Good News! This Post Has Absolutely Nothing to Do With MCR!

It seriously doesn’t, I’m not a news feed. I just spew out haphazard opinions over here.

I just thought I should drop everyone a line and say Happy Advent! I don’t have any nice drawings à la Ruby this year, so enjoy last year’s picture:

Jesus really reminds me of someone, but I’m not sure who. It’s the hair. Ruby’s old haircut? My current haircut? Bert McCracken’s haircut?

Coming soon, if I stop eating all the chocolate in the house and get my act together, is the what will soon be traditional end-of-year blog… And, hopefully, some exciting things in the new year. But only if I keep my hands off the Heroes.

HEY BABY I WROTE YOU A POEM; an Email by Ruby.

From: Ruby

To: Francesca

Subject: HEY BABY, I WROTE YOU A POEM

Date: Fri, 15 Apr 2011 18:27:29 +0100

O! Fair Frank, why has of late your fair correspondence not graced my humble inbox?

Will, perhaps, a sonnet written in your name suit to make the communication that was once abundant between us flow readily once more? Sincerely, I hope that this may be:

O! FRANK THOU ART BUT A STICK;

A STICK OF A ROSE

WITH THORNS ON

WHICH IF I PICKED IT UP WOULD HURT ME GREATLY

BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT (geddit?)

O! IF I WERE A PIGEON I WOULD ENDEAVOUR

TO NOT CRAP UPON YOUR HOUSE

INSTEAD AIMING FOR THAT OF MS AGAR’S

HOPING THAT MY FERTILE POO

WOULD GO ON TO GROW ANOTHER ROSE LIKE YOU

Forthwith I hope that the silence between us will blossom again with the coming of spring into the high brow conversations about matters of great importance which we used to share. And to that note I shall breeze onto the next subject:

My mother and I were In Westcliff earlier today when we happened upon a charity shop which had sprung up for a limited period of two weeks only. And we went in. Because we’re both somewhat partial to charity shops.

Well, against the back wall they had piles of sewing materials, and I went all ‘FLAGLAARGHRAFFFFthereyougotakemypurseitsmine’.

And I bought some fabric.

Plaid fabric.

Brightly coloured plaid fabric.

Yellow, purple and turquoise plaid fabric.

I don’t think I’m communicating its full monstrosity to you effectively. Here, have a picture to help:

There’s also quite a bit of it. Now, it said on the Post-it note attached to it that it was three and a half yards by 60 inches, but I’m not all that good at old measures and hence somewhat underestimated how big it would be and I’ll assume that you will have too, thus I think another picture is in order:

(and yeah, sorry about their quality. They both looked a lot better before I ran them through Paint. But you know, some times Paint’s all you feel up to)

SO. I now have a shitload of even-the-eighties-would-be-horrified-at-it fabric, and I’m not really sure what to do with it.

And that’s where you come in. Any ideas?

My mum said I should make a blazer and skirt and rock it out with a pair of DMs, but that’s pushing even my sense of fashion a bit too far. She later changed her mind and said she wanted to use it as a table-cloth (RETINA BURN WHILE YOU EAT).

Personally I was thinking along the lines of some kind of bag, but hey.

ALSO ALSO ALSO, it’s nearly chocolate easter egg time! (or, as I read somewhere, ‘spring spheres’)

  Well, you heard the girl. I suggested a Killjoy outfit, but I know a few of you do Textiles, so…?

Eggs+Flour+Milk = Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday)/Extreme Guilt Over Appetite.

  Hello, pancake people. Who hasn’t had pancakes today? I was on (in?) Zone 6 earlier and a girl said that she detests pancakes so wasn’t going to eat tonight. I had two earlier and they were pretty nice. I would have taken a photo, but they were kind of there for a limited time only and trust me, you do not want to see any photographs of my digestive system.

  Anyone here giving up anything for lent? I think Sarah’s giving up chocolate, I remember one year my mum must have given up caffeine because all she drank for ages was herbal tea from fancy cups. I thought of something AWESOME to give up last night, just as I was drifting off to sleep… But I’ve forgotten it. Having spent all day wondering, I have concluded it must be swearing unnecessarily. Because – and I totally blame My Chem for this – I suffer a 0.0001 on the pain scale and curse. Then I get angry at the pain and curse some more.

  Natalie suggested I give up My Chem themselves itself, but that will happen in a world where the public doesn’t get caught up in the lives of ‘famous’ people they’ve never met, like Charlie Sheen (who as far as I can tell spends his entire life on TV with his porn star girlfriends). I briefly challenged Ruby to give up the Internet – we’ve both agreed our lives are far more productive without it – but forty days with no blog, Twitter or BBC News would drive me mental. I’ve also considered giving up saying ‘like’ unnecessarily, but I suspect that’s not something that’ll go away, like, overnight.

  So I have decided to give up biscuits. I know, it’s not a fancy thing – but I can do it. I can’t, for example, control all the shit that comes out of my mouth on a daily basis. You all know that.

  If you don’t, I clearly haven’t made enough of an impact on you.

  Anyway. Starting tomorrow, forty days without biscuits of any kind. Not even the ones in Berlin. If I need a biscuit, I’ll eat a sausage instead. Germany has a lot of sausages, right? It isn’t as though I’m giving up meat or anything. I think my parents would cry if another of their children became a vegetarian.

  Goodbye, sugary goodness. I will see you on the 17th April.

   

  I’m going to have to watch Gerard talk about giving up alcohol on Life on the Murder Scene to feel better.

Why Twit/Twat/Tweet When You Can Blog?

  Sitting next to a perpetually hyperactive teenager (Elizabeth)  is amusing. But it does give me motion sickness after a while.  I would put that on Twitter since it’s probably less than 140 characters or whatever, but thinking of Twitter reminded me of advent…

  See the sidebar? See the Twitter bit? And the TwitPic links? Click on them. It’s advent themed. Each picture is a door, with a snippet of a bigger drawing by Ruby. There will be 23 doors – one each day – and on Christmas Eve I’ll put the whole picture on there.

  Which is pretty and Christmassy.

  Dear God, it is difficult to write when a five foot eight, eleven stone person is debating the merits of Chinese food with your dad, next to you.

  Sorry. Ten stone and three-quarters.

It Rained Today. It’s Not Raining Now.

  Greetings from my back garden. I’d take a picture but I’m too lazy to fetch my camara. I’m too lazy to do anything more than slurp noisily from the glass of melted ice cubes sitting next to me, now I think about it. Though to be honest, the ice cubes taste a bit strange. Our freezer is about twenty-five years old.

  I really ought to write Ruby’s birthday present (happy birthday Ruby!), a story about dodos, but I am going to my nan’s soon for her birthday so I’ll suspect I’ll pull another late night/early morning stint. Well, early morning, because I don’t do late nights. Most of the time I am in bed by nine, with a book on one side, my diary on the other and a few suffed toys perched somewhere. I love early mornings instead. It’s quiet, peaceful, the birds tweet and sound nice… Unless they’re the pigeons that nested outside my bedroom windows a few months back. They cooed as soon as it got light.

 Because I haven’t got any pictures, here are my two newest haikus, now on FictionPress for everyone to comment on, if you’d be so kind.

Ebay

Odes to Food I am going to add more to this one, because chemical energy is easily as good as a chemical romance. Don’t tell Gerard, but I think food is better.

  Before I forget, I was thinking of making a video blog/log/vlog/amateur TV show with my camcorder in Greece. Will it be an epic waste of effort or do you all want to listen to my beautiful thoughts as well as read them?