If Your Memory Serves You Well

Bond had never been sure which view he like more; the one from the night time, or the one from the morning after. The nights lent themselves to shadows slanting across stretches of smooth skin, hands tangling in sheets and half admitted names taken on broken breaths. The nights are sin, and glamour, and that singular beauty that connects every human being on this filthy, dirty planet.

No, Bond prefers the view from the morning after. When everything becomes clean again, and the make up and masks are washed away. When lies stay in dreams, and reality comes with waking up. Bond suspects that people are not unlike an etch-a-sketch. The lines build up over the day, and sleep shakes them free. Some people, of course, are more memorable than others. The ones that stand out are those who shed the lies like a old coat, too big, too hot.

I'll Die In A Millets

My family like camping. They go quite often, sometimes with friends. They spend quite a lot of time in outdoor shops, looking at walking boots and mmming and ahhing over various types of cheap water proof coats, or using long words to describe tents. 
When they go camping, they go to all the local attractions, and use vouchers in restaurants with scrubbed, pine wood tales. They go walking in large, wet fields, and eat slightly damp sandwiches while sitting on half rotten benches, while nodding about how very pretty that hill in the distance is. 

This weekend, I saw a film called Sightseers.

And, oh God, I am never sleeping again. That film pretty much described almost everyone I am related to, then threw in a nice big glass of murder. And it was awesome. 
It's the two people you would simultaneously both least, and most expect to be murderers, and the charactarisations are just so ridiculously actuate, it's untrue. I know that the image of a desperate, attention seeking elderly mother has cropped up more than a few times in our house. 
The murders were good, old fashioned Monty Python murders. The sort where you can practically smell the plastic tube having fake blood pumped out of it. And for a spot of comical genius, how do you cope wish someone being run over? Put paper towels down on the bloodstains. 

A Conversation I Never Had About Hammers

Shop Assistant (hereby known as SA): Good afternoon madam, do you need any help?

Me: So, yeah, I need to buy a hammer?

SA: Right, what sort if hammer are you looking for, madam?

Me: I don't know, just one that, y'know, hammers things.

SA: Right... what sort of things do you need to.. um, hammer, madam?

Me: Uh, nails, I guess. Like, not the nails on my fingers, cause that would just be stupid. Just regular, metal nails into wood. I don't really know what else people would ever actually need to hammer. I mean, I don't need a fancy hammer, just a regular hammer. Also, the cheaper the better. But not at that point of cheapness that it works once, then breaks, because that could be unfortunate. I don't want to be hammering something, and then just have the head fall off, and wow, that sounds weird. But yeah, I totally saw that happen to a guy once. He was just hammering the floor, and then the head just fell off. Actually, it wasn't even a hammer. It was a spade. And he was digging a ditch. But it's basically the same thing, amiright?

SA: ...Um.

And then he left. Possibly forever. And no, I don't know what that means either.


Disclaimer: This conversation never happened, apart from in my head. Please don't ask me why I had an imaginary conversation with myself about hammers, but it probably has something to do with the fact that I am going to be terrible at living alone. 

Hipsters and Holli (I Never Said The Two Were Mutually Exclusive)

I had a moment the other day. One of those moments where your first thought is I have to blog about this. 
I was in Starbucks with my Mum, because we were in town and she was hungry, and I needed a wee. We were sat drinking tea and sharing a sandwich, when these two boys walked in. The first was wearing a tan frock coat, knitted scarf, winkle picker shoes, and that adorable hairstyle, where its all short at the sides, and longer and slicked back at the top. The second boy was taller, and dressed identically to the first one, only with a black coat. 
So these two kids walk in, and the first one instantly goes, "Ugh, so many hipsters."
I contemplated this statement after I had finished braining myself on the table due to the fact that I was laughing too hard, and I came up with this:

1. Those boys were the most hipster kids I had seen all day.
2. It's a Starbucks. That's like walking into a prison and going "Ugh, so many murderers." 
3. The only people apart from me and Mum were hundreds of very harassed parents with toddlers.

