a wingspan unbelievable i'm a festival i'm a parade

This time last week, I was comfortably immersed in a bottle of white wine. This is tradition for all Barton Birthdays once you turn 18, unless you are my father - in which case you immerse yourself in three martinis, two bottles of white, one red, one sticky. Me, on the other hand, spent the weekend quaffing Pimms and Lemonade, Champagne and Sauvignon Blanc. I am nothing if not classy.

My Festival Of Me began on Friday June 5th, when I careened into my final tutorials for International Relations and English. Being the last day of semester, we were doing something 'relaxed' and 'fun.' Trivia competitions. I gave the 'relaxed' and the 'fun' the stink eye by winning both and going home to far more chocolate than should be humanly possible to digest. I passed out into a chocolate induced coma for a few hours before dragging my mother into the city to see Disgrace (detailed in my previous blog entry). We had a nice time out, my mother admitting that I looked 'nice'. High praise indeed. And we had no arguments, which is akin to Israel and Palestine suddenly having a giant party together. Most mother daughter relations are like that.

Saturday began with the instigation of what may become a new tradition. Oh, who am I kidding? Clearly what I did Saturday morning is a habit of mine every time I'm hungry but don't feel like eating in the city. I went to Max Brenner and had a large Italian. um. Large Italian Thick Dark Hot Chocolate. That's possibly better than a Large Italian, to be honest. Then I saw Overlord (again, see previous blog entry), which was in the freeeeeezing Art Gallery of NSW Theatre. I defrosted myself by charging through the sun drenched Domain and into Myer where I solved a sartorial challenge that had been plaguing my mother and brother in less than 5 minutes. My mother was in a tizzy as my brother owns no 'smart clothing'. They had been traipsing through the Sydney shops trying to find a coat that "wasn't expensive, but warm, but not overly la-dee-dah", because Jeremy has a tendency to 'lose' things (ie put them down and never pick them up but instead continue on his merry way until someone points out that he's missing something, by which time its too late to go back) They had been at this for a good hour before I showed up and produced a nifty peacoat off a rack that they had missed. Not expensive, not la-dee-dah (whatever that means, my mother has her own language). Done. Over. Shopping for me time. Which meant going to KIT, my absolute favourite make up store ever. The lovely Amber covered my face in stuff, I don't know what, possibly Spackle, glitter and concrete. I looked awesome. And then I went to see YovankAH, my hairdresser, who tutted at my fringe, which came to my top lip "this stopped being a fringe along time ago, darling". She chopped, dyed and spruced my hair. Then she spent half an hour shouting at my hair to make it stay in Victory Curls. One can of hairspray later, with instructions to spray more hairspray as soon as possible. There was no way my hair was going to change for about three years. There might be a new hole in the ozone layer because of my vanity.


But I looked AWESOME. And once I got home, got some red lippy on, my fantastic Glasgow Dress, I was ready for a night on the town.

This is me, having a good night out. After several drinks and several drinks (hence the shiny). Note my total awesomeness, which would lead you to think that I know how to swing dance, right? Well, I don't. I made an idiot of myself. But everyone at the Roxbury was very lovely, and Libby Bre Lizzle and I were asked to dance by many lovely boys, including this guy
Dead serious, Roux from Chocolat was there. And woah. He totally didn't mind how rubbish I was, mostly because Bre Libby and Lizzle all have some semblance of coordination (which gets suspiciously better as they get drunker). So we danced alllllllll night. And drank. The music was fantastic old big band swing music, which is my new favourite dancing music. Libby and I discussed the merits of building a time machine in order to go back in time, learn how to swing dance, come back and wow Roux, as well as the guy who sort of looked like the one Jonas Bother who isn't totally creepy. Eventually we danced our way out of the Roxbury, heartsandheads buzzing, feet a flutter and grins on our faces.

I staggered home, couldn't be bothered to attempt dismantling my hair. I went to sleep, fully expecting to awaken to a giant frizzball in the morning.



