My favourite antisocial behaviour..

Before you all think I'm secretly a granny beater in my spare time, I'm actually talking about reading.

It seems barely a day goes by when I haven't spent part of it with my head in a book. I learned to read age 3 (thanks mum) and I haven't really stopped since.

My book collection is now so big I regularly have book slides. You ever been hit on the head by the full works of Cassandra Clare? Nope didn't think so. It would be a lot easier if my bookshelf here wasn't attached to the joining wall of mine and Kishans room. Every time he hits his wall books go flying.

I think the reason I love reading so much is that it's a form of escapism. When I was in school I used to get bullied so badly, but even on the worst days I could grab a good book. I remember being sat in Winsham primary school hall reading Harry potter and the chamber of secrets whilst bawling my eyes out and eating prawn cocktail crisps.

Some books can mean more than freedom, they can mean life. There's a reason why the bible is the top selling book of all time because it really speaks to people. It can comfort and chastise, encourage and inform. It's the worlds best self help book and the worlds best story book.

When I was little despite the fact my mother was mostly without religious conviction she used to read me bible stories. Moses in the rushes, Jesus and Lazerous. I even had a pop up bible (I soooo wish I still had it) with tabs so you could part the red sea and follow the Christmas star across the page.

I guess one of the reasons I write is to repay the authors that kept me sane. To encourage the next generation the way they encouraged me.

I own I would estimate over 300 books, and hopefully one day my own books will be on the shelf beside them. Now just how to explain to Dad how the amount of books I brought to uni has doubled since September oo er....

The sunshine makes me...home sick

As I stood on the platform at Canning Town station, in my short sleeve t-shirt soaking up as much vitamin D as physically possible from the sunshine I couldn't help but sigh.

I love the sunshine it makes London seem colourful and cheery. Even the harden locals crack a smile and seem to be walking with a spring in their step. Blast the beach boys for summer is (almost) here!

But I'm a country girl through and through to the point that once on a trip to Bristol I scared the poor woman I was sat next to on the coach by squealing so loudly because I saw a....sheep. Come on it had been at least 3 months since I had seen one, you could even say I was sheep deprived :P

I miss a breeze that smells of crops and manure, not car fumes and tourists. Sunshine may bring London to life, but it brings my longings with it. As nice as London can look with canary wharf twinkling in the sunshine, I can't help but remember how gorgeous Somerset is at this time of year, when everything is blooming, the bunnies jumping in and out of the hedge rows causing new drivers to swear and swerve.

I want, to be walking in the woods, swimming in the sea. But at least I have it all to look forward to when I go home for Easter. I just have to appreciate the positives of a warm spring London, such as not having to freeze every time the smokers want a fag and not having to worry about booking your coat into the cloak room at whatever club.

But do excuse me if you don't see me much during the holidays, I will probably be out somewhere hugging trees glad to be home :)

The Future

It is dawning on me how really University is the easy part of life. We've already made the biggest decision we are going to make for quite a while. What to study, where to live are pretty big decisions in themselves, but they aren't permanent. You can change course, move house as often or as little as you want.

The future appears fluid, like anything is possible. Me when I think about the future I always used to picture myself at my desk in my future home looking out on the back garden or fields where my children would be playing and a big cat asleep atop all my notes, snoring in all its fluffiness.

But is that really where I'm going to end up? Probably not, in all truth it's a very selfish picture. I am forever tooing and throwing about whether I would make a good parent. Mostly I side on the side of no I would not. But even if I did make a decent parent is it even fair to bring a child into a world that has so many issues. War, famine, natural disasters, my cooking.

The fact is that I can't help but think my ideal future is entirely selfish. When I walk into Christian union most weeks I'm meet by a crowd of people who are mostly doing economics or degrees that will go on to help them to help people in third world country's. Me I'm doing Creative writing a fairly useless degree if there ever was one, it leaves me two choices, live in hope I make it as a published writer, or go into teaching.

My friend Vicky dreams of opening a bakery and a care home and having a full brood of children (of which I hope to be god mother to at least one!) and I honestly think she will achieve it. Despite her set backs such as her dyslexia she will always fight for what she wants, and she's one of the most maternal women you could ever hope to meet. She'd probably do a better job of raising my kids than I would.

Other friends seem to have it all figured out. Guess I really don't know what I'm doing, all I've ever wanted to do is write. Trying to write a blog post for every day of lent is proving interesting. It's nice to be pushing myself to do it and not giving up even when it goes a bit wrong.

