood
They flash upon my inward eye
And then my doubts they soothe
And his and my heart both with pleasure fills
As our hearts dance with those daffodils.
That float on high over vales and hills
Though never did we spot that crowd
That host of golden daffodils
For all along that lake, and underneath those trees
Only leaves dance in the breeze
Still with the leaves we dance and we
Outdo those fallen leaves with glee
For how sweet are these sweet early days
Spent in this lonely, wandersome place
We spend but little time in thought as we
Spend our days in laugh and gaiety
Though oft when in his lap I lie
In dreaming and in blissful mood
They flash upon my inward eye
And then my doubts they soothe
And his and my heart both with pleasure fills
As our hearts dance with those daffodils.
Thursday 18 September 2014
Meeting Ernest
Oh, and I’ve felt so amazing lately. Ernest has come by. Finally.
He's so lovely. So absolutely brilliant. He smells really nice, which sounds perhaps a bit weird but he does. I find it important that people I like smell nice, it's almost an extension of their personality, their smell. Ernest smells like soap and a bit like wet leaves on one of those foggy autumn mornings when everything somehow looks orange.
He smiled at me when we were talking about how I love the country and how Wordsworth's Daffodils is one of my favourite poems, and he said he would love to show me where Wordsworth got the inspiration from.
Meeting him, finally, has clarified so much for me.
Obviously we have been dating ages, even if he doesn't know it yet - though he will, as I shall tell him - but there is an element of romance to actually meeting the object of your affections, even if it does diminish some of the beauty of his ephemerality.
My love for Ernest is one of those true forms of love, where one loves the idea of a person rather than the person - it is so much easier to forgive an idea for the flaws of the person than the person for the flaws of the idea.
Ideal love is so much more sustainable.
I do not even know why he is here, but yet I do not care - he is here.
He is real.
He is tangible.
He is Ernest.
I have been obsessing all day over something he said when I met him. He asked about what I do, and I told him I read poetry, and keep this blog, and have taken up drawing.
"I thought it would be like that," he replied, or "of course you do," or something wonderfully smug like that. He can't know me that well yet, can he? He shouldn't, I don't think even the idea of me can be forgiven for my totality of flaws (no ideal person can be fully forgiven for the totality of their flaws, I expect). What could it have meant? Or am I overanalysing? It means he had certain expectations of me... such as?
To quote Wordsworth, Ernest so often flashed upon my inward eye, and now he is here. And the person has no flaws the idea must be forgiven for.
My dear, dear Ernest.
P.S. we are actually off to where Wordsworth wrote Daffodils. No idea how long I'll be gone. I'll leave a note for Gwen who's for some reason returning at one point or another. I think.
Tuesday 9 September 2014
Sky Castles
Once upon a time there was a sweet and clever girl named Cecily, who had been sent by her parents to live in the country with her friend Jack and the sweet little old fairy godmother Prism.
They lived like kings and queens and princesses in their little country cottage, and everyone lived happily.
Jack was a very nice lad, and every day he climbed up the bean stalk in the garden of their cottage, to the great castle of the ogres in the sky, where he would work for the ogres and bring back food and gifts to their little cottage.
Prism kept their little cottage pristine.
Cecily, meanwhile, lived like Rapunzel, always growing out her hair - sometimes she went up the beanstalk with Jack to dine in the castle of the ogres, sometimes she stayed to have tea with Prism, and sometimes she visited her parents, but essentially she was a very unhappy and lonely girl, who did not know about the castles in the sky or the evil beyond the hills, always confined to that little cottage in the country.
One day, when Jack was in the ogres' castle, and Prism was tending to the other people in their little village, Cecily heard a knock on the door.
"Let me in!" a voice said.
"Who are you?" asked Cecily, having been warned by Jack and Prism about opening the door to strangers.
"I am your sister!" said the voice.
Cecily laughed. "I have no sister," she said.
"I am your friend!" said the voice.
Cecily looked through the window by the door, and saw another girl standing there.
"How can you be my friend," asked she, "when I don't even know you?"
"But you will, my sister! Open the door for me!"
"What is your name?" asked Cecily.
"I am Gwendolen," said the girl.
Cecily was startled. Gwendolen, the evil witch who frightened even the ogres in the castles in the sky? Why was she here?
"I know no one who goes by the name of Gwendolen," lied Cecily. But she was not a very good liar, and the evil witch set a curse upon her.
"You insignificant, trivial little girl, henceforth you shall always speak my words, and mine alone!" cackled the evil witch.
Oh no! But it was too late. Cecily tried to speak, but found that all she could do was ask Gwendolen to enter, and whether she wished for some tea, and whether she had had a safe journey. Gwendolen smiled and began setting out her plan - she had come here, to their little country cottage, to ensnare the good prince Ernest, and kidnap him to her dodgy hut far, far away.
Cecily tried to put the curse off, but found that she couldn't - but the door had not been closed properly, and now swung open.
"Now I've got you, you evil witch!" In came Ernest with his sword drawn, and he slashed off the evil witch's head.
"Oh Ernest," said Cecily, "you're here!"
"Yes, my Cecily," said he. "how could I leave you to that evil woman?"
And they lived happily ever after.
The end.
P.S. Keep off my blog Gwen.
They lived like kings and queens and princesses in their little country cottage, and everyone lived happily.
Jack was a very nice lad, and every day he climbed up the bean stalk in the garden of their cottage, to the great castle of the ogres in the sky, where he would work for the ogres and bring back food and gifts to their little cottage.
Prism kept their little cottage pristine.
Cecily, meanwhile, lived like Rapunzel, always growing out her hair - sometimes she went up the beanstalk with Jack to dine in the castle of the ogres, sometimes she stayed to have tea with Prism, and sometimes she visited her parents, but essentially she was a very unhappy and lonely girl, who did not know about the castles in the sky or the evil beyond the hills, always confined to that little cottage in the country.
One day, when Jack was in the ogres' castle, and Prism was tending to the other people in their little village, Cecily heard a knock on the door.
"Let me in!" a voice said.
"Who are you?" asked Cecily, having been warned by Jack and Prism about opening the door to strangers.
"I am your sister!" said the voice.
Cecily laughed. "I have no sister," she said.
"I am your friend!" said the voice.
Cecily looked through the window by the door, and saw another girl standing there.
"How can you be my friend," asked she, "when I don't even know you?"
"But you will, my sister! Open the door for me!"
"What is your name?" asked Cecily.
"I am Gwendolen," said the girl.
Cecily was startled. Gwendolen, the evil witch who frightened even the ogres in the castles in the sky? Why was she here?
"I know no one who goes by the name of Gwendolen," lied Cecily. But she was not a very good liar, and the evil witch set a curse upon her.
"You insignificant, trivial little girl, henceforth you shall always speak my words, and mine alone!" cackled the evil witch.
Oh no! But it was too late. Cecily tried to speak, but found that all she could do was ask Gwendolen to enter, and whether she wished for some tea, and whether she had had a safe journey. Gwendolen smiled and began setting out her plan - she had come here, to their little country cottage, to ensnare the good prince Ernest, and kidnap him to her dodgy hut far, far away.
Cecily tried to put the curse off, but found that she couldn't - but the door had not been closed properly, and now swung open.
"Now I've got you, you evil witch!" In came Ernest with his sword drawn, and he slashed off the evil witch's head.
"Oh Ernest," said Cecily, "you're here!"
"Yes, my Cecily," said he. "how could I leave you to that evil woman?"
And they lived happily ever after.
The end.
P.S. Keep off my blog Gwen.
Tuesday 2 September 2014
Gwendolen
Hi! Gwendolen’s here!
By now Darjeeling Elephant Productions had the kindness to inform me that instead of my super informative and entertaining vlog about how to escape the countryside for a better shopping experience, Cecily Cardew had the audacity to take over my vlog and record something behind my back while I was gone.
Turn your back on country people for one second and then this happens, am I right?
Also, thanks there, you Frenchies at Darjeeling Elephant. You can’t see this but I am rolling my eyes at you.
Anyways, what Cecily can do, I can do better. Young one, if you think your little takeover will go without consequences, you haven’t known me for very long!
So, here I am writing a much better blog than she ever could. I mean, not that I've read any of the rest. Can’t really be bothered. But from her lacking eloquence in conversation I gather that this will most definitely be better.
I don’t know who the audience of this blog is but I guess it’s people similarly inclined as Cecily. My dear ones, let me educate you a little. Since it remained unscreened, here are my tips on how to survive the countryside:
1. You mustn't go out without your Hunter boots. I don’t think I've had a single chance to wear my properly nice shoes ever since I arrived, and I've been here for a while! They’d get all nasty immediately.
2. Hertfordshire doesn't have a lot of shopping opportunities but there’s a Spa I can recommend to everyone.
3. The cinema looks like it’s from the 20s, so that’s at least pretty – check it out.
4. Always take wipes, hand cream and insect spray with you. The country is so dirty!
5. Opportunities for partying are rather restricted. It ain't glamorous out here. But at least they filmed The World’s End at “The Colonnade”.
6. Spa. Definitely the spa.
7. Very appreciated hot spot: The train station. It takes you places. Other places.
Don’t get me wrong. The people here are an alright bunch living in their estate houses. It’s just that all these estate houses are in the middle of frigging nowhere.