Instead, I awoke to my hair looking exactly the same. Not a hair out of place. Which was slightly creepy, really. So I spent Sunday, the 7th of June, my last day of being 20, terrified that moving would mean my hair would fall apart and be an irreversible mess. The thought of washing it never even entered my little hungover head.

Sunday Night, I descended upon the Shakespeare with Lizzle, her boyfriend The Beard, Libby, Kathryn, Kirstin and Danny. I wanted a quiet boozy night full of laughter and adoration for me. Which I got, mostly by dint of bringing my own cake.


Thats Libby and I, along with my Victory Curls. And my cake


And there we are again! How lovely!
I demanded they all sing Happy Birthday to me, which they did. I don't think I could have grinned much more.

We had a splendid time, so much better than being in some seedy bar with people I haven't seen in years who I don't really like, with speeches about drunken things I've done. Instead, everyone shared stories of their favourite Maddie Moments, the best being Kirstin's tale of our school camping adventures, when we cried over tent pegs which wouldn't go in the frozen ground.
Then when we did get the pegs in, the tent blew over in the night.

I was very lucky in the presents given to me by my friends.
Libby gave me a sonic screwdriver pen:



Kathryn gave me 21 pairs of stockings:

Bre gave me a screenpainting, which I think is an interpretation of me:

and Lizzle gave me much swag:


a Bartons Almond Kisses Tin
(which has inspired me to make some Almond Kisses)

Babooooshka Earrings
(made by Lizzle)


Dinosaur Buttons!!!
I can't wait to put these on something...
I'm thinking a skirt and cardigan set?


A MUSTACHE NECKLACE
presumably given to try to get me to stop
whinging about Brandon Flowers lack of facial hair.
Sorry Lizzle, I'm still distraught.


A bag that she MADE.
GAH. When I opened this, I was gobsmacked that someone
would go to that much effort. For me?


A new ipod case. It looks like it has a face! And is cuddly!

Lizzle also made me a beautiful swing skirt, but I haven't got photos of it yet. But suffice to say, I was completely blown away by the effort she went to.
She's truly wonderful, and I'd be saying that regardless of what she gave me.
(I just wish she'd let me take a photo of her and me!!!)

So after that giftage orgy (although Lizzle gave me presents on tuesday) I once again staggered home, having drunk much more than I thought I had. I did however manage to dismantle my victory curls. I am determined to master them and wear them at least once a week.

On the morning of my 21st birthday, my mother woke me up.
By jumping on me, and squealing in her own brand of crazy-mum-talk.
I responded by burping in her face.
She told me that I hadn't been born yet.

Faced with that existential crisis ( I was born at 6.30 am in the UK, which is like, 7pm in Sydney, so when do I get to celebrate my birthday?) I went to see Sunshine Barry and The Disco Worms. A toddler pulled my hair. See previous post for details. Then I went back to bed for a bit. In the evening my family took me, my new dress and my new shoes out to dinner. I wish I had better photos, but they're all on my dad's camera, and we sent him to Vienna this week (what else can you do with a dad, I wonder?) so you'll have to wait. All the photos on my camera make me look like Wednesday Adams being attacked by a parrot.

Dinner was lovely, the food grand, the wine even more grand. My family were all in fantastic moods, which is rare for us. There was much laughing, toasting of drinks to me, drinking of drinks by me. Oh, and the gift orgy continued, with money from my Grandma, itunes cards from Lisa and Daniel, a new tartan skirt from Granny & Phil (no photos as the size was a bit off, sadly), and this from the Wicked Step Aunt:

her name is Maria, and she used to be a pillowcase. She fits like a dreamyglove, and everyone is jealous of her :)

But the best present of all came from my parents.

A Limited Edition Sailor "Creatures of The Deep" Octopus Fountain Pen
no 65 of 88

I know, right?
My lust and longing for this pen began in Geneva, nearly a year ago. You can't really see how beautiful it is from these photos but it's divine.When Dad and I saw this pen, I announced that I would have it for my 21st birthday, he informed me that I'd "be lucky to get a kick up the backside".