So, honey, I think you might be a little confused. I don't know, maybe they'd just walked in and accidently glimpsed a mirror.

I'd just like to take a chance to say best wishes to HB on her 18th. Baby, you will realize why I chose this post to mention it when you see your present tomorrow. I hope you like it. (4/4)

Why I Would Make A Terrible Bond Girl

So I act, right? I love it. Which means that quite often, after I've seen a film, I imagine what it would be like if it was real, and I put myself in different character roles, and different scenes, and it's great. So, of course, I tried doing this with some of the Bond Girls, and, um, it came out a little differently...

Bond walks into a bathroom, dropping his shirt on the way. Sévérine is already in the shower, running her hands through her hair. Bond steps in behind her, moving his hands around her waist. 
Sévérine: Hold up, bitch. The hell do you think you're doing? You can't just wander in here and get all touchy feely. When did we ever agree to that? What if I was on my period, huh? Then we'd both be screwed. Plus, I haven't shaved my legs in like, three months. I mean, I dunno, maybe you're a feminist and you're cool with that, or whatever, but I'm just saying it's something to be aware of. 

Bond and Sévérine are sat at a bar together, the latter drinking champagne  the former, a martini (shaken, not stirred).
Sévérine: What do you know? 
Bond: Well, it takes a certain type of woman to wear a backless dress with a Beretta 70 strapped to her thigh. 
Sévérine: Yes. A boring one. I prefer a shotgun stuck down the cleavage. 
Bond: Wha- 
Sévérine: Also I have throwing knives tied to my elbows.
Bond: I- 
Sévérine: And a machete on my shin.
Bond: But- 
Sévérine: Also I'm not 100% sure what the structure of my dress has to do with my weaponry. 

Bond and Moneypenny stand together in an office of MI6. Bond turns to walk away, as Moneypenny watches him go. 
Bond: In your defense, a moving target is much harder to hit.
Moneypenny: Who says I missed, motherfucker?


Or, you know, just maybe...
Bond walks into a bathroom, dropping his shirt on the way. Sévérine is already in the shower, running her hands through her hair. Bond steps in behind her, moving his hands around her waist. 
Sévérine: The hell did you get on my boat?

My Life Would Be So Much Easier If I Just Didn't Have Lungs

I'm ill, and it sucks. I hate being ill, because I do little enough at the best of times, but when I'm ill, my productivity drops below freezing. Actually, I just came up with a good system: from now on I shall measure productivity in temperature.

Anyway, I am ill, and I have so voice, which sucks balls, because this week alone I should have three drama lessons, one singing lesson, one elocution lesson, and one goddamn drama exam, which I now probably won't be able to do, if I can't talk by Saturday. Ew.
Plus, I missed media yesterday, which is always a downer, because my media teachers are incredible (especially MH, becuase unlike most teachers, he actually seems human, and isn't afraid to bully me, and accept to be bullied back).

Speaking of teachers, we had a fire drill the other week, while HB and I were doing some work, so we trudged outside, and I shoved my hat on, because it was freezing. As soon as it was over, we decided to go get a cup of tea before going back to work. I figured that since we'd only be inside for about five minutes, I'd leave my hat on, no one would care. Wrong, one of the teachers told me to take it off, and told me to not wear it again (it's against uniform rules). I said yes Sir, sorry Sir, because I'm a good student (honest). Then I saluted him. Because I'm a dick. Now he's out for my blood. 
We told MH about it later, and he made me fall off my chair, because I was laughing too hard at him skipping around the room singing about capitalism. I love school. 


Things I love while I'm stuck feeling sorry for myself:

Salvador Dali Eating A Bowl Of Surreal 
This Bat Skeleton Tattoo
Map Of The Roots Of State Names, Translated Into English
Knickerocker

Check out my tumblr

No, I Don't Think You Understand, I Am Q.

It was my brothers 18th this week! Congrats to him for living this far. He went out and got a tattoo of a compass on his shoulder. I am yet to see it and pass judgement.