How I’d wish for Ernest to finally arrive! You know, I think I could see the benefits of being in a secluded area and have a big house just to ourselves….
Well I've got a sweet little surprise for him and can’t wait to see his reaction.
Okay I’ll stop now before Cecily notices anything. As far as I understand she schedules her posts after she wrote them and they’re published automatically so surely she won’t even notice I've replaced her previous post. Ha ha at you, young Cecily. Never play a player!
By now Darjeeling Elephant Productions had the kindness to inform me that instead of my super informative and entertaining vlog about how to escape the countryside for a better shopping experience, Cecily Cardew had the audacity to take over my vlog and record something behind my back while I was gone.
Turn your back on country people for one second and then this happens, am I right?
Also, thanks there, you Frenchies at Darjeeling Elephant. You can’t see this but I am rolling my eyes at you.
Anyways, what Cecily can do, I can do better. Young one, if you think your little takeover will go without consequences, you haven’t known me for very long!
So, here I am writing a much better blog than she ever could. I mean, not that I've read any of the rest. Can’t really be bothered. But from her lacking eloquence in conversation I gather that this will most definitely be better.
I don’t know who the audience of this blog is but I guess it’s people similarly inclined as Cecily. My dear ones, let me educate you a little. Since it remained unscreened, here are my tips on how to survive the countryside:
1. You mustn't go out without your Hunter boots. I don’t think I've had a single chance to wear my properly nice shoes ever since I arrived, and I've been here for a while! They’d get all nasty immediately.
2. Hertfordshire doesn't have a lot of shopping opportunities but there’s a Spa I can recommend to everyone.
3. The cinema looks like it’s from the 20s, so that’s at least pretty – check it out.
4. Always take wipes, hand cream and insect spray with you. The country is so dirty!
5. Opportunities for partying are rather restricted. It ain't glamorous out here. But at least they filmed The World’s End at “The Colonnade”.
6. Spa. Definitely the spa.
7. Very appreciated hot spot: The train station. It takes you places. Other places.
Don’t get me wrong. The people here are an alright bunch living in their estate houses. It’s just that all these estate houses are in the middle of frigging nowhere.
How I’d wish for Ernest to finally arrive! You know, I think I could see the benefits of being in a secluded area and have a big house just to ourselves….
Well I've got a sweet little surprise for him and can’t wait to see his reaction.
Okay I’ll stop now before Cecily notices anything. As far as I understand she schedules her posts after she wrote them and they’re published automatically so surely she won’t even notice I've replaced her previous post. Ha ha at you, young Cecily. Never play a player!
Tuesday 26 August 2014
VLOGS
So this Gwen person has a vlog.
I've done my duty as a citizen of the internet and tried to Google it, but so far alas.
She can't even do that right, make a vlog that doesn't disappear into obscurity. What's the point of broadcasting your thoughts to the world if no one is there to hear them?
Do you even actually express your thoughts in such a situation?
Wikipedia calls a 'video log' a form of 'web television'.
If there is one thing that Gwen is not, it's a person suited for television. She's too gaudy, too out there, too...
I mean, honestly.
There's not even any art in making a vlog - you plonk down a camera somewhere, whinge at it for a bit, then stick it online.
True art lies in composition. Like in paintings or statues or literature. Film is not a true art. I mean, sure, film is nice and all, and can be very pretty and clever, but it's not a proper art like the traditional arts.
She filmed me without my permission and made me seem ridiculous.
What if Ernest sees that?
He won't, no one watches her vlog, I'm sure of it.
Oh Ernest, my Ernest.
Speaking of literature, I still have a fondness for that gorgeous line I came up last Tuesday. “A withering flower, killed by darkness, drops itself, petal by petal, onto the dirt.”. It sound like the opening sentence of a novel, one that I'm sure Ernest would probably read, so I am very very proud of that sentence. It is very pretty. I will write it out in ink and draw a charcoal picture to accompany it. Some time.
I am the one who keeps laughing and smiling whatever happens so I believe that I at least will make a lasting impression as the girl who takes bad things so darn well, regardless of whatever happens. Gwen will not take Ernest away from me.
God, I’m obsessed with him, it is sick. I do love to torture myself, apparently. Ugh.
I've done my duty as a citizen of the internet and tried to Google it, but so far alas.
She can't even do that right, make a vlog that doesn't disappear into obscurity. What's the point of broadcasting your thoughts to the world if no one is there to hear them?
Do you even actually express your thoughts in such a situation?
Wikipedia calls a 'video log' a form of 'web television'.
If there is one thing that Gwen is not, it's a person suited for television. She's too gaudy, too out there, too...
I mean, honestly.
There's not even any art in making a vlog - you plonk down a camera somewhere, whinge at it for a bit, then stick it online.
True art lies in composition. Like in paintings or statues or literature. Film is not a true art. I mean, sure, film is nice and all, and can be very pretty and clever, but it's not a proper art like the traditional arts.
She filmed me without my permission and made me seem ridiculous.
What if Ernest sees that?
He won't, no one watches her vlog, I'm sure of it.
Oh Ernest, my Ernest.
Speaking of literature, I still have a fondness for that gorgeous line I came up last Tuesday. “A withering flower, killed by darkness, drops itself, petal by petal, onto the dirt.”. It sound like the opening sentence of a novel, one that I'm sure Ernest would probably read, so I am very very proud of that sentence. It is very pretty. I will write it out in ink and draw a charcoal picture to accompany it. Some time.
I am the one who keeps laughing and smiling whatever happens so I believe that I at least will make a lasting impression as the girl who takes bad things so darn well, regardless of whatever happens. Gwen will not take Ernest away from me.
See, blogs are better than vlogs. Much more space for expressing emotions that I'm sure will be funny to read about in five years.
Tuesday 19 August 2014
Cricket
As you all (all five of you, I suppose) know by now, sometimes when I'm not sure what's up, I go visit my grandfather in Harrogate.
I went North on Saturday evening, after that *ugh* Gwen insulted my diary (while she has that stupid video blog, like some sad person), and thinking she's better than me.
Just because she went to St. Andrew's doesn't mean she's better than me. My University is just as good.
AND WHAT IS UP WITH HER GUSHING OVER ERNEST?
Hands off.
And normally when I go to grandfather's, he makes me feel better by telling stories of ye olden days, and taking me out to lovely restaurants, and having his lovely friends over for tea.
But all of Sunday he was pre-occupied.
Yes, so my grandfather lives in Yorkshire. He's from Yorkshire.
That still doesn't mean he ought to spend his entire day watching sports.
And it wasn't even a one-day-thing-
He was watching the England v India test, which was on its third day on Sunday.
Don't you get sick of three days of the same sport?
I mean, I quite like cricket. I don't understand it entirely because even though grandfather tries over and over (pun intended) to explain it to me, I just - don't. Sports aren't my thing. But it is quite soothing to watch, and some of the players are really rather handsome. Especially in those cricket whites. And I love it whenever grandfather takes me to Headingley for one of those one-day matches, or T20 (though he's not too keen on T20, he calls it fast food cricket), though he hasn't done so in ages.
But three days to watch the same game? Eh.
But that Gwen, that Gwen, she's just-
Grandfather said it right when I told him the whole thing.
She's just not cricket.
I went North on Saturday evening, after that *ugh* Gwen insulted my diary (while she has that stupid video blog, like some sad person), and thinking she's better than me.
Just because she went to St. Andrew's doesn't mean she's better than me. My University is just as good.
AND WHAT IS UP WITH HER GUSHING OVER ERNEST?
Hands off.
And normally when I go to grandfather's, he makes me feel better by telling stories of ye olden days, and taking me out to lovely restaurants, and having his lovely friends over for tea.
But all of Sunday he was pre-occupied.
Yes, so my grandfather lives in Yorkshire. He's from Yorkshire.
That still doesn't mean he ought to spend his entire day watching sports.
And it wasn't even a one-day-thing-
He was watching the England v India test, which was on its third day on Sunday.
Don't you get sick of three days of the same sport?
I mean, I quite like cricket. I don't understand it entirely because even though grandfather tries over and over (pun intended) to explain it to me, I just - don't. Sports aren't my thing. But it is quite soothing to watch, and some of the players are really rather handsome. Especially in those cricket whites. And I love it whenever grandfather takes me to Headingley for one of those one-day matches, or T20 (though he's not too keen on T20, he calls it fast food cricket), though he hasn't done so in ages.
But three days to watch the same game? Eh.
But that Gwen, that Gwen, she's just-
Grandfather said it right when I told him the whole thing.
She's just not cricket.
Tuesday 12 August 2014
Hunger Games
So, I've had some more time to think about meeting that Gwen person.
I don't think-
I don't know.
She likes the Hunger Games. Thinks it merits.
Uhm, no. The novels are terribly written and it's a rip-off of an earlier series, and it's just - I mean, it's entertaining, but...
Anyway, that's all irrelevant.
She did say I was pretty, so I suppose that counts in her favour.
I'm so fed up with the current weather, all that rain. It's too early for autumn, I want some more time to enjoy the trees being green and the flowers and the sun being out.
Prism is being irritable, says I'm being antsy. I'm not antsy.
Ernest still won't add me on Facebook. What is wrong with him?
Where is Jack?
I don't think-
I don't know.
She likes the Hunger Games. Thinks it merits.
