cherie

So what I'm lazy in September? My dad came to visit; my in-laws came to visit. Chris & co. did a dj night at Koko. Umm...that's pretty much it. I finally finished 100 Years of Solitude but I have a feeling that was at the beginning of August. Oh yes, they're all blending nicely together now.

bricks

I went to a house party last week that was fun but a bit filled with mean people. I referred to the kitchen as the 'bitchen'- insert obvious reasons. I find it shocking that people go to house parties only to create the same atmosphere of an exceptionally pretentious bar. I managed to find salvation in my friends bedroom where we discussed children's shows. And this is what I learned:

medium

I received a lovely email from my friend Pippa last night during the euphoric state I was in after seeing Animal Collective. She commented that I've been rather m.i.a. from the internet. This email was sent via her new iphone. Fair enough my friend!

It's hugely in part to the fact that London has actually had amazing weather the past few weeks. Yes, the occasional monsoon has fallen at night but during the day it's been warm, sunny and lovely. A horror of horrors, my legs have some semblance of a tan. I type this as a large rain cloud looms over London Fields where I was hoping to lay down and read a book on my day off. Might have to wait it out. These past few weeks haven't been particularly turbulent rather radically fun. Just blame it on the weather. This week, Chris and I took our leftover pizza, freshly made salad and went to sit in the park with beers. Dreamy Wednesday night, especially when a cricket match was taking place. And I know I keep banging on about this to Chris, and probably to everyone in general, but I love where we live. We've just renewed our contract for the 3rd year, and even though moving is a pain, I simply wouldn't want to. This might be a premature but I doubt we would ever leave this flat until we buy. And our first purchase will definitely be in this area. But that's not a few years now.

It's really wonderful feeling that everything is mostly back on track. Before it felt a bit like dancing on hot coals, not knowing exactly where you can land and for how long.

Ok, I've probably jinxed myself now.

tit

I can't blame a fake nomadic life for having not written anything in weeks, both digitally and hard copy. In fact, it's completely the opposite. Truthfully, I am now settled, withe employment, and haven't done anything remotely self-destructive in weeks. This is an achievement. An old friend from home visited nearly a month ago who sympathised with my situation, which is now to say past situation, which is, really nice to say. But I could see myself reflected in her that I had become a slight nutter. I wasn't nearly morally bankrupt but had become a bit of a social deviant. I'm now feeling myself shift back. Or I guess forward.

The only kink is now I don't know how to end my novel. I am far to smug right now to pull from real life and inject into art.

Here are our sweaty, rainy mugs from a day at a music festival 10 minutes up the canal from us.

diva

I'm pleased to see we're all intrigued, but all slightly terrified. And speaking off, I made Chris read the post bellow, and he too is a masochistic googler, read up on it and is now afraid to use the toilet. I think he just took three steps backwards from what Tampax was initially trying to achieve. I'm just glad they're innovating for down there, and I would suggest it's most likely women. That's great too.

Honestly, Christopher shuddered. But his reaction wasn't dissimilar to my own. I am an awful girl and I don't want to talk about it. I suppose this is very telling but I am very uncomfortable chatting about that topic. Ooops. See below. No no. Not that below. This bellow.

riot gurrrl

monday morning catharsis.

This could possibly be horrific for a boy but not any less horrific than my initial reaction. Because I'm daft and evidently have a traditional vagina.

Morning ritual is reading through all emails, facebook, twitter, blogs, then Guardian. I read virtually every new article on the Guardian everyday (I have now ODed on Michael Jackson and will pass those up). So there was a lovely article on a viral campaign that Tampax is doing where a teenage boy wakes up with a vagina. Poor kid.

So there are some wild tangents I'll be conducting, heading from here to there so try to keep up. I hate the Guardian comments- I think in theory it's a great idea to have a rolling dialogue where the journalist can partake in conversation but practically, people are just too shitty- especially on the internet. I've felt like this for the past year- the internet is now a platform for people to be nasty. Faceless conversations with strangers erupts in some sort of racist fodder (check out YouTube comments for that, it's shocking). I'm just annoyed with people who have no authority exercising their right of speech (fine of course, but because they're faceless, nameless, soulless, it's an excuse to be the worst version of yourself, offering uneducated opinions such as 'why would the Guardian write an article about Twitter at Glastonbury....ummm no one is holding a gun to your inflated head forcing you to read it. That's my biggest pet hate right now, people complaining about content when they're the ones who took the time to read it, and obviously not lured under false pretense, that was the headline: Twitter at Glastonbury). Fuck. I digress.

So yes I hate it. But I am a gross person and evidently a hypocrite because I too read things that evidently I don't want to read but of course must read. I just realised how contradictory that is, but I don't care. Sometimes Guardian comments offer great insights into iced coffee recipes and cheap Euro hostels. But today, post Tampax post, I was reading through and everyone kept commenting on the Mooncup, how the mooncup saved their life, the environmental advantages, the comfort. So my mind had to of course paint a terrified portrait- this article was emphasizing the importance of women discussing their first periods therefore perhaps the attitude of these comments where leaning towards a free love, blessed vagina.