Speaking of tattoos, my brother, step daddy and I all went to see the new Bond film last weekend (I'm getting round to the tattoos, honest). I'll be honest, I've never really seen a Bond film before. I've seen bits of some of the old ones (hello speed boat gondola), and once saw the beginning of Casino Royal, but didn't like the explosions. And I had no idea what was going on.
So I'll admit, I went into that cinema with very low expectations. However, there were two things I hadn't counted on; my developing love of cartoon violence, and Ben Wishaw. 
Let me clarify, my mother mentioned him to me the other day, and I thought, 'Oh, he's cute, I guess', and then thought no more about it. But goddamn, that man is a blessing on the acting world. Also, I am Q. Fact.
When I put glasses on, We do look disarmingly similar, especially the hair. Unfortunately  this has rather gone to my head, and I don't think my teachers are taking too well to the requests that they only call me by my initials. 

Oops, right, tattoos. Every time I end up in a new fandom, I always come up with a related tattoo that I will one day end up getting done. This time, it is 00Q on the inside of my left wrist. Because, my god, perfect couple. 

I'll be honest though, it was an incredible film. The plot was excellent, the dialogue to die for, and cinematography that would make the director of Sherlock weep. The only argument I have against it is that if you know you're going to be chasing assassins though Turkey, please invest in a tie pin. Honestly, it would have made the whole job much similar. Or you just wear practical clothing, instead of a very expensive suit.

In summary: I am Q, go see Skyfall.

What If Merlin Was A TV Cook?

In a time of cake, the destiny of a great bakery rests on the shoulders of a young chef. 

I am so, so not sorry for that.

(Background: James Morton from GBBO @ replied JW on twitter, and she made a joke that it was a sign. Then this happened.)

So There Was This Hat

I bought a hat last week. 

"Big deal!" I hear you cry. But no, wait, you don't understand. Let me show you.

Meet Anna Dello Russo, editor with Vogue Japan, and amazing fashion designer. She recently released a collab range with H&M.

Sexy box for a sexy hat. I could live in that thing, it's huge. 

 I was watching a program with my mother a while back called Show Us Your Wardrobe, and it was an episode featuring Paloma Faith. She showed off a hat that had been sent to her from H&M, to help with publicity.
I fell in love.

That is one big ass bird on your head there, Az.

So yes, I went out and bought the hat. I somehow, magically, got it half price, and I know that some people had been queuing for hours the day the range was launched to get their dirty mits on it.

Kind of a sexy bird, though. Right?

I am a very lucky fashionista.

Just A Quickie

Oooh, I haven't been on here for a while.

OOPS.

Live with it, it's my blog. ANYWAY, I've been busy. Like really busy. Let me tell you...
So I had my school play, which, oh God, it was amazing. Honestly, we did Dahling You Were Marvelous, a mostly unknown comedy by Steven Berkoff. It's an ensemble piece, featuring a horse of stuck up actors, directors, writers and designers all waiting for their big break, alternately complementing and bitching to each other in a ritzy West End cafe, after a show. I was playing a bloke (har har har), called Sid, a left-y fringe elitist, with a passion for expensive champagne. I loved him. 
My Dad moved house! He's in Wales now, in a sweet little bungalow, near his mum and my step mothers parents. It's nice, I know the area pretty well, and I've got my wee doglett up there, so yeah, Lot of getting used to, but it's nice. Also, I have a kick ass en suit. 
I have my grade seven speech and drama exam in two weeks! Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it, but OH GOD it's scary. I have one last piece to learn, as well as my theory. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. Fingers crossed. 
On a similar vein, I'm doing a concert with my singing teacher next month, which, I'll be honest, I'm terrified about. I'll be doing a solo (!!!) of Let It Snow. I have to sit down, or I do the Nervous Sway. To be honest, I never stop doing the Nervous Sway, so I think I'm ballsed for life. 


THINGS I LOVE THIS WEEK

Neil Gaiman's books
Amanda Palmer's music 
This photo of the Queen
This blog post about Merlin

Whats new on my tumblr... 

Fuck Yeah Thespian Peacock is my life