Uhm, no. The novels are terribly written and it's a rip-off of an earlier series, and it's just - I mean, it's entertaining, but...
Anyway, that's all irrelevant.
She did say I was pretty, so I suppose that counts in her favour.
I'm so fed up with the current weather, all that rain. It's too early for autumn, I want some more time to enjoy the trees being green and the flowers and the sun being out.
Prism is being irritable, says I'm being antsy. I'm not antsy.
Ernest still won't add me on Facebook. What is wrong with him?
Where is Jack?
Tuesday 5 August 2014
New... Friends...Ish?
I'm confused.
As I said, Jack has been ridiculously moody lately, and I haven't the faintest what's up with him.
So I've been trying to pry it out of him, but he's terrible at responding to texts when he's away, and he's hardly ever home.
And somehow there was this girl, Gwendolyn - I think - who showed up on our doorstep last weekend saying Ernest had sent her over to meet Jack.
Prism has been really annoying about my crushing on Ernest, having not met him, but she never really took to Gwen, leaving her to me. And I'm not sure what to think of her.
For one, why on Earth would Ernest have sent her over? To meet Jack seems ridiculous, as Jack hadn't even returned from the city yet and I expect he would have been with Ernest as always, so Ernest would've known sending the girl over would have been ridiculous.
Unless of course she was unfashionably early, which I could suspect her of being.
Surely we'll be great friends, she seems nice.
Except she does seem a bit keen on Ernest, so I'll have to keep an eye on her.
Anyway, in other news I may have found some occupation for next year. Daddy seems to know some lovely people in some museums in Paris who would be willing to host me for an internship, which would be really nice. I love Paris, I could easily spend the rest of my life there, no matter what drives me there, no matter the circumstances in which I would have to live.
I'd even settle for cava instead of champagne.
As I said, Jack has been ridiculously moody lately, and I haven't the faintest what's up with him.
So I've been trying to pry it out of him, but he's terrible at responding to texts when he's away, and he's hardly ever home.
And somehow there was this girl, Gwendolyn - I think - who showed up on our doorstep last weekend saying Ernest had sent her over to meet Jack.
Prism has been really annoying about my crushing on Ernest, having not met him, but she never really took to Gwen, leaving her to me. And I'm not sure what to think of her.
For one, why on Earth would Ernest have sent her over? To meet Jack seems ridiculous, as Jack hadn't even returned from the city yet and I expect he would have been with Ernest as always, so Ernest would've known sending the girl over would have been ridiculous.
Unless of course she was unfashionably early, which I could suspect her of being.
Surely we'll be great friends, she seems nice.
Except she does seem a bit keen on Ernest, so I'll have to keep an eye on her.
Anyway, in other news I may have found some occupation for next year. Daddy seems to know some lovely people in some museums in Paris who would be willing to host me for an internship, which would be really nice. I love Paris, I could easily spend the rest of my life there, no matter what drives me there, no matter the circumstances in which I would have to live.
I'd even settle for cava instead of champagne.
Tuesday 29 July 2014
Jack... [part deux]
I honestly haven't the faintest what's going on with Jack.
Seriously.
As I said, he keeps going up to London, staying for days and days – I'm not even sure where he's staying, but that's his business I suppose – only returning occasionally to pick up things or drop stuff off, and whenever he returns he just mopes, sitting around watching bad telly (like bad bad telly), eating bad things, moaning at my lack of cleaning the flat (I've got better things to be doing. Like applying for jobs. Yes. I'm applying for jobs now. Sssssh – don't tell my Dad).
Truth be told, he's acting like a bit of a twat, and I don't like it one bit.
Either stay away or cheer up, Jack, because I'm not liking it like this.
Even Prism, our landlady – I don't think I mentioned her before, did I? - is getting fed up with Jack not being here. But then she's a bit weird anyway (fingers crossed she doesn't read stupid blogs). I do hope he's all right.
So yes, I'm applying for jobs again. I've spotted some openings at museums, which may be a nice start.
Mum keeps saying I should consider doing a postgraduate degree, but I don't want to yet. And what in? I'm not particularly keen on doing a Master's in Art History, no matter how much I enjoyed my BA.
It'd be another year in uni, and I don't think I can quite bear that right now.
I've been invited by an old college friend to go up to Cambridge soon for a bit of punting. I may take her up on that offer. I'm just getting really really bored sitting around here doing nothing. There's only so much you can do when you've got all the time in the world, and after a while it just gets boring.
I'm even caught up on all the television series I've been told to watch, which is saying something.
Sigh. Oh well.
Tuesday 15 July 2014
Drawing
So, as I wrote a while ago, I was considering taking up a new hobby, like drawing. Well, drawing is not per se a new hobby for me; I drew quite a bit before I started uni, and obviously I did some drawing during my degree if only to help myself study.
But I haven't drawn anything seriously for a while now, so I figured I'd try it again.
And since the flowers nearby where in bloom, I drew some flowers.
In other news, Jack continues to be sulky. Jack's upset that I wrote that he's in a foul mood because he thinks it makes him come across like a bit of a twit. But I just meant that he seems to be a bit out of sorts, and I'm worried.
And Ernest continues to ignore my facebook requests. I'll just assume he isn't online often enough. Too busy being mischievous or something.
Prism, my landlady, invited me over for tea. I suppose I'd best go over. Don't really want to, but there we are. Politeness and all.
But I haven't drawn anything seriously for a while now, so I figured I'd try it again.
And since the flowers nearby where in bloom, I drew some flowers.
In other news, Jack continues to be sulky. Jack's upset that I wrote that he's in a foul mood because he thinks it makes him come across like a bit of a twit. But I just meant that he seems to be a bit out of sorts, and I'm worried.
And Ernest continues to ignore my facebook requests. I'll just assume he isn't online often enough. Too busy being mischievous or something.
Prism, my landlady, invited me over for tea. I suppose I'd best go over. Don't really want to, but there we are. Politeness and all.
Tuesday 8 July 2014
Once Upon A Time...
...there was a sweet little princess, the most beautiful and clever princess in the entire world, and her name was Cecily. Cecily was a courageous princess too, always going off on adventures, slaying Jabberwocks and then gallumphing home, snicker-snack.
Little Cecily, however, lived in a faraway kingdom, ruled by King Jack, who was always away on Foreign Affairs missions with kingdoms abroad, and she had to spend all her time learning useless things like German and writing CVs and still being rejected for jobs and all that.
One day, such a beautiful July day, little Cecily went off for another little adventure, walking through the enchanted woods of King Jack's beautiful kingdom.
She came here often, to listen to the water and the birds, and to look at the flowers and draw them, and to get away from the people in the castle who were always talking of tedious things like bills and laundry.
But on this beautiful July afternoon, when little Cecily was walking through King Jack's enchanted woods, she heard a twig crack in the distance.
She came here often, to listen to the water and the birds, and to look at the flowers and draw them, and to get away from the people in the castle who were always talking of tedious things like bills and laundry.
But on this beautiful July afternoon, when little Cecily was walking through King Jack's enchanted woods, she heard a twig crack in the distance.
This startled her, for little Cecily was usually alone in the woods, and she looked about the find the source of the cracked twig but found none.
Little Cecily shrugged and walked on.
Suddenly, a band of rough-looking, evil-smelling, foul-mouted highway men circled her, demanding all the money and valuables she had on her, threatening to kill her if she didn't hand it over.
Little princess Cecily smiled at them, then offered her empty hands.
“I haven't anything!,” she said, and the robbers laughed at her.
“Such a girl, in such a dress – don't hold back, dearie, we know you've got dosh!”
Cecily looked at them, angry. “I haven't any, I tell you! Let me go! Go away!”
Two of the robbers stepped in, holding her arms, while the third, the leader, the ugliest, foulest, stinkiest of them all, looked at her and grinned a very filthy, grimy, evil grin.
In the distance, more twigs cracked heavily. Cecily looked up in hope, while the robbers looked startled.
“The law,” one of the captors whispered, while the leader shrugged.
“Your money or your life, girl.”
Cecily spat in his face.
A whinnying sounded through the woods, and from the trees emerged a gleaming white horse, carrying on his back none other but prince Ernest, of a neighbouring kingdom, sword drawn, catching the summer sun and reflecting it onto the highway men.
“Away with you!,” he bellowed at the robbers, who quickly scattered. Cecily sank on her knees, relieved.
Prince Ernest came off his horse, sitting next to Cecily.
“Oh, my little Cecily, I love you,” he said.
Cecily smiled. “I know, Ernest.”
And they lived happily ever after.
The End.
Little Cecily shrugged and walked on.
Suddenly, a band of rough-looking, evil-smelling, foul-mouted highway men circled her, demanding all the money and valuables she had on her, threatening to kill her if she didn't hand it over.
Little princess Cecily smiled at them, then offered her empty hands.
“I haven't anything!,” she said, and the robbers laughed at her.
“Such a girl, in such a dress – don't hold back, dearie, we know you've got dosh!”
Cecily looked at them, angry. “I haven't any, I tell you! Let me go! Go away!”
Two of the robbers stepped in, holding her arms, while the third, the leader, the ugliest, foulest, stinkiest of them all, looked at her and grinned a very filthy, grimy, evil grin.
In the distance, more twigs cracked heavily. Cecily looked up in hope, while the robbers looked startled.
