And at the gate of the embassy our hands met through the bars

my eggs are sad, but i am not because there is a boy in my kitchen making salad.

inside my heart there is a box of spray cans. when it explodes it is going to paint the word LOVE! in every colour on every surface it touches and it will be beautiful.

but for now i am taking a lot of photographs and smiling a lot.

"I'm not surprised but I never feel quite prepared"

Manchester has 'gone weird'.

A man with obvious intentions fed me lines and called me 'delicate'. There is a perfect boy who works in a shop and smiles a lot whenever I look at him. On Monday I spent five hours on the phone with butterflies in my stomach and giggles in my throat. Tonight a friend gave me a pre-loaded Starbucks Card because he was scared to ask me to coffee himself.

What is going on?

please forgive me if my hands are where my head should be

I stayed awake until seven in the morning reading my 2004 – 2006 diary. My life is a succession of destructive relationships and worrying about my face. I slept for five hours and dreamt of people I used to know better.

I wanted to apply for a job so I found an advertisement. The description said “Writer. Online Reviews. 350 a week”. I asked for more details. They said it was to review porn websites. I applied anyway.

I made a lemon sponge cake and took four photographs with my film SLR camera. I feel inspired in a sleepy, distant way. I feel like I have thirty-five poems inside of me. I want to drink coffee with a stranger and sit in a canoe.

I am looking for someone who will love me even though I have a sunburnt nose.

there's nothing prettier than a pretty girl digging a heart-shaped hole in the ground

Still unemployed. Funky bookshops and intimidating pubs do not want me. At the start of the month my Dad was very forthcoming about a chunk of "rainy day"/"emergency" money my family had put aside for me. Now, when I quite need some, he's being remarkably vague. Have they spent my nest egg?



Yesterday I went to a Poetry Reading Event in the Northern Quarter. Becca won a vintage Coronation Street Mug and we wandered around Canal Street with two guys we met at the reading. One was uncomfortably drunk and laughing to himself. Another acted like Stephen Fry on crack. It was fabulous.



My last wisdom tooth is coming through and my gums are infected. My mouth will open approximately three centimetres and then gives up. I am eating a lot of food that can be swallowed without chewing. A trip to the dentist cost me thirty pounds and I nearly cried infront of the receptionist. The mouthwash makes me retch. We'll laugh about this later.

The wine is disgusting but acceptable, largely because it is free

Sometimes I don't know which is worse; the hopelessly depressive or the shameless optimist.

Other times, I know exactly which one I'd least like to be stuck in a room with. I just spent ten minutes of my life fending off "u just have to listen to ur heart not ur head", "follow ur heart n evrything will b alright" statements regarding a previous relationship of mine. Back up, didn't I discuss this with you when I visited Sussex in June? You know, the relationship which I completely threw myself into trying to save? I put every ounce of emotional strength I had into that tragic trainwreck of a situation! I made myself completely vulnerable and was (probably justifiably) destroyed for it in the most heartless of ways. So shut the fuck up, ridiculous facebook user, and don't try to tell me that things happen if you want them badly enough. There's a reason I usually disable the Chat option.

(There's also a reason I made a blog as well, one that doesn't involve "using it as a rant station". But really, judgemental people and the blindly naiive have got to go.)

In other less soul destroying news, my alleged "novel" has lost even more of it's resemblance to fiction with lines such as "My drink tastes of overdraft" (Being poor can be quite inspiring but I feel like a massive hypocrite for mocking Joe when I found out the backbones of his novels were more or less true stories), my housemate Ollie has left on a five week babysitting-job in France and had already secured a coffee date with a gorgeous French boy before she even left the airport (She is some sort of wizard; surely these things only happen in films?) and we are discussing an idea for a collaborative Manchester Blogging Site. I have listened to the entire Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe audiobook and plan to investigate the infamous Deaf Institute tomorrow with remaining housemate Becca. We lead a rock and roll life.