Admittedly, I was scared. But that never stops me from googling things. So I looked this thing up. I don't think I would ever use it myself, but it's wonderful to know that someone has created another option. Hmm...I'm having a difficult time putting this into words. It's like if a tree falls in the woods scenario; or even ignorance is bliss (adamantly disagree). I guess my biggest point is that I'd like to think of myself as a progressive, modern woman of the world but had no idea about silicone cups. Ultimately, you go through life thinking that tampons are your only option and then someone unexpectedly presents you with option B and it's nice, you know?

This probably makes zero sense whatsoever. Which happens from time to time, especially Mondays when I learn something new in a forum which is conducive to pissing me off.

liver-pule

I had my quasi step-sister stay with Chris and I last week. I have funny stories from this week passed but I'm just far too tired to type it all out. Eventually I'll get there. Plus I'm extremely inarticulate today which is a massive hinderance when blogging.

One big highlight of the week was travelling north to Liverpool- where they speak silly and the weather is cold. In all seriousness, I had been once before in 2000 but the city has completely been transformed. And there are no 20 somethings there (as far as I could see). There are loads of 16 year olds mind. So strange though come 7pm in the city where there is no traffic whatsoever. Bit disconcerting yes, but a valued change from London pace.

i am having a bad week

Yes. It hasn't been off to a fantastic start. I'm sort of reliving hysteric episodes I had when I was 16 and moody. Monday night, I thought I might actually kill Chris from his snoring. I saw myself first ripping out his tongue that suffocating him with a pillow. This was 1.30am. This then prompted me to storm into our livingroom, shuffle for extra blankets and try to sleep in there.

Huge problem. I'm now conditioned to sleep with the sound of a fan. Problem solved. Fan over the oven. That's delightful. It then has this metallic shuffle, like bolts too loose rubbing against each other. Plus it's raining outside and it's hitting the grate on our Juliet balcony. Oh dear. Bloody pressure raising to the point of homicidal acts without thoughts of repercussions. Instead I creep back into the other room and endure the snoring whilst clutching my pillow.

On Sunday I caught myself having a conversation with my dad about Rohypnol. Don't want to get into the whole thing because I promise it's not a huge deal, but I mentioned a story pertaining to me, and realised that I shouldn't take about my experiences with Roofies with my father. And a few days prior we were talking about pot and I mentioned that no one smokes pot here in London really, just snorts lots of cocaine, which prompted concern from my father. Why do I keep talking to him about this shit? I think some red flags have been raised for poor Leo because he's very keen for me to come home for a visit now. I've accidentally open a can of worms. But I suppose on the phone I'm very forthcoming with information.

Last night, still reeling from the fact (sad as it is) that I can't play Sims 3 on our Mac because we don't have Leopard, I fired up my old pc laptop which I haven't used in about a year to play the original game. I don't have patience for systems that were designed to run pre-2006. Tedious but eventually sweetly satisfying (a very long eventual).

But to complete my whingeing, Chris made his amazing salsa last night and I ate half a bag of nachos.

Now to get through Hump Day.

from the past few weeks

When it's sunny in Britain, everyone goes mental. This is an amalgamation of photos since it turned sunny here about 3 weeks ago. Discoboat was right outside our window. It's exciting living on the canal in the summertime. Beach shots are from Wales and illegible handwriting is from my journal, which I was writing whilst weaving through narrow English country roads. Picnic shots from first nice weekend at Regent's Park. Mandatory Nando's during the 14 hour Jonas Birthday Epicolash (I just came up with that now).

Re: Journal Entry. please note: Leominster is a running joke now in the Branson household. His parents thought I was a bit nuts but this time, I furnished them with evidence.

I am glad they let me ride with them on the way home.

I tried to bake last night

I tried to bake last night. It was not a disaster. But it wasn't that stupendous either. I had a craving for peanut putter cookies and searched recipes online. I chose the wheat free version. The photo looked delicious. My dough was so sticky and Chris suggested another egg. So I added another egg. And it turned out even stickier. So I added more peanut butter. I was skeptical come this point. I started spooning the batter onto a make-shift cookie tray. I watched them bake for the prescribed 10 minutes. They looked like peanut butter meringues not cookies. I poked them at 12 minutes. They were still squishy in the centre. I kept them in for another 10 minutes. Chris was now skeptical at this point. We let them bake for another 10 minutes. They expanded. We accepted that perhaps they possessed inner-beauty.

Chris found them tasty enough. I thought they were an alright first foray into baking. I'm still craving peanut butter cookies with the crisscross on top. The crumbly, chewy kind. There is a positive though. This hankering in my mind is a reminder that I'm not as violently a housewife as I feared I was becoming. This cookie hole is a reminder.