“The law,” one of the captors whispered, while the leader shrugged.
“Your money or your life, girl.”
Cecily spat in his face.
A whinnying sounded through the woods, and from the trees emerged a gleaming white horse, carrying on his back none other but prince Ernest, of a neighbouring kingdom, sword drawn, catching the summer sun and reflecting it onto the highway men.
“Away with you!,” he bellowed at the robbers, who quickly scattered. Cecily sank on her knees, relieved.
Prince Ernest came off his horse, sitting next to Cecily.
“Oh, my little Cecily, I love you,” he said.
Cecily smiled. “I know, Ernest.”
And they lived happily ever after.
The End.
Tuesday 1 July 2014
Jack and Ernest
After a short
stint in Harrogate, I'm back in Hertfordshire, to resume my doing
nothing. Which is seriously becoming a bit annoying now. I need to
find some activity. I need to take up a hobby.
I know.
I should pick up
drawing again. Haven't done that in ages. I think picking up Art was
also something the Grand Tour people did, so that would be nice and
historically accurate. Or so.
It'd be better
than trying to get Ernest to add me on Facebook, because no matter
how much I try, he just doesn't seem to want to. Which annoys me to
no end, because I always add just about everyone with whom I have
friends in common and I live with his brother, for goodness sake.
I've added friends' siblings after only meeting them once, and
they've added me. Sure, I haven't met Ernest yet, but surely that
can't be too much of an obstacle. Besides, if he's truly as
mischievous (I love that word) as Jack makes him out to be, then he
can't be too picky about adding people – can he?
Even the photos on
his page are completely uninformative, being impersonal things like
sunsets and whatnot.
Oh well. I shall
meet him, one day.
Jack's been acting
absolutely annoyingly lately. He's always off to the city – fine by
me, house to myself – but whenever he returns he's in the foulest
of moods. I like Jack, he's my friend, and I hate to see him look
like that, but he also refuses to tell me what's what and that just
annoys me. I'm not a naturally curious person with regards to people
– I'm not a gossip, no matter what people say about me – but if
he keeps staying away like that, something he clearly doesn't enjoy,
I'm going to ask questions because I'm worried.
I wonder whether
it has anything to do with Ernest being sort of incommunicado?
I hope nothing
serious happened!
Tuesday 24 June 2014
Self-Reflection (sort of)
Mum keeps sending me up to Harrogate to stay with my grandfather and I'm not sure why.
It does mean that I don't get to see Ernest for a few days, which is really annoying. And as much as I like Harrogate, where my grandfather lives the sulphur is quite strong so it takes a bit of adjusting whenever I do so.
I suppose this would be a good time to do some self-reflection. You know, decide what I want to do with my life and all that.
Mum thinks I'm being delusional, but really I'm not. I am perfectly, fully aware of the fact that I have yet to meet Ernest, but one may well wonder why the strictly linear progression of time should stand in the way of a good, dramatic romance. When it actually occurs, it can always be retrospectively altered - I've heard someone say once that your memory changes every time you remember something.
So, I've properly got my BA. Lovely. Art History. Applied for internships, got rejected. No worries, I'll find a job somewhere else. If need be I can do paperwork at my Dad's firm.
I feel a bit lost.
I'd much rather be in Hertfortshire, bother Jack, hang out with my friends and do nice summery things.
Dad's been suggesting doing a postgraduate degree, but I'm not quite up for that yet.
As said, I could embark on a Grand Tour next year. That would be nice.
See a bit of the world.
Let's go and see whether Ernest is up for it. I've found him on Facebook, so let's see whether I can get him to respond. Because honestly Jack, you're not going to keep your mischievous brother from me forever. Just what exactly would be the harm in me meeting him?
It does mean that I don't get to see Ernest for a few days, which is really annoying. And as much as I like Harrogate, where my grandfather lives the sulphur is quite strong so it takes a bit of adjusting whenever I do so.
I suppose this would be a good time to do some self-reflection. You know, decide what I want to do with my life and all that.
Mum thinks I'm being delusional, but really I'm not. I am perfectly, fully aware of the fact that I have yet to meet Ernest, but one may well wonder why the strictly linear progression of time should stand in the way of a good, dramatic romance. When it actually occurs, it can always be retrospectively altered - I've heard someone say once that your memory changes every time you remember something.
So, I've properly got my BA. Lovely. Art History. Applied for internships, got rejected. No worries, I'll find a job somewhere else. If need be I can do paperwork at my Dad's firm.
I feel a bit lost.
I'd much rather be in Hertfortshire, bother Jack, hang out with my friends and do nice summery things.
Dad's been suggesting doing a postgraduate degree, but I'm not quite up for that yet.
As said, I could embark on a Grand Tour next year. That would be nice.
See a bit of the world.
Let's go and see whether Ernest is up for it. I've found him on Facebook, so let's see whether I can get him to respond. Because honestly Jack, you're not going to keep your mischievous brother from me forever. Just what exactly would be the harm in me meeting him?
Tuesday 17 June 2014
Prague!
I'm in Prague, all!
And it's lovely!
I'll just – just see for yourself, okay?
And it's lovely!
I'll just – just see for yourself, okay?
Yummm!*
Mr Serious *
This is where Kafka used to live... like, really.*
And bits of stone :) *
Pretttyyyy. The Karluv Most, or Charles Bridge.
Old Town bridge tower! Exquisite indeed.
So much prettyyyyy.
Such wow.
I like Gothic churches.
I really like this whole medieval vibe :)
And this.
I <3 Prague :)
*Photos with asterisk courtesy of my dear friend Kristy :)
Aaah, this is such a nice city, this trip isn't nearly long enough! But I'll be back in Britain in a few days again... this makes me sad...
Tuesday 10 June 2014
NOOOO!
No.
I refuse to
believe it.
Rejection
letters are so incredibly polite,
which is really annoying because I want to be really mad with them
but can't because they're just too polite to me.
Both Sotheby's and Christie's rejected me for their internship
programme. Saying they've had candidates with better experience and
all that.
But
I've actually seen
most
important pieces of art. I'll have a BA in Art History in a bit. Dad
does business things and I've once actually done a few weeks of paper
work at his firm. How do I not have enough experience?!
Stupid other candidates.
Also, how am I to get experience if I can't get the internship?
I'm going back to bed.
Jack, if you're reading this, I've left a pint of Haägen-Dazs in the
freezer, could you bring it up please? Thanks.
Tuesday 3 June 2014
BIRTHDAY!
I think I've finally recovered from my birthday – it was such good fun!
I got loads of prezzies of course, plus I went out with some of my friends who managed to stick around after exams.
Mum and Dad've given me a new car, which is sort of nice especially since my other one is looking a bit iffy ever since some ignorant person in the parking at Waitrose bumped into it. Dad's a fan of German cars so it's an Audi, A6 or something like that. More importantly, however, is that it's blue. I like blue. Blue is such a lovely colour. I like the blue of a cloudless summer day and the blue that the sky is just before dawn. It's dark blue, so more like the night than the day. But in any case it's blue – mustn't be ungrateful, a blue car is lovely :)
Prism actually also remembered (she'd forgotten Jack's birthday) and had made me a little cake which was lovely but a bit cheap but I suppose the thought was sweet.
Jack gave me a folder to stick degrees and certificates in. Which is nice, I suppose, but what the heck do I do with that, Jack?! I'm not some lame boring office type person. Besides, Dad keeps all my important papers in a safe deposit box in the bank, or with his accountant or solicitor or something. Jack said it's good for when I go to interviews. But birthdays aren't for practical gifts, are they?! Giving people practical birthday gifts is like given them socks. Or money, like some sort of pauper.
But all right, fine.
My friends had got together a trip to Prague for me, which is nice. I've never been to Prague, but I'll be going in a few weeks then, so, yeah. Ernest will be joining of course. Expect pics. I hear Prague is nice.
So, that was quite a nice birthday I must say :)
I got loads of prezzies of course, plus I went out with some of my friends who managed to stick around after exams.
Mum and Dad've given me a new car, which is sort of nice especially since my other one is looking a bit iffy ever since some ignorant person in the parking at Waitrose bumped into it. Dad's a fan of German cars so it's an Audi, A6 or something like that. More importantly, however, is that it's blue. I like blue. Blue is such a lovely colour. I like the blue of a cloudless summer day and the blue that the sky is just before dawn. It's dark blue, so more like the night than the day. But in any case it's blue – mustn't be ungrateful, a blue car is lovely :)
Prism actually also remembered (she'd forgotten Jack's birthday) and had made me a little cake which was lovely but a bit cheap but I suppose the thought was sweet.
Jack gave me a folder to stick degrees and certificates in. Which is nice, I suppose, but what the heck do I do with that, Jack?! I'm not some lame boring office type person. Besides, Dad keeps all my important papers in a safe deposit box in the bank, or with his accountant or solicitor or something. Jack said it's good for when I go to interviews. But birthdays aren't for practical gifts, are they?! Giving people practical birthday gifts is like given them socks. Or money, like some sort of pauper.
But all right, fine.
My friends had got together a trip to Prague for me, which is nice. I've never been to Prague, but I'll be going in a few weeks then, so, yeah. Ernest will be joining of course. Expect pics. I hear Prague is nice.
So, that was quite a nice birthday I must say :)
Tuesday 27 May 2014
Done!