Best thing about this pen is that (and this will sound trite) but I feel like having something so lovely to write with has given me a bit of confidence back, so my writing has been happening!

All in all, I had a brilliant birthday weekend; spending it with people who I love and care for, and who love and care for me. There was much laughter, much dancing, much nostalgia of the "remember when she did this....?" type.

I'm not one for big parties, but this? This was pretty awesome.


And I won't apologise if it looks like I'm showing off, so there.








gah. i promise i'll blog more with shakespeare's 'brevity is the soul of wit' in mind.
also, i hate photobucket and html and technology in general

saving it up, spending it all on moving pictures

I noticed this afternoon, (after an embarrassing incident with my chemist) walking home in the winter sun, enjoying the way my new bird skirt swishes, that people are still using the telephone box on the corner of my street to order drugs.

Glamorous, Croydon is not.

I've had a bit of glamour in my life recently. What with my Festival Of Me, the Sydney Film Festival and the Vivid Festival. Although I'm still confused as to what Vivid actually was, apart from Brian Eno doing lots of talking and the Opera House being very prettily decorated with lights.
As for the Festival Of Me, you'll have to wait a few more hours because I need my brothers help with photographs. But I can tell you it was the absolute best birthday I've had in years.
Sadly though, the Sydney Film Festival? Not so fabulous.

I love film, adore it. I'll probably grow up into one of those women who wears all black and a red pashmina across her expansive bosom (or in my case, pillow that I'll shove up my cashmere jumper). There'll be an asymmetrical hairdo and I'll wave a Birkin bag around. I'll be fabulous and I'll use words like Bourgeois and Dilettante. I'm thoroughly looking forward to it, because then I'll be able to enjoy the Sydney Film Festival a bit more than I did this year. I'll tell you all the annoying stuff first, so that you can think badly of me, then I'll redeem myself. That's a rarity with me.

The most annoying thing (after the grand ticketing debacle and the website monstrosity) was the Knowing Laughs. The people who sit behind you (usually behind, so that you can't throw anything at them) and make these "ah" and "a-HA!" noises at ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. One feels like turning around and going "What? What am I possibly missing in this leaky Soviet drama about mud? Really? Please tell me, maybe then the two of us can annoy everyone else with our shared guffawing." The most aggravating of these incidents occurred when my mother and I went to see Disgrace, which is heart wrenching. This woman sat in front of us and tittered to herself during the introduction of the film. Then she apparently knew everything about Lord Byron and wanted us all to know she understood the complexities of him. Lady, I've studied Byron twice, both times resulting in HDs. But the worst bit was when she turned and tutted at my mother. My mother had a cold, and was crying, so therefore may have sniffed. It's not like other people weren't doing it. But this lady turned around and went "TUT" as if she pitied my mother for being moved by John Malkovich, South Africa and the utter futility of the movie. I think my mother's reaction was probably more what the film maker was going for, really.

So that was the most annoying thing about the Film Festival. Perhaps because I was one of the younger people there, and I'm so painfully insecure that you could mistake me for song by The Smiths some days. Or perhaps because its when the North Shore-ites all venture to the CBD and start ranting. That's probably it. Not me at all. Nope.

Annoying thing number two: The Red Carpet. There were several films that were premieres, and alot of them were Australian, which was fantastic. But there was one film, which I enjoyed immensely, but nearly didn't make it too, thanks to Teri Hatcher. Ms Hatcher seems lovely. But she's also teenytiny and really doesn't need a red carpet that's three metres wide and takes up the entire entrance to the cinema, so that all us regular people have to try to negotiate a space about two feet wide. And of course everyone stops and tries to get their phones out to take photos so that they can say they were there. Whatever that means. I elbowed my way up and bolted into the cinema. And then the film didn't start for another 20 minutes, because Ms Hatcher couldn't get up her 3m wide red carpet for some reason. Traffic, maybe? I think the cult of the camera phone is what I'm railing against, because I really do think it's nice to see artists get some recognition.


