Prison Break Study Break

We all just watched another episode of Prison Break and aww it was lovely. We've all got totally obsessed since Sarah's dad got us a tv (it was a happy day in flat 11.5 I have to say). The guys are really bored by our loud lustings over Wentworth Miller.
We set a time to start and are always half an hour later than our allocated time. We all declare that we should be working, before curling up and getting hot milk and tea and duvets and sometimes even popcorn and turning off the lights. I sit there and feel lucky and content, although I do also feel very stressed. Prison Break is so stressful! We're only three episodes in and already so much has gone wrong.
Note to self: Must stop getting so emotionally involved in tv programmes. You do not want to know what me and Claudia were like about Downton. Lets just say there were tears...

So a couple of nights ago Flat 11.5 stole Cory's mattress while he was out. And then 'hid' it in our sitting room.

I know, I know. We are beyond hilarious.

One way to remember to lock his door in future.

More endless joviality from Flat 11.5 to come. Try to contain your excitement please.

Me being a showy off geek.

I got my English essay back!! I managed to pick up the wrong one first of all so had to go through the stress of it all twice plus thinking that I would have done way worse than my first wrong mark. Silly meeee.
Anyway, I got 59%
(Which was higher than my first mark - which wasn't my mark. Just sayiiin')
I'm pretty pleased with that for my first essay but reading the comments is excruciating. They certainly don't hold back now. I'm dreading the personal meeting with my tutor its going to be so awkward and icky.

Catch up 2: Saying Yes to Life in Bristol

And after I turned 19, I went to uni.

THAT SHIT CRAY.

I'm basically going to cheat massively and say that it's amazing. I can't possibly catch up on all the crazy oxymoron emotions and the fabulousness of freshers week and the beauty of Bristol when you first explore it in the sun, with the orange leaves falling on College Green in front of the Cathedral, and the way it feels like I'm in Hogwarts when I go to my philosophy tutorial, and the lucky star I was born under to give me such great flatmates - in particular a girl who I clicked with on the first day and was peeing with on the second (well there's nothing like a bit of alcohol to seriously bash down some social boundaries) - and gosh all the attractive boys.  

I live right in the centre of Bristol on the top floor (the lifts are off. I walk up five flights of stairs. I just tell myself how fit I must be getting) so the views are stunning and we can walk everywhere, which is great when we go out and even better when I wake up twenty minutes before I need to be in a lecture the morning after. 

There's ten of us in a Flat 11, and we've merged with the flat opposite us to form one super Flat 11.5. We're also really good friends with Flat 8 and 9 (Flat 10 are missing out) but I'm on friendly acquaintance terms with pretty much everyone (especially as the constant fire alarms due to burnt toast which involve us all standing about in pyjamas - regardless of the time of day - are great bonding exercises) and so I have a really super accommodation set up.

The work is hard but I'm trying not to get toooo anxious about it (so in normal person terms I'm at about the anxiety level of a turkey in November) but I've handed in two essays and although I know they were a pile of actual poo, I did it, and I did it without going actually mental, which is always good.

I know I sound absurd and cringey and I am quite tired but I just feel really lucky. We all get on so well despite being randomly thrown together and being really quite different and having totally opposite music tastes and having entirely clashing styles and liking completely different sports and tv programmes and films. We buy family milk and make everyone tea and have had two Flat 11 Sunday Roasts and we leave funny notes for each other and share clothes and wash up together whilst singing to the radio and study in the sitting room together and chill in each others rooms and wave to each others grandparents on Skype and sing happy birthday to my sister down the phone and go on cold Sunday Afternoon walks and put cling film on each others stuff because we think its funny.

 And again, I know I sound absurd and cringey but I feel different. I feel more adult and confident and more relaxed about things - myself, mainly. So yeah... I just feel pretty good. Obvs some days I'm hit by my chronic indecision and anxiety and I nearly cry because I can't decide what I want to eat for breakfast and I hate having to shop for myself and hovering is soooo much more effort than I knew and washing my clothes is so time consuming and sometimes work is quite hard, or long, or stress inducing, and sometimes I'm like errrgh 'all I want is a bath and some of mama Williams cooking and a snuggle with Muffin' (my beauts Border Terrier) but most days, I feel excited and happy and looked after by everyone and calm. I feel like I'm saying yes to life, and that its saying yes back.

Fabric Tree

Southbank is a cool place. I love the juxtaposition of The Thames and the skaters under graffitied concrete; the brutalist architecture of the National Theatre and St Pauls Cathedral’s dreamy dome.

 

 

 

Southbank is so cool that it has a giant fabric tree:

 

Obviously.

 

I think it was something to do with the Hayward Gallery (which was, after all, responsible for trees all along the river wrapped inYayoi Kusama's spots, far before she became Louis Vuitton's inspiration) but I can't be entirely sure.

Mother Punk.

My sister, my mum and I always try to go to the Hayward Gallery, on the Southbank, once during the summer. I’m not really sure why we go in the summer rather than at any time of year – it does, unsurprisingly, exist all year round – but it’s a sort of tradition, I imagine derived from one summer holiday activity years ago, and the Williams family does love a good tradition, so we do. It’s a really cool art gallery and I would totally recommend going; all the best exhibitions I have ever seen have been here and it’s always very inspiring and thought provoking.
We never check what’s on; we always just jump on the tube, skip across The Millennium Bridge, waltz up and take a look. Past exhibitions have looked at dreams, home and the moon. There’s normally something free, and we all know that’s always a bonus.