Done done done done, done done done!
Well, mostly. I still have some things to finish, obviously, I still have an exam to sit on Thursday, but all in all I'm mostly done!
I finished writing today and sent everything in, had it bound, handed it in, that thing, and have sat most of my exams last week, so yes, I am basically pretty much done.
Just in time, too, because it's my birthday on Friday and I *really* want to celebrate it properly. Turning 22, isn't that kind of weird? I feel old. Ha!
But I am so done with everything, in the happy sense of being done with things, I've more or less finished my degree! I'll be Cecily Cardew, BA.
Isn't it wonderful how grim grey weather isn't at all bothersome when you're done with things like this?
So, yes. Two more days of hysterically milling about the library, trying to revise (but obviously not actually doing so), commiserating with my fellow students about the last, the final, the exam, and then, glorious magnificent freedom.
Very much considering a trip to Paris for the weekend. To celebrate, you know. My birthday and being done. Everything.
I love Paris, and I want macarons.
I demand macarons to celebrate. Yes. Even if they're soooo 2012. Good French things never go out of style.
Speaking of French things, time to crack open that Perrier-Jouet I've been keeping chilled. Well. Not yet. But soon.
SOON.
Cecily Cardew, BA. Doesn't it look lovely?
Well, mostly. I still have some things to finish, obviously, I still have an exam to sit on Thursday, but all in all I'm mostly done!
I finished writing today and sent everything in, had it bound, handed it in, that thing, and have sat most of my exams last week, so yes, I am basically pretty much done.
Just in time, too, because it's my birthday on Friday and I *really* want to celebrate it properly. Turning 22, isn't that kind of weird? I feel old. Ha!
But I am so done with everything, in the happy sense of being done with things, I've more or less finished my degree! I'll be Cecily Cardew, BA.
Isn't it wonderful how grim grey weather isn't at all bothersome when you're done with things like this?
So, yes. Two more days of hysterically milling about the library, trying to revise (but obviously not actually doing so), commiserating with my fellow students about the last, the final, the exam, and then, glorious magnificent freedom.
Very much considering a trip to Paris for the weekend. To celebrate, you know. My birthday and being done. Everything.
I love Paris, and I want macarons.
I demand macarons to celebrate. Yes. Even if they're soooo 2012. Good French things never go out of style.
Speaking of French things, time to crack open that Perrier-Jouet I've been keeping chilled. Well. Not yet. But soon.
SOON.
Cecily Cardew, BA. Doesn't it look lovely?
Tuesday 20 May 2014
The Final Stretch
I AM SO STRESSED.
I am almost done with uni. It's the home stretch, the final countdown (tudu du du - tudu du du du), and I am almost done.
It's worth it, I suppose. I get to walk away with a degree.
Eventually.
Supposedly.
So I returned from Yorkshire on Sunday, and then cracked down for my last batch of writing my dissertation.
I really like it - I'm comparing two Dutch masters, Rembrandt and Rubens, and especially their use of light, and what biographical factors have influenced their work. It's not particularly obvious to compare them, which is why I'm doing it.
I have seen some of their works in real life, and they always stayed with me. They're not so much like photographs, but they are very real and very arty. Plus, both painters have an absolutely magnificent way of painting glossy fabrics, making them look almost tangible. Almost more real than life, really.
What I am really quite sad about is that my photographs are on the external harddrive at my parents', so I'll post some photographs as soon as I can get my hands on that.
I am planning on making a trip across the Channel after term ends to go to Antwerp and Amsterdam to return to see their paintings. I have yet to see the re-opened museum in Amsterdam and I do so want to.
For now, however, back to finishing this term, finishing uni, and getting my degree. Back to the dull, plain reality of my lessons.
UPDATE: ALSO IT IS ALMOST MY BIRTHDAY. And I expect lots of presents, so start buying.
I am almost done with uni. It's the home stretch, the final countdown (tudu du du - tudu du du du), and I am almost done.
It's worth it, I suppose. I get to walk away with a degree.
Eventually.
Supposedly.
So I returned from Yorkshire on Sunday, and then cracked down for my last batch of writing my dissertation.
I really like it - I'm comparing two Dutch masters, Rembrandt and Rubens, and especially their use of light, and what biographical factors have influenced their work. It's not particularly obvious to compare them, which is why I'm doing it.
I have seen some of their works in real life, and they always stayed with me. They're not so much like photographs, but they are very real and very arty. Plus, both painters have an absolutely magnificent way of painting glossy fabrics, making them look almost tangible. Almost more real than life, really.
What I am really quite sad about is that my photographs are on the external harddrive at my parents', so I'll post some photographs as soon as I can get my hands on that.
I am planning on making a trip across the Channel after term ends to go to Antwerp and Amsterdam to return to see their paintings. I have yet to see the re-opened museum in Amsterdam and I do so want to.
For now, however, back to finishing this term, finishing uni, and getting my degree. Back to the dull, plain reality of my lessons.
UPDATE: ALSO IT IS ALMOST MY BIRTHDAY. And I expect lots of presents, so start buying.
Friday 16 May 2014
Yorkshire
I fear for Mum's sanity as she fears for mine.
She sent me to spend a few days with my grandfather in Yorkshire - in Harrogate, to be precise - as she feels the stress of exams is becoming too much for me.
I honestly don't mind, because the weather has been splendid and there is so much lovely green around here, I hear birds twitter when I wake up (truly!) and I must say it *is* rather nice to not have to do anything for a few days.
Grandfather took me on a trip to Castle Howard yesterday as I'd realised it could suddenly easily be done in a day trip and because it is very relevant to Art History I'm sure (my liking of Brideshead Revisited truly was no factor whatsoever!).
Actually, I do feel calmer now I've spent some days away from all the bustle of finishing Uni, taking in some sun and culture - Here Comes the Sun - so I suppose Mum was right in sending me away. I feel completely ready to carry on into the Second Act of the play of finishing Uni and starting life. I'll be back South on Sunday. With that in mind, and given my changes in rhythm and all that, with new things to do, new routines, I'm considering changing the day on which I post things.
Given my future schedule, it would make much more sense to post on Tuesdays rather than Fridays, so that's what I'll be doing, starting coming Tuesday.
Now, go out and enjoy the ephemeral British sunshine!
Oh, and here's some pics from my trip:
She sent me to spend a few days with my grandfather in Yorkshire - in Harrogate, to be precise - as she feels the stress of exams is becoming too much for me.
I honestly don't mind, because the weather has been splendid and there is so much lovely green around here, I hear birds twitter when I wake up (truly!) and I must say it *is* rather nice to not have to do anything for a few days.
Grandfather took me on a trip to Castle Howard yesterday as I'd realised it could suddenly easily be done in a day trip and because it is very relevant to Art History I'm sure (my liking of Brideshead Revisited truly was no factor whatsoever!).
Actually, I do feel calmer now I've spent some days away from all the bustle of finishing Uni, taking in some sun and culture - Here Comes the Sun - so I suppose Mum was right in sending me away. I feel completely ready to carry on into the Second Act of the play of finishing Uni and starting life. I'll be back South on Sunday. With that in mind, and given my changes in rhythm and all that, with new things to do, new routines, I'm considering changing the day on which I post things.
Given my future schedule, it would make much more sense to post on Tuesdays rather than Fridays, so that's what I'll be doing, starting coming Tuesday.
Now, go out and enjoy the ephemeral British sunshine!
Oh, and here's some pics from my trip:
Friday 9 May 2014
Working Hard (or... you know)
Another short one because things are going mad around here.
I had my last seminars today which was nice (but weird but nice but weird) but I still have some work to finish so I'm supposed to be working hard on my papers, which I am trying but I'm not always succeeding - last seminar days need to be celebrated, so I'll be off for the weekend in a second, we're going partying in the city and I haven't a clue yet what to wear - there are too many dresses in my wardrobe that I've already worn out partying once.
I should like to both be a work of art and wear a work of art when going out - the first is, clearly, easier than the latter. After all, what people deem fashionable is never truly artful - more likely so hideous fashions change as often as the seasons do. But what people deem fashionable is never truly stylish, anyway, so I suppose I shouldn't particularly care.
Talking of art, Jack dug me up two internships or grad schemes or something that are still open, at Sotheby's and Christie's. I don't know much about art but I know what I like, so I suppose I could give it a shot.
I think Dad often works with people who often work with Sotheby's, so that could be nice.
Anyway, once I finish the remainder of my work I'll be spending some days with my grandfather, get away into Nature for a bit. I look forward to it.
Right, now to find the right dress, and shoes, and purse, and everything...
I had my last seminars today which was nice (but weird but nice but weird) but I still have some work to finish so I'm supposed to be working hard on my papers, which I am trying but I'm not always succeeding - last seminar days need to be celebrated, so I'll be off for the weekend in a second, we're going partying in the city and I haven't a clue yet what to wear - there are too many dresses in my wardrobe that I've already worn out partying once.
I should like to both be a work of art and wear a work of art when going out - the first is, clearly, easier than the latter. After all, what people deem fashionable is never truly artful - more likely so hideous fashions change as often as the seasons do. But what people deem fashionable is never truly stylish, anyway, so I suppose I shouldn't particularly care.
Talking of art, Jack dug me up two internships or grad schemes or something that are still open, at Sotheby's and Christie's. I don't know much about art but I know what I like, so I suppose I could give it a shot.