There were other things that annoyed me, but I'm aware that most of them stem from my painfully ridiculous tendency to over think and be over paranoid. It's something I'm working on, because if I don't, they'll probably have to start medicating me with something other than Pimms and Smarties.

So. Films That I Saw. In Order. With Links. And Ratings Out Of 5. Hurrah!

1. Bluebeard (France).
I was expecting something much raunchier from this movie, but the four girls who played the two pairs of sisters (one set in Medieval/Mythical France, the other in 1930s France, I think) were so mesmerising, so natural that I didn't mind. It was a much more sympathetic take on the traditional Bluebeard story, so much so that when Bluebeard's crime is revealed, it's difficult to understand his motivation. I think this is because the focus is on sisterhood, and the way familial relationships haven't really changed. The mis-en-scene is cold, chilling French woodland that feels mystical yet hollow. However there are some frustratingly amateur shots (that set off the Knowing Laughs). On the whole though, this is a quintessential French film that will leave you thinking about sisterhood, more than anything else. I'm looking forward to seeing more from Lola Creton and Daphine Baiwar, who played the Medieval set of sisters. 3/5


2. Four Nights With Anna (Czech) + Us (no link)(France)
Us is a short film based on a Dictaphone recording made by a French Policeman as he investigates an apartment. He discovers a body that appears to have been there for quite sometime. The audio is juxtaposed with images of a family having a day at the beach, which creates a contrast much more moving when viewed. 4/5
Four Nights with Anna was frustrating, frustrating. I should have known it would be when the two men sitting behind me began ranting about Claire Stewart's (SFF director) wardrobe choices, before diverging to recent Czech films they had enjoyed. That aside, what was frustrating (and this turned out to be a characteristic of a few other films I saw) was the deliberate distance between the audience and the film. I enjoy a bit of mystery, I enjoy having to work to understand a film, but what seems typical of Eastern Bloc films is the way they just refuse to let you in, refuse to let you understand. In this film we see a Crematorium worker, who appears to have intellectual difficulties, repeatedly break into a woman's room to paint her toenails. It's kind of creepily sweet, the way he falls in love with her and cleans up for her. But at the same time, the thought of anyone ever doing that to me sends me into a terrified rage. This film would have been better had it been tightened in the editing room. The jumps between the past and present weren't really necessary. And the ending was just trite. 1.5/5

3. Disgrace (South Africa/Australia)
(This film was produced in NSW, so apparently it counts as Australian. I dunno, ask Premier Rees.) This film is based on a book by J.M. Coetzee. I've always meant to read it, even though I gathered its a fairly harrowing read. The film. Oh my. I can't say Ｉenjoyed this film, even though it's one of the best films I saw. John Malkovich is just perfectly clinical and composed, to the point where he stops being Malkovich and is David Lurie. All the actors in this film are fantastic, and every time I think about this movie, my heart cracks. This is what a good movie should do, it should leave you thinking about the world, it should leave you with an emotion, regardless of what emotion it is. Although I wouldn't/couldn't see this movie again, nor read the book, I would suggest that you see it because it is brilliant. Just make sure you have tissues, something to cuddle and something positive to do afterwards. 4/5 (I'm deducting a point for the ruination of my makeup, which was supposed to be waterproof but failed miserably)

4. Overlord (UK)
This black and white film came out in 1975. It's a fantastic documentation of the D-Day Landings at Normandy, June 6th 1944, which means I saw it on the 65th anniversary of D-Day. The film uses archival footage of the preparations for D-Day, which was codenamed Overlord. The director, Stuart Cooper (who was at the screening) used footage from the Imperial War Museum archives, and interspersed it with new footage based on the training that a reluctant solider, Tom, goes through. This lends the film a more personal edge, as well as some wonderful comic moments. It's impossible to tell which footage is which, really, and the whole thing manages to capture the horror of war and the black humor of it all. There's horrifying footage of London being bombed, and there's sweet imagery of Tom trying to make sense of it all. If you can get hold of it, do so. 4.5/5

