That's tough titty, kid!

Well. Since yesterday, I have discovered the awesome power of musicals. Not prancy about ones like Mary Poppins (although that is quite an awesome musical, despite the horrendous 'cockney' accent). I'm talking about Little Shop of Horrors and Rocky Horror. I have both soundtracks on my iPod. Nothing better than doing work to the Time Warp. Although, what is quite disturbing, is how hard it is to resist the urge to Time Warp in the library. Don't lie and say you've never been tempted. But, whatever they offer you, DON'T FEED THE PLANTS!

I am becoming quite sick of all this nice weather now. I will explain this, as I'm not a total grouch. It is because the curtains in my room as so thin, I am awoken at 6am, every morning, by the sunshine outside. This is followed by the next few hours of patchy sleep. It is not good. In the slightest. I am also unsure if my hayfever is back, or I have developped a cold. I have this problem every single year. I have stocked up on hayfever tablets though. So I am prepared. Today, I am unsure if I should take over the world, or do my Spanish Cross Cultural, so I can revise. I think I shall take over the world. Watch out for me!

My liver hates me.

It felt like it was actually trying to dig its way out last night. It was a new experience. I drank alot of Vodka and coke, only because it was so cheap. I paid the price for drinking them too quick. Oh well. My liver is still in my body, although it's probably dead inside.

Is it just me that has rare moments of bed comfort? I mean, when you manage to get your bed so comfy, and never can get it the same again? This somehow happened to me last night, well technically this morning, and I ended up waking up one the most comfortable array of pillows. Alas, this won't happen tonight, although I will sleep like a log. So all is good.

I haven't done much today. Sleep. Sleep some more. And watched Graham Norton, and Have I Got News For You on BBC iPlayer. I really don't like Frank Skinner, and don't see why they let him present it. But oh well, it provided such classic lines as: "The Home Office is in charge of pornography?!" "It'll be like Zimbabwe" "Sign In and Sod Off" "You looked a bit slimmer after your diet. On the other hand, you were crap." "I take full responsability for what happened, that's why the person who was responsible, when immediately." (A quote by our 'glorious' leader Gordon)
So one can't complain.

I got ID'd!

For films! In HMV! I was most unamused. I felt a great deal of smugness when I presented him with my ID, knowing that I am in fact 2 and a 1/4 years older than their poxy '18' rating. He sheepishly gave me it back. And I smugly paid. Tit.

And now, I blogg.

God, I hate dogs. I can hear the most yappy one ever yapping away somewhere. It won't shut up. I will just turn my music up (Myleene Klass, if you're interested lol), and it will all go away.

I have come to the conclusion that Lancaster is actually (I've just shut the window. And the yapping is gone.) a secret filming set for the new 'Cocoon' film. It must be. There are so many old people. If you don't know what the 'Cocoon' films consisted of, the basic premise was this: Aliens visit earth. Offer to look after old people. They just have to go with the aliens, to a new world. They live for ever, never ageing (maybe). Wrinklies say farewell to loved ones. Fin. If they wanted to make the new film in Lancaster, there would be no shortage of wrinklies. I mean, in Sainsbury's today for example. So many old people. And they were the worst kind of elderly. The slow walking elderly. Who glare at you, when you move their trolley out of the way to get to hayfever tables. They are evil. EVIL.

I also saw who I assumed to be the mayor and the mayoress of Lancaster today. They were in a posh blacked out car with a 3-letter number plate. And the people inside had medallions on, like mayors. So they were either imposters, or actually the mayor and his wife. I'm gonna assume they were the real deal, as they were in a posh looking Skoda. I know it sounds hard for a Skoda to look posh, but, well, this is Lancaster, and a Skoda is posh for these parts.

There is no escape!

I got tagged by a fellow blogger (♥♥♥ The Girl of Make Believe ♥♥♥ to be precise). It's like being on Facebook! Nonetheless, I shall do this. Then I shall blogg.

Eight things I look forward to:
1) Going to Rennes in September.
2) Week 29, when I shall be free, till September.
3) Going to Girona next January.
4) Graduating in 2 and bit years time...
5) Going home.
6) Going out.
7) Katie getting her car.
8) The summer.

Eight things I did yesterday:
1) Slept in til 10.
2) Blogged.
3) Went to the shop for some Relentless.
4) Drank the Relentless.
5) Checked my French essay.
6) Changed my French essay.
7) Checked my Spanish essay.
8) Had a shower at midnight.