I think Dad often works with people who often work with Sotheby's, so that could be nice.
Anyway, once I finish the remainder of my work I'll be spending some days with my grandfather, get away into Nature for a bit. I look forward to it.
Right, now to find the right dress, and shoes, and purse, and everything...
Friday 2 May 2014
Why?
I'm going to have to keep it short this time, what with the term drawing to an end and having to write papers.
Ugh.
I'm absolutely exhausted.
Also I talked over my grand tour idea with Mum and Dad, and surprisingly they don't seem altogether pleased about it. I don't understand - one would suppose it would be a crowning celebration of me getting my degree, right? They say it's time I found some way to support myself, or find someone to support me. Now, that's just cruel.
As though Ernest weren't there.
I still haven't found what I was looking for with my degree. What's it all for, anyway? I mean, I'll just marry Ernest and we'll live happily ever after and that's it.
Dad says I could try and find a job, but what job would I get with Art History? I mean, the Duke of Cambridge did Art History (or started out as such or somewhat or other) so why is it so hard to find a suitable job? Certainly it shouldn't be this difficult to find something to do next year.
Although I don't really understand why Dad is telling me to do this. I think it's really rather mean of him to tell me to go do something I don't like. I mean, just any sort of job, I'm not cut out for that. It's not my thing.
Jack says I should apply for grad schemes but really, it's far too late to start doing that now and besides, I don't want to. They're never any fun, I'm sure of that.
Ah, what to do, what to do...
Ugh.
I'm absolutely exhausted.
Also I talked over my grand tour idea with Mum and Dad, and surprisingly they don't seem altogether pleased about it. I don't understand - one would suppose it would be a crowning celebration of me getting my degree, right? They say it's time I found some way to support myself, or find someone to support me. Now, that's just cruel.
As though Ernest weren't there.
I still haven't found what I was looking for with my degree. What's it all for, anyway? I mean, I'll just marry Ernest and we'll live happily ever after and that's it.
Dad says I could try and find a job, but what job would I get with Art History? I mean, the Duke of Cambridge did Art History (or started out as such or somewhat or other) so why is it so hard to find a suitable job? Certainly it shouldn't be this difficult to find something to do next year.
Although I don't really understand why Dad is telling me to do this. I think it's really rather mean of him to tell me to go do something I don't like. I mean, just any sort of job, I'm not cut out for that. It's not my thing.
Jack says I should apply for grad schemes but really, it's far too late to start doing that now and besides, I don't want to. They're never any fun, I'm sure of that.
Ah, what to do, what to do...
Friday 25 April 2014
Cooped Up
I have now been at my parents' house for about a week and I think it's slowly driving me mad. I can't handle the city.
Ernest was perfectly lovely of course, meeting Mum and Granddad on Monday. He was absolutely charming to Mum, telling her she looked like she could be my sister and saying "oooh, Mrs Cardew, what a lovely home you have" and what not. He spent simply ages talking to Granddad, talking about Yorkshire and the things Granddad likes to talk about. I suppose Ernest simply sat there and listened, but he was so sweet about it, so incredibly patient.
But I cannot handle the city. I think it's perfectly horrid. So many people, as many as there are flowers in the country. Ernest took me out for a walk around the city - we went to see a show at the O2, 'The Love Punch' (Ernest's choice, not mine), after having spent the afternoon in Greenwich, at the observatory and the Royal Naval College. I took pictures.
I do quite love Greenwich, also because after Hyde Park it's one of the few green areas in London easily reached. Ernest had brought some crème eggs and other Easter-y things and we sat on the grass in the park and simply ate and talked, but even a day out couldn't shake my feeling of claustrophobia.
The city makes me perfectly unhappy, I find it utterly dreadful.
I mean, there is hardly any green space - you'd actually have to go to an actual park, or Greenwich, to see any real trees - and there are people everywhere. Everywhere is cramped, everyone's unfriendly and if you try to make small talk on the Tube they look at you with this vile look as though you've actually stepped in dog droppings.
I was shopping in Oxford Street the other day and I got stepped on by others not once or twice, but thrice.
I really can't wait to go back to Hertfordshire. I'm going on Monday.
Ernest was perfectly lovely of course, meeting Mum and Granddad on Monday. He was absolutely charming to Mum, telling her she looked like she could be my sister and saying "oooh, Mrs Cardew, what a lovely home you have" and what not. He spent simply ages talking to Granddad, talking about Yorkshire and the things Granddad likes to talk about. I suppose Ernest simply sat there and listened, but he was so sweet about it, so incredibly patient.
But I cannot handle the city. I think it's perfectly horrid. So many people, as many as there are flowers in the country. Ernest took me out for a walk around the city - we went to see a show at the O2, 'The Love Punch' (Ernest's choice, not mine), after having spent the afternoon in Greenwich, at the observatory and the Royal Naval College. I took pictures.
I do quite love Greenwich, also because after Hyde Park it's one of the few green areas in London easily reached. Ernest had brought some crème eggs and other Easter-y things and we sat on the grass in the park and simply ate and talked, but even a day out couldn't shake my feeling of claustrophobia.
The city makes me perfectly unhappy, I find it utterly dreadful.
I mean, there is hardly any green space - you'd actually have to go to an actual park, or Greenwich, to see any real trees - and there are people everywhere. Everywhere is cramped, everyone's unfriendly and if you try to make small talk on the Tube they look at you with this vile look as though you've actually stepped in dog droppings.
I was shopping in Oxford Street the other day and I got stepped on by others not once or twice, but thrice.
I really can't wait to go back to Hertfordshire. I'm going on Monday.
Friday 18 April 2014
Good Friday
So, we're once again having one of the major Christian holidays, this time of course to remember the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, and on Sunday his resurrection.
I haven't, however, been to church in ages. I mean, I was brought up in the Church of England because my Mum and Dad wanted me to get into a good primary school, and I never did mind church, but I suppose I like church for all the wrong reasons - I love the rituals and atmosphere, but I suppose that's not actually the point of church.
I do still celebrate Good Friday and Easter of course, also because it's a family tradition.
So yes, I'm no longer in the country, I'm stuck in the city at my parents' house, nibbling on hot cross buns, everything looking sort of yellow and green and lavender, and Mum really rather obnoxiously grilling me on my last term. I do look forward to meeting up with some friends in the city over the next few days, but I do rather miss just being on my own, doing nothing but watch telly.
On the upside, we have cucumber sandwiches.
Grandfather will come visit too, all the way from Yorkshire. This, I don't mind. Grandfather grew up in a completely different time and place and I love listening to his stories of the past. When women wore hats and gloves and men always wore suits.
I should really try and get Ernest to wear suits more often. I'm sure he would look utterly dashing in them. A lovely overcast grey three-piece suit, a veritable Prince Charming.
Or dress him as the artist-poet type. Floppy brimmed hats and wide shirts and cravats, suffering, dying for his art, and I would come to rescue him, and I will be his Muse, and we shall live happily ever after.
He's promised to come by on Monday. I want to introduce him to Mum. He's in the city anyway, celebrating Easter with Jack I suppose.
I may organise a small egg hunt for him. He'll love that.
It's a shame really that Dad cannot join us for the weekend, but he's away for business. I suppose investment bankers can't celebrate Easter. I'll ring him over the weekend, though, to wish him happy Easter.
I haven't, however, been to church in ages. I mean, I was brought up in the Church of England because my Mum and Dad wanted me to get into a good primary school, and I never did mind church, but I suppose I like church for all the wrong reasons - I love the rituals and atmosphere, but I suppose that's not actually the point of church.
I do still celebrate Good Friday and Easter of course, also because it's a family tradition.
So yes, I'm no longer in the country, I'm stuck in the city at my parents' house, nibbling on hot cross buns, everything looking sort of yellow and green and lavender, and Mum really rather obnoxiously grilling me on my last term. I do look forward to meeting up with some friends in the city over the next few days, but I do rather miss just being on my own, doing nothing but watch telly.
On the upside, we have cucumber sandwiches.
Grandfather will come visit too, all the way from Yorkshire. This, I don't mind. Grandfather grew up in a completely different time and place and I love listening to his stories of the past. When women wore hats and gloves and men always wore suits.
I should really try and get Ernest to wear suits more often. I'm sure he would look utterly dashing in them. A lovely overcast grey three-piece suit, a veritable Prince Charming.
Or dress him as the artist-poet type. Floppy brimmed hats and wide shirts and cravats, suffering, dying for his art, and I would come to rescue him, and I will be his Muse, and we shall live happily ever after.
He's promised to come by on Monday. I want to introduce him to Mum. He's in the city anyway, celebrating Easter with Jack I suppose.
I may organise a small egg hunt for him. He'll love that.
It's a shame really that Dad cannot join us for the weekend, but he's away for business. I suppose investment bankers can't celebrate Easter. I'll ring him over the weekend, though, to wish him happy Easter.
Friday 11 April 2014
Summer (and beyond) plans
Bonne soirée, mes chéris!
Graduation is fast approaching - no, perhaps not graduation, but the end of my degree. So, technically graduation is approaching too.
And I am trying to make plans for what to do beyond.
Beyond the threshold of - it is rather scary, isn't it? The great beyond of finalising a degree? The vast emptiness of infinite possibility.