5. Sunshine Barry & The Disco Worms (Denmark) + Little Dinosaurs (Scotland)
I love dinosaurs. So a short film about little dinosaurs who get beaten up by a big dinosaur, then take their revenge? I was so there. So were many many squawking children. But dinosaurs. Awesome. And then the narration had wee children with Scottish accents. 5/5 for cute, but it so could have been longer.
Sunshine Barry is twee, and there's no Panic at the Disco, so small mercies. What there is, however, is the very unlikeable Barry. He's a worm, he's full of himself and he doesn't listen. His worm mother is overbearing and reminded me of Mrs Q, the mother of a girl I went to school with. But despite that, this is a nice little film - Barry does get his comeuppance in the form of a bitchy office worm, the gay worm comes out of the closet to the Village Worms, Barry redeems himself, it's a nice lesson in how winning isn't everything and the soundtrack is fantastically cheesy disco. The animations are snappy, clear and the physicality of the worms is hysterical. It doesn't have the cleverness of Shrek or Toy Story, but kids will love it. 3.5/5

6. Paper Soldier (Russia)
Oh gods. I saw this film the day after my birthday, which meant that I was running on a three day hangover, not enough coffee or sleep. And it was so very cold. So of course going to see a film set in Soviet Russia/Kazakhstan was a good idea. Ugh. This film was cold cold cold and tried too hard to be absurd, put too much distance (like, the distance between the moon and me) between the characters and the audience, not to mention the length of the film. I wanted to shake the main character, who was so stereotypically soviet that my James Bond complex kicked in and I wanted an explosion just so things would warm up. And the women, ugh. So much whinging and moaning and pouting and fake hair. Seriously Russia, get over the cold and start making crazy college road trip films. Please. I know you can do it. Make something funny, something that doesn't mention bloody Chekhov. 1/5

7. The Beaches of Agnes (France)
Oh Agnes Varda, I'd forgotten how totally mad and awesome you are. Varda made The Gleaners, which is one of my favourite documentaries. Now she's made a doco about herself, and all the wonderful people she's known and the wonderful things she's done. She's so wonderfully creative, and at 83 shows no signs of slowing down. Her film is a celebration of life, of art and love. If I say anymore, it'll turn into mush 5/5

8. Coraline (US)
Oooh, spooky. Henry Selick, who did Nightmare Before Christmas, has outdone himself here. This film is magically scary, beautifully animated. The voices are done by an almost unrecognisable (andthereforeunannoying) Daktota Fanning, and Teri Hatcher, who outdoes herself on the scary. The 3-D effects are used subtly, which enhances the tension. You'll probably read alot about this film in coming weeks/months, so I wont blather - this is a film that will spook everyone, and probably make you reconsider your relationship with your mother. I am however, deducting a point for the red carpet fiasco (see above) 4/5

9. Humpday (USA)
One of the best films I've seen in a while. This film is dialogue driven, which appeals to a wordy talky person like me. I loved the way in which two best friends, Ben and Andrew describe their relationship, how real it all seemed. Humpday is advertised about two guys who make a non gay male on male porno, but its more about how two male best friends evaluate their changing friendship, and the ways in which their lives are different to what they expected. This is unexpectedly sweet. I wanted to be friends with these people, even if Ben was a bit of an arse, and Andrew one of those drifty people (although actor Joshua Leonard has the best laugh ever). Anna, wife of Ben is just brilliant, not over the top, not dolllike, just the sort of real woman you want to see in film. The movie as a whole is beautifully filmed and one that I'll be adding to my DVD collection. 5/5

10. Daisies (Czech)
This was a cute, artsy film from 1966. I could see how in the 60s it would have been cutting edge, and it did make me laugh alot. But after a while the lack of point begins to grate - this is probably the intent of the filmmakers. The flim centres around two sisters, who have decided to go bad because the worldd is going bad. So they eat and waste food, tease men and generally behave like Lindsay Lohan, Amy Winehouse and Paris Hilton rolled up and spilt into two. Its kind of fun. After a while though, I got sick of the stylised way the girls spoke, which was in a very slow ditzy Czech way. They sounded like blow up dolls would sound if they could speak. The chandelier scene though, was great. Another selling point is that it's only an hour long. 3/5