Eight things I wish I could do:
1) Fly, not Nathan Petrelli fly. Just hover a bit.
2) Be prudent with my money.
3) Speak English.
4) Speak French.
5) Speak German.
6) Go to Catalunya right now!
7) Travel. For free.
8) Play poker, and be good at it.

Eight shows I watch:
1) IT Crowd.
2) House.
3) Black Books. (I know it's not on any more, but I watch the DVD alot)
4) The Inbetweeners.
5) Heroes.
6) Doctor Who.
7) Graham Norton.
8) Mock the Week.

I need to tag people now. But I only know the person who tagged me, Samantha, and Jude.

Est-ce que je peux enlever mon veston?

And I can't seem to put Jude's on. So, nosey around for hers. Jude, you've been tagged! Lol.

Do YOU ibid?

Well, at present I am procrastinating. I am trying to cut 150 words (it was 200) out of my french essay. I dunno how good or bad it is. But what it is is 150 words over the absolute limit. Bugger. I have a can of Relentless, and am currently missing 'The Inbetweeners' on E4+1. I am not impressed. I've not even started to check my Spanish 'portfolio' essay. *sighs* Noah and the Whale will get me through this.

We're better, connected.

This is of course the crafty slogan of O2. And, my new phone network. I have gone onto O2, for, je ne sais quoi. It seems okay at present. They keep sending me texts telling me this, that and the other. And every time I send a text, I get one back telling me how much I've spent. I don't mind knowing, just not after every frigging text.

My hair has settled down now. As soon as I can be bothered, I shall put a picature on. I also bought mikado yesterday. The most awesome things ever. They remind me of school trips to France, and subsequent French hypermarchés (normally carrefour) in which any bags we brought in with us were sealed shut, so we couldn't smuggle stuff out (I think). However, they just aren't the same here. There's something different about them. Something... not French.

Back to my fire engine rant. I noticed yesterday that the ORANGE fire engines don't have FIRE written backwards on them. It seems fire engines here trust people to know what the flashing lights mean. However, this does not account for the fact that people won't recognise what kind of emergency vehicle is following them, as it is orange and not red, like Fireman Sam's.

Time for luncheon!

"They say we can love if we trot"

Is it just me that thinks that that sentence is quite odd? Even for song lyrics? However, I love the song it is from (In For the Kill, by La Roux), so all is good.

I had an icecream yesterday, as it was sunny. It was yummy. You know what isn't yummy? Sunburn. Sitting on the steps in the square yesterday caused me to sunburn on my arms, and even slightly on my legs. There is slight sting-age when I dried myself today. Not good.

And now I am librarying until my Catalan seminars. I haven't done much work so far, but I hope to. Maybe. I want to finish this work. But I fear it will not happen today. We can live in hope though.

Yipeeeeeee!

Well, today is Lancaster's 3rd, or maybe 4th (I don't know how much sun there was before I returned). It is odd. I have ventured out of the house in shorts, 3 days in a row. And a t-shirt. No jacket (except for evening ventures). It is most disturbing to myself. Also disturbing is the reaction I am getting to my hair. These have ranged from "I didn't recognise you there!" (Not the fake elderly relative reaction, the real deal) to "Aaaaargh! Who the hell are you?! Oh, it's just you Martin. Phew." to "Oooh look. It is Martin, sans hair." Molt extrany. I cannot complain, my head feels much better. ("that looks like martin, but he has no hair and is bright yellow." was another response)

Today, apart from the excitement of wearing shorts, I sorted out many things. I paid my rent. I had my photo taken (£4!!!! Robbing bastards!). I went to see Ange (who thought I was some randomer, until she realised "oh. you've had your hair cut), who I taught how to say McGeoghan (M'gaygan). I found out the address of my local LEA to send off my handwritten application. And then had luncheon in Bowland Quad (in the sun, no less). It was pleasant, and I shall return there before Catalan to have a pint of Strongbow (not nasty beer or lager [I really don't know the difference, I just know they're equally icky]) . I also posted my application to Rennes II!! I'm so excited! And summery! And excited!!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

On és el meu cabell?

Well, I am not with alot less hair. I feel quite 90s. I almost have curtains. But it is not bad. But I now have wine, so all is good. Also, I forgot what I was going to say. Family Guy time now. That is all.