Anyway, I've thought long and hard about what to do next year. I could potentially go on and do another degree, but this is not something I am currently in the mood for.
Jack says I should try and find a job, but I'm not particularly in the mood for that either. I mean, imagine having to do the whole nine to five thing, stuck with people in a dreary grey office, people who are so boring because they've already been there for years and years. It's not for me. I mean, I do understand that for some it's of course a way of life, like in the sense that they haven't a choice, but I simply cannot see myself in such an environment.
I'd much rather spend some time doing something exciting. Seeing the great wonders, meeting brilliant people. That stuff.
Then yesterday it struck me.
You know how they used to do this sort of traveling of Europe before entry into society? A grand tour. Of course they don't do entries into society anymore, not really - although Daddy would've liked to see me do that, I think - and very few still do a Grand Tour.
But it strikes me as entirely romantic. Visiting all major European cities, seeing all the beautiful architecture and art, meeting wonderful people, eating brilliant food? In any sense it'd be a perfect alternative to all my other plans. Infinitely less boring than a job, more interesting than another degree, and certainly better than staying idle.
I may even convince Ernest to join me.
There's a lovely article from the New York Times from 2008 which sort of outlines what a Grand Tour is. Me, I'd just be interested in the art side of things - literature isn't really my thing, studying whatever language I'm studying at the time always bores me. But doesn't it sound romantic? Travelling from city to city, learning to appreciate what has been taught, sowing wild oats before grown-up life starts?
Of course the article only talks of young men but the feminist in me says that nowadays it should be perfectly acceptable for women too. Right?
I'd love to start in Paris, because I love Paris. Spend forever in the Louvre, nibbling on macarons, spending nights drinking fabulous French wines and eating baguettes and escargots and speaking French. I love France. Barcelona. And then Milan and Florence and Rome and Naples. Athens. Vienna. Prague. Berlin. Amsterdam.
Doesn't it sound wonderful?
I think it does.
And certainly I'm sure it should be possible.
I'm off to see whether Ernest would want to join.
Graduation is fast approaching - no, perhaps not graduation, but the end of my degree. So, technically graduation is approaching too.
And I am trying to make plans for what to do beyond.
Beyond the threshold of - it is rather scary, isn't it? The great beyond of finalising a degree? The vast emptiness of infinite possibility.
Anyway, I've thought long and hard about what to do next year. I could potentially go on and do another degree, but this is not something I am currently in the mood for.
Jack says I should try and find a job, but I'm not particularly in the mood for that either. I mean, imagine having to do the whole nine to five thing, stuck with people in a dreary grey office, people who are so boring because they've already been there for years and years. It's not for me. I mean, I do understand that for some it's of course a way of life, like in the sense that they haven't a choice, but I simply cannot see myself in such an environment.
I'd much rather spend some time doing something exciting. Seeing the great wonders, meeting brilliant people. That stuff.
Then yesterday it struck me.
You know how they used to do this sort of traveling of Europe before entry into society? A grand tour. Of course they don't do entries into society anymore, not really - although Daddy would've liked to see me do that, I think - and very few still do a Grand Tour.
But it strikes me as entirely romantic. Visiting all major European cities, seeing all the beautiful architecture and art, meeting wonderful people, eating brilliant food? In any sense it'd be a perfect alternative to all my other plans. Infinitely less boring than a job, more interesting than another degree, and certainly better than staying idle.
I may even convince Ernest to join me.
There's a lovely article from the New York Times from 2008 which sort of outlines what a Grand Tour is. Me, I'd just be interested in the art side of things - literature isn't really my thing, studying whatever language I'm studying at the time always bores me. But doesn't it sound romantic? Travelling from city to city, learning to appreciate what has been taught, sowing wild oats before grown-up life starts?
Of course the article only talks of young men but the feminist in me says that nowadays it should be perfectly acceptable for women too. Right?
I'd love to start in Paris, because I love Paris. Spend forever in the Louvre, nibbling on macarons, spending nights drinking fabulous French wines and eating baguettes and escargots and speaking French. I love France. Barcelona. And then Milan and Florence and Rome and Naples. Athens. Vienna. Prague. Berlin. Amsterdam.
Doesn't it sound wonderful?
I think it does.
And certainly I'm sure it should be possible.
I'm off to see whether Ernest would want to join.
Friday 4 April 2014
Jack
I love Jack, I really do. He's my best friend. But sometimes he can be a right... pain.
No. If one has anything unpleasant to say, one should do so quite candidly.
I really wish that Jack was sometimes a little less obnoxious.
I'm sure he has my best interests at heart, I don't doubt that he has. But his continued insistence on me studying German - while really I do think that should be my own choice rather than his, and I do believe I have other things on my mind currently - and his infernal, continuous teasing over Ernest does rather get on my nerves.
Jack does seem to be suffering from a mild form of agricultural depression these days, in the sense that he seems rather fed up with living where we live. True, flora is as common here as people are in the city, and quite a number of people seem to be suffering from this sort of epidemic, being tired of the country, but that really isn't an excuse for how often he seems to be travelling to the city these days.
I hardly ever see him these days and when I do, he spends all his time discussing either work or whatever I've been up to in my time here.
He continuously tells me that I should stop 'obsessing' over Ernest, that Ernest is nothing but a scoundrel and definitely not suited for 'someone like' me and that I'd be sincerely disappointed if I ever found out who Ernest really was.
As if I didn't know my Ernest. And how could I not love a man whose name is Ernest? Doing so has always been a sort of girlish dream of mine, and I do think Jack should be more sympathetic to this.
On that note, I do have my suspicions why he seems to be in the city so often - but I shan't divulge my suspicions until they are more certain. Rumours do have a habit of ending up at me, so I'm confident I'll find some form of confirmation sooner rather than later.
No. If one has anything unpleasant to say, one should do so quite candidly.
I really wish that Jack was sometimes a little less obnoxious.
I'm sure he has my best interests at heart, I don't doubt that he has. But his continued insistence on me studying German - while really I do think that should be my own choice rather than his, and I do believe I have other things on my mind currently - and his infernal, continuous teasing over Ernest does rather get on my nerves.
Jack does seem to be suffering from a mild form of agricultural depression these days, in the sense that he seems rather fed up with living where we live. True, flora is as common here as people are in the city, and quite a number of people seem to be suffering from this sort of epidemic, being tired of the country, but that really isn't an excuse for how often he seems to be travelling to the city these days.
I hardly ever see him these days and when I do, he spends all his time discussing either work or whatever I've been up to in my time here.
He continuously tells me that I should stop 'obsessing' over Ernest, that Ernest is nothing but a scoundrel and definitely not suited for 'someone like' me and that I'd be sincerely disappointed if I ever found out who Ernest really was.
As if I didn't know my Ernest. And how could I not love a man whose name is Ernest? Doing so has always been a sort of girlish dream of mine, and I do think Jack should be more sympathetic to this.
On that note, I do have my suspicions why he seems to be in the city so often - but I shan't divulge my suspicions until they are more certain. Rumours do have a habit of ending up at me, so I'm confident I'll find some form of confirmation sooner rather than later.
Friday 28 March 2014
Jack's Birthday
I finally settled on a birthday present for Jack some time last week – it took me ages to think of something, but I was at the jeweller’s to have the ring Ernest bought me a while back re-fitted – I kept losing it and I should be rather annoyed if I were to lose it permanently – and I noticed that she – the jeweller – also offered engravings.
Jack, being the serious office type person that he is, always carried around this stupid little box of business cards. I never see much use in those cards, surely there is much more to be gained from the personal touch of writing your name and details on a scrap of paper with a flourish. Ernest always writes to me by hand. But Jack insists that business cards are more professional.
So I had a silver business card container engraved by the jeweller, so it says that it’s a gift from me to him.
Surely that’s better than that ratty old thing he used to have.
I gave it to him just earlier today – he’s left for the city to celebrate his birthday there over the weekend just now, though his birthday isn’t until tomorrow. I hope he doesn’t lose it.
I am still really a bit cross with Jack for not celebrating his birthday here and having Ernest over, but instead I invited Ernest over for the night – he could always go back to the city later for Jack’s birthday celebrations – for wine and film.
I’m staying here over the weekend because it’s almost Easter break and I’ve got essays to write. Pity, really, I love birthday parties.
Sunday 23 March 2014
Daffodils (also Ernest)
I hate him.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
Well, no.
Not exactly like that.
I hate that I love him.
Why do I do this to myself? Surely this is just...
So. Ernest showed up on my doorstep carrying a pot of daffodils (he knows I like daffodils), begging me to take him back, that he'd be better from here on, and that, well, everything.
He said he'd been blind, that he'd never known what he had until he lost it, and that really I was being really very cruel with him for leaving him on my doorstep like that.
And I took pity on him and told him to come in.
Really, I would have taken him back anyway because, well, he is earnest Ernest, I cannot see myself living my life without an Ernest by my side, but this was so lovely that I just decided then and there to take him back.
Really, though. I hate that I love him so much that I'll take him back a day later.
But then again he did bring me daffodils, so all's well.
The weather continues to be charming.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
Well, no.
Not exactly like that.
I hate that I love him.
Why do I do this to myself? Surely this is just...
So. Ernest showed up on my doorstep carrying a pot of daffodils (he knows I like daffodils), begging me to take him back, that he'd be better from here on, and that, well, everything.
