Just have a look left, at what the weather forecast is saying for today.

 

It's lying.

 

It's raining harder than that.

 

Arse.

First thing in the morning waiting for the bus: two girls, aged about fifteen apiece, under an umbrella, walking sedately in the opposite direction.  One brunette, one blonde.  Identically straightened hair, identically short skirts, ballet pumps, holes in tights and shoulder bags.  Identical walks.

 

A pair of beautiful, if slightly unexpected, white-and-rainbow boots, causing one smile to double and two more to occur.

 

Two hours on a train, or not, as the case may be.

 

Two marks on an essay - the ubiquitous A-slash-B that causes two eyebrows to lower and my brain to work at twice its normal speed for a moment (don't worry, I more than made up for it in Maths.  Two practice papers.  Neither even started.  Oops.)

 

A double espresso downed the fastest I've ever managed it.  Which should at least say something.

 

 

On a slightly less ethereal note - or maybe that's not what I mean but it sounds like the right sort of word - gentlemen.  I have an important piece of information for you.  And it is this:  my extensive research has revealed two facts.  Firstly, that it is not just me, a lot of girls find arrogance sexy.  (But please try and make it relatively mature arrogant as opposed to toerag arrogant.)  Therefore you are entirely entitled to be so, as long as you are willing to argue your case a little.  Also fishing for compliments is fully acceptable as long as it is not in a wimpish way.  (As proved by C. H. over the weekend, ahem-hem.)  Secondly (and this can be applied to anyone probably), that if you act like there is someone across the room watching you with interest, there is a 90% chance that that is the case.  How's that for an ego boost?  I don't know, I'm not a bloke.

 

Also apparently I have a masculine mind because I can cope with Maths, actively enjoy it, and am not irritating and whingey.  Ususally.  I'm assuming.  Having said this, I have just painted my nails copper and am feeling thoroughly pleased with myself, so maybe that cancels it out.  Oh well.

 

Feeling very shallow right now.

I found out this morning what Rogation Sunday (i.e. it's today) actually means: it's the official Sunday where the church prays for crops.  Which is nice.

 

I have a sudden urge to buy a cotton print dress and wear it to college, and see who notices.  You can tell I'm getting withdrawal symptoms now, you really can.  Kim Addonizio's "What do women want?" is running through my brain over and over and I'm listening to reflective music and wearing those age-old red patent stilletos that we got two pairs of and then the others she got rid of and I never told her that I felt a little bit hurt by it.  But then that's not how it works.

 

St. George's Day parade was today and I felt a bit out of sorts - no reading or flag-carrying or anything, okay I can go with it, but L seems to think that perhaps because she's my sister when I pass on the message to shut up mid-march when we go past the mayor she doesn't have to listen to me, and can make jokes about how I'm being bossy instead.  First of all, this knocks my (currently a little fragile) confidence somewhat.  Secondly, I mean what a little cow.  That's just asking for it.  Thirdly, as you can see, it has the added effect of making me just about ready for a fight, and thus I have shut myself in my room with my headphones in because whatever happens will be my fault.

 

Humph died yesterday.  What a loss.  I mean wow, there was a great, talented, personable, very clever man.  The world is the poorer without him.

 

There's nothing really I can write after that.

Working with women is bound to be bitchy.  That is how it is.  Because you don't realise you're doing it when you are, and you're permanently thinking other people are doing it when they're not.  A lot of people are a lot more naive than I originally gave them credit for, which is a good thing in a few cases and a terrible thing in others.  Give some people access to a grievance procedure and you won't know what you've unleashed.  And incidentally fuck you is it solidarity.  Moods swing; when you try and do the right thing that's all that matters.

 

Ooh!  Nice thing: pay rise.  15p.  Cheers.  B and I calculated that this is about £1.16 per day, don't spend it all at once.  It's a nice thought.

 

What I wanted to do this evening was play a dozen games of Solitiare, continue with Scrabble, write a bit, read a bit, and sleep.  This is not feasible, we have people over (in five minutes; they've nipped out for a takeaway).  I love aforementioned people, and besides, they know too much.  But I do not want to be sociable tonight.  I am not in the mood.

 

May excuse myself after the meal - I said I'd ring M (and he always rings when he says he will, which is apparently a delicious rarity and is therefore fully representative of him in general) so that shall be done.

 

Tomorrow, two church services and a parade through the middle of Romsey.  Apparently it's going to rain.

 

Jamiroquai's Virtual Insanity is not only a really catchy song but it also reminds me of what I keep losing.  I am convinced that Bradbeers plays it directly before Pet Shop Boys It's A Sin just to spite me in the most contrary and unexpected way they can find.

 

Somebody cheer me up, please.  I feel dull mottled grey.