11. Cold Souls (USA/Russia) + We Who Stayed Behind (Denmark)
Wicked Step Aunt and I missed the beginning of We Who Stayed Behind, as we were queuing for a ticket for WSA. But I think I got the jist of it - something went wrong, peoples blood turned grey and they left the children alone. Then the girl's blood went grey and the boy saved her. It was kind of nice, in a hopeful apocalyptic way. I think mostly I was glad it didn't turn into a zombie film. 2.5/5
Cold Souls was cold. And I didn't appreciate that, because Sydney is very very cold at the moment. So when faced with freezing New York, then freezing St Petersburg, I was a little unimpressed. However, two of my favourite actors, Paul Giamatti and David Strathairn are in this film. I did enjoy this film, although it wasn't quite as complex as it had been advertised as. Giamatti plays a version of himself, trying to prep for a performance of Uncle Vanya (ugh). He's feeling twisted, so he goes to Strathairn and has his soul extracted. Wackyness and soul searching (ha) ensue. It's an attempt at a sort of Being John Malkovich type movie, but it falls short, I think because of the limitations of the idea of the soul. That said, Giamatti is fantastic as himself - neurotic, angry and bedecked in a fur hat with pompoms. The most beautiful part of the film is when he looks "inside" at his soul. The Russian part of the film is much better than Paper Soldiers, as the character Nina is wonderful and her clothes are to die for. I'd watch this again on DVD, on a really hot day. 3.5/5

12. An Education (UK)
Lizzle, WSA and I got into the cinema (after a near debacle with our dinner) at 7.30pm. we knew there'd be speeches and shizz, it was closing night. However, Lizzle pointed out that the movie started out at 8.30, which meant that there was an hour of talking in order to present 5 awards. What I remember is NSW Premier Nathan Rees tried to redeem himself by hiring people to cheer every time he mentioned things that the NSW Government is doing (although as far as I can make out, all our state government is doing is trying to talk about things that it might, maybe, possibly do. One day. If the Sydney Morning Herald stops exposing them, dangit). Miranda Otto was there too, clearly having left the house in her dressing gown instead of her winter coat. Someone let Nell Schofield wear a floor length leather coat. Bronson won best film. And then An Education started. And it was fantastic.
Set in the 1960s, in Twickenham, An Education is about Jenny, a precocious French loving schoolgirl studying to go to Oxford. Her parents are pushy, the boy who likes her is a geek (but adorable and I'd date him). Then she meets Dashing David, who is older, experienced and things get a lot better. From there on its parties with Danny (Dominic Cooper, looking sexy and predatory as ever) and Helen (the amazing Rosamund Pike in what might be her best role yet). They bound about the place, drinking dancing laughing wearing great clothes. It's magical and filmed in such a way that its not a montage, but a definite narrative progression. We see Jenny grow, see her and her parents become entranced with David. Jenny's English Teacher and Headmistress (the infallible Emma Thompson) try to intervene, but Jenny raises the question "Why do we have to be educated?". Although her teachers can't answer this, Jenny eventually figures it out herself. An Education is one of the best coming of age films I have ever seen, up there with C.R.A.Z.Y. and Mysterious Skin. It's a fantastic period piece, and the first screenplay written by Nick Hornby since High Fidelity that's not been childishly twee, but genuinely funny. The acting is first rate. Don't you dare miss this one. 5/5

So that was my Sydney Film Festival Experience. I didn't see as many films as usual, owing to the silly ticketing system. But on the whole, I did have a good time. I've tried to be lenient with my ratings, which is why there are a lot of 5s...well. Four. Next year though, I'd like to see a better ticketing system and more Australian films - not that there weren't any, but the timetable was so skewed.