He said he'd been blind, that he'd never known what he had until he lost it, and that really I was being really very cruel with him for leaving him on my doorstep like that.
And I took pity on him and told him to come in.
Really, I would have taken him back anyway because, well, he is earnest Ernest, I cannot see myself living my life without an Ernest by my side, but this was so lovely that I just decided then and there to take him back.
Really, though. I hate that I love him so much that I'll take him back a day later.
But then again he did bring me daffodils, so all's well.
The weather continues to be charming.
Saturday 22 March 2014
It's Over
I've so had it with Ernest.
It's not just that he's making me write letters to myself, since he doesn't even care enough to write them himself, and it's also not that I never get to see him, it's just...
It's just everything.
So I'm going to have to break it off. I just can't do it any more. Not like this. I've got better things to be doing with my life, things that haven't to do with someone called Ernest.
Besides, it's hardly a serious relationship if it isn't broken at least once, right?
So there, Ernest. You'd better step up your game.
Right. I'm off to the corner shop for a tub of ice cream and a bottle of pinot grigio.
It's not just that he's making me write letters to myself, since he doesn't even care enough to write them himself, and it's also not that I never get to see him, it's just...
It's just everything.
So I'm going to have to break it off. I just can't do it any more. Not like this. I've got better things to be doing with my life, things that haven't to do with someone called Ernest.
Besides, it's hardly a serious relationship if it isn't broken at least once, right?
So there, Ernest. You'd better step up your game.
Right. I'm off to the corner shop for a tub of ice cream and a bottle of pinot grigio.
Friday 21 March 2014
Ernest
Ugh, I'm so sorry for missing my post last week, I'm just - I'm so fed up with everything.
Like, it's so pretty outside right now, with the weather and the flowers and the grass and everything, and I'm stuck indoors trying to write my essays and study for exams and working on my dissertation.
I just want to be done and go outside and have fun. I could get on a train with Ernest and go somewhere pretty in the North.
Or perhaps not with Ernest. I dunno. He's so inconsiderate, never even once writing me. I have to make up everything myself, and that gets really annoying really quickly when you have to do so three times a week (he is a bit of a romantic after all) while you're trying to finish a degree too.
I think I have an idea for Jack's birthday present, by the way.
I may go to Paris this summer. I love Paris.
And Ernest... tsk. Ernest. He is absolutely lovely, but I do wish he'd take us a bit more seriously. It's a bit annoying when it's all one-sided.
Like, it's so pretty outside right now, with the weather and the flowers and the grass and everything, and I'm stuck indoors trying to write my essays and study for exams and working on my dissertation.
I just want to be done and go outside and have fun. I could get on a train with Ernest and go somewhere pretty in the North.
Or perhaps not with Ernest. I dunno. He's so inconsiderate, never even once writing me. I have to make up everything myself, and that gets really annoying really quickly when you have to do so three times a week (he is a bit of a romantic after all) while you're trying to finish a degree too.
I think I have an idea for Jack's birthday present, by the way.
I may go to Paris this summer. I love Paris.
And Ernest... tsk. Ernest. He is absolutely lovely, but I do wish he'd take us a bit more seriously. It's a bit annoying when it's all one-sided.
Friday 7 March 2014
Crocuses
I can't contain my happiness - I love that it's finally been getting nice out.
I can finally wear my nice new canvas floral pattern shoes out, the ones I bought a few weeks back.
It's been so lovely, what with the sunshine and the being able to go out with only a light coat - I've been so annoyed to have to hide my clothes in big, bulky winter coats. And I've been wearing my nice winter boots so often now people are starting to associate them with me, so it's good to finally have a bit of a change of atmosphere.
There were crocuses out on campus, all blossoming, so I photographed them.
And then Ernest, lovely as he is, offered to take me on a picnic.
It was actually rather a bit chilly out for a picnic, sitting on the grass and all, but we had some lovely cucumber sandwiches and shared a bottle of pinot grigio and looked at the clouds in the powder blue sky. It almost felt like summer.
He's so brilliant, Ernest. I do hope Jack invites him over.
Still figuring out the birthday present - Jack's birthday is next week Friday, so I'm going to have to start considering something seriously now...
I can finally wear my nice new canvas floral pattern shoes out, the ones I bought a few weeks back.
It's been so lovely, what with the sunshine and the being able to go out with only a light coat - I've been so annoyed to have to hide my clothes in big, bulky winter coats. And I've been wearing my nice winter boots so often now people are starting to associate them with me, so it's good to finally have a bit of a change of atmosphere.
There were crocuses out on campus, all blossoming, so I photographed them.
And then Ernest, lovely as he is, offered to take me on a picnic.
It was actually rather a bit chilly out for a picnic, sitting on the grass and all, but we had some lovely cucumber sandwiches and shared a bottle of pinot grigio and looked at the clouds in the powder blue sky. It almost felt like summer.
He's so brilliant, Ernest. I do hope Jack invites him over.
Still figuring out the birthday present - Jack's birthday is next week Friday, so I'm going to have to start considering something seriously now...
Friday 28 February 2014
German lessons
I was once advised to take up a second language because of job prospects and whatnot.
So I did.
And I took up German.
Biggest mistake of my life, seeing as I'm absolutely certain I look rather dull and greyish after doing it. I'm taking a course in German that's sort of casually offered by the uni so it's not like it takes up a lot of time, and I really only do it whenever I get those emails reminding me of yet another week having passed without me spending any time on it - like I got just now. I wish I'd gone for a more interesting language, like French or Italian, which are such romantic languages - isn't it far nicer to hear 'Je t'aime' or 'Ti amo' than a harsh German 'ich liebe dich'?
But yeah they said German would be good because of prospects, Germany having a stable economy or whatever they argued for.
Come to think of it, it was Jack who said I should take German.
I need to have a word with him about that.
In the meanwhile - Tschüss, liebe Freunde!
So I did.
And I took up German.
Biggest mistake of my life, seeing as I'm absolutely certain I look rather dull and greyish after doing it. I'm taking a course in German that's sort of casually offered by the uni so it's not like it takes up a lot of time, and I really only do it whenever I get those emails reminding me of yet another week having passed without me spending any time on it - like I got just now. I wish I'd gone for a more interesting language, like French or Italian, which are such romantic languages - isn't it far nicer to hear 'Je t'aime' or 'Ti amo' than a harsh German 'ich liebe dich'?
But yeah they said German would be good because of prospects, Germany having a stable economy or whatever they argued for.
Come to think of it, it was Jack who said I should take German.
I need to have a word with him about that.
In the meanwhile - Tschüss, liebe Freunde!
Friday 21 February 2014
Ideas?
It's almost Jack's birthday and it's really difficult to think of
what to get serious people – I thought of getting him a nice drink
or something but he doesn't really drink, and there isn't any film or
telly show that he really likes that he hasn't got on DVD yet.
He's suggested I give him a book or socks or something boring like
that, but that's hardly suitable for something so serious as a
birthday.
He says I really shouldn't bother but I like birthdays, they're too
good of an excuse for a party to not bother with them.
For what it's worth, Jack works in an office in the city somewhere –
it always does sound a bit important – so anyone who's got like a
good suggestion, please tell me.
I was hoping that he would celebrate his birthday and have his
brother over.
I'm really fed up with the grey weather and rain, I really need it to
be spring soon so I can get out my spring shoes without them getting
all mucky.
That's it for now, I think.
Saturday 15 February 2014
Rectification
I should probably have made clear yesterday that I'm not actually
going out with Jack's brother Ernest – sadly I've never met him. But from the way Jack always
complains about him, I'm sure he must be so much fun. And anyway,
what's the point of Valentine's if you can't spend it with someone
who makes you laugh?
I think it's perfectly normal to imagine going on a date with someone
you haven't met yet, despite what Jack claims. I mean, who wouldn't
want to go out with someone who's so perfectly – earnest – in his
shamelessness?
So to annoy Jack I found the cutest little ring in a vintage shop,
like a rose, and as it'll be a while before Ernest'll give that to
me, I figured I'd buy it instead to celebrate our dating.
Friday 14 February 2014
Valentine's
Tonight, since it's Valentine's Day, I'll have a date with Ernest,
who's Jack's brother but much more of a laugh to hang out with. It's
actually our first date – I've decided that it was time. He'll take
me to this Italian restaurant – Bocca di Lupo – that I've been
dying to try for literally ages now, and then we'll go to the opera
to see Don Giovanni because he's romantic and unconventional like
that, and he'll of course be absolutely gorgeous and charming in that
outfit that I said looks good on him – I do love a man who knows
how to wear a jacket well – and I'll wear that blue dress he gave
me for my birthday a few months ago, and it'll be wonderful and
lovely.
I do so love Valentine's Day. It's so boring how people normally go
about dating – so straightforward. At least people are creative
about being in love on Valentine's.
Friday 7 February 2014
Hi
Testing, testing, 123.
Quick introduction – I'm Cece, 22, in my last year of History of Art at UCL, and I live in Hertfordshire with my flatmate Jack.
So, I decided to keep a blog since my diary is full and you should always have something interesting to read when you're stuck on the tube - or on the bus when they're on strike. At least this I can read and write on my iphone instead of having to carry around a diary and risk losing it.
Right. More to come soon!
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