But this year, when September greeted us shockingly early, we hadn’t completed our tradition. The Hayward gallery remained unvisited. Well we couldn’t have that!!
As soon as we realised that the summer had whizzed by on trains across Europe and open top buses in New York and runs on English beaches and jet skis in Portugal, we dashed to the Hayward Gallery. The exhibition was on punk, which was really pretty cool.

My mum used to be a bit of a punk, back in the day, so she was thrilled. It was a bit of a trip down memory lane for her, and I really loved it.

 

 

 

 

People were so much cooler then, so much more enthusiastic, so much more ready to give it a go and fuck being ‘cool’. And because of that they were really very cool.

 

 

Side note: I felt I fitted in, in my crop jumper with leather collar, red lips, and leather jacket. Maybe a bit of a fraud, especially when standing next to some of the old punks, who had long greying hair and earrings, but still working it, I liked to think. The guys nudging fifty were still cooler than me though. I’m working on it.

 
When we’d finished looking at every old poster and self-produced newspaper and record, it was nearly six o’clock. Cocktail hour! We headed off to gorgeous Mexican bar and restaurant Las Iguanas. The bartender mixed our drinks to perfection. They were seriouslyyy good. We watched the bar fill up from our seat by the window, and watched the buzz of Southbank go by, and watched The Thames dance past.

The Best Procrastination.

Maybe I'm becoming overly obssessed and should just start the 100 pages of reading I have to do for tomorrow instead of just sitting with 'Reading Poetry; An Introduction' open infront of me, whilst finding videos of David Gandy. I don't know. Maybe.

BUT OMG LOOK AT HIM.

I want to go to Milan and meet an Italian on a bike that looks like him and who brings me flowers in the rain and who casually asks to marry me in a cafe in a square with a fountain.

Birthday Boots

Autumn is the season of new coats, boots and beginnings.
My mum taught me that and I have always strongly believed it. So when I saw these beauties I went into meltdown.

I dreamt about them (genuinely). Every outfit I wore was incomplete because I didn't have red studded boots upon my feet.
My yearning for these were made worse because of my current obsession with red (remember this? Yeah Valentino's fault.) and all things fierce. Which these certainly are.

Carefully folding the wrapping off the Zara Boot Box (I don't like ripping wrapping paper, ok?!) on my Birthday Breakfast, was a BIG MOMENT.  I was so excited that, no word of a lie, I nearly choked.

Once opened and after the usual birthday jig and kisses and hugs and some squeals, I put them on my feet and did not take them off again. For ooh, about a week.

They make me feel fantastic. Wherever I go in them, I strut to my own personal stereo that plays 'These Boots Were Made For Walking' in my head. And that's a pretty top feeling.

Because nancy is still better than Jessica. Just sayin'

(Thank you mum and dad)

19.

So, first things first, I turned 19!!!

If I'm honest (and I do always try to be) I wasn't really looking forward to my 19th Birthday.

Before you throw rotten veg at me for being such a miserable old fart, which would definitely be a reasonable reaction (not looking forward to birthdays is dull and should be criminal) and judge me horribly (because I am normally silly excited about my birthday - and actually, pretty much everyone else’s too - to the point that I'm actually annoying to others around me), I'll tell you why.

1. It felt way too old. I know, I know I'm hardly applying for a bus pass yet (although I am knitting – more on that later), but my final year as a teenager seems like quite a big, and not particularly jolly, deal. It definitely implies adulthood and responsibilities and own washing and no more glitter and animal socks.

2. All my friends were away!! My birthday was on September 28^th (I am A W A R E how behind I am) and bloody Bristol didn’t start until the next day but all other unis had started nearly two weeks before hand (it was a miserable two weeks) so very few people were about. It was all v emotional I have to say.

3. I was going to uni the next day so was majorly stressing out about this massive rite of passage life changing event that was taking place the next day. So was a bit of a state really. You know me and my anxiety. My poor mother. Also, going to Bristol the next day meant that I didn’t reallyyy want to be horribly hungover (not the best way to meet the folk you’ll be living with for the next year) so has absolutely no idea what to do in order to celebrate my birthday. Stay in? Go for dinner? Clubbing? Drinks? Cocktails? You also know me and my chronicle indecision.

But, in the end, it was fab!!

I decided to have a small select few over for classy celebrations and we had a really lovely time/goodbye.

Polly (of previous post. That one) came down all the way from Manchester which made me very happy and was really very kind of her.

AND THEN, guess who Polly bought with her when she waltzed through the door just as we were cracking open the champagne?? Only Rain bloody Osgood!!! All the way from Brighton. For me. As a surprise. What a total babe.

I loved that everyone else knew and I had absolutely no idea. I’m such a goon (or just very easily influenced by champagne. Probably both.)

 

 

 

It was a really, really lovely evening. Spending it with people that I love the most (apart from three of my girls who were respectively in Leeds, Norwich and Birmingham) in a small, intimate way was so perfect. It was also a very lovely (and really quite heart breaking way)to say goodbye.

 

An Apology Gorge

I haven't blogged for yonks. I'm sorry. BUT that's because I've been super busy. I'll fill you in now. In the meantime, gorge your eyes on this: http://elliemaybakes.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/armed-with-cake-and-wine-she-left-me.html.
It's so yummy you might die.

Another thing that should be gorged upon by your eyes is this:
http://www.dolcegabbana.com/dg/books/david-gandy/
Also so yummy you might die. Replay as many times as necessary. Do not be ashamed.

Catch up coming!
xxx