It gives me the hope that maybe one day I may actually make it as a writer, or whatever else I'm supposed to be. I guess just some days I wish the path was a little clearer, less pot holes and punctuation errors.

Well either way I live in the hope that my life will not be selfish, that I can help those around me and that the wives (my close girlfriends and co from college) get to live up to all their dreams and expectations. Because to be honest they rock.

I still want that cat though

Accents...

Accents, we've all got one, even those who are in denial (myself included).

Many a debate has raged in recent days about who sounds like what. Personally I blame Gene. It's all his fault, he started it lets stick him in the gallows.

Want to know what he said? Of course you do.....He called me posh!!!

I'm from Somerset and though I never (thankfully) inherited the local OO AR, I still don't exactly sound like the classiest girl around. Especially with my astounding lack of tact which means I normally say exactly what I'm thinking without censorship causing enormous amounts of trouble.

So of course I practically spat my sandwich across the keyboard (we were chatting on msn) if anything he is the posh one!

Really wish I hadn't tried to back up my indignation by asking Annie and the flatmates. 'You do sound Posh Rach in your own way, though you got a somerset twang' said Sam who's also from Somerset 'ahem' Bristol.

O lordy I should never have asked in the first place, we all have our accents, good, bad, northern. I just wish I wasn't told about mine.

Problem Products

It seems that now a days there is a product for everything, pimple punisher, zit zappers, skin scrappers and a million and one things to make you look good.

It would also seem that girls never seem to stop talking about them. That and the fact that there still seem to be things make up has yet to fix.

Apparently main stays of any female (oo mabye male as well but I wouldn't know) students love life seems to be a constant stream of hickeys and stubble rash. Something that as of yet none of us have found a 'cure' for.

Concealer will only ever do so much and sooner or later (normally sooner) you will once again be wide open to social ribbing. I've lost count of the amount of times we've been laughing at Ella saying she needs to eat more red meat after spying Sam's neck.

Maybe somehow though despite the marks, maybe the cures we might claim to be seeking still don't exist because deep down we still want to feel like we belong to someone.

Bathroom Bowling

Living with boys often causes many questions from friends and family. 'Is it messy?' 'Isn't that a bit strange for you?' and more often than not 'So what's your bathroom like? Must be gross surely'.

In answer to the last question no it's not. We all have our odd habits such as Sam's penchant for losing the lid to everything from the milk in the fridge to the toothpaste. Kishan hoarding empty toilet rolls in the holder. Though I'm just as bad my hair bands just seem to explode everywhere.

Despite whining the toilet seat is still up most of the time. But me and Ella have just learned to roll our eyes and deal with it. What makes me laugh about our bathroom though is how it always looks like....

Well like someone's been playing bathroom bowling in the shower. No matter how often I line up all our many shampoo, shower gel and shaving cream bottles, shortly enough they are all once again scattered about the bottom of the shower basin often with my awesome sheep shower poof smack bang in the middle. I swear this must be the new past time for the guys when they get bored in the shower. Poor sheep :(

Spose at least if the guys are entertained in the shower they will be hygienic (well for them anyway) Maybe this finally settles of the mystery of why Kishan is always in the shower!

Murderous Midnight Munchies

So I've learnt a very important lesson this week, cooking when tired even if veeeeeeeeeery hungry is a bit of a stupid thing to do. But hey Midnight munchies are killer, hence why I found myself cooking a bacon sandwich at three in the morning.

It was a fantastic sandwich, but would have been all the better if I hadn't gone back into the kitchen to put my plate in the sink to find it full of smoke. Oops...

Appeared I had forgotten to switch the hob off after cooking and the left over oil proceeded to catch fire. Stupid fire alarm never even went off...until the smoke wafted into the corridor behind me setting that alarm off after I started dealing with it. Don't think anyone was very happy with me.

Could hear the flatmates swearing at the alarm in their bedrooms, but none appeared in their pants as I expected. Security however did (though thankfully dressed and not in their pants) and seem quite bemused that I was cooking so late. Least he tried to help me air the flat (it still stinks though!) as the kitchen window wouldn't open since they had locked it after our break in. So I had to sit in the front door whilst the window in the corridor outsides the flat was opened to release the smoke.

Must have looked really strange me sat there propping the door open with my feet as I sat there read the paper and ate strawberry pencils, all that was missing was a cup of tea

Still the kitchen is back to its normal nuclear state with added smokey smell and the frying pan will soon be usable again once we figure out how to get the burnt oil tar off the bottom.

Any hoo think I might actually go get that cup of tea...