Right. Now onto the birthday post.













ps. this post took me three hours to write because my keyboard keeps having attacks of the crazies.thats my excuse for not blogging recently, my desktop is kaput, and EEEPC's aren't really long term options.

brief rant re: faily tendencies

There are some websites that one must check religiously. Or as close as religiously as a heathen like me can get. There's Grrl+Dog who makes me giggle and commit to craft. There's Vixen Vintage, who is unpretentious and makes me want to work harder on my wardrobe. There's Random Got Beautiful, which inspires me. There's Twitter, which is unhealthy and addictive. There's God Is In The TV Zine, which I love and adore for their NME bashing. There's my very favourite, Etsy, which is hours of fun. And then there's my new very very favourite website, YouAreBeautiful, which I discovered in Berlin and spent hours smiling about.

Thats not really that many personal blogs that I frequent, as they tend to depress me. And Lizzle, bless her lil' cotton socks, is at fault (I lie. I'd have run into this on my own.) The poor dear has a tedious job (almost as tedious as my last one). But she has internet access all day, which means she trolls the blogging world and finds the weirdest and most wonderful things, which she passes on to me.

And then I feel like a terrible entertainer. (because I don't like the word 'blogger' or 'bloggist')
There are girls out there who provide detailed updates of the clothes they wear every day. After a while, they all look the same. Tall, clear skinned and expensively draped, with a camera that makes them look lovely. There are mothers out there who blog about their entire family, and what little squirt has eaten/vomited/destroyed today. There are pages and pages and pages dedicated to those ridiculous 'harem' pants, which I think are proof that the fashion world needs a good lie down.

Anyway, my point is, what do I blog about, really? Originally, this was a blog to track my trip through Europe, which was great in theory but quickly turned into a cesspit of Angst as I realised how dependent I am on certain people (and alsopossiblymyfavouriteteddy.) Then when I came home, it was more about giving me a platform to rant on when things went wrong.....which tends to happen to me a lot. I don't know why. Possibly it's a flaw in the universe.

And now? Now I fear this blog is boring. I keep meaning to put up things I've written about my skirts, but I kind of feel that this is narcissism. And boring? Stuff happens, and I think 'ooh, I should write that down'. But then I think it would probably go over a lot better in the pub, with the lubrication (ergh, that word is gross) of Pimms. And waving my hands around. I'm very vocal. Also the problem with pictures is that I tend to look belligerent and about forty kilos heavier.

I'm beginning to think that perhaps, what this blog really really really needs is fireworks.


Any other ideas?



ALSO. I know I just whined about fashion. BUT. My birthday is in ten days, and yesterday I ran around like a mad thing trying to organise it. On Friday, my mother and I will be going to see Disgrace at the Sydney Film Festival, then cocktails. I'm planning on wearing my year12 formal dress, which is a gorgeous Japanese red silk wrap dress that cost waaaaay too much and has been worn waaaay too little. So yesterday I took it in to be dry cleaned. And then on Saturday, it'll be a gathering of the gaggle of girls I know, hopefully for swing dancing (if I can find somewhere open on Saturday), and then hijinks at the Shakey. For this, I'm having my blue lace Glasgow Dress fixed up so that I can breathe in it!!! And then Sunday I'll be recovering. In my pjs. And then on MONDAY, IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!! I'll be at the Sydney Film Festival in the morning, and then in the evening dining with my family at the very posh Wharf Restaurant. In a divine little number thats a total secret, totally awesome and called Wednesday.

As an aside: I really like naming things, it invests them with properties and personifications. Or the opposite. When I was at Mac Uni, there was a girl in my class who shouted all the time, and a boy who wore vests all the time. They were known as Shouty Girl and Vest Boy. I have no idea what their names are to this day.

OH MY UPDATE WITHIN AN UPDATE!!! We're going to be HERE on Saturday. You should come and dance with me. I'll be the one in blue lace from Glasgow.




........oh. And I still check William Beckett's blog. Because I'm a failbot.