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.
Tuesday 30 September 2014
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!
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