Armistice Day

I didn't get to observe the silence at 11 o'clock because of damn bloody clients. I think I will wander up to the attic and have a moment on my own before I go to bed.

When I was fifteen or sixteen, I got horribly upset by the war poetry we studied at school. (I was going to say overwrought, but I'm not sure you can be over-anything about war. I was pretty damn wrought, though.) I think I was just getting my head round some of the abominable shit that people really will do. Also, Siegfried Sassoon appealed to my teenage self in his totally unsubtle, blistering rage (with extra cool points for being queer). I didn't really get Owen so much until later.

We had a family holiday in the north of France around that time, and I bawled and snottered my way around the war cemeteries. I was a real joy to be around when I was fifteen, did I mention?

Meh. I know I have more to say, but it ain't coming. What do you say about something like this? I've never been within sniffing distance of a war, and I pray I never will. I haven't got the balls to pretend I know what I'm talking about here.

High Barnet

I have a very clear picture of this in my head, and I really want to do something better with it. The title of this post was a total afterthought, I swear.

Drorin

Documenting the phenomenon of the MySpace Angle. On the internet, everyone has amazing cheekbones. Please disregard the hot mess I made of her mouth.

Several days in the life

Hell, I didn't realise I hadn't written since the 26th. Time flies and so on. Yay Obama. Fuck Prop 8. And all that.

I've had two Cardigan Therapist visits since my last entry, making four total. She continues to wear a different cardigan each time. Last session she told me to get out more. With this in mind, I might go to the Boogaloo Blues Festival in town on Sunday. We'll see.

We're now into the second series of Babylon 5. This episode has Howlin' Mad Murdoch! Playing...a crazy guy. How I love me some Murdoch. Oh oh oh! And Garibaldi is not only cute, but damaged goods AND still a really nice guy. Plus, he can cook. Sigh.


In other news, I spent the weekend in Manchester, which is where I went to university (Salford, actually, but you know what I mean). Unfortunately, my dear favourite pub sacked my dear favourite DJ while I wasn't looking. Garrumph. Fuckers. However, the rest of it was smashing. I wore a dress on Saturday night and felt a bit foxy - one or two boys even looked at me! That never usually happens. I wasted lots of money on beer and in jukeboxes. And when I came home, the Owl brought me roses. I was deeply impressed.

All in all, this week beats the last few by miles. Now, if only I can draw something that's not utter shite, I'll be made.