his beautiful eyes are his fortune

Unless you are in any way interested in John Keats or Ben Whishaw, my recent posts will have been of absolutely no interest to you whatsoever. Sorry about that. My head and heart have been brimming with Keats and the actor who portrayed him in my new favourite film recently, and I have been devouring every piece of information I could get about either of them (I highly recommend Posthumous Keats by Stanley Plumly; it is very opinionated by very beautiful all the same), so I have not had the time to think about much else. I promise though that I will move on now - at least where my blog is concerned - because I know that I get bored reading other blogs where people post the same things over and over. I'll end the subject with this:

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness, -

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

I have still heard no word on my PGCE application. How long do these things take, do you suppose? What I'm wondering is how long do I wait before I start panicking about whether or not they're going to invite me for an interview.

Oh! Tonight I am going to see Scissor Sisters. There'll be some serious girl crush-ing going on when I see Ana Matronic and her delicious red hair.