The reason I love my Guides so much is that they'll have a go at anything.  They've got a bit about them, nobody's going to shy away from things as too undignified or difficult, they're equally at home lobbing eggs at each other, or doing silly walks across a field, or playing pass the parcel.  They'll all - well, for the most part - get along with each other and get on with things and there's no pissing about or wimping out.

 

New kid today.  I don't think we've ever had one who needs her hand holding and who cries in a corner when someone asks her her name before.  And it's not even like she didn't know anyone.  I mean that's crippling, poor kid.  But I know her sister, her sister used to go, and she's brilliant.  She'd muck in as well, and she'd talk to everyone.  I don't know, I can't understand it.  But seriously.  My god.

 

Camping makes me happy.  Group camp doubly so.  Enough for the time being at least.

 

 

 

(EDIT)  On an entirely different note, "The 21st Century Girl's Guide to Sex" on Channel Five is an entirely acceptable reason to stay up late.  Also, "Clinical Sexologist Phd" is the most fantastic qualification I've ever seen.

In Romsey today on the way home, I went via the post office to post a letter, and everything was closed.  Ten past six, it was.  All closed.  This isn't so surprising if you know Romsey, but I thought I had a while til the train so I'd go into the Abbey, because I haven't in ages, and I'd light a candle, perhaps, and just think for a bit about things.  Listen to the organist practise, or the choir.

 

When I got to the Abbey, there was a line of youngsters sat along the wall eating chips, which made me smile.  The smell of vinegar permeated the air, but I didn't mind because it's nice to see people being comfortable at this time of evening.  So I walked up to the church door and it was locked.  Inside the Abbey it was dark.  And I felt a little like I'd been failed, because I've never been to the Abbey before when it's not open.  I walked around the back, to see if I could sit in the gardens instead, but the gates were chained shut.

 

As I walked up towards the railway station, St John's Garden was gated shut as well, and I felt like Romsey had moved on without me and didn't want to know any more.  That's irrational, of course it is, but I was so close to crying, just at that moment.

 

And then at the train station I got onto the wrong train and ended up going as far as Salisbury and back.  I got home about eightish.  I felt a bit empty at the time.  It was just so bright out, it still felt like daytime and yet, everyone was packing up.

 

In Maths this morning, someone commented on my copy of Jonathan Strange on the desk - it's about 1000 pages - I think they asked me if I was enjoying it.  And I am, so I said yes.  But apparently I'm too enthusiastic.  I haven't felt furtive about reading since I was twelve and the word "boffin" was bandied about as an insult.

 

I wish there was someone I could tell to stop, please, you're going too fast.  But there's just me.  And I don't know if I want to stop.  I'm too impatient.  Oh I DON'T KNOW.

 

The rest of today was really good, really, although I've had a lot to think about, at the very end of my nose.  Sigh.

Although perhaps, like every girl, I am liable occasionally to be called so, I am NOT a cow.  I quote here three particular reasons:

And therefore this means I am not a cow.  If anything, I am a bitch and fucking hell won't you know it.

 

Something important that happened today: I got metaphorically kicked in the teeth by someone I can't answer back to.  The reason I can't answer back is that I would like to remain in my job for the next few months, and hopefully get invited back on occasions in months, or perhaps years, to come.  I don't like biting my tongue like this.  I want to scream or fight back or something, something at least, but I just don't have the energy.

 

Something else important that happened today: my support network retreated.

 

The rest is silence.

I would like to point out right about now that I have just fallen head over heels in "I-do-that-too!!" and admiration for Susanna Clarke.  Not only is her wonderful book fantastic (and again shameless plug, not that I do this at all regularly but seriously - READ IT) but the following:

Also chocolate.  Which I am about to disappear in search of.  Or maybe toast.  Getting up would be a cunning plan right about now - !!!! just spotted it's half past eleven.  How did that happen?!  Brainache.

 

Oh. My. God.  Just had the shock of my life, almost.  It's beginning to get dark, I'm home alone tonight, there was nobody home all yesterday either.  So imagine my shock when I see that the light in the office (aka, another building in the middle of the garden.  My parents work there) is on.  OH. FUCK.  I don't particularly like going outside at home at night (I know, and yet fine camping.  But still) so thinking there's someone skulking round the office at night is a little petrifying.  So anyway I went over there and it was empty, thank God, but I'm still a little put off.

 

Also I am convinced I must be some kind of ogre as people never tell me things until it's far, far too late.  What do you think, I'm going to insist that you are euthanased right this minute?  Or perhaps I'll make you feel really guilty, or never speak to you again?  I'm not as innocent or judging as you think, obviously, and on top of that I don't tell everyone everything I hear.  Really.  For god's sake, I'm not TWELVE.

 

I really want to muck about with a camera for a bit.  What are you thinking?  Now really that was entirely unnecessary.  But yes, I confess that to begin with that was what I was thinking too.  I don't know.