My redemption lies in the fact that I promise, really hard, never to post any like these ever again.
(The last one is to maintain the twat-to-repentance equilibrium.)
Fuck your quirks
In Jacob’s room in Uxbridge.
Moving out of a house is always fun for finding little treasures that’ve been lost most of the year. This isn’t one of them, but it does seem to imply that I was a member of the undead circa 2009.
Still feeling pretty faacking achey from Tuesday. Pacey and I visited Josh in Kingston and we were out for 7 hours straight in Bushy park & the Royal Gardens armed only with a frisbee and some roll-ups. It’s consistently gorgeous, somewhere an old monarch will have swanned around free of the inconvenience of peasants etc. Apart from the surreal presence of the Kingston parakeets zooming around obnoxiously, there seemed to be deer lazing around in the heat pretty much everywhere, some of them with magpies casually perched on their antlers. (Apparently when there was a late-summer heatwave a few years ago, the deer got unusually horny for that time of year and started running around flailing viciously at unassuming tourists.) By the time the sun finally came out, we were making our way down a half-mile long tree-lined stretch, like an all-grass version of The Mall, and then to the Diana memorial fountain.
Tomorrow is graduation, for which I haven’t got my gowns and will have to hope that the slave drones at the almighty Ede & Ravenscroft can find me some in the morning that don’t make me look like I’m wearing fancy dress. Apparently the olympic torch is passing through Guildford tomorrow, coinciding exactly with the end of the music ceremony/reception and setting off outside the Cathedral, where we’ll be. Nice to see we’ll be getting the extra support. On Saturday Matt and I are going up to Sheffield for Tramlines. In an ideal world my left-over student loan/bursary will also last me until after a) the Olympic Tennis next month, b) our going to London for the Bauhaus exhibition at the Barbican/Writing Britain at the British Library, c) Beacons Festival and d) Interrailing. I’m getting my hopes up. Fuckity-bye.
Old polaroids, partially expired film, Norwich